#the way that one is a direct response to the other...and yet

[solarstranger]

“excuse me?”

both you and bakugou look up from your conversation, a confused smile tugging at your lips when your eyes land on a woman you’ve never seen before, a sheepish yet somehow determined look etched across her unfamiliar face. “yes?”

at your welcoming albeit slightly bemused response, she deflates a little in what you think is relief, her mouth morphing into a good-natured grin.

“i didn’t mean to disturb your lunch,” she starts, fiddling with the sling of her crossbody bag, “but i just wanted to say. i love your dress.”

oh.

“t-thank you so much,” you exclaim, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. you’re about to say something nice about her hair, but she’s already skittering back to her group of friends, who laugh affectionately at the woman before turning to the other direction, but not without a friendly wave goodbye at the two of you.

you return the gesture with a chuckle, although that immediately contorts into a pout the second they’re out of sight.

“what?” bakugou asks without missing a beat.

you frown at your boyfriend, before looking down at your half-finished plate of pasta. “i wanted to compliment her, too.”

for a second, bakugou doesn’t say anything, opting to study your crestfallen face instead. a moment passes with neither of you uttering a word until you finally notice him staring at you, an impassive expression on his features. you raise an eyebrow quizically. “what?”

“nothing,” he shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his lips.

and when you only toss him a deadpan look, he sighs.

“it’s just—” he begins, clearly searching for the right words to say, “here you are—being complimented for being fucking pretty and your immediate response is to get sad you didn’t get to compliment them back.”

at that, your frown deepens. “how else am i supposed to react, then?”

“i don’t know—” he huffs, leaning back on his chair, “flush? be flattered? say it’s your boyfriend who got you that dress?”

“ah. so you only wanted bragging rights.”

“that’s not the point.”

you bite back a grin. “sure, big guy.”

“you—”

“and they didn’t compliment me, per se,” you continue before he can ramble on, voice quieter. “they complimented my dress.”

“which only works because it’s you who’s wearing it, dumbass.”

despite yourself, you smile at the man. “you really think so?”

bakugou huffs again, although there’s no denying the pink that’s now dusting the high points of his cheeks. “you really ought to give yourself more credit.”

now it’s your turn to study him silently.

“no need,” you eventually quip cheerfully, reaching over the table to take his hand in yours. he doesn’t protest, only letting you intertwine your hands together.

he does, however, toss you a questioning look. one that incredulously says: why?

so you tell him.

“it’s because i like having my boyfriend do it for me.”

a/n. trying out this new format where the author's note comes after the drabble. we'll see if i go back and revert this later anyway lol. anywho, this one's very self ship-coded because i like complimenting strangers. it's my form of exposure therapy for my social anxiety while spreading the kindness i want to share with the world. now all i'm lacking is a boyfriend who hypes me up the same way lol. (0.5k)

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[petalmatt]

⋮ ( ｡ ෧ 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 `𓂃⊹ — ✶ suggestive language, mature fluff, mentions of sex, light teasing, '&& more.

your legs feel like noodles. not in the cute, lovesick way, but in the can barely walk without wincing kind of way. last night, chris had done a little more than just kiss you senseless—he'd buried his hands into your hips like he was trying to make you feel it in the morning, and judging by the way you're limping around the kitchen now in one of his old t-shirts, mission accomplished.

every step you take stretches something that shouldn't be stretching, and the ache is just sharp enough to remind you exactly why you're standing barefoot over a skillet at seven in the morning, cooking breakfast like you didn't just get ruined a few hours ago.

the bacon's already sizzling, scent curling up into the air in slow waves while sunlight leaks through the window above the sink. it hits the countertops soft and golden, casting little glows against the rim of the coffee mugs beside the stove. your hands move on autopilot—flip the bacon, nudge the eggs, wipe the counter—while your body tries to keep up, hips still sore and thighs tight. you should be annoyed. you should be irritated that he did you like that and then stayed asleep while you limped out of bed. but instead, there's a stupid smile tugging at your mouth.

and then you hear him—slow, dragging footsteps across the hardwood. the quiet rub of his palm over his face. a breathy yawn. then his silhouette in the doorway.

chris is a fucking mess. his curls are flattened on one side, wild on the other, his eyes barely open as he leans against the doorframe like it took all his strength just to walk twenty feet. he's shirtless, long torso on full display, skin golden in the light, and those gray sweats he always wears are hanging dangerously low on his hips—no boxers underneath, clearly. one hand is rubbing at his eyes, the other scratching lazily at his stomach, like he doesn't even realize you're there yet.

"you're up?" he rasps, voice all low and husky and ruined.

you glance at him from over your shoulder. "somebody had to feed your dramatic ass."

he walks in slow, dragging his fingers through his hair and letting out another quiet groan as he moves toward you. "we were up late."

you roll your eyes. "you had me up late."

he grins sleepily, eyes flicking down the length of your legs. "you sore?"

you exhale, leaning a hand on the counter. "my legs feel like noodles."

his smile curves instantly into something cocky. "damn right they do."

you shoot him a warning look, grabbing the spatula and flicking a piece of bacon in his direction. "calm down. i let you top me once and now you think you're all that."

he laughs, raspy and smug, stretching his arms behind his head. "the way you were moanin' last night definitely says m'all that."

you shake your head, lips twitching despite yourself, and shove past him to grab the plates. he's ridiculous. unbearably proud of himself. and you? you're letting him have it.

you step over to the sink once you've plated the food, rinsing off the dishes so they don't get crusty while the bacon finishes. the water runs warm over your fingers, the sponge sliding slow as you wipe off the residue. you don't even hear him come up behind you this time—just feel the quiet heat of his body hovering again, close enough to sense, not close enough to touch.

"you can help wash these dishes, y'know," you mutter, not even looking back.

"mm, no thanks," he hums, voice lazy and teasing. "kitchen work's not really my thing."

you scoff. "chris."

"m'helping with the vibe," he argues, leaning a little closer. "ambiance. aesthetic. shirtless boyfriend in the morning light? c'mon, ma, that's got at least three pinterest boards written all over it."

you don't dignify that with a response, just keep scrubbing the plate in your hand while he lingers behind you like a smug piece of wall art. you hear him breathe in, deep and quiet, and then exhale like he’s made a decision.

he steps forward, finally, pressing flush against your back—chest to shoulders, hips to your lower back. the heat of his skin seeps through your thin shirt, and you can feel the faint curve of his grin right before he rests his chin on your shoulder.

and then his hands slide down, slow and certain, wrapping around yours under the stream of warm water. he doesn't take the sponge. doesn't really help. just places his hands over yours, palms against the backs of your fingers, thumbs brushing softly over your knuckles like he's trying to memorize how you move. he stays like that, quiet and close, completely content just pressing into you and letting the moment stretch out.

"does this count as helping?" he murmurs.

his voice is soft, barely audible over the running sink. you feel it more than you hear it—low in your stomach, warm against your neck.

you pause, letting him hold you there, hands tangled, water running over both of you. and even though your plate's still dirty and your legs still ache, you don't move.

you smile. "i'll allow it."

──── ❝ 🥡 ᵎᵎ note from kaeli ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ i don't know if i like the new layout yet.

ˇ ⋆ ╱ ;ଓ ✶ @matties-angel @maliaforstvrns @matthewswife0 @grace-sturnz @matts-babytomatoes @mi-co-uk @eyesonmattyb | click here to be added . . .

© petalmatt please do not copy, rewrite, or translate my works on tumblr or any other platform.

[cafeoleconlimoncito]

Azul Ashengrotto Headcanon (Part 2)

(Continuation of the Raen/Yuni parallels and Azul’s unresolved trauma.)

Yuni isn’t necessarily a good person or deeply empathetic, but she is capable of empathy—which ironically helps her understand Azul better. (More on Yuni’s backstory later.)

After the bullying, Azul harbored immense resentment toward others. Like in the game, he decided to lose weight, transforming himself physically. But the arrival of the Leech twins changed everything. Their reputation as violent, unpredictable troublemakers kept bullies at bay—Jade had a history of aggression (his parents were constantly called to school), while Floyd, though slightly better-behaved, was intimidating enough to deter direct attacks. (Headcanon: Merfolk xenophobia also plays a role—predatory merfolk (like eels) tend to have vividly colored skin, while others appear more human-like. The twins were seen as "cute but dangerous," so no one dared target Azul once they became his allies.)

Azul’s trauma festered into self-hatred. To bury his past, he became obsessed with reinventing himself—and with revenge. He fantasized about using his Unique Magic to humiliate Raen, to make her beg for his forgiveness. He wanted her to see him—slim, powerful—and crawl to him, just so he could crush her the way she crushed him. But fate denied him: Raen transferred schools, leaving Azul’s rage unresolved. Instead, he took his vengeance on everyone else who’d stood by or participated in his torment.

Enter Yuni: The Unintentional Target

When Azul met Yuni, her resemblance to Raen ignited his hatred. His Book 3 scheme wasn’t just about expanding his business—Ramshackle was secondary. His real goal? To force Yuni to work for him, exploiting her labor as catharsis for Raen’s abuse. He targeted Ace and Deuce to corner her, planning to break her spirit if she failed.

Yuni isn’t stupid. She sensed Azul’s disdain from their first meeting—and her octopus phobia (which she casually mentioned, unaware Azul was an octopus mer) made it worse. Her initial plan was to help Grim, but if that failed, she’d cut her losses. (More on her strategy later.) When Azul and the twins underestimated her, she leaned into the "dumb blonde" stereotype, playing along—while secretly treating it as a challenge.

The Twist: From Hate to… a Crush?

After the Overblot, during their private conversation, Yuni showed Azul something he’d never expected: basic kindness. That fleeting moment—a few polite words, a hint of warmth—was enough to flip a switch in Azul. His hatred morphed into a superficial crush, less about her and more about his craving for validation.

Yuni’s resemblance to Raen will play a key role later—not necessarily romantically, but as a complex friendship (or rivalry). Azul’s emotions are a tangled mess of resentment, longing, and the childish hope that maybe, this time, someone won’t reject him.

Fun Fact:

Azul’s revenge plan was derailed when Raen vanished, leaving his rage unfulfilled.

Yuni became a proxy target for his trauma, though she unwittingly disarmed him with decency.

His "crush" is not genuine affection (not yet, at least not at the beginning)—it’s a trauma response, a desperate grab for approval.

Their dynamic will evolve into something ambiguous

[damnfreelancer]

The Vampire and His Darlin' Pack Leader (Part 1)

AN: so i came up with an AU but it was inspired by @darlin-collins. But essentially its an AU where Sam falls for a Wolf (still darlin') who was a pack leader but fled their pack which is why David ends up in charge and they decide in the end to never take up the mantel of leader after they come back. This is a three part fic fyi its taking me a while to write this duw to listening along and writing down stuff then having to plot this while taking into consideration my AU idea

It had been a grueling year and a half since Quinn’s attack on their friend, a wound that still echoed through them and the pack, like an old scar that never quite healed. The aftermath brought not only the burden of leadership back to the front but also the crushing sense of inadequacy, of falling short in the eyes of those who depended on stability and strength.

Nearly a half a year before the attack, the responsibilities of leading a pack had begun to feel more like weight than a calling. The role was gradually yet not fully abandoned, and in the absence of purpose came poor judgment. Drawn into circles that offered distraction rather than direction, they crossed paths with Quinn, a choice that would unravel way more than expected and lead directly to the betrayal that changed everything.

They had abandoned the role of leader not long after everything with Quinn came to the fore, they left it behind like scorched earth, charred by guilt and exhaustion. It was David Shaw that took over, not by force, but because the position had quietly been handed to him. Truthfully, he was the one who should’ve led from the start—steady, pragmatic, untouched by the things that had taken root in others.

The lie about the arrest had been calculated. A quiet deception told to the pack, meant to keep them at arm’s length while the truth festered beneath the surface. There had been no arrest. No trial. Just a plan, cold, personal, and born from the hollow space where justice should have been. The others were told he’d been taken in; in reality, they stayed behind in Washington not to heal, but to finish something brutal and unfinished.

They called it recuperation. What it really was… was a fallout.

They never meant to disappear, not exactly. But there’s a difference between absence and abandonment, and they hadn’t cared enough at the moment to distinguish the two. Back then, it had felt easier to let everything rot behind them—to pretend the rot wasn’t spreading from the inside out.

