#writing the tags on this before i write anything else because i need to be unnormal before i be normal

[pope-codys]

baby, don’t be scared, i want you everywhere - andrew cody x reader

summary: when Pope is dosed with a drug that requires him to have sex or suffer dire consequences, who else should step up to help him than you?

pairing: Andrew Pope Cody x reader (afab)

word count: 4.8k

tags: 18+. MDNI, sex pollen, fuck or die trope, smut (p in v sex like soooo much, cowgirl, mating press and prone bone (we all cheered!)) biting, hickeys, breeding kink for like half a second, non-consensual drug use (mentioned), mentions of cum, implied somno, no condom use (don’t be like reader! always glove up irl and practice safe sex), basically porn with a sprinkling of plot

authors note: this is my first fic here on Tumblr aaaahhhh! this is my first time writing full blown smut (please be nice). this started because @caterpillarskimono posted about a sex pollen idea for the Pitt and then i started thinking about sex pollen with Pope and it took over my brain. i’d say this is set in season 2 i guess but cath is alive. this is also an anti Baz space, fuck that guy

———————————————————————————————————————

“What are you guys doing out here?”

You’d been looking for Pope all afternoon after he missed your lunch plans and when he didn’t answer any calls or texts you decided to seek him out. A quick stop at Smurf’s house, and Deran’s bar that turned up nothing left Baz’s house as the likely spot to find him. You tried to convince yourself that he had gotten tied up planning for the next job and lost track of time, except Pope would never lose track of time and if he was going to be late or had to cancel he would have called you. Seeing all his brothers standing outside Baz’s with no Pope in sight didn’t do anything to loosen the knot of worry in your stomach.

“We’re dealing with a situation at the moment, you shouldn’t be here.” Baz said dismissively, holding up a hand to ward you off.

“Does the situation involve Pope? Because if it does I should stay.” You looked over at Deran, deciding he’d be the most likely to fess up to whatever’s going on. “He missed our lunch today and he won’t pick up the phone.” Deran looked from you to Baz and back again, shifting on his feet as he weighed his options. You took a page out of Pope’s book and stared firmly at Deran until he broke.

“Pope’s been dosed with V. Accidentally.” Baz groaned at Deran’s admission.

“Dude shut up! We don’t need her to know-”

“V?” You asked, your voice louder than Baz, your eyes wide. “That street drug that’s basically viagra mixed with crack that dials your sex drive up to 1000?” You looked between the three men, completely shocked. The shock quickly melted into agitation as you looked at the other Cody boys standing in front of you, not currently dosed with drugs. “How did that happen? You morons not have his back in a bad situation?” You pointedly turned your accusing gaze on Baz and he frowned.

“You know what-” Baz snapped, his voice rising.

“The ‘how’ doesn’t matter!” Craig yelled, cutting Baz’s argument short. “What matters is how we’re gonna help him. I’ve heard some bad shit about what happens to people who don’t act on their urges under the drug. We gotta find someone for him.” The knot in your stomach twisted and you tilted your head at Craig, not quite believing what you were hearing.

“Someone for him to what? Fuck?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” He said with a shrug. “Like a hooker.”

“Sex worker.” You corrected him automatically before your head caught up with what he suggested. You shook your head vigorously.

“No, no, no. We are not arranging a sex worker to come here and have sex with Pope in his drugged state.” The idea of some random woman coming over to the house to sleep with Pope when he’s in this compromised state made a wave of nausea roll through you. The fact his brothers seemed to think this was even an option really said a lot about their upbringing and lack of care for their brother. Baz scoffed at your words, rolling his eyes.

“We are not doing anything.” He said, gesturing between the three of them and you. “We are handling it.” He gestured between himself and his brothers. “We will-”

“I’ll do it.” You said suddenly, surprising yourself a little. Your declaration took a moment to settle in your mind and when you realized the gravity of what you said you decided that this was the best solution. Pope was your closest friend, you loved him and you’d treat him with care. You’d talk him through it and make sure he was alright.

“What?” Deran asked, his confusion mirroring his brothers.

“I’ll have sex with Pope and help him through the effects of the drug. I’m his friend, I’ll make sure he’s okay. I’m the best person for this. I’m volunteering.” Baz opened his mouth, likely to object, but Craig interrupted him.

“Works for me!” Craig clapped his hands together in finality, clearly happy to have the problem solved and the rest of his day back. Deran shrugged, agreeing with you, and grabbed Baz to pull him away before he picked a fight for not being the person to solve the issue.

“I’ll text you all tomorrow when the effects have worn off and it’s safe for Baz, Cath, and Lena to come back.” You said as you moved towards the door to the house. Craig paused a bit before leaving, turning towards you.

“By the way, we had to tie him up so he wouldn’t hurt himself, just so you know.” With that last piece of information, the Cody brothers hopped in Deran’s car and drove away.

***

The house was mostly quiet, save for the whimpering and groaning you could hear from the bedroom. As much as you’d wanted to rush to the bedroom to release Pope from his restraints, you knew there were some things you needed to do first.

You closed and locked all the windows and doors, and shut the curtains. You wanted to disturb the neighbours as little as possible. You grabbed two water bottles from the fridge and some energy bars from the cupboard. From what little you’d heard about the effects of this drug, you and Pope were going to be hungry and thirsty when it was all over. You grabbed some spare towels and left them in the bathroom for the shower you’d both inevitably need at the end. You moved as quickly and efficiently as you could, not wanting Pope to wait another moment. You searched briefly for condoms but were unsuccessful. You decided that was probably for the best and since you had an IUD anyways, you weren’t worried.

The moment you crossed the doorway and entered the room, Pope’s eyes were on you.

He was lying on his back, fully clothed, each of his wrists tied with rope that secured him to both bed posts. His grey t-shirt was soaked with sweat, his forehead glistening with it, his face flushed. He was wearing jeans that did nothing to hide the way his cock bulged against the material. The moment he saw you his body moved instinctually to try and get closer to you, only to be stopped by the ropes. The wood creaked as his arms pulled on the restraints. Despite his body practically screaming with want, his face told a different story. His brow was furrowed and his mouth turned down in a look of misery.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Pope choked out the words, his voice rough and low, his breathing heavy. You closed the door behind you and as you moved closer to the bed his hips lifted eagerly without his permission, uncoordinatedly humping into the air for a moment to no satisfaction.