Some nights, they woke up with Quinn’s voice in their head—not the voice that had pleaded or begged, but the one that had smiled, warm and sharp as broken glass. Memory was cruel like that: offering up echoes wrapped in silk, disguising knives beneath nostalgia. What they did in Washington… no one would understand. Maybe they didn’t even understand it themselves. Only that the lie was easier to carry than the truth, and lies were lighter when no one asked questions.

David didn’t ask questions.. well not any that were deeper than ‘how are you’ or ‘what's been happening’ and ‘how's the family’ anyways.

He carried the silence like it was duty. Picked up the pieces they left scattered and rebuilt something resembling order. They resented him for that, in the quiet, jealous way that only comes when someone does what you couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Or didn’t have the strength to anymore.

It was easier to pretend the pack was better off without them. That betrayal, the fallout, the blood on their hands. None of it could be fixed by leadership or loyalty or time. That whatever they'd once believed in had cracked somewhere along the way, and no one noticed until it had already fallen through.

They’d wanted justice. What they got was vengeance that was slow, deliberate and seemed unworthy. And now there was no going back. Not to the pack, not to the past, and sure as hell not to who they were before Quinn.

Whatever came next, it would come alone. And maybe that was what they deserved.

They went dark after the department spread that lie about Quinn’s arrest, hiding out with some family in Washington, keeping their heads down. But a few months back, they started catching traces, like the ghosts of years gone by, in places Quinn had passed through. Now they’re on the hunt, chasing the bastard who wrecked their lives. The kind of pain they carry? It’s not just hurt, it’s soul-deep torment that eats at you every damn second you're alive.

Wc: 687 (next part will be longer)

Taglist: @emobirthdaycake @andyinchoate @darlin-collins

[aliusfrater]

similar cinematographic choices to portray the same imagery with insanely different circumstantial contexts

[moe-broey]

Why did I start like three other projects when I was already working on a big project when I just got hit with the autism exhaustion beam (requires. At least One Full Day just dead in bed, and then some more Taking It Easy time after)

[gibbearish]

its occuring to me what specifically it is that therapists go to therapy for

[jemmo]

hey so i read your "rant" about seonwoo and younghee and, if you dont mind i want to give my 2 cents on the matter (feel free to ignore this) but with seonwoo i think this insecurity about what other's might think, and his people pleaser nature shows in how much he cares about hyungjoon and minseong having a date. im not saying he is malicious, but this nature which he has said "that's how i am and im not going to change that" is betraying him. and will hurt ppl and himself: you can't keep everyone happy without someone's feelings getting hurt. (trust me this is coming from a people pleaser who went to therapy) i agree seonwoo needs to start prioritizing his OWN feelings, whichever they might be and start giving closure to those he can't see himself in. like you said, younghee could handle rejection. hell he has been rejecetd by seonwoo multiple times already. well maybe not rejected, but ignored and not being seonwoo's priority.

now yeonghee...his age betrays him. a lot. many times. he is adorable and he has won over everyone's hearts, like they all dote on him bc he is the youngest. and he, in kind, responds with more youthful reactions which are normal from a 21 y/o. like nobody bats an eye when in ep1 while junseong and seonwoo are bickering palyfully while washing dishes, he just paces around to watch over them. but if it was seonwoo people would have noticed in a heartbeat. these behaviours of a 2years removed teenager, again, are "normal" for his age, but should not be directed at someone who is 12 years older, and who sees said behaviours like they are: juvenile reactions of a guy with a crush.

i love your take about seonwoo seeing younghee as projection of himself, who couldn't live his life as a queer man in his 20s. bc whenever he is with younghee (i think of when they come back that lil twirl thing he does before opening the door), seonwoo just lets his younger self heal, but that is not romance. when seonwoo is with seongho he appears more reliable, friendlier, fonder. still, i can't call it romance on account that their age up is still 9 years.

anyway these are my observations, i don't know if i missed the mark on some aspects. so id love your take on them

have an amazing day!!

first off, apologies for taking so long to reply to this ask, but I find it rather interesting, and frustrating, that so much of what you said here still stands true for seonwoo and yonghee despite it being weeks later. and now that he’s removed from the sungho and junsung situation, I think it’s interesting that he acts so differently around people that are his friends vs people he still has some kind of romantic connection to, like he has made progress and moved forward in his relationship to both sungho and junsung with the help of hindsight and has managed to realise a lot of the places where he fell short in his actions. but bc he refuses to resolve the situation with yonghee, he can’t get to that point where hindsight helps him see how he’s made mistakes and his actions have caused hurt.

what I think these two need is to enter a relationship where they aren’t thinking about things so seriously. seonwoo needs a relationship where he can be at ease and have fun and feel secure and like he doesn’t have to please, he just needs to relax, and I don’t think yonghee can give him that bc he is being so serious with his feelings, with the strength and passion of them, that it puts seonwoo on this pedestal, and he would do anything for him, which means that he can’t see or won’t call out any of his flaws, which someone needs to do. despite how hard and emotional it was, look at how deeply it affected minsung for hyungjun to call him out on something. I think seonwoo needs that, someone strong enough and that cares enough to say something to him with kindness and clarity. just look at how effective and rewarding it was for him to learn something from sungho and see a different side of himself. he needs someone to see him, and not glorify him like yonghee does, and in turn yonghee needs someone that he can be calm around, someone that tells him to tone it down, that he doesn’t need to be actively trying to sell himself and show his good sides and change for a relationship, bc at his age that’s not something he should be taught as the correct thing to be doing. like he is enough, he is so enough, and changing himself to earn someone’s affection not only doesn’t work, but isn’t something he should feel like he needs to do. he has this incorrect notion that doing all this and trying so hard is romantic, and it can be when the other person sees and appreciates it, and when it doesn’t come at the cost of losing yourself, but by not saying anything against it, seonwoo just lets yonghee continue to believe that this is a romantic thing to do, when he needs to be told straight. and this thing he has with yonghee reminding him of his first love and more generally of being young and having those youthful, strong romantic feelings, it’s almost like he doesn’t want to crush that, he wants to hold onto this memory of him falling in love that strongly and not hurt that part of him he sees in yonghee that would have to be so strong and brave to behave this way, he doesn’t want to crush it.

I just think the relationship they have is so interesting bc I do think there are feelings there, but the strength of them and where they come from is so unequal, it doesn’t feel like they’re engaging with who each other actually are, instead they see these ideals of romance in each other that they want to chase and hold onto. and I think the kindest thing I can say about both of them is that they deserve to find someone that loves and values them for the people they actually are

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

@fictionalcreator

Currently rereading the novel for my fic and my god, Cale really do be the little shit type. Man's out here spouting bullshit left and right. He thinks he's scamming other people but he's running the biggest scam on himself??

Like what do you mean you're scamming the Jungle by putting out their fire in exchange for land? That's called employment?? What sort of job did you do before?

What do you mean you're gonna use On and Hong, and force Choi Han to pay for his meals? You're gonna scam Eruhaben, or put Raon to work? Saved Hannah and Jack, using them to topple the Empire? They already wanted to do that, dumbass. You give these people food, a house, affection and mental stability, and you think you're scamming them?

Man's biggest scam is deluding himself.

The funniest thing is reading about how at one point, Adin considers the two of them to be alike. Meanwhile, Cale's out here kicking ass and taking names with the power of friendship.

[tyrantisterror]

Fuck it, I didn't want to make a post on this but it's bugging the hell out of me so let's exorcize the thought.

Lilo and Stitch is an extremely good children's movie. I've been working at a daycare for over five years now, and out of all the children's movies I've shown to an auidence of twenty or so school-age kids (i.e. between the ages of 5 and 12), the only movie that's held their attention as well as Lilo and Stitch is The Emperor's New Groove, and the only one that's held it better is An American Tail. Of those three, Lilo and Stitch has won the vote of "what movie we will watch" the most. It not only entertains kids, but emotionally captivates them from start to finish, because it very thoroughly understands how to engage children on their level. It's a smart, tightly written children's movie.

The feat of story-telling genius it pulls of lies in its ability to reach both where children's imaginations want to go and where their lived real-world experiences lie - most children's movies focus on one or the other, but Lilo and Stitch dives deep into both. On the imagination side, there's Stitch's whole plotline of being a little alien monster being chased by other weirdo aliens onto earth because they want to stop him from running amok and causing havoc (which, of course, happens anyway in fun cartoony comedy/action spectacle). On the real-world side, you have Lilo's plotline of being a troubled little girl who has an abundance of very real problems that, like an actual child, she struggles to comprehend and deal with, as well as the many adults in her life that care about her to some degree but all struggle to fully understand her. Kids want to be Stitch and run amok and cause cartoony havoc. Kids, even the least-troubled kids, relate to Lilo, because all of them have been in a similar situation as her at least once in their lives.

Balancing these two very different stories, with very different tones and scopes to their respective conflicts, is a hard writing task, but Lilo and Stitch manages to do it in a way that seems effortless with one very powerful trick. The two plots are direct mirrors to each other, complete with the characters involved in each having foils in the respective plot. To break it down:

Stitch, the wild and destructive alien gremlin who everyone has labeled as a crime against existence, is Lilo, the troubled young girl who's viewed as a "problem child" by all the adults in her life. In both plotlines, Stitch and Lilo are facing the threat of being "taken away" from the life they know because they act out, and in both plotlines, we see that this is an unfathomably cruel thing to do to them and will not actually solve the problems they have.

Dr. Jumbaa, the mad scientist who made Stitch because making monsters is what mad scientists do, and who had no intentions of ever being nurturing or parental to anything or anyone in his life, is Nani, Lilo's older sister whose parents died when she was young and now is forced to act as a parental substitute despite not being mentally or emotionally prepared for that responsibility yet. Both Dr. Jumbaa and Nani are trying to get their respective wild children in line with what society wants them to be, and both are struggling hard with it because they in turn have a lot of growing to do before they can actually accomplish that.

Pleakley, the nebbish alien bureaucrat who ends up being assigned to help Dr. Jumbaa despite being mostly uninvolved in creating the whole Stitch situation, is David, the nice but mostly ineffectual guy who's crushing on Nani and wants to help her but doesn't really have much he can provide except emotional support. Ultimately Pleakley and David prove that said emotional support is a lot more helpful than it seems on the surface, as they give Jumbaa and Nani respectively a lot of the pushes they need to become better in their parental roles.

The Grand Councilwoman, who runs the society of aliens that is trying to banish Stitch forever for his crime of existing, is Cobra Bubbles, the Child Protective Services agent who is in charge of deciding whether or not Lilo needs to be taken away from her home forever for, ostensibly, her own good. Both are well-intentioned and stern, with a desire to follow the rules of society and do what procedure says is the most humane thing to do in this situation, but both lack the understanding of Stitch/Lilo's situation to actually help until the end of the movie.

Finally, we have Captain Gantu, the enforcer of the Galactic Council who is a mean, aggressive, sadistic brute but is viewed as a "good guy" by society because he plays by its rules (well, when he knows can't get away with breaking them, anyway), who is the counterpart of Myrtle, the mean, aggressive, sadistic schoolyard bully who is viewed as a "good kid" by other adults because she plays by the rules they established (well, when she knows she can't get away with breaking them, anyway). Both Gantu and Myrtle are, in truth, much nastier in temperament than Stitch and Lilo, but are better at hiding it in front of others and so get away with it, and often make Stitch and Lilo look worse in the eyes of others by provoking them to violence and then playing the victim about it - in fact, both even have the same line, "Does this look infected to you?", which they say after goading their respective wild-child victims into biting them.

The symmetry of these two plotlines allows them to actually feed into each other and build each other up instead of fighting each other for screentime. The fantastical nature of Stitch's plot adds whimsy to the far more realistic problems that Lilo faces so they don't get too heavy for the children in the audience, while the very real struggles of Lilo in her plotline bleed over into Stitch's plot and make both very emotionally poignant. When both plotlines hit their shared climax, they reach children on a emotional level few other movies can match - the terror of Lilo being taken away from her family, and the emotional complexity of that problem (Cobra Bubbles pointing to Lilo's ruined house and shouting at Nani, "IS THIS WHAT LILO NEEDS?" is so starkly real and heart-breaking), is matched and echoed in the visual splendor and mania of the spectacular no-way-this-is-going-to-work chase scene where Stitch, Nani, Jumbaa, and Pleakley all team up to rescue Lilo from Gantu.

The arcs of the characters all more or less line up. Nani confronts her own failures to be a guardian and parent to Lilo and resolves to do better and learn from her mistakes. Jumbaa, who through most of the movie protests to be evil and uncaring, nonetheless comes to not only care for Pleakley, but more importantly for Stitch too, and ends up assuming the role he never wanted but nonetheless forced himself into from the start: he is Stitch's family. Hell, the moment that reveals this is really clever - Stitch goes out into the wilderness to try and re-enact a scene from a storybook of The Ugly Duckling, hoping, in a very childish way, that his family will show up and love him. Jumbaa arrives and, coldly but not particularly cruelly, tells Stitch that he has no family - that Stitch wasn't born, but created in a lab by Jumbaa himself. But in that moment Jumbaa is proving himself wrong - because Stitch's creator, his parent, DID show up, and did exactly what happens in the story by telling Stitch the truth of what he is. It can't be a surprise, then, that later in the movie Jumbaa ends up deciding to side with Stitch, to help him save Lilo, and to stay on Earth with his child.

David and Pleakley go from being pushed away by Nani and Jumbaa respectively to essentially becoming their partners in the family. The Grand Councilwoman and Cobra Bubbles finally see how cruel their initial solution of isolating Stitch and Lilo from their family would be, and bend the rules they are supposed to enforce to protect and support this weird found family instead of breaking it apart. Gantu and Myrtle are recognized for the assholes they are and face comeuppance in the form of comedic slapstick pratfalls. And most importantly, Stitch and Lilo both get the emotional support and understanding they need to thrive and live happy lives as children should be allowed to do. It's like poetry, it rhymes.

It's a very precise, smartly written movie. It's a delicate balancing act of tone and emotions, with a very strong theme about the need for family and understanding that hits children in their hearts and imaginations. It's extremely well structured.

...

So it'd be kind of colossally fucking stupid to remake it and start fucking around with the core structure of it, chopping out pieces and completely altering others, with no real purpose beyond "Well, the executives thought it might be better if we did this."

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

wait, Derin how did your leaving make the hospital shut down?

I used to work as a live-in nanny for a pediatrician.

Now, the thing about hospitals in my country is that they are massively understaffed and massively underfunded. This is especially true outside the major cities. The staff are worked to the bone and receive little to no help in things like finding accommodation or childcare, making working in rural areas a very uninviting prospect; staff come out here, get lumped with the work of three people (because there's nobody else to do it), burn out under the workload and leave, meaning that those remaining have even more work because that person is gone. It's unsustainable and the medical staff are doing their best to sustain it, because people die if they don't, so to the higher-ups it looks like everything's getting done and therefore everything is fine.

My friend (and boss) worked one week on, one week off, swapping out with another pediatrician. This was necessary because it would not be physically possible for one person to handle the workload for longer periods of time. The one single pediatrician had to hold up the entire pediatrics ward, which was not only the only public hospital pediatrics ward in our town, but also the one that served all the towns around us for a few hours' drive in all directions. I regularly saw her go to work sick, aching, tired, or with a debilitating 'I can barely make words or see' level migraine, because if she took a day off, twenty children didn't get healthcare that day, and some of these kids' appointments were scheduled weeks in advance. She'd work long hours in the day and then be called in a couple of times overnight for an hour or two at a time (she was on-call at night too, because somebody had to be), and then go in the next day. Sometimes she would be forced to take a day off because she physically could not stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time, meaning she couldn't drive to work.

Cue my niece's second birthday coming up in Melbourne. I'd been working for her for about 3 years, and she (and the hospital) had plenty of advance warning that I (and therefore she) needed one (1) Friday off. That's fine, we'll find someone to work that Friday, the hospital said. Right up until the last week where they're like "oh, we can't find a replacement; you can come in, can't you?"

No, she tells them; I don't have anyone to watch my kid that day.

Oh, surely you can hire a babysitter for this one day, they say. Think of the children! We really really need you to work that day. I know we said it'd be fine but we need you now, there's no one else to do it.

There are no other babysitters, she told them. Unless you can find one?

That's not our responsibility, they said.

But I'm not changing my plans, she's got plans by now as well, the hospital knew about this one day weeks in advance, and with absolutely no reserve staff they're forced to reschedule all pediatrics appointments for that Friday. Not a huge deal, it happens on the 'physically too overworked to get out of bed' days too. I go to Melbourne, she goes back to her home in Adelaide for her recovery week, all should be on track.

My niece gives me Covid.

This was way back in the first wave of the pandemic, and there were no Covid vaccines yet. The rules were isolate, mask up, hope. I had Covid in the house, and it would've been madness for my friend and her toddler to come back into the Covid house instead of staying in Adelaide. There was absolutely no way that a pediatrician could live with someone in quarantine due to Covid and go to work in the hospital with sick children every day. And no support existed for finding another babysitter, or temporary accommodation, so the hospital was down a pediatrician.

The other pediatrician wasn't available to do a three-week stint. They were also trapped in Adelaide on their well-earned week off.

Meaning that the only major pediatrics ward within a several-hour radius had no pediatricians. They had to shut down and send all urgent cases to Adelaide for the week. To the complete absence of surprise of any of the doctors or nurses; of course this would happen, this was bound to happen, it presumably keeps happening. But probably to the surprise of the higher-ups. After all, the hospital was doing fine, right? Of course all the staff were complaining of overwork and a lack of resources in every meeting, but they could always be fobbed off with the promise of more help sometime in the future; the work was mostly getting done, so the issue couldn't be too urgent.

It's not like some nanny who doesn't even work for the hospital could go out of town for a weekend for the first time in three years, and get the only public pediatrics ward in the area shut down for a week.

[sunni-stuff]

Part 4

Soap’s eyebrows lifted with a curious glint in his eye as he looked from you to Adira, a playful grin edging onto his face. He leaned in, never one to miss a chance at a bit of friendly prodding.

“So… you’re married?” he asked, his tone as light as his smirk.

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Haha! No, I’m not.” You gave Adira’s tiny hand a gentle squeeze, glancing down at her with a smile that softened every edge on your face. 

Soap tilted his head, pretending to be shocked. “A bonnie lass like yerself? Unmarried?” he teased, hand on his chest as though it were a crime.

“Guess I’m a rare breed,” you replied with a grin, chuckling as you shifted Adira’s hand in yours.

Soap’s face lit up at your response, as if he’d just been given the most interesting bit of news he’d heard all week. He shot Ghost a quick look, but Ghost was still watching Adira, his gaze softened with something unreadable.

Meanwhile, Gaz wasn't fascinated by Soap's ability to make anyone at ease, the man was a cassanova. Roach watched Adira with curiosity, as though piecing together a puzzle he hadn’t realized existed until now. Price stood off to the side, arms crossed, silently observing the whole scene.

“If you aren’t married, how’d you get this little one?” Soap pushed, grinning as he wiggled a playful finger in Adira’s direction.

Adira’s gaze snapped up from Ghost to the man with the funny hair, her little brow furrowing as she studied Soap with a mix of curiosity and caution. She leaned into your leg, clearly wary, but her attention stayed on the finger waving in front of her.

You chuckled, brushing a hand over Adira’s head to reassure her. “Long story,” you replied, smiling. “Let’s just say she was an unexpected blessing.”

Soap laughed softly, glancing at Ghost with a gleam in his eye. “Ah, aye, life’s full of surprises, eh?” 

Ghost, who had been studying Adira in silence, clenched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably as Soap’s words hit a little too close to home.

“I used to be really wild back in the day,” you admitted with a sheepish grin, a hint of nostalgia coloring your tone as you thought back to those not-so-distant years.

Soap wasn’t quite done yet, though. “Does the father know?” he threw a quick glance at Ghost, who had just risen from his crouched position. A new tension ran through Ghost’s frame, his stance rigid, as if the question had struck something he’d rather not confront.

You hesitated, a shadow crossing your expression before you shook your head. “No, he doesn’t… He, uh, probably has no idea.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering from you to Adira, who was absorbed in her drink, unaware of the intensity surrounding her. His shoulders stiffened, and for a split second, he looked as though he wanted to speak—but whatever words he had caught in his throat, locked behind his silence.

"I see, well. I'm sorry if I took up your time, ma’am, you've been a nice chat," Soap said, his voice softening with a touch of politeness, his grin still present but more reserved now.

You nodded, giving Adira’s hand a gentle tug as you continued on your way, the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound accompanying your steps. The blue sky stretched above, peaceful, serene. As you walked, Adira turned her head, glancing back at Ghost one final time. She refused to let go of her cup, her small fingers gripping it tightly, but she lifted her other hand in a small, hesitant wave. "Bye-bye," she whispered, her voice soft but sweet.

Ghost’s gaze lingered, but he didn’t move. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of things churning behind those eyes. 

Price let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms and facing Ghost. “So... what’s the plan?” he asked, his tone both blunt and expectant, clearly waiting for some kind of direction. The rest of the team stood in silence, watching the exchange unfold.

Ghost didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained on you and Adira, watching you both disappear further down the street, the distance growing with each step. The soft crunch of snow under your boots was the only sound in the quiet winter air. He didn’t even notice Price's voice until the man spoke again, closer now, with a slight edge to his tone.

"Ghost, talk to me. What’s the plan here?”

Finally, Ghost shifted, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched as he turned to face Price. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something caught between anger, confusion, and a deep, gnawing regret.

"I don't know," he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips. "I wasn't expecting this. Hell, I didn't even know she existed." His voice was low, strained, but there was a quiet honesty to it, as if he was trying to process something that didn’t make sense.

Soap stepped closer, his expression serious for once. "What now, Ghost? We can help. But you need to tell us what's going on."

Ghost finally looked away, his attention drawn to the ground, his fingers twitching like he was trying to find something to hold onto. "I don't even know where to start," he admitted. "All I know is... I saw her. And it hit me like a fucking truck."

Roach, always one to stay in the background, spoke up. “Maybe it’s time to talk to her, yeah? Figure out where to go from here?”

Price’s eyes narrowed, his stern gaze shifting to Ghost, assessing him. “And what exactly do you want from us? You’re in this, whether you like it or not.”

Ghost let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “But I can’t just let her slip away.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, as the weight of the situation settled in. Then, slowly, Ghost nodded. “I’ll figure it out. Just… not now. Not here.” His eyes flicked toward the street where you had disappeared, and something in his gaze softened, just for a moment, before the mask fell back into place.

Price gave a single nod. "Alright. But we stick together on this. You’re not doing it alone, Ghost."

The team stood together for a moment longer, the wind howling through the alley, before they slowly began to move, their steps trailing off into the winter evening. The silence that hung between them was thick with uncertainty. No one knew what came next, but they knew one thing for sure: whatever happened, they were in this together.

A month passed, the team giving Ghost the space he needed to process the whirlwind that had hit him. They all knew this was something he had to handle on his own terms, but that didn't mean the questions didn't linger. What did it mean for the future? What did he want? The answers were still unclear, even to Ghost himself.

But Soap, ever the persistent one, wasn’t content to let things sit in limbo. He knew Ghost, knew how his mind worked, and that sometimes the best way to breakthrough was to take small steps. And if that meant subtly nudging you into the picture, then so be it. He’d always been good at this—at slipping in the background, making things happen without anyone noticing.

So, Soap started to "accidentally" run nto you. At the park, when you were out with Adira, he'd make sure to be in the same place at the same time, offering a casual greeting. It always started simple, harmless, with a nod or a small comment about the weather. Then, of course, there was that coffee shop where you'd gone to get hot chocolate for Adira.

The first time he "bumped" into you there, it was nothing more than a quick exchange. A question about the drink, a comment on the cold weather, just the usual small talk. But Johnny's natural charm and ease made you relax, and made the conversation flow without much effort. Over time, those small moments grew. You'd smile when you'd see him, and he'd greet you with the same friendly energy, always leaving you feeling at ease. No pressure, just casual.