“Pope I know what’s going on. I’m here to help.” You said softly as you reached the edge of the bed.

“Oh god,” Pope whined, his face twisting in a look of torment as his head fell back against the pillows.

“It’s okay.” You said as you toed off your shoes and put down your purse and things from the kitchen. “I want to help.” You looked him over, weighing your options. You knew how strong Pope was and you could see how desperate he was for some relief. You knew Pope would never hurt you, you trusted him, but in this state you needed to help him out a bit before letting him go. “I don’t think I can release the restraints just yet-” Pope’s head snapped up quickly.

“Don’t.” Pope said, his voice strangled. “I told them to tie me up. I could hurt you.” You held Pope’s anguished gaze, his glassy, pleading eyes pulling on your heart.

“Okay.” You said again. “It’s okay. You need to act on the urges the drug is giving you otherwise you might-” You stopped as an unexpected lump formed in your throat. You hadn’t heard much about this drug but what you had wasn’t good. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. You’re safe with me.” You held Pope’s gaze while he mentally weighed his options. Pope nodded frantically after a moment, letting you know he was alright with you being there. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you reached under the flowy skirt of your short summer dress to pull your panties down and off. Pope’s chest rose and fell quicker as he watched you, the anticipation filling his veins with fire and sending more blood to his already painful erection.

“I can take your pants off but I can’t remove your shirt without releasing your arms.”

“Please,” Pope whined, pulling on the ropes. “Please take my clothes off, it feels like sandpaper on my skin.” Thinking quickly, you grabbed your purse and pulled out the Swiss Army Knife Pope had given you for your last birthday. You returned to the bed and climbed up onto the mattress, making quick work of getting Popes pants and boxers off. He sighed loudly in relief as his cock sprang free, large and aching. You did your best to focus on the task at hand and not his impressive length, with its red, leaking tip, straining against his stomach. You opened the small scissors feature on the Swiss Army Knife and cut as quickly as you could to remove his shirt. When you moved further up his chest, Pope leaned up as best he could, pulling the ropes taut. He extended his neck as much as he could to get his face closer to you, his mouth open and wanting.

“Pope! I could have cut you.” You scolded as you leaned back out of his reach.

“I need to touch you.” Pope begged. “Please. I need you.” His eager tone sent a zap of pleasure straight to your core. You looked over to see how his biceps bulged with the effort to resist his bindings.

“Let…let me touch you.” Pope pleaded, his eyes locked on your lips, his breathing heavy and ragged. You swallowed thickly and licked your lips, eliciting a groan from Pope.

“Fuck.” He whispered.

“If…if you let me remove the rest of your shirt, I’ll give you what you want.” You did your best to keep your voice even despite how fast your heart was racing. Pope nodded slowly in agreement, his eyes never leaving your lips. You reached up cautiously and continued to cut away at his shirt. You leaned closer to get the right angle to make the last cut successfully and Pope took the moment to his advantage, turning his head to push his face into your hair and against your neck. His skin was hot, almost feverish against yours, making you gasp at the contact. You tossed the scissors aside, and they clattered against the hardwood floor as you pulled the scraps of his shirt off. Pope couldn’t hold you with his hands tied so he grabbed you the only way he could.

With his teeth.

Pope bit down on your shoulder, near your neck, making you cry out. He moaned into your skin as you felt a gush of wetness between your thighs. You were learning things about yourself today. Like how Pope’s desperate, almost animalistic energy was a huge turn on. As much as his teeth pressing into your skin felt incredible, you need to get to the main event fast.

You reached forward, one hand threading through Pope’s auburn curls and tugging hard, the other blindly grabbing his cock. Pope let you go with a ragged moan, his head following the path of your tugging hand as his hips rolled into your touch. You managed to get him to lie back down and straddled him before he made any other movements. With one hand bracing on his stomach, you raised up on your knees to situate yourself above his throbbing length.

“Take your dress off. I want to see you.” Pope’s gravelly voice sent a shiver through you as you obediently grabbed the hem of your dress and pulled it up and over your head, discarding it on the floor behind you. You made quick work to remove your bra as well. The moment your breasts were on full display Pope moaned, his hips bucking up into the air. The sudden movement sent you forward, both of your hands bracing on his stomach to keep you from falling on top of him, inadvertently pressing your tits together in the process. Pope was panting at this point, practically drooling at the sight of you, his eyes wide with awe.

“Oh fuck, you’re perfect.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him in you yesterday.

You grabbed his cock, eliciting another tortured moan from Pope, and guided him to your soaking entrance before sinking down onto him. The two of you moaned in unison, your heads falling back in pleasure. The stretch of him was delicious, filling you completely in ways you’d never experienced. You’d been so turned on it was easy to slide him all the way into you and for you to be fully seated on his cock.

Finally having what he craved, Pope wasted no time planting his feet on the mattress and right as you started to rise up Pope thrusted up into you. He thrusted so hard it almost knocked you off of him and you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. It took you a moment to get your bearings before you were able to match his rhythm, moving down to meet his upwards thrusts.

It felt amazing.

Pope had been your friend for years but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wanted to mean more to him. To be more to him. You’d quietly fantasized about being with Pope for the better part of two years now and he’d been the star of every late night fantasy that resulted in an orgasm. His body, his voice, his hands. Everything about him turned you on, including his gentlemanly approach to you like opening doors and carrying you to bed when you’d fall asleep on the couch. His kindness and tender heart made you want to hold him and never let go.

The rest of him made you want to ride him and never let go.

There was time later for a discussion about being more than friends, but right now you needed to focus on helping him through this.

Due to how tightly wound he had been, Pope came quickly, spilling his release inside you as he yelled your name. Despite coming, he was still rock hard inside of you, and continued to desperately drive his hips up into you. The punishing rhythm, Pope’s groaning and whining at the feeling of you, and the rub of your clit against his pelvis at every downward movement had you coming soon too. You cried out as your orgasm overtook you, your walls tightening around his cock as it plunged into you over and over. Pleasure spread through your body, prolonged by Pope’s movements.