And slowly, ever so slowly, Johnny began to warm you up to the idea of him. It wasn't much at first—a smile here, a shared laugh there—but he knew what he was doing. He wasn't pushing, just letting the connection build at its own pace. The more you saw him, the more comfortable you felt. The more you talked, the more you found yourself enjoying the interactions, even if they were brief.

One evening, Johnny sat beside you on the park bench, casually leaning back as Adira bounced around in the snow, her laughter filling the crisp air. The sound was contagious, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, watching her with a soft smile.

"So, me and a couple friends are meeting up at Leslie's this weekend," Johnny said, his tone light but with a hint of something more. "Would you be interested?"

You snorted, expecting the usual joke or teasing, but when you glanced over at him, his expression was far more serious than you anticipated. For a moment, you considered dismissing it. After all, Leslie's? A pub? That was a far cry from the cozy routine you’d built for yourself with Adira. 

“Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think I fit the scene."

Johnny shrugged nonchalantly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that playful grin of his. “Please. It'll just be like old times.”

Your mind immediately wandered, trying to understand what he meant by that. What was it about old times that Johnny thought might appeal to you? You didn’t exactly have a wild past to cling to. Sure, you’d had your moments, but those felt long behind you now. 

Still, something about the invitation lingered. A night out... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. You hadn’t done anything for you in a while. And maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to let someone else take care of the night for once. No worrying about Adira, no responsibilities for a few hours. Just some fun, whatever that meant now.

You hesitated, looking down at Adira as she made another snow angel, oblivious to the conversation happening nearby. She’d be fine, right? And you could leave if things felt uncomfortable. 

“Alright,” you finally said, meeting Johnny’s gaze with a reluctant but genuine smile. "I'll join you. But only if it’s not as crazy as you’re making it sound." 

Johnny’s grin widened, and you could tell he was already mentally planning the evening, no doubt with some plan to ease you in without overwhelming you. He stood up, dusting off the snow on his pants as he glanced back at you.

“Deal. I’ll make sure it’s a night to remember.”

You just hoped he wasn’t overselling it.

The weekend seemed to arrive so fast, and here you were, standing outside your apartment, nervously adjusting your blue blouse and jeans. It wasn’t exactly the type of outfit you thought would fit a night out, but it was the best you could do. Most of your wardrobe these days consisted of comfortable clothes, ones that could be easily changed or wiped clean in case Adira had another of her toddler mishaps. Sexy or flirty clothes were a distant memory, tucked away in a drawer somewhere, gathering dust.

Adira stood in the doorway, clutching her little stuffed bear to her chest, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. The sight hit you harder than you expected. You knelt down in front of her, your heart sinking at the sight of her teary eyes. “I’ll be back in a couple hours, I promise,” you said, your voice gentle but firm, reaching out to her with a reassuring smile.

Adira sniffled, her tiny hand coming up to rub her eyes, but she didn’t break her stare. You held out your pinky, the gesture as familiar as breathing. Slowly, she reached out, her small finger wrapping around yours with the same trust she always had. The connection was brief, but it felt like a promise, one that you hoped would calm her.

"I won't be out long," you said softly to the friend you’d left with her. "And you, be good for Auntie too." The last part was directed at Adira, though the words felt bittersweet on your tongue.

Adira nodded, but her face still held that sadness, that uncertainty of what the night would bring without you. 

Standing up, you ruffled her hair and offered a small, hopeful smile. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just a little fun for Mama, okay?”

Her small nod didn’t do much to ease the tightness in your chest, but you turned and gave her one last look before stepping outside. The cool evening air wrapped around you, a contrast to the warmth of the apartment behind you, but you pushed the feeling away. Tonight was for you, however strange that sounded. 

Locking the door behind you, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t just any night out. It was a night with Johnny, with his friends, with the possibility of reconnecting to parts of yourself you’d set aside for so long.

Arriving outside the establishment, the familiar hum of chatter and music filled the night air, but what caught your attention first was Johnny standing outside, leaning against the brick wall, checking his watch. The moment his eyes met yours, they lit up, his expression shifting from casual to something almost... eager. 

“Well, well, look at you,” he said with that trademark wink of his, his gaze raking over you with a genuine appreciation that made you feel suddenly self-conscious. “You clean up well.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. It was hard to resist the easy charm of Johnny.

“Let’s just hope I survive this night,” you muttered, though the words were more for yourself than him. You weren’t sure what to expect tonight, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that things might not go as smoothly as Johnny seemed to think.

Johnny chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. “I’m sure you will. Now, let’s get going before I change my mind.”

With that, you fell into step beside him, the weight of your hand at your side suddenly feeling strange in the cool night air. He led you toward the door, and as you entered the dimly lit space of the bar, your eyes scanned the room. 

It was bustling, a mix of regulars and newcomers, all seeking solace or company for the night. It smelled of beer, whiskey, and the faintest hint of fried food, a familiar and welcoming kind of atmosphere. But as soon as you stepped inside, your nerves shot back up again. You tried not to let the nerves show, but they were there, itching under your skin.

What you didn’t notice, as you made your way to the bar, was the group inside. Ghost, Price, Gaz, Roach—quietly observing, waiting for their chance to either speak to you or simply let you slip through their fingers once more. Ghost’s eyes tracked you the moment you stepped inside, and there was a hesitation in his gaze, something raw and almost pained that flickered in and out. 

For a moment, Ghost didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply watched you, aware that the moment he’d been dreading—he had finally stumbled into. Your gaze met his across the room, the flicker of recognition passing between you both. But that was it. You didn’t remember. You didn’t know him. You didn’t know what he was to you.

Approaching the bar, you saw that Johnny was already leaning in, chatting with the bartender, exchanging friendly banter. You barely heard the words, only caught up in the feeling that something was different. Something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced back at the table where those men sat. They weren’t talking, but their eyes were all trained on you, as if waiting for something to happen.

Your heart raced without explanation. Ghost’s eyes—those eyes—stayed locked on you. He didn’t know how to approach, how to change what had already seemingly been set in stone. What was he supposed to say? What was the plan now that you were here, so close? God, why the fuck did johnny do this.

Johnny leaned toward you again, a soft smile curling his lips. “You good, love?” he asked, his voice pulling you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You forced a smile, trying to ignore the uneasy tension brewing in your chest. “Just... getting used to being out.”

Johnny winked again, oblivious to the chaos of emotions swirling within you. “It’s all good. Let’s have some fun tonight, yeah?”

Ghost’s fist clenched involuntarily under the table. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this distance, this silent acknowledgment of his role, or how long he could ignore what it meant to see you here now. 

“You’ll fit right in,” Johnny said, though there was a hint of something deeper behind his words. “Just a bunch of mates enjoying a drink, nothing crazy.” Johnny leads you over to the table, you expected to be met with… well you didn't quite know what.  

Price leaned back in his seat, cigar in hand, a soft smile on his weathered face as he regarded you with a raised brow. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

"Neither did I," you muttered under your breath, forcing a smile and doing your best to ignore the gnawing feeling that lingered when you looked at him. You hadn’t quite expected this part of the evening.

“I’m just here for a drink, nothing more,” you said, looking over at Johnny was getting comfortable in his chair.

“Well, pull up a seat, love,” Price said, motioning to the empty spot next to him. “We’re all friends here.”

You hesitated but made your way over, perching yourself on the seat next to him. The sound of the glass being slid toward you, the clink of ice against glass, broke through the chatter around you. Your nerves buzzed as you focused on the drink in front of you, trying to ignore the sudden realization of just how different this was from the quiet, routine life you had at home with Adira.

“Enjoy yourself,” Price said with an air of casual amusement, leaning back in his chair. “This is all new for you, isn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to admit just how out of place you felt in the moment. Instead, you took a sip of your drink, the burn of whiskey warming you from the inside out.

You laugh lightly, a bit awkwardly, trying to shake off the nerves that gnawed at you. "Yeah, this all a bit... newish. I haven't been out like this in years honestly," you admit, taking a deep breath and glancing around the bar. The warmth of the space was a welcome contrast to the chill outside, but the sight of the men made you feel more like a fish out of water than ever.

Johnny claps you on the back with an easy grin, clearly trying to make you feel more comfortable. “These are my mates. Price, Kyle, Gary, and Simon," he introduces with a flourish, motioning to each man in turn. 

You give them all a polite smile, not quite sure what to make of them just yet. There was something about the way they carried themselves, all standing a little apart from the crowd, that made it clear they were more than just regulars at the pub. But you didn’t have time to focus too much on that right now. You were trying to just survive the night.

Price, who looked a bit older than the rest, nods at you, his gaze thoughtful, almost cautious. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a tone that is polite but distant, as though he’s waiting for something, some sign.

Kyle, as Johnny had called him—gives you a friendly nod, a playful glint in his eyes, but there's a strange sharpness to his look that you can’t quite place. “Pleasure," he says, offering you a tight smile.

Gary simply gives you a quick but sincere nod. His eyes linger on you just long enough for you to catch a flicker of interest before he looks away.

And then there’s Simon. His presence, as always, is quieter, more intense. He’s sitting in the middle, arms crossed, his gaze fixed directly on you. You can feel the weight of it, though. It’s impossible not to. There was something you couldn't place with him though you couldn’t see too well under the dim light.

You try to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. “Nice to meet you all," you reply, your voice warmer than you feel. 

Johnny, oblivious to the awkwardness in the air, slaps the bar and gives a nod. “Alright, drinks all around, yeah? Let’s get this party started!” he declares, pulling the group into the rhythm of the night.

As the revelry began your stomach churns slightly, a sense of unease still lingering despite the distraction. You knew something was off, something you couldn’t quite put into words. It wasn’t just the men—it was the way Simon’s gaze lingered on you, the way he looked at you as if he were waiting for something. It unsettled you, but you couldn’t figure out why.

Johnny, seemingly oblivious to your tension, slides a drink toward you. “First round’s on me," he grins, the clink of glass against the table snapping you back to the present. "Here’s to a good night.”.

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the nerves that still clung to you. This was supposed to be a night out, after all. A chance to shake off the past, to let loose just a little. You couldn’t let the weight of everything pull you under before you even tried. What would be the point if you didn’t at least try and enjoy yourself?

Shaking the tension from your shoulders, you took a sip of your drink, the burn of alcohol easing the knot in your stomach just slightly. The guys were chatting among themselves, Johnny’s laughter cutting through the low hum of the bar as he joked with Kyle. Price was listening intently, nodding along while Gary seemed content to let the others talk, his eyes occasionally flicking to you, though his gaze didn’t linger long.

And then there was Simon.

His presence loomed even when he wasn’t speaking, his broad frame leaning against the bar just slightly, face half hidden by the shadows. You caught his eyes for a split second, the intensity of his stare making your pulse hitch. You quickly looked away, focusing on your drink, your nerves creeping back up despite the effort to push them aside.

You could feel his gaze on you, though, like a weight pressing against your back. You tried not to let it show, tried not to acknowledge how his proximity seemed to pull at something inside you, but it was impossible to ignore. There was a pull, something in the air, but you couldn’t quite grasp it.

Sighing inwardly, you turned your attention back to the others. Just enjoy yourself, you remind yourself again. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of it.

Johnny clinked his glass against yours, a grin on his face. “Here’s to not letting the night pass us by,” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile back, lifting your glass.

“Cheers,” you said, the warmth of the alcohol giving you just the nudge you needed to ease into the evening. For now, you’d ignore the tight feeling in your chest. You’d enjoy yourself. 

But the eyes that lingered on you would remain, whether you were ready for them or not.

You pushed your chair back with more force than necessary, the scrape of it against the floor loud in the otherwise quiet bar. The conversation still echoed in your ears, but your focus had been on the man, Simon, for the past half hour. His silence had become suffocating, every glance he cast in your direction feeling like it held some hidden meaning. You couldn't quite place it, but something was off about him. His eyes, cold and intense, had followed you too much, made you second guess every word you’d said.

"Im... gonna go powder my nose," you muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else. You didn’t wait for a response, the words barely out of your mouth before you were already making your way across the room, past the low hum of idle chatter and the clink of glasses.

While you were in the bathroom, the entire team turned their attention towards Ghost, each of them sizing him up, starting with Soap.

"What is wrong with you?" Soap asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"What?" Simon blinked, genuinely confused.

"Mate, you've been gawking at her all night," Gaz added, raising an eyebrow, his voice teasing but laced with concern.

"Shit. Are you serious?" Simon muttered, running a hand through his hair, but his gaze didn't stray far from where you had just disappeared.

Roach, leaning back casually with his drink in hand, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's like you’ve been stuck in a staring contest with her since she walked in."

Price, who had been watching quietly, shook his head with a resigned sigh. He snuffed out his cigar in the nearby ashtray, eyes narrowing as he met Simon's gaze. "If you scared her off, I doubt you’ll get another chance, lad."

Simon’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t realized how obvious it had been, but now that the team was calling him out on it, he felt the heat rise in his chest. He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable, but the pull to look at you, to remember what had sparked your connection all those years ago had been almost magnetic.

“Alright, alright,” Soap teased, leaning in, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just don't burn a hole in her head.”

“Shut up,” Simon muttered, his mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix this without making things worse.

Price shared a look with the rest of the team, a silent understanding passing between them. While Soap might have been the one to set this whole thing in motion, it didn't mean the others didn't have contingencies in place. 

Soap got up first, stretching a bit. “Gonna make sure no one's tried to get in my car,” he said with a casual tone.

“I’ll come with you,” Gaz chimed in, already pushing himself up from his seat and following Soap toward the door.

A minute later, Roach also stood, excusing himself without a word, and then Price followed suit, his movements deliberate. “I’m gonna make sure they’re not up to anything,” he said with a knowing glance.

With everyone out of the immediate area, the bar suddenly felt quieter, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken. It took Ghost only a second for it all to click—he had been set up. Without thinking, he bolted from his seat, rushing outside just in time to catch the taillights of Soap's car disappearing down the street.

He cursed under his breath, but before he could make another move, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen. There, in simple words from Price: 

“Good luck.”

Ghost stood still for a moment, phone in hand, as the weight of the situation hit him. His heart thudded in his chest. This was it. There was no turning back now.

By the time you returned to the table, you felt a bit more at ease. The night out wasn’t all that bad… it was just that Johnny had some weird taste in friends. Well, mostly the tall one. You couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to have left, a pit forming in your stomach at the thought of being ditched.

You let out a quiet sigh, about to gather your things and head out when your phone lit up in your purse. Pulling it out, you saw a text from Johnny. 

"Emergency, looks like one of the beers wasn't that good, poor Kyle threw up."

You paused, reading the message again, a small smile tugging at your lips. Aww… nevermind. At least they hadn’t forgotten about you after all. 

"Hope he's okay." You replied quickly, grabbing the straps of your bag when suddenly a hand landed on top of yours.

You looked up, meeting the intense gaze of Simon. Seriously? You couldn’t help but think. They took everyone but this guy?

You forced a smile, trying to pull your hand away, but Simon’s grip was firm, not unkind. “Look, I had a decent time, but I have to go—”

“Just a minute,” he interrupted, his voice low, steady, almost pleading. There was something about the way he said it that made you pause, something different than the usual small talk.

"Fine." The word slipped out before you could process it, and you cursed yourself inwardly. Really? You just agreed to stay with the guy who hadn’t stopped staring since you met him. You sat back down, and he mirrored you, settling across the table. 

Silence stretched between you, his intense gaze unwavering. He didn’t so much as blink, and you couldn’t help but feel more unsettled by the second.

What the hell is his deal?

“Look, if you're just going to be a creep, I don't think I want to mee—"

“Do you remember Armed Forces Day?” His voice cut through your words, quiet but resolute.

Okay, this took all day, I wanted to give you all something long to read incase I disappear for finals (which I might)

Reblogs appreciated!!!

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WOWWW LOOK AT ALL THESE NAMES. Thank you all so much for the support!! Im sorry if i missed any, I will update if I noticed any missing or comment on those who's tags didnt go through!

[sttoru]

Trueform sukuna who never kisses his concubines. EXCEPT he only kisses his favorite concubine aka reader 😞🎀

𝝑𝑒 synopsis. you’re the only one deserving of lord sukuna’s.. direct affection.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!reader. fluff, suggestive at most. uhh exhibitionism ? kinda but nothing crazy sexual happens, so pda. size difference. reader gets called ‘doll.’

you’re standing at the entrance of the estate, along with some other concubines. four of them. uraume is there with you as well. you’re all awaiting the one person you’re serving; ryomen sukuna.

it’s silent. the women don’t dare to speak up nor do they dare address you in a menacing manner because of uraume’s presence. you’re thankful for them. you really don’t want to have another petty fight with the concubines. not before your little trip to the village nearby.

you’re all accompanying sukuna to meet up with an infamous clan leader. it’s official business, but you’re needed as a sign of your lord’s high status. you’re basically his trophies that he likes to show off.

“interesting choice of clothing,” sukuna finally shows up. you all bow, showing respect. you look up and only then realise that he’s addressing you. his eyes wander over your figure, “who’s chosen that for you?”

you glance down at your kimono. it’s a beautiful red—suiting the color of sukuna’s eyes. your hair is put up in a neat bun, with a matching crimson hairpin that represented who you belong to.

him.

“my lady-in-waiting, my lord,” you say quietly. you cannot see it, yet can easily feel it; the jealous glares from the four women. they’re dressed in the exact same color red, yet their lord hasn’t paid them any mind. not even a glance.

sukuna just hums in response and makes a mental note of your answer. at least his human servants are good for something. he continues to shamelessly check you out.

“lord sukuna,” uraume interrupts carefully. they bow their head once the king of curses looks their way with a stoic expression, “we’ll have to leave now if we wish to make it there at dawn.”

it’s a gentle reminder, but there’s some urgency in their voice. sukuna rolls his eyes—he may have some official business, but he’s not attending that. not before taking care of other more important stuff first. “silence,” he comments to uraume, heavy steps heading your way afterwards.

your eyes meet his. you blink in confusion, eyelashes fluttering. the sight makes sukuna’s hands twitch at his sides. the way you stare up at him with such naïveté is making him want to destroy it.

you’re unsure what sukuna wants from you. as he orders, everyone stays quiet. you watch as his big hands wrap around your body—your waist engulfed by his warm palms. your eyes widen, but before you can question his actions, your lips are sealed by his.

it’s rare that he does this. kissing sukuna is a privilege. one that no one has ever gotten the honour of having, except for you.

you’ve tasted him. you’ve felt his tongue slither against yours. you’ve had his saliva mix with yours. you’ve had him grunting in your mouth.

you’ve had it all.

no one says a thing. even as your feet are lifted from the ground by the sheer strength of sukuna’s grip on your small body. to reach his lips properly, he has to pick you up and hold you against his chest. it’s his favorite thing to do.

“pretty thing,” sukuna coos with a grin. you can feel his lips curling up menacingly against your mouth. it makes you whine. you instantly shut up once you realise that you’re still outside and surrounded by others—who are basically waiting on you two to be done.

you’re embarrassed to the point that you want nothing more than to hide your face against sukuna’s chest. but he will not let you until he’s had his fill. your tongues swirl around each other passionately, followed by him sucking on your bottom lip and biting it with his sharp fangs.

“my lord,” you whine quietly. you know this’ll end up like that one time in the garden. where he shamelessly took you in front of his servants. you’re unsure if it’s a smart thing to do right now. sukuna has an appointment to go to after all.

his mouth doesn’t stop interlocking with yours. his thick fingers tug at the hairs on the back of your neck, causing you to part your lips in surprise. the king of curses takes his chance and explores your warm little mouth. the one that he’s claimed as his the moment you became his concubine.

you tug at his sleeve as a reminder. sukuna grumbles in annoyance, but he knows you’re right; he should let go. his bottom set of eyes dart over to uraume for a second and upon seeing their expressionless yet determined face, he sighs.

all that official business can suck his dick.

sukuna finally detaches his lips from your now wet and swollen ones. you’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. you’re flustered to the point you actually bury your face into sukuna’s chiseled chest. you’re sure this’ll be the only talk around the estate for the upcoming week. you’ll become the victim of some more. . . bullying.

the king of curses notices that you don’t let go of him at all. he grins at the sight of you so desperately clinging onto him. he tries to undo the little mess he made of your once neat hair in the meantime.

“what? want me to carry you all the way there, doll?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, teasing you as per usual. you don’t let go of him since you’re still cooling off. you’ve never really kissed outside of the bedroom. it always happens behind closed doors, so this one time took you by surprise.

you shake your head and plop down on your feet again. “no, my apologies, my lord,” you straighten the material of your kimono and don’t even dare to look at the others. uraume would understand, since they’re used to their lord’s antics, but the concubines will cause big trouble once you’re back home.

sukuna nods in acknowledgment. he still got that evil smirk on his face. his thumb brushes the smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth, cleaning up his mess once again. he’s nice enough to do so today.

“heh.” sukuna lets out an amused chuckle before walking away and ahead of you—the others silently following, as do you. you’re right behind him, on his right side, as he turns his head to yours, “just so y’know, i’m not done with you.”

you know sukuna isn’t. you can easily tell by the way that he didn’t even bother to wipe the lipstick from his own lips. he’s wearing that stain like it’s a medal of sorts. evidence that you’re the only one he’s ever going to show such affection to.

either way; you’re in for one hell of a ride once you’re back from your little business trip.

[bananastarlo]

I see you

childhood friend yandere x shy reader

You two are in the same daycare. He is the complete opposite of you — a loud, confident boy who charms both the adults and the other kids with the big grin he always enters the room with.

You, on the other hand, didn’t stick out too much. Always a bit more hesitant and shy around new people.

One of the things on the agenda today was a field trip.

Having arrived at the destination, the caretakers gave you instructions:

“Okay, little stars. Today is a wonderful day to play a game, don’t you agree?“

The others cheered in agreement.

“We hid clues that you’ll be able to find in this area! So get in pairs, if possible with someone new!“

As the childcare worker claps in her hands, the children scatter around, most of them sticking with their usual friend groups.

However, you stayed back. Nobody came up to you, and you were too anxious to approach the others, fidgeting with the sleeves of your shirt while focusing on the ground with your head low.

The caretaker took notice of your little form and exchanged worried glances with the other adults, slowly drawing near and crouching down to your level.

“Hey, have you found a partner yet?“

You shook your head no.

Reaching out her hand, she kindly offered to find a partner for you.

Yet, before you could take her hand, he appears in front of you — scraped knees, a backwards cap and messy hair — flashing you a boyish grin.

“Come on, let’s go together!“ he chirped, eyes glistening with fondness while yours lit up with happiness.

He took your hand and led you to where his friends were. They couldn’t understand why he refused their offer to pair up, until you showed up, shielded by his body.

As you both were hunting for clues, you felt yourself growing more and more relaxed in his presence.

He always protected you from slimy bugs and held your hand so that you wouldn’t get lost without him.

“You’re now my best friend.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, because he wouldn’t accept you saying no.

And you smiled.

“I like that.”

And the smile you gave him was so genuine, he felt his own heart beating a little more than usual.

You spent the rest of your childhood years sticking to him like glue. You admired him and his presence.

One day, when you were older, you spent time at his house. It was basically yours as well, with how much time you spent there.

Lying next to each other, you faced away from him while he stared at your back, too scared to move.

At times, he could be quiet. He could be soft. But only you were allowed to see this side of him. Only you deserved it.

As he listened to your slow, rhythmic breathing, you turned around.

You weren’t expecting him to be so close — your noses almost touched.

And your stomach flipped at the sight of his half-opened eyes that now widened as much as your own.

He saw it — your pupils, dilated.

His heart began hammering against his ribcage, and he pressed his face into the mattress.

“What?“ you murmured softly.

“N-nothing! You just threw me off guard.”

His response made you chuckle. It was cute to see him without his usual confident tone.

As older teenagers, you both started to see each other differently.

Behind his golden-boy personality and sheepishly handsome face, there was something deeper, a protectiveness directed at you.

He saw you as a woman now. And you, well—

You planned a movie night. Just the two of you.

You’d both been so busy lately, you started to miss his annoying voice and the way he always made you feel right.

As the movie played, you became bored and decided to mess with him a little, just enough to get a reaction.

“Heeey,” you utter, laying your leg on his.

He grinned, showing the dimples you adored so much on him.