“Oh, Andrew.” You moaned, your head tilted back and your eyes closed.

You’d been so preoccupied with your pleasure that you hadn’t heard the creaking and cracking of the bedposts as Pope had pulled on them. You missed the look that crossed his face, the dark, dangerous one that made his nose twitch as his lips curled and his teeth clenched.

He needed to touch you now.

His name spilling from your lips as you rode him through your orgasm, your face slack in the pleasure he gave you, was enough to give him the last bit of strength he needed. Pope pulled hard enough to break the bedposts, the wood giving way under the strain, and freed his arms from their restraints.

Your eyes flew open as you gasped in surprise at the sound. Your brain didn’t have time to comprehend what happened before Pope grabbed you, and flipped you both so he was on top, practically tackling you to the mattress. With his new freedom Pope had the leverage to drive into you as fast and hard as he wanted.

The pace was brutal, his hips slapping hard against yours as you squealed with pleasure at every thrust and you did your best to wrap your legs around his hips. The headboard banged against the wall over and over as he hung his head over you, your foreheads touching.

He hadn’t expected you to walk into the bedroom but he was so glad you did, that of all people it was you who stepped up to help him. While you had volunteered to help him, Pope was sure you hadn’t imagined it would be like this, fast and rough. And he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, you felt too perfect.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Pope said again and again with each drive of his cock into you.

“Don’t be, don’t be, don’t be,” You replied back, breathless. You brought your hands up to his face, making him look at you. You smiled. “I want this. I want you. I’ve wanted us for so long, Andrew.” Pope moaned loudly at the mention of ‘us’ and his eyes rolled back as he came inside you again, his whole body shuddering as his hips slammed into you.

His rhythm slowed after a moment but didn’t stop and you leaned up to kiss him. Pope kissed you back feverishly, his tongue slipping inside your mouth as he pressed you against the mattress. The kisses spurred him on and his thrusts grew in speed again. He was still hard inside of you and you guessed you’d be in for a long night before it was all out of his system. You were able to turn your head to free your lips to speak, which did nothing to deter Pope who began kissing and sucking on your jaw and neck.

“Use me however you want Pope.” That got his attention enough that he pulled back to look at you. You nodded encouragingly. “I’m yours for the night. Use me however you want, however feels good.”

Without a word Pope sat back enough on his knees to pull the remaining rope from his wrists and grabbed your legs to put the backs of your knees over his arms. He leaned back down, pressing your knees to your chest, and pushed himself even deeper inside of you to a spot that had your eyes rolling back. Pope picked up his movement, returning to the previous, frantic thrusts that had the headboard hitting the wall again. The wet sounds of his cock ramming into you joined the sounds of your sweaty skin slapping against each other. You moaned with each brutal push of his cock, your face flushing as your orgasm built. Your nails dug into his beautiful, freckled biceps as your pleasure climbed higher and higher.

“Yes, yes, yes, Andrew!” Your orgasm crashed over you, making your legs tremble and shake in the crook of Pope’s arms, your back arching as much as it could under the weight of him. Pope fucked you through it, as he did your last one, prolonging the warm sparks moving through you. He continued his unrelenting pace, pushing his cock deep inside you. Your limbs felt weak and you could feel how low your energy was with how heavy your eyelids felt. Considering how Pope likely wasn’t anywhere near done, you knew you needed to tell him he could keep going.

“Use me Andrew,” You moaned. “Even if I pass out, use me however you need.” Pope nodded in understanding and thrust into you a few more times before coming again.

For the first time in a while, Pope pulled out of you and you groaned at the loss of his cock inside you, as your legs fell limply on the bed. He grabbed your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, unsurprising considering he came in you three times already. Pope draped himself over your back, lined himself up with your leaking entrance, and slid back in. Your head was turned, cheek pressed against the mattress as you moaned loudly at the feeling of his cock filling you again. Pope began to drive his cock in and out of you again, his hips smacking against your ass every time he pushed inside of you. You could feel the warmth of his skin against your back and his breath in your hair as he leaned his forehead against your temple. He wanted to be close to you, to feel how good he made you feel, to have you.

“Use me.” You whimpered as his cock pumped in and out of you, your clit rubbing against the mattress with the force of his thrusts. “Use me, use me, use me.”

“Yes,” Pope moaned against your skin. “Yes.” Pope continued to fuck you, grunting in your ear as his hips roughly slapped against your ass, jolting your body forward with each thrust, sending sparks of pleasure through you as your hips moved. Pope needed you in this moment like he needed air. He felt like an animal, hungry to take you how he pleased and mark you how he could. He wanted to bite you again. He wanted to suck on your skin until it bruised. He wanted to fill you again and again and again until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“You’re mine.” Pope groaned in your ear.

“Yes,” You sighed against the mattress, your toes and fingers curling with pleasure. Pope pulled back from your head and put his hands on your shoulders to give him leverage for each brutal thrust. The hold pinned you to the mattress, leaving you at Popes mercy.

“You’re mine.” He put more weight on his hands, holding you down. “Mine, mine, mine, mine,” He growled, punctuating the words with each thrust into you.

“Y-yours.” You gasped out. Trapped between Pope and the mattress, you couldn’t have felt safer. The man holding you down was strong (you knew that, he broke the headboard) but his hands weren’t hurting you, they were just keeping you in place. You’d stay between Pope and this mattress forever if you could.

With the two previous orgasms and the constant rubbing of your clit against the sheets, your next orgasm built and burst through you fast, leaving you twitching and trembling on the bed. Exhaustion hit you hard and right before you passed out you heard Pope moan your name, desperately groaning “I’m yours!” to you as he came again.

***

There was soft sunlight coming through the window when you woke up. Pope was asleep next to you, his face relaxed as he calmly breathed in and out. You were a few inches apart and Popes arm was strewn across your waist. It was so rare to see him like this, so peaceful. The sun lit strands of his auburn curls a bright cooper and you couldn’t help but smile. 

Without moving, you knew you were sore, but you also knew you needed to pee and shower. And drink some water. Where were those bottles of water you grabbed before this started? You tried your best to move without waking Pope but when your thighs rubbed together you winced audibly and that roused him. He blinked awake, clearly confused at his surroundings before you watched the night reply in his mind as a dozen emotions crossed his face. It settled on remorseful, which broke your heart.

“Are you okay?” Pope asked as he sat up with a groan, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. You smiled lazily at him.

“I feel fantastic. A little sore but that’s to be expected.” Pope shook his head at your comment.

“I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m going to stop you right there. Pope, I knew what I was getting into by volunteering to have sex with you, and your body was under the effects of a drug. Don’t apologize to me for the best sex of my life so far.” Pope blinked at you for a moment, stunned.

“The best?” He croaked out. You smiled widely, glad he focused on that rather than the guilt he shouldn’t have.

“Yes. So far.” You sat up, wincing a little. “I'm excited to see what you can do when you’re not on a crazy sex drug.” You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his bare, freckled shoulder. When you looked up at his face, you saw surprise and hope in his features. “I’d like to date you Andrew Cody. If that’s okay with you.” Pope smiled sheepishly before he dipped his head to press your foreheads together. Your eyes naturally closed.

“Thank you.” He said to you quietly. You hummed a soft acknowledgement before leaning in and kissing him slowly. You pulled away after a moment, eyes opening to see Popes mouth trying to follow you. You laughed a little at his eagerness, especially after he spent who knows how long last night fucking you.

“How many more times did you come last night after I passed out?” You asked. The tops of Popes ears turned pink.

“I think three.” He glanced down at your naked chest. “I got a bit carried away.” You looked down to see that your tits were covered in hickeys, purple bruising both on and in between your breasts.

“Damn! I can’t believe I missed that. Promise me that next time you give me a hickey, you’ll do it when I’m awake.”

“I promise.” Pope said, his voice rough. You looked back up at Pope to see him staring, his eyes filled with wanting. Your cheeks flushed under Pope’s full attention. You needed to change the subject before you two attempted something your sore body parts might not forgive you for.

“We should have a shower and clean up this place a bit before telling Baz to come back.” Pope nodded in agreement, before his eyes glanced behind you and you turned to follow his gaze. The broken headboard. You cringed as you turned back around.

“Oops. Forgot about that.” Some memories of how the headboard broke flashed in your mind and you blushed even more as you looked at Pope. “That’s on you to pay for. And I think it’s best if we just toss these sheets, for Baz and Cath’s sake.” Pope nodded a bit, holding your gaze before a giggle bubbled up and out of him. You bit your lip to keep from laughing but it escaped you anyways and the two of you sat on the bed in the morning sunlight, laughing together.

***

“Is it safe?” Baz asked as he entered the house, one hand covering his eyes.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have texted you otherwise.” You said in a clipped tone. You muttered ‘asshole’ under your breath for good measure. After the laughing fit, you and Pope had showered together, drank two glasses of water each, and put fresh sheets on the bed. You also remembered to open up every window in the house to get any smell of marathon sex out.

“Hi Uncle Pope.” Lena called out with a wave as Cath carried her inside. Pope was washing the cups you’d used and he waved back.

“Hi Lena.”

“Is that Baz’s shirt?” Cath asked as she set Lena down on one of the kitchen island chairs. You looked over at Pope and back to Cath.

“Yeah, we had to throw away Pope’s shirt. Baz will get his back.”

“What happened to your neck?” Lena asked, staring at the purple mark at the base of your neck. You’d put on Pope’s jacket, zipped up, in an effort to cover your hickeys up but Lena was too observant. You slapped your hand over the bite mark, hiding it from view.

“I got in a fight.” You stated simply as Cath and Baz shared a look.

“One she lost.” Pope joked bluntly as he came to stand beside you.

“I don’t know about that. You’re taking me out to breakfast so I’d say I won. Plus you’re forgetting about that ‘best so far’ comment.” You countered with a smile, which Pope returned. You stared contently at each other for a moment before Baz ruined it.

“What’s going on here?” He asked. You sighed, your mood souring at the sound of Baz’s voice.

“None of your business.” You said firmly. Pope grabbed your bag and handed it to you as you both got ready to leave.

“Bye Lena.” You said with a smile and a wave before turning to Baz and Cath. “Pope will pay for the bed damages and I threw out your bed sheets. You’re welcome.” You patted Baz’s chest in a condescending manner before leaving hand in hand with Pope. Right as you made it to the sidewalk you heard Baz yell “What the fuck!” which sent you and Pope into a fit of laughter as you walked off to have breakfast.

[dontcallpanic]

Monday WIP

the absolutely incredible @endwersed tagged me last week (thank you so much!) and I really wanted to share something even though I've been really struggling to write recently!

So here's something from the small strange town au where Stiles is finding everything really fucking weird (he nearly ran over a red eyed monster the night before) so he calls Scott because what else are best friends for.

-------

“ – And then she warned me to stay out of the woods. With teeth!” Stiles concludes.

“Wait, did you say teeth? What about her teeth? What did she do with them?”

“Well uh… she wasn’t threatening to tear my throat out or anything but there was definite baring. Like teeth baring. Grrrrrrr, you know?”

Scott makes a sympathetic noise. “Dude, that town sounds weird!”

“Yes! Thank you!” Stiles exclaims, loud enough for a passing dog walker to glance over in alarm. “That was totally what I was thinking,” he says lowering his voice. “This place is sketchy as hell.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Ah. The million dollar question. It’s funny really. Stiles had been expecting Scott to tell him to get the hell out. To get back on the road and come home. All his answers had revolved around how to nicely explain why that wasn’t going to happen. Instead the implication is the choice is his and Scott has accepted that. So something really strange happens when Scott asks Stiles what he’s going to do – what he wants to do. It all becomes strangely clear.

“I gotta go look Scotty. If I walk away now, I’ll always be wondering what if? You know?”

“So you’re staying.”

“I’m staying.”

Stiles exhales slowly, a previously unnoticed weight lifting off his chest. He’s staying. Thousands of miles under his belt and here’s where he wants to stay? He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Any idea how long for?” Scott asks after a moment and Stiles can hear the question underneath the question – it’s the one his dad asked him last night.