But as you started to snuggle up even more and chose to playfully ruffle his messy hair, he became serious.

His hand gently gripped your wrist halfway, and your smile dropped.

“Do you not realize what you’re doing to me? That’s not fair,” his voice croaked — low, with a dangerous hint.

You became nervous and replied, laughing the awkwardness off.

“What do you mean? I’m just playing with you.”

He sighed, propping himself up on top of you, which knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“I’m not the little boy anymore who took these things as innocent gestures. Please acknowledge me as a man. And if you were to do that with every man while being so oblivious… I would rather keep you locked up. Do you understand?”

You couldn’t deny the way that made you feel — more than it should.

[babydollybun]

milk & gunpowder ♡

pairing: leader!rafe cameron x soft!survivor!reader

warnings: dead dove do not eat. dubcon/noncon, captivity, forced domesticity, breeding kink, ddlg undertones, age gap, psychological manipulation, obsession, violence, implied past SA (not by rafe), trauma response, infantilization, soft!bambi-coded reader, predator/prey dynamic, twisted “marriage,” ownership, pet names ("wife," "baby," "sweet girl"), survival horror themes, smut, misogyny, 1950s housewife fantasy meets post-apocalyptic nightmare, extreme possessiveness, sadism masked as love, gunplay, grooming tones. reader is of age. no actual zombies mentioned, but heavily twd/last of us–inspired setting. rafe is unhinged. you have been warned.

you didn’t mean to find his outpost.

the world had crumbled around you, leaving only dust and echoing gunshots in the distance. the air tasted of burnt metal and decay. you’d been running for days—no direction, no hope, just desperation pushing you forward with a few cans of food, a knife you barely knew how to use, and the clothes on your back.

when you stumbled into the camp—cold, starving, alone—you hadn’t expected much. you thought it was another group of survivors, a few weeks into hiding, holed up in some building like the others. you never imagined it would be his camp.

they caught you quickly—too quickly—hands grabbing at you, pulling your arms back in ways that made your head spin, shouting orders you didn’t understand. you saw them—men, dirty, powerful, armed with guns and knives. a few women watched from the shadows—some seemingly content, others hollow-eyed. but they all stared as if you didn’t belong, as if you weren’t meant to be there.

and then, he appeared.

rafe cameron.

you’d seen men like him before—leaders, tyrants, kings. the ones who took what they wanted and didn’t care about the bodies left behind. but rafe was different. he wasn’t just a man. he was a force.

he looked you over, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, his boots scraping against the dirt. his grin was dark, like he was savoring some private joke, and you hated him instantly for it. you opened your mouth to protest, to say you were fine—just lost, just needed help—but his finger pressed against your lips before you could speak.

“shh,” he whispered, his voice smooth yet unyielding, like velvet over steel. “you’re gonna be okay, sweet thing.”

you weren’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t matter. because from that moment, you were his.

—

the first night was the worst.

they threw you into a small room—nothing but a dark corner with a mattress on the floor and cracked, cold walls. you hadn’t seen a window in hours, and the door locked behind you. you could hear the men outside, shouting and laughing, but you were trapped.

your hands shook as you tried to sit on the mattress, the air thick and suffocating.

then, rafe came in.

he didn’t knock. didn’t ask. he just pushed open the door and walked in like he owned the place—and, for all you knew, he did.

his eyes swept over you, curled up, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to make yourself small.

“you scared, baby?” he asked, voice low and teasing, like he didn’t care about the answer.

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

he chuckled, stepping closer. “don’t worry, princess. you’ll get used to this. i’ll take care of you.”

he moved closer, his hand trailing along your cheek, fingers soft but controlling. you flinched, but he didn’t stop.

“i’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, his thumb brushing your lip. “well … not in a way you won’t like.”

you wanted to scream, to run, but there was nowhere to go. you were in his world now.

“you’ll see,” he whispered. “i’ll make sure you don’t have to fight anymore.”

the last thing you heard before he left was his chuckle.

“sweet girl. you’re gonna be just fine.”

—

one: you don’t open the door.

two: you don’t talk to the men.

three: you don’t touch yourself unless he tells you to.

four: you smile when he says to.

five: you sleep in his bed, under him, next to his gun.

and if you break any of them, he doesn’t yell. he just gets quiet. and somehow, that’s worse.

—

he brings you a dress—yellow, soft cotton with tiny white flowers. looks like something from a photo album—1950s, backyard picnic, lemonade stand smile. you stare at it like it might bite you.

“go on,” he says, tossing it at the bed. “put it on for me.”

you don’t move. your hands stay clenched in your lap.

he sighs, slow and theatrical, like you’re the one being difficult.

“baby,” he says, “don’t make me ask twice.”

you flinch. your body obeys, even if your mind doesn’t. you pick it up with trembling fingers, and he watches the whole time. sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, gun on his thigh. his eyes follow every movement, lazy and hungry.

you turn your back when you undress. it doesn’t help. you still feel his gaze, heavy as chains.

“that’s my good girl,” he murmurs when you face him again, the dress hanging loose over your frame. “you look like a little wife already.”

you don’t answer. your throat’s too dry.

—

he makes you clean. not for the camp. not even for survival. just for him.

he walks you to a kitchen space carved from some old cafeteria. it’s spotless, but that doesn’t matter. he hands you a rag and a bottle of water and says, “wipe every inch. get on your knees if you have to.”

he sits back in a chair while you work, boots kicked up, gun in hand. always the gun.

“this is what you were made for,” he says, voice smooth. “soft hands. soft mouth. soft little brain.”

your hands shake—not from fear, not exactly. it’s the humiliation. the way he watches you like a predator admiring a caged thing.

he gets up once—to tug the back of your dress higher, just to see your panties when you scrub the floor.

“you’re already learning,” he praises, petting your hair like you’re a dog. “my perfect little housewife.”

that night, he doesn’t leave.

you’re curled on the far side of the mattress, trying not to cry. you’re tired. hungry. you miss the sound of wind in the trees, the smell of grass. you miss your mom’s perfume and the way sunlight used to hit your bedroom carpet.

he gets in behind you. his body is all heat and gun oil, and you hate that you’ve learned to recognize it.

his arm snakes around your waist, pulls you back into him.

“you did good today,” he mumbles against your neck. “think i’ll keep you forever.”

you try to disappear, but his grip tightens.

“baby,” he warns. “don’t wriggle. just let me hold you.”

you freeze. like prey. like a bunny in a trap.

“that’s it,” he breathes. “good girl. my girl.”

—

there’s a collar on the dresser. pastel pink. velvet. a little bell that jingles when you move.

you don’t touch it. don’t ask. but he sees how your eyes catch on it when you brush your hair in the mirror like he told you to.

he smirks, slow and sharp.

“baby’s curious,” he drawls. “wanna ask what it’s for?”

you don’t speak. not until he stands behind you, warm breath on your neck, fingers toying with the hem of your dress.

“i like when you look at it,” he murmurs. “you know why? ‘cause it means you’re starting to get it.”

you swallow hard.

“get what?”

he grins. “that you’re mine.”

—

the ring comes next. not a real one. not gold or silver. just a piece of wire, twisted around your finger, bent until it fits.

“every wife needs a ring,” he says. “and you are my wife, right?”

you shake your head, but he tilts it with a finger under your chin.

“wrong answer, sweet girl.”

he kisses you. not soft. not sweet. his mouth is hot, invasive, tasting of blood and smoke and everything you’ve tried to forget.

your hands stay limp at your sides. you don’t kiss back. but you don’t pull away either.

“good girl,” he whispers, breath thick against your lips. “you’ll learn.”

—

dinner’s quiet that night. he makes you sit in his lap while he eats, hand resting just above your thigh.

he feeds you little bites, like you’re helpless. like you’re his doll.

“open up,” he coos, fork held to your lips. “c’mon, be good for daddy.”

you hesitate. he clicks the safety off his gun. doesn’t point it but just lays it on the table.

you open your mouth.

he hums, pleased. wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb.

“knew you’d be a natural.”

later, he presses you down into the mattress. doesn’t fuck you—not yet. he says he’s saving that. says you’re not ready.

but he gets close. mouth on your throat. hips pressed to your ass.

you cry, quietly.

he shushes you, nuzzling into your hair like it’s something tender.

“don’t cry, baby. it’s just love.”

he whispers into your ear before you fall asleep, voice sticky and low.

“gonna knock you up soon,” he promises. “make this little house a home.”

your heart pounds.

he wraps an arm tight around your waist.

“you’ll be so pretty, all round and full. fuckin’ glowing f’me.”

he says it like it’s heaven. like you should thank him for it.

“daddy’s gonna take such good care of you.”

—

it’s not a church. it’s a warehouse.

the windows are broken. light spills through in stripes. the floor’s littered with flower petals—torn from somewhere, or someone—and in the center, there’s an altar made of crates and bullets.

you wear white. not really a dress. just some scrap of fabric he liked on you. torn lace, too tight across your chest. he braided your hair. made you sit still while he did it, fingers surprisingly gentle.

“can’t marry a mess,” he said. “you gotta look like something pure. something worth owning.”

you don’t speak. you haven’t all day.

he wears black. his fatigues. his boots. the same belt he uses to punish you.

there’s blood on his shirt. but you don’t ask whose. you never do.

he holds a gun in one hand. a ring in the other. it’s made from a bullet casing, polished, engraved with your initials. you know he did it himself.

he stands in front of you. tall. smirking. terrifying.

“on your knees,” he says.

you obey.

he presses the barrel to your chin. you flinch, but you don’t cry.

he’s taught you better than that.

“say it,” he whispers.

you swallow. your voice shakes.

“i … i do.”

he hums, pleased.

“gonna be a good wife for me, baby?”

you nod.

“gonna keep the house clean, keep my bed warm, keep your mouth shut unless i say otherwise?”

“…yes.”

he grins. kneels in front of you. pushes the ring onto your finger.

“then we’re married,” he says. “officially.”

you don’t get a kiss.

you get a collar. snapped around your neck with one hand. the other still holding the gun.

—

he doesn’t wait.

he takes you right there. on the altar. in front of god and nobody.

his gun stays pressed to your belly the whole time.

“don’t move,” he warns. “don’t breathe unless i let you.”

you’re shaking. trembling. ruined.

he kisses your tears.

“shh,” he murmurs. “it’s supposed to hurt the first time, baby. that means it’s working.”

you sob. he smiles.

“gonna fill you up,” he breathes. “make you a mama. make you mine for real.”

you whimper.

he pushes deeper. harder. your thighs burn. your lungs ache. the gun digs into your stomach like a promise.

“say thank you,” he growls.

you don’t want to. but the barrel clicks.

“…thank you.”

he groans. finishes with a low growl in your ear.

“that’s my wife.”

after, he holds you. rocks you gently in his lap, your dress bunched around your waist.

you’re bleeding. shaking. silent.

he kisses your temple.

“you’ll understand soon,” he whispers. “this world’s broken. but i fixed us. i fixed you.”

you close your eyes.

the ring is heavy. the collar is tight. the gun’s still warm beside you.

you’re married. you’re his. and there’s no way out.

[thecherrypittttttt]

II HANDS II HEAVEN; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

words: 5,800+

content warnings: lowkey SO filthy, but also SO cute, banter, caretaker jack, yearning jack, tad bit angsty, patient does die at some point, may be my favorite one i have written

notes: because dr jack abbot has two hands and boy does he know how to use them

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Have you two kissed and made up yet?” Bridget asks, eyeing them.

“In his dreams.”

“In his dreams.” Jack imitates mockingly, high pitched.

“You know, for an old man, you have a lot of growing up to do.”

She can tell by the amused look dancing on Jack’s face that he is about to imitate her words again.

She raises a finger just as his mouth opens, “Don’t-“ she presses her finger to his chest, “you dare.”

His head tilts down. His gaze follows her finger, falling right into her trap. She quickly trails her nail back up over his chin then his lips and finally, flicking him in the nose.

She is cracking up laughing. Bridget is too. And Jack is pretending to be annoyed. “Oh and I’m the one who needs to grow up?!”

“You guys need to get a room. Preferably Trauma 1 because we have a patient incoming.” Bridget shoos them away from her nurses station, a grin still playing on her lips as she shoves two gowns into Jack’s outstretched hands.