When are you coming home?

“Dunno. As long as it takes I guess. I know what I saw, you know? But I gotta figure it out. I won’t rest until this mystery is solved,” he declares dramatically, ignoring the squirming seething guilt in his stomach.

The voice in his head hisses viciously.You left them. They needed you and you left them behind.

He is a terrible friend.

He clears his throat and focuses on Scott’s laugh, fingertips anxiously worrying at his sleeve.

“Well don’t be the girl who kicked the hornets nest or anything,” Scott is saying and Stiles is so surprised by the reference he momentarily forgets his guilt.

“Hey – look at you with the ten years out of date thriller reference. Honestly Scott, say it again. Reading is a sexy look on you. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little turned on.” He pauses for dramatic effect before adding, “You haven’t read it have you? It’s Melissa's, isn’t it? ”

“Hah, yeah man, I just saw the title on mums night-stand. Memorized it to freak you out!"

“Well mark me down as horny and impressed Scott.”

Scott is laughing and it’s like something has eased in Stiles’ chest. It’s reassuring to know that the distance doesn’t matter. Scott remains a constant. And he can stay, here, in fucking… Beacon Hills, California of all places.

“So… You’re gonna go investigate then?” Scott says and Stiles can hear him get up and start walking.

“Yeah. Yeah I am. Those eyes man, I wish you coulda seen them.”

Scott huffs a laugh. “Yeah. I don’t. But I believe you!”

Stiles will never tell Scott how much he needed to hear that. “It was so fucking creepy Scott… I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Alright – just call me in the morning or something. I don’t need nightmares again. Nothing like the last time you dragged me into some woods please.”

“That was a one off!”

“Well let’s keep it that way dude.”

----

Gentle no pressure tags to @violetfairydust @patolemus @gege-wondering-around @jadezdominion @all-or-nothing-baby and @endwersed

[fr33time]

-TKDB characters with a reader that has a chronic illness-🌼

Ft. Vagastrom

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 (here)

Divider credits: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more (bottom) , @hyuneskkami (top)

Original ask: “Tkdb characters with reader whose similar to Luka from alien stage? Like having chronic illness and purple fingertips, and taking breathing test so their sickness wouldn't get in the way”

^ I wrote this with Congenital heart disease in mind because Luka’s symptoms mostly match with this condition! I’m thinking of renaming this fic because it’s a reader that’s similar to Luka in terms of health, but not personality wise? I need ideas for it honestly. I have the next part done already, but I won’t release it for a couple days because I need to pre-write other fics :) I hope you have a lovely day, muah! ✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

Tags: hurt/comfort(?), fluff, headcanons

Requesting rules here! (Read before requesting)

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Alan

At first he’s hesitant on touching you because he’s strong, and the fear he attaches to his stigma makes it worse. He doesn’t trust himself with you, but after being around you for so long he takes care of you more. He picks up on cues way better, offers to carry everything for you, and checks up on you every so often.

When you’re getting checked on by a doctor he likes to be nearby. He knows that he’s intimidating and he also knows how poorly some people are treated in the system. Not only is it so people don’t treat you poorly, it’s so he can make sure you’re fine and if you need anything.

He’ll always be there for you, besides putting his jacket over you when you’re feeling cold, carrying you around if you need it, he wants to be a shoulder you can lean on. He doesn’t talk about himself much but he always tries to comfort you when you need to vent (even when he doesn’t know how to comfort people, don’t worry, he’ll get the hang of it).

-☆-

Leo

At first Leo thought this was an absolute gold mine. Not only could he pretend that you were his partner, he could also make some potential content about taking care of you and he can get some internet points. Once you yelled and argued with him about not wanting to be content for his social media he’s annoyed, but he doesn’t ask you to film again… but damn, that would’ve been some good content for him.

He texts you to come over a lot to the point where you have a charger in his room. When you’re too tired to come over he’ll flop on your bed all day. He doesn’t want to admit he likes having you around, actually he’ll switch it up on you and say that YOU love being around him with a condescending smile.

When you want something he’ll begrudgingly get it, you better expect that he’ll ask for favours later. It honestly surprises you when he asks if you want anything else… with an attitude of course.

He teases you a lot. If you say you’re cold then he’ll lay himself on your legs, if he cuddles up to you he uses the excuse that he wants good couple content. He’s still an asshole every step of the way, but less of an asshole than he usually is.

-☆-

Shohei

Sho likes to make frequent trips outside of Darkwick so he usually asks you what you need from the city. He knows the general store doesn’t provide many quality of life items for your needs, so he doesn’t mind going a little far. He likes to drive anyways and he hates being on campus. If you ask if you can come he always jokes about it being a date, but he always makes sure you’re warm regardless. He gifts you small heat packets for the sole purpose of taking you on bike rides.

He comes over to Clementia to deliver food, most of the “packages” he brings over are soups. When you look at what soups he brought over he labeled them with hearts based on which ones he personally likes. If you don’t like soups he’ll always take requests from his lovely upperclassmen.

He’s always busy with the food truck, but he’ll always come over to grace you with his presence. When you ask him how he found the time to come see you, he responds by putting a finger over his mouth and gently shushes. He doesn’t ever tell you that he blows off some events in his schedule for you. He always wants to make sure you’re doing fine with his own eyes, he doesn’t know how it feels to be chronically ill but he’ll make time for you no matter what.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

[vaguely-concerned]

ingellvar must have so many strange off-putting little personal habits in their day to day life that they don't even realize come across as weird, especially if they haven't ever dated outside of the watchers much. in rye's specific case I think lucanis has a capacity for such immaculate 'sure my life is already so fucking weird this might as well happen' energy that I believe he'd be able to roll with the punches admirably given the time, but it really would be a situation like

(what was going on there was that rook was placing down some experimental wards, by the way, it's what he does to calm down before bed and if he wakes during the night. what with the necropolis itself being a liminal space of lf sorts on a cosmic scale, watchers take the additional liminal space between wakefulness and dreaming extremely seriously b/c they know there are things drifting through that would just love to get their foot/tentacle/conceptual spores in that particular half-ajar door that should not be allowed inside. or outside, I suppose, depending on your point of view. rook and lucanis are also experimenting with whether solid wards can help any with lucanis' weird post-spite dreams even if they can't do anything for the more mundane ptsd ones. third reason because in my worldstate they still live in the lighthouse after the game: unless gently dissuaded wisps will sometimes drift by while you're asleep and hover over your face curiously as they sense your mind doing stuff in the fade, and no one likes waking up on an eldritch sneeze with a well-meaning yet terrified wisp zooming about the room. important watcher novice 101 lessons.

blessed mental image of rye cross-legged on the floor, barefoot in his PJs with his hair down and no makeup, peaceably tracing out elaborate geometric shapes that somehow make your eyes scared when you look at them* while lucanis sits on the bed and reads out loud to both him and spite and occasionally sneaks some carnal looks at rook's fully unleashed curly hair and bare wrists & throat...... okay I think I've found the thing that will help me through the day thank you for coming on this journey with me)

*what is the paint he's using made out of and why is it such a deeply unsettling colour? don't worry about it! :) patented mostly well-meaning yet also borderline condescending mortalitasi hand wave of 'don't worry your sweet little non-nevarran head about it we both know you don't actually want to know. do not ask questions lest you learn the answers, especially if you're going to be annoying at me and freak out about it. let the things man was not meant to know stay unknown. unknown by you I mean I'm built different'

[toddtakefive]

thinking about todd and his resolve toward… not quite isolation, but being alone in a room full of people again. he goes along to the study room to sit on his own and do his homework, he sits at the poets table and follows along with what’s being said while keeping quiet, he goes to the meetings at all but doesn’t necessarily contribute (in fact, if you watch him when cameron is telling the story ‘from camp in sixth grade’, you can see that he recognizes it before any of the other poets but doesn’t voice it until they all have). he’s not alone, necessarily, if you want to get technical about it, he’s just lonely, and he’s generally okay with that. he doesn’t have friends and that’s fine, he doesn’t participate in class and that’s fine, he doesn’t have a relationship with his family and that’s fine—he could live without any real connection and he’d have been, more or less, fine.

the thing about when he says “i can take care of myself just fine!” is that he isn’t really wrong, you can infer that he’s been doing it his entire life anyway, it’s that ‘taking care of yourself’ isn’t the same thing as really living or being happy. todd’s an introvert, certainly, and even as he gets closer to the group he defaults to sitting quietly in the background, but he’s also denying himself community out of fear not introversion. todd isn’t friendless because he’s an introvert, although that definitely plays a part, he’s friendless because he pushes anyone that might want his company away. if anyone has every wanted for his attention in the first place. (neil’s unwavering interest in him is unique (even when it comes to the rest of the poets, who are fine with todd coming along and joining the group, but aren’t really hellbent on him being there in the beginning) and his refusal to accept it is a direct result of being so lonely growing up.)

there’s obviously something to be said about the implications of his parents neglect, and the more than likely fact that he grew up friendless, and how those both play a part in in him being so skilled at dodging social interaction/being so avoidant of it, but by the time we see him in the movie he’s all but accepted his fate as being alone his entire life. he’s already accepted being the family disappointment, and he’s already accepted he’ll never amount to anything, and he obviously doesn’t like it, but he’d have managed living with that knowledge without the confirmation that it was all wrong. would he have been miserable? almost certainly. but he’d have managed. he’d done it for that long already, anyhow.

[muninnhuginn]

Writers tag game

Prompt: share some writing

Thanks for the tag, @miyamiwu!

So, I'll be honest, I don't actually have any WIPs I'm intending to do anything with, but I have some oldish abandoned stuff I managed to relocate. It's back from 2021 so in my Untamed era and this bit was specifically set during Fatal Journey*:

Nie Huaisang woke blearily, cold seeping into his clothes from the floor. It was dark and it took several seconds to remember where he was. He could hear the muffled sounds of clanging and voices. As he lifted his head off the ground, they slowly resolved themselves into the clash of swords and yelling. [...] He didn't know what to do. What would his brother do? Xichen-ge? San-ge? He had his flute with him– he could try Cleansing. This was what it was for, right? Before he could doubt himself further, he started playing, pouring all the qi he could muster into the tune. He'd practised for hours the night before, long after San-ge had left, but despite that, he hadn't truly thought then that he'd need to play so soon. Was that so naïve of him? As he watched, Da-ge began to slow in his movements and Nie Huaisang felt himself start to relax. He kept his lips to the flute, trying not to let his relief fool him into making mistakes. Still, he knew he only had to play a little longer and then they could all escape. Him, his brother, his cousin. They could flee far away from the darkness that haunted these halls. And then Nie Zonghui's head hit the floor. He stopped playing.

And then I had this other bit:

He'd messed up. He must have played a wrong note. Maybe he'd misremembered the entire thing? And now Nie Zonghui was dead and his brother - what looked like his brother - was stood, Baxia dripping blood to the floor. [...] The sword was pointed at him. He tried to hold himself steady as he looked down the blade. Tried to blink away the tears that kept escaping without his permission. He could tell he was failing, unable to stop the trembling, but he forced himself to meet the eyes at the other end of the sword. He couldn't die here. He refused to die here. After all, he was the only family his brother had left.

*(it was meant to be part of a short time travel fic where post-canon characters went back not long before NMJ died. It would've had flashbacks to Fatal Journey interspersed with the "present" up until the point at which future NHS tipped off past NHS about the poisoned music. I actually got as far as figuring out where I wanted all the characters to be at the end of it, but I ran out of motivation pretty quickly so there's only this WIP stuff and the intro part written in the end.)

Ahh not sure who to tag when it comes to writing stuff. I know @roseofcards90 and @floofiestboy write some stuff? And anyone else who sees this who writes, feel free to consider yourself tagged ^^

[dennisboobs]

most annoying thing about being me is that i cannot engage with like. any fanon shit about dennis because i'm constantly on some advanced derangement and the stuff i thought two years ago when i was first getting comfy in the fandom is still the way everyone else looks at dennis but i'm like. yes but its Worse than this. you're like a quarter of the way there. this isn't the interesting bit, this is a symptom of it, keep going.