Once inside Trauma 1, Jack grabs her arm. He signals for her to lift them as he reaches around her - her back to his front, he ties the gauze gown around her waist and then goes for the tie around her neck. The one they normally never have time to tie anyways.

“You know I love it when you dress up for me.”

His minty breath tickles the back of her neck as he speaks. He can’t see her roll her eyes but he knows that she is. He knows her like the back of his hand.

“And you know I’m still mad at you.”

“Well if you would listen to me for once in your life-“

“You are not my boss anymore. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Oh, because you listened so well when I was your boss, hm?”

“I can finish tying my gown. Your hands are full.”

“I’ve got two hands.”

And just like that it's decided and he's finishing up tying her gown. They have no reason to be this close to each other anymore but neither of them moves a muscle. He reaches around her to grab a pair of gloves and he takes his sweet time while doing so.

She sneaks a glance at the prominent veins in his forearms and wishes she didn’t. Why does he always have to look so damn good?

The doors are slammed open by a gurney. “Showtime.” is all that tumbles out from her mouth before her and Jack are back in their usual rhythm.

Or their somewhat usual rhythm. In the trauma bay, residents typically stood at the head of the bed. Their main responsibility was keeping the patient’s vitals steady. Protecting the precious breath that told everyone else in the room that the patient still had a fighting chance.

Ever since she became the night shift's second attending six months ago, Jack and her were still getting used to sharing opposite sides of the bed. Jack was used to looking up from the patient and her eyes already being on him, silently asking him for direction. Now, it’s like she forgot he was even in the room.

Unless, of course, they were debating their differing opinions on the standard of care for the patient.

So yeah, maybe Jack had been picking a few unnecessary fights here and there just to get something from her. He never said it was healthy but he didn’t know what else to do.

He missed her. He missed guiding her hand through a procedure and the way she would look back at him with an expectant smile, waiting for his praise. Practically needing it.

He always gave it to her. Usually sticking with “Well done” or “Solid work” because the one time he went to say “Good job”, a “Good girl” slipped halfway out instead. Thank god no one had noticed.

It makes him sound like an ego maniac, and he promises he isn’t, but he relishes in that feeling of her needing him. Or at least thinking she did. Of the fact that the smartest most competent doctor the halls of this ED had potentially ever seen, looked to him for guidance.

He wanted to take care of her - beyond work. He'd come to terms with his crush years ago but also came to terms with the fact he could never have her. At the time he was her attending and even now that he isn't - he is still at least 12 years her senior and carries more than enough baggage for the both of them.

So he settled for taking care of her at work. Sometimes he pushed the boundaries with the praise and the extra teas but he took care of her within the appropriate context of their working relationship. Until now, apparently. Now that she wouldn’t let him.

Jack had been spoiled all these years. Pouring his knowledge into residents, and a lot of them were great, but none of them had ever quite surpassed what he could do in the ED. But now here she was, mopping the floor with him. He’s proud of her. And he would love it even more than he already does if she would just pay an ounce of attention to him. God, he was starting to sound pathetic.

After her first six months of residency, Robby transferred her to the night shift. He told Jack he was getting a good one. One who saw every single patient as a person rather than a box to be checked, even on the bad days. One who probably single handedly kept the patient satisfaction scores of the ED afloat. But that came at a price - it slowed her down. Impeded on her education. She needed to move quicker and Jack was the kind of teacher to teach her how to do just that while still maintaining her inquisitively kind nature.

She was a damn good doctor but Robby knew that under Jack’s watchful eye and baptism by fire teaching style - she could be great. And she was great.

She is great. So far beyond great, Jack catches himself watching her in awe most nights. But right now he was watching her with concern.

The young girl on the table beneath them was not going to make it.

She was normally better than him at this, less emotional, about knowing when to call it.

But he knew why she wasn't going to be right now. The patient on their table looked eerily like her little sister that she had lost to the same kind of drunk driving accident when she was a kid.

The older sister was even out in the family waiting room - holding her sister’s favorite stuffed animal. She had said she was holding on to it while her sister got better. To keep it warm for her.

It was a bright pink stuffed rabbit. The same kind she had clutched the night her sister died. That she never was able to return to her sister. Jack knew he was the only one in the ED that knew that. She’d told him so one night on the roof after a particularly bad shift. What Jack didn’t know was that he was the only person she’d ever told.

They had a way of bringing that out in each other. Neither of them pushed and that’s probably why they could so effortlessly pull stuff out. Neither of them were an open book to anyone but each other. He makes her feel understood. She makes him feel safe. They make eachother feel the most themselves they’ve ever felt.

But right now all he was making her feel was anger.

“Call it.”

“There was just a pulse a second ago.” They both knew there hadn’t been. Jack doesn't say it though.

She had taken compressions over from Whitaker. Wanting to do this one herself. Making it worse on herself.

“Call it.”

“She can still make it. Let me try one more time.”

Jack silently signaled for everyone else to leave the room and move onto their next call. The girl was gone. At least they could all try and replace this horrible memory by hopefully being able to save the next one.

“I said - call it.” Jack’s voice was low but still steady. Still calm. He wasn’t trying to pick a fight this time. He just wanted her to free herself of this burden that was not hers to carry.

“And I said, let me try one-“ compression “more” another compression, “time” compression.

So he let her. Not because he thought it would work. Precisely, the opposite actually. He knew she would never forgive herself if she didn’t feel that she gave every last ounce she had. Selfishly, he also knew she’d never forgive him for calling it earlier than she thought they should have.

One more compression and then a flat line on the monitor.

Beyond the occasional puff of air coming from her mouth as she caught her breath, you could hear a pin drop in the trauma bay.

Jack’s behind her again, gently untying her now bloody gauze gown. She turns to him. As much as they’ve been going at it lately, he is who she wants in these moments. In all the moments, really.

He slides off his gloves and then her own, not breaking eye contact the entire time.

His hands move to her shoulders and then slowly drag down to her triceps - steadying her and studying her. He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. Just delicately searches her eyes with his own. Asks her if she’s okay and then assures her it’s going to be okay - all without even opening his mouth.

She tries to keep the tears in with deep breaths. Her palm pressing against her forehead.

“Time of death-“ She inhales shakily, “04:44.” She slaps her palm over her mouth like she just summoned death itself with her words. Then the dam breaks.

“Jack, I can’t-“ She barely gets out between hiccups.

“Shhhhh - I know. I will.” Tell the family is what she means. He’ll do that for her. He’d do anything for her.

And then he’s reaching his hands to cup her face and pulling her against him. Letting her cry it out against his chest.

Her arms wrap around his middle, squeezing so hard it was almost like she thought he’d disappear if she loosened her grip. He rubs up and down her back with one hand, cradling her head in his other and pressing the occasional kiss to her temple.

He whispers into her hair, “You are the best emergency physician I have ever seen. If you couldn't save her, no one could. If the person I cared about most in the world had to be in a trauma bay - you are who I would want to be in charge of it.”

That catches her off guard. They spend a lot of time together. More time together than with any of their family or friends or any potential partner. They talked a lot. About basically everything but that private part of their lives. She always assumed it was because neither of them really had much to report back on but his words are the first time she lets her mind think otherwise. That he may have someone that isn’t her. The thought terrifies her beyond belief.

Technically, they were single. They weren’t each other's. But - yes they were.

“Who is that?”

“What?”

“That you care about most in the entire world?”

Jack wasn’t even sure when it happened. Probably in between the dates on the rooftop that were probably only dates to him and the early morning carpools when he purposely took the long way home just to spend more time with her.

He takes a sharp inhale and blinks. Hard - like he’s just realizing now what his answer is. Like it always felt so natural that he never had to think too hard about it, “You.”

They’re both frozen and then she’s huffing a nervous laugh and pulling out of his grip. Avoiding his eye contact. Back to ignoring him. Back to pushing him away.

“Very funny.” She quips as she walks to the door, pretending to be engrossed in attempting to fix the hand sanitizer dispenser that’s been jammed for the last four months.

Jack stays in place like the soldier he is, “I’m serious.”

That brings her gaze back to his. Her jaw drops slightly, her pupils dilated. He thinks he sees hope in her eyes. The observation gives him some too.

He thinks he’s caught her off guard but what she says next practically knocks the wind out of him, “Me too.”

“What?”

“The person I care most about in the entire world. It’s you, Jack.” She doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she’s pushing out of the room.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

They don’t talk again for the rest of their shift. Not really, anyways. The ED is absolutely slammed. They’re basically running from trauma bay to trauma bay, room to room - even once to the ambulance bay. That’s how you know it’s busy.

But wow do they make a fucking phenomenal team. When they are on, they are on. They were close, but they didn't lose anyone else that night.

They catch their breath at the lockers, after the hand off with the day shift.

Jack wraps an arm around her head, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Go home. I’ll order Thai food to your place. Watch that trash TV you like. Shower. Cry. Cry in the shower. Sleep. Just know you gave everything you had tonight. Do not beat yourself up over this.”

“I don’t think the other people at the gym would appreciate me crying in the showers.”

“Why are you showering at the gym?”

“My apartment building has the water turned off for the day. I don’t know - they are fixing something. And there is no shot in hell I am showering here.”

“Come on. You’re coming home with me. Shower at my place. I’ll cook us breakfast while you do so you can cry in peace.”

The silence hangs between them. An expectant silence but one that says that if they are alone in a place that isn't the hospital - it is going to be damn near impossible to remain professional.

“Jack-“

“Let me take care of you, please. You deserve it, especially after tonight.”

And for once, she listens.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack busies himself with the omelettes and tea he’s making because if he thinks too hard, or at all, about her naked in his shower - he is going to combust.

The thought of her fully clothed in his space is enough to do his head in. He cannot even begin to let his brain broach the thought of her naked one floor away.

He is setting her favorite hot sauce, the one he hates but always kept in his fridge in case this moment ever happened, on the counter when he hears the water being turned off upstairs.

A couple light footsteps, the sound of a drawer opening and closing, and then his name. "Jack, where is your lotion?!"

"It's in the cabinet up top - furthest to your right." He yells back. Normally he would go up there and just grab it for her but he only has so much self control. It will all probably go down the gutter if he goes up there and sees her in only a towel.

"I can't reach it."

He curses under his breath and heads up the stairs - two at a time. He is not religious but he is praying to whoever will listen that she is wearing some semblance of the clothes he laid out for her. Now that he thinks about it, that might be worse.

Either way, he is in trouble. He stops outside his bathroom door and knocks lightly, " Can I come in?"

"No, I'd like you to get the lotion down from outside the bathroom." She sasses.

He smirks as he turns the knob, muttering something about her being a smart ass and a pain in his ass. He swallows hard at the sight of her.

She looks stunning because when does she not. He traces her collarbones with his eyes, down her arms, and over her legs - finally up to her face. Her eyebrow is lifted and a coy smirk on her face. Oh, she knows exactly what she is doing.

Jack shakes his head, as if that would get the thoughts of what is hiding under her towel out of his head.

He just clears his throat and reaches up to the cabinet, settling the lotion onto the counter, "Here."

She doesn't even pretend to grab it. Just lets it sit in between the sinks. In between them.

“Thank you - for today. I’m sorry, I’ve been a little bratty lately. I just had to prove to myself I could do things without having you in the room to encourage me to.”

“No, you have nothing to apologize for. I should be apologizing. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much I would have to get used to you not needing me anymore.”

“I may not need you anymore but I still want you, Jack. I always will. But I probably haven’t shown that too well the past couple months so I’ll cool it with the attitude. I know you’re always just trying to help.”

“You don’t have to do anything on my account.” A beat and then, “It’s hot when you talk back.”

If Jack could shove those words back into his mouth - he would. He doesn't know what came over him, why those words came out - maybe something to do with the way she is staring at him. Eyes half lidded as she looks up at him through her lashes, a subtle grin as she bites her plump bottom limp.

"I am so sorry. That was so inappropriate."

“Jack-“

"We can just pretend I nev-"

She places a hand on his chest to interrupt his rambling and he pauses almost instantaneously, “Jack - I talk back because I think it’s hot when you put me in my place.”

Oh.

He looks down at her and lets out a low whistle, “You have no idea how bad I want you. How bad I’ve wanted this since the day you walked through the doors at the Pitt but I will not take advantage of you.”