[kandicon]

*writes the same exact headcannons in slightly different scenarios over and over again*

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it

[theflyingfeeling]

current level of boredom while being mildly poorly (=not poorly enough to just lie down doing nothing but poorly enough to not have the energy to do anything thought-consuming): tagging all my shippy asks/posts ✨💅

ps. if anyone knows how to use the mass post editor to actually mass-edit tags in a convenient way I'd appreciate the help 🙏 like, idk if it's even possible to find all the posts I have tagged as x and edit the tags of all those posts at once? 🤔 so far I only know you can find tagged posts on your own blog by adding /tagged/x at the end of your url and then editing the tags manually one post at a time 🥲

[mangled-by-disuse]

I have such mixed feelings about the love languages thing specifically, because, like, gary chapman fucking sucks and there's no scientific validity to his work BUT

at the same time, i do think there's some value in recognising and discussing the fact that different people need different expressions of love in different amounts? Especially in relationships.

Like, I have just recently been having a discussion with my partner about how he really doesn't tend to express his affection through gifts, whereas (as someone who is mega-bad at expressing sincere feeling) I do rely heavily on giving gifts and doing things for people as a less scary way to express love. Joe doesn't like giving gifts, because he's scared he'll do it wrong, and is only so-so on receiving them. He prefers to express love through physical contact and saying nice things. I hate having nice things said to me unless I am allowed to immediately rebut them with a joke or sarcastic comment that makes them less scarily close to emotional honesty. too many words of affirmation and i will genuinely just start avoiding you because it is painfully awkward to me.

and none of that means we are fundamentally different categories of people, which is where the 5 Love Languages stuff falls into being absolute bollocks. but I have seen, and done, enough throwing the baby out with the bathwater on that to be a little defensive - I think reasonable applications of the concept are actually really quite valuable. and for me, the taxonomy Chapman suggests (words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service, physical touch) while not at all exhaustive or thorough, is a useful framework to hang those conversations on. bc, like, no, the way people communicate and receive affection is not universal, and from personal experience, assuming that it is can have really significant problems for a relationship.

...you could argue that this is parallel to BMI in terms of "tools being used in totally not the way they should be used" though, tbf.

I can't keep having the same conversations about love languages, mbti, iq, bmi, "brain fully formed at 25" and shit over and over again...

[ginzuras]

still thinking abt the ashfur redemption au if anyone was wondering

[ragequilt]

@setissma

I love when you find an author who just has a good flavor to their writing. It could be the way they handle characters, the way they use certain tropes or themes, even the specific lilt of their words. Its familiar and comforting and carries across different stories, like coming back to a place of comfort and recognizing the furniture.

[nbclover]

teehee

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 — 𝐣.𝐚.

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

word count: 7.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“o-okay. thank you, dr. abbot.” 

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

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

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

“oh, um, listen, i can explain-”

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

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

until you do.

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

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

there’s always cute guys from the hospital nearby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but then he hands it to you. 

“oh—what?” you ask, confused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yeah, you’re in trouble.

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah. listen, i’ll be right over.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you pause, processing everything happening in front of you.

“i’m sorry i didn’t text you.”

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

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

“i-i-”

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

it’s ridiculous. it’s like a movie.

the first date goes well, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it is. let me care of it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“next time, kid, i promise-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♡ thanks for reading!

[quin-ns]

Cherry (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 3K

Summary: you didn’t except that the first time joel said he loved you that he would mean he was in love with you. you did love him. like a friend. even a father. but you always wanted to hear those words, and you couldn’t break his heart, could you?

Tags: (18+), cw: dark themes, age gap, biting, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, couch sex, complicated/unhealthy relationship, mutual desperation, not dubcon but heed the adjacent warning (joel doesn’t know how yn really feels), sorry I don’t know what came over me guys I wanted something with some insane desire, angst, and smut

A/N: guys… I haven’t written for joel in almost 2 years that’s actually crazy… how?? he’s literally my fave dilf ever?? what a fic for me to come back to joel with tho wow enjoy fellow freaks I’ll write fluff for him soon too

tlou masterlist + main masterlist

It didn’t matter how long Joel had tried to convince you that he had just done the right thing, you still believed you owed him your life. Because he saved your life.

And after a period of Joel insisting you stay away from him for your own good, back when you lived in the QZ, he eventually took you under his wing. Now, he was intent on keeping you there.

It was his responsibility to protect you. It was his responsibility to make sure you had everything you needed. It was his responsibility to make sure you never got consumed by the darkness of this world like he had. It was his job to keep you safe. And you? You loved it.

More like you loved Joel, but you never bothered to separate the man from his actions. Why would you? You loved him. You really did. And he did the same for you.

The love you had for him was all consuming ever since he had told you, “I want you by my side, no matter what.”

Being in Jackson brought peace and security, and you were assured that your connection wasn’t merely out of necessity. You continued to choose each other. You would always choose him over everything else. It was just what you did.

You loved him because he saved you, but it was more than that. So, so much more.

You loved him like a friend, who you could talk to about anything. Your age difference hindered your ability to relate to one another on a lot of things, like the way you looked at the world, or how you solved problems, but even when you weren’t agreeing, you at least understood one another in a way no one else could.

In Jackson, it had been suggested that you could live with some other girls closer to your age, but Joel ended that discussion. Instead of a two bedroom house, he took up residence in one with three. You never would’ve wanted to live apart from him and Ellie, but you were relieved he had been the one to decide. It reaffirmed that you were just as important to him as he was to you. You needed that reassurance more often than you’d ever let him know.

When you first arrived, before you found your place in the community, you would hide out in the house. It was hard for you to grow accustomed to the way of life here, and even harder to trust people. Joel made sure you never stayed alone too long. When Ellie was out, which was more often than you but less than Joel, he would end up returning. Some days you found yourselves talking nearly every waking hour, and laughing together more than either of you could’ve expected.

He knew you loved him like a friend, but you loved him like a father as well. You never told him that flat out. You could just hear the grumbly comments about making him feel old, and even though it would be light hearted jokes, you wanted to keep the relationship as it was.