His hands stay firmly planted to his sides but gosh she's making it really hard to keep still.

“Not even if I beg?”

He takes a sharp inhale, rubbing the back of his neck and then over his face with his palm, “You had a bad night. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret just because you’re upset”

“Jack, do you remember my first night shift? As an intern?”

“Yeah, of course. Knew I was in trouble from the jump.” He talks faster than she has ever heard him. She can tell he is a bit confused. What does her first intern shift have anything to do with why she is half naked in his bathroom almost four years later?

“That morning, when I went home, I had this dream and- fuck- you couldn’t keep your hands off me. I’ve been upset a lot over the years. I’ve been ecstatic, I’ve been angry beyond belief and every other emotion in between. But the one thing that’s always stayed the same is that at the end of every day, I wished I was coming home to you. I'm not going to regret this because I love you, Jack. No matter what kind of day I have. Good, bad, or ugly - you are always the best part of it."

“God, I think I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that.” His hands fly to cup her jaw, he looks right in her eyes before he kisses her with everything in him. He pulls away barely, his forehead resting on hers, to whisper, “I love you. So much.”

"Can you show me - because I didn't call you up here in just my towel to chit chat."

Jack chuckles, his hands find her hips. He gives them a squeeze before he turns her around to face his bathroom mirror. They lock eyes through the glass and for the second time today, her back was to his front.

“What would everyone say if they heard you were such a slut for me.”

“Probably, ‘In his dreams’”

“Behave.” She can feel Jack smirking into the skin on her neck as he kisses her there. Long and slow - she whimpers at the feeling.

“I’ll think about it.” Her voice comes out shaky - clearly reflecting the effect he is having on her.

All in one swift motion, Jack unties and drops her towel, lightly smacking her ass.

“I said behave.”

She goes to roll her eyes. Not because she doesn't like what he is doing - because she loves it. Absolutely loves riling him up. But he knows her and he knows she's going to do that so before she even can, he smacks her ass again, murmuring a “So fucking perfect” as he rubs the red mark he left.

“Show me you can listen and I’ll be a lot nicer, angel.

All she can do is let out a whimper of his name. It is music to his ears.

Jack trails kisses up her neck then pecks one to her mouth before he’s grabbing her chin. They make eye contact through the mirror, one of his hands on her chin and the other splayed dangerously low pressing against her stomach.

He swipes his thumb against her lips as he whispers in her ear, his stubble tickling her cheek and she can’t help but imagine how it will feel between her thighs. “Let’s put that mouth to better use, huh?”

He swipes two fingers through her glistening folds. He can hear how wet she is. Feel it threatening to drip down her thighs. She moans at the emptiness - his fingers leave her and press their way into her mouth. His fingers weigh heavy against her tongue as her lips close around them, sucking, but never losing his eye contact. Jack groans at the sight.

“Taste yourself for me, baby. Look at how pretty your mouth is when you aren’t giving me attitude.”

Her knees are already threatening to give out and he’s barely even touched her yet. Anyone else wouldn’t notice the slight wobble. But he did. He notices every little detail about her - how could he not?

“You like it that much, hm sweetheart?”

She can’t manage words. Only a low moan and a nod as she presses her back against his front, feeling his bulge through the sweatpants he’d changed into when they’d gotten home. “Jack please, I want to see you. I want to feel you.”

“Greedy, yeah?”

“Jack, please. Too many clothes.”

“Shhh - I told you I was gonna take care of you tonight, yeah? Let me baby. Then you can have me. Be patient.”

Another moan pulled from her.

“You’re the most stunning woman I have ever laid my eyes on, you know that right? And so damn smart. My smart baby, yeah?"

She turns to face him, running her hands over his chest and then down his biceps as he talks. She takes her time. She’s trailed the veins of his large arm muscles with her eyes more times than she can count. Now that she gets to do it with her hands, she may never stop.

She gets to his hands, god those hands. His capable, strong, sturdy hands. She remembers what he said earlier today, about having two hands, and she feels her cheeks tinge pink. She’s seen his hands perform extraordinary miracles but she has a feeling the one he performs on her now will be her favorite.

His hands knead her hips as she goes, both of them relishing in each other's touch, until she breaks the silence. Her wide eyes look up at him. They look so innocent. Her words are anything but, “I want you to fill me up.”

“Fuck me. You’re gonna kill me.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Are you gonna be a good girl and come when I tell you to?”

“Dr Abbot, I’m always a good girl for you. Especially that night you almost called me one right in the middle of the ED.”

Jack is shocked, “You caught that?”

“Touched myself thinking about it that night.”

He practically moans, “My god.” before he turns her back around to face the mirror. One hand on the back of her neck, the other on the small of her back, slightly bending her over.

Finally, finally he presses two fingers into her. Her head falls back onto his shoulder as he pumps in and out of her, both of their breathing heavy.

“I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already soaking wet.”

“For you? Always.”

He kisses her forehead then tilts her head back up by her chin with his free hand.

“Keep your eyes open, look at me baby.”

His fingers are still working on her. She’s almost there. Gasping for air. Her eyes shut and she's right there until...she's not. He's stopped.

Her eyes flutter open and she doesn't even bother to turn around - just stares at him through the mirror, "What the hell?"

“I said keep your eyes open. I want you to see how good you look taking my fingers, angel. Gonna look even better on my cock”

At the reminder, she buck backs against him.

“Not so fast, baby. Gonna make you come on my fingers. Then on my tongue. Then fill you up. How does that sound?”

“Yes, Jack, please. I need it please.”

“You sure you can handle it, baby?”

“I can-fuck, I can handle it.”

Then he’s working her again with his fingers. She keeps her eyes open, drinking in the filthy sight of them. One of his hands cradling her chin as she rides the other one - she is completely naked and Jack is entirely clothed. It makes her so worked up, her orgasm comes quickly.

“That’s it. Good girl—that's my good fucking girl."

Then he’s stepping around her and sinking to his knees in front of her so she can still see herself in the bathroom mirror. He knocks her ankles a little wider. They’d closed a bit after the last orgasm and she gasps at his tongue cleaning up her first mess and going for a second.

His hands wrap around her thighs, holding her in place. She tugs hard at his salt and pepper curls as she unravels. She looks down at him, craving his eye contact.

He slaps her ass again as a reprimand, “Eyes up. I want you to see how pretty you look when you're spreading your legs for me."

The words make her second orgasm tumble out just as fast as the first and she’s pulling him up by the collar of his shirt, placing a blistering kiss on his lips. His hands cradle her jaw and then they are in her hair, tugging slightly.

Their hands desperately clutch at one another as they kiss, gasping into each other’s mouths as if they’ve been starved of one another.

“Jack - clothes off. Now please.”

This time he listens. Then he is back behind her just as quickly as he’s coaxing his length into her. They both sigh at the relief.

“Doing so good for me, baby. Give me one more, yeah?”

He presses his forehead to hers. She nods and he leans up to kiss her temple again before rutting into her. Both of them loudly moaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit. And I thought nothing was gonna beat how fucking delicious you tasted. You feel like fucking heaven, angel.”

His broad hand crowds her neck, forcing her gaze to meet him in the mirror again as his fingers find her clit as he pounds into her from behind. Not too slow, not too fast but intentional - hitting all the right places because although they’ve never done this before he just knows. He knows her.

“Look at how pretty you look taking me.”

“Jack-“ she can’t get the sentence out. She trails off into a string of whimpers and moans as she verges on her third orgasm of the morning. She squeezes her walls around Jack and he grunts, he’s close too.

“So this is all I’ve got to do to get you to listen to me, huh? Why didn’t you just say so baby?”

“Jack-“

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He barely manages to get out.

“Can I come for you?”

At that alone she feels him spilling into her, “Yes baby. Oh my god, yes.” he falters, caging his arms around her, steadying them against the counter as they both ride out their highs.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Me too- told you to start listening to me.”

“You’re filthy.”

“And you fucking love it.” Jack smirks as he uses one hand to wipe her clean with a warm washcloth, the other hand holds her head against his lips. He presses a kiss to her temple then her lips and then up and down her shoulder and neck until she is a giggling, blushing mess.

Jack picks up his shirt he had laid out for her but leaves the pants. She lets him tug it over her head and hugs him tight when he's done. Arms around his middle, just as she had done earlier. He dips his lips to the crown of her head, arms around her shoulders as he inhales his shampoo in her hair. It makes him want to melt.

He plants a kiss into her hair, "Come on - lets get some food in you."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Jack didn't think his life could get any better after what just occurred in his bathroom but here she was - barefoot in his favorite shirt - prancing around his kitchen. She fiddles with the police scanner, he told her she could find one of the music radio channels instead. He used the police scanner as a distraction but he doesn’t want any distractions from her.

He restarts the omelettes because he got a little distracted before. He doesn't recognize the song that is on but she must - the way a grin bubbles from her lips. He kisses it off and pulls her into his side as he cooks.

Your love run through me like lava

Pull my fit over these hips

You grip, I grind

Then taste this wine, I'ma taste what's mine

Jack couldn't wait to taste her again. And she couldn't wait to taste him for the first time. If they hadn't just worked a twelve hour shift with little to no food - omelettes would be the last thing on their mind.

'I'll never stop you, you'll never stop me

From bein' whatever we need to be

And in these dark times, I'm so glad that this love is blinding

'Cause all I see is the best of you and all you see is the best of me

And you bring out the best of me

And all I see is everything

Your goals, your glow, your inner being

And our bigger meaning

Jack decided he liked this song. It reminded him of them. They brought life into this world one hour and were saying goodbye to it in the next. But in both hours they helped people. And they helped each other by loving each other through it. Their purposes were intertwined - both inside and outside of that hospital.

So, let's lose us in these sheets, yeah

And when I get up to walk, I wanna feel weak, yeah

Well, I ain't goin' far

So, stay where you are

Feel like you partied in Venus and we woke up in Mars

"You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow. Could barely get downstairs." Jack smiled to himself thinking of how he'd carried her down the stairs just moments ago.

"Oh shut up and dance with me." He turned the stove top off and turned to her. These omelettes were never getting made.

With the way she was looking at him - he was perfectly fine with that.

I been waitin' my whole life

And I'm gonna give you the best years of your life

You and I

He twirled her around as they danced - her singing the last words of the song to him. He didn't care that she had the world's worst singing voice - he was still blushing. Because she'd already given him the best years of his life - he couldn't possibly imagine the happiness that lied ahead of them now that they were finally letting themselves have it.

He felt himself getting emotional. He tugged her to his chest, cradling her head, mindlessly pressing kisses to it - ensuring she was real. That this dream was real.

"Jack"

"Hm, baby?"

The cutest yawn he’d ever heard and then, "Take me to bed, please."

Yep, definitely real.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

They'd been in bed cuddling for a mere five minutes when Jack's phone dings on his bedside table.

“You are not seriously on call right now?” Her head pops up off his chest and he has never been more annoyed at Robby for texting him than he is right now.

Jack groans as he reaches over, “No, just a question from Robby about that heart attack case we had this morning.”

“He can figure it out.”

“Let me answer - it will take two seconds.”

Jack types or at least tries to. She kisses up his neck - lightly sucking at the sensitive spots and then licking over them. Never doing enough to leave a mark. They don't need those questions at work tomorrow. But enough to make him dizzy.

Her legs are tangled in his and he lightly slaps her ass, “Stop being so hot please, I’m trying to get my work done.”

“Work? Flirting with Robby is more like it.”

“My bad flirting is reserved only for you.”

She points at his chest like she had done this morning, “Better be.”

He looks down and she flicks her fingers up, flicking his nose a lot lighter than she had earlier.

Jack is quicker now, grabs her finger and uses it to gently tug - to wrap her arms around his neck and pull her on top of him. Her legs fall to either side of his waist. It is hard to tell where she begins and he ends but they are a ball of laughter as they settle into each other.

She rests her head in the crook of his neck, placing a kiss there as he does the same to her forehead. Her hands play with the curls at the nape of his neck. One of his rubs up and down her thigh. Then her back. The other in her hair massaging her scalp, lulling her to sleep.

“Get some sleep, baby. I’ll punish you for that when we wake up.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Behave”

“Only cause you said so.”

They both fall asleep with grins on their faces. And wake up with them too.