Joel was a toughened person, but he treated you delicately when he could. It would get to a point where you thought the label ‘fragile: handle with care’ was printed on you, but he never talked down to you. You liked that he protected you and made you feel safe without controlling you like he would a daughter. Not like how he was with Ellie. You were fine seeing him as a father without him seeing you as a daughter. It was best this way.

Needless to say, you loved him simply as the person he was. It overwhelmed you sometimes.

No, not sometimes. Often.

Everything he did made you okay with the fact that he had never said the exact words. He’d come close, had said them in many other ways, had proved to you that he did, but you never got the real thing. That was something you had thought you could live with as long as you could feel it. And as long as you could continue to love him as well.

So with Joel, now, sitting on the couch by your side, facing you and saying, “I love you. I have for a while,” your heart jumped from your chest. It changed everything in an instant.

You were smiling before you registered that he wouldn’t meet your eye. And was that… shame, maybe, in his voice? The way he kept it low, like he wasn’t sure he should be speaking.

Joel, in the distant past, would get frustrated with your naivety before it became a thing that endeared you to him.

It took you a long moment to get it. Then, all at once, you did. You wondered if he could read the shift in your face. From the moment your awe became tainted with understanding.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Joel continued. “But you know I hate lying to you, and not telling you… it felt like lying and I couldn’t do it anymore.” He swallowed. “I love you,” he repeated, to both you and himself.

Deep brown eyes that held years of life you couldn’t even begin to understand met yours, and you couldn’t seem to speak. Those words felt forbidden from him. You had spent so much time wanting to hear them, longing to hear them, before you made peace with the fact you wouldn’t. You had become okay with never hearing them from Joel because he consistently proved it to you in every other way.

And now, here he was, telling you he loved you, and you hadn’t leapt at the chance to say it back.

You knew why, and so did he. You could see him searching your face and with every second that passed, you watched his confidence crumble.

Joel was hurting. Your silence made him ache.

He took a long breath, bowed his head and shook it a little to himself. Experiencing regret in its entirety.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered finally. It felt like a knife to hear the defeat in his voice. He turned to face forward. “I- I should’ve known better.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I’m so much older than you, and I’ve done things that I can’t come back from, and you…” Joel stole a lingering glance. “You’re so perfect.”

You were the furthest thing from perfect, but you believed that Joel believed you were. It was the way he said it. He was so sure and you loved him for it. For seeing you in ways you couldn’t even see yourself.

You watched him, knowing that the man you loved was hurting. It didn’t seem fair to let him continue when you knew you were the only one that could make it stop.

It was almost an out of body experience, the way you moved. First closer to him, so close your legs were touching. Then your hand reached for his, your smaller fingers wrapping around it to squeeze. When he met your eyes, you saw the moment hope replaced pain, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“I love you, too,” you said, because it was true.

It was both a surprise and not when he kissed you. It was soft at first, and it reminded you of the way he often was with you. When you didn’t pull away, it ignited something in him. Suddenly his hands were on your face, deepening the kiss.

You kissed him back because he needed you to.

When Joel felt your lips moving against his, it told him two things. One, it told him what he needed to know, which was that you loved him. And two, it told him what you wanted him to believe, which was that you wanted this.

Joel grew a little more sure, pulling you closer to him. He couldn’t get enough and was struggling to hold back. You could feel it. Both his want and his restraint.

You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, so you put them over his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck, letting your fingers card in the longer ends of his grown out hair. You always wondered what his hair felt like.

Joel liked your curiosity and let his own get the better of him. His lips trailed from yours down to the side of your neck. You sucked in air, your face hot as you tried to catch your breath, when all of the sudden his kisses were replaced with a small, suckling bite. You gasped. You couldn’t help it. His hands moved, one resting on your back when the other held the back of your neck. Not hard, just keeping your close. You buried your face into his shoulder as he grew more confident with the use of his teeth.

The moan that escaped your lips when he soothed the harder bite with his tongue made his grip tighten. His breath hitched. You swallowed, flustered, unsure of yourself as your body shivered on its own. Joel pulled back to look at you, just long enough for you to see the desire clouding his eyes, and then he was crushing his lips against yours.

The weight of Joel’s body pushed you down onto the couch. You kissed him back, trying to keep up with his rough, hungry mouth, but your inexperience was catching up to you. You’d only ever kissed boys before, and now you had a man on top of you, his body pressed firmly to yours, his hands running down your frame as he devoured your lips and nipped at your skin. Muttering about how beautiful you were and that he was trying to be gentle but that you could tell him to stop if you wanted. He didn’t know you wouldn’t because as wrong as it felt, you wanted to give him everything he wanted. In turn, all you wanted was to hear him say he loved you again.

You didn’t need it before but now you couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t enough when Joel peppered kisses to your lips and neck. It wasn’t enough when he pressed himself between your legs and caused you to dig your nails into his back. You needed more. You needed him to say it again.

You let him take off your clothes when he asked so, so sweetly. You knew Joel was going to admire you, and he did, and that look on his face was worth the uncertainty you felt. He wouldn’t let you cover yourself, and it felt kind of nice when he kept your arms from crossing over your chest. It reminded you how strong he was, but how even with all that strength, and even when using it on you, he was careful. He didn’t want to truly hurt you, and you loved him for it.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised, lips against your ear as his fingers settled between your legs.

“I know,” you managed, breathless.

It made him smile, which made you smile. You couldn’t stop staring at him when he lifted his head to look at you. That is, until he pushed a finger into you. Your eyes fluttered shut and he was immediately in your ear again, and you understood for the first time the term ‘sweet nothings’. His low, soothing voice against your ear helped you relax as he pushed in another finger, and after a few minutes, another.

You were wet, you couldn’t help it. You found yourself apologizing, but he encouraged it. He liked you squirming beneath him, liked that your body was responding.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re doing good,” he groaned. “I want you to be ready for me

You didn’t know what possessed you to say it, but the words, “I am,” slipped from your lips. It was all he needed to hear.

His fingers slid from your body. A little voice in the back of your head told you to get them back, but it was silenced when he pulled the rest of his clothes from his body. You felt the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance. You couldn’t look down, and you were too embarrassed to look him in the eye, so you shut yours.

A hand touched your face.

“Look at me,” Joel urged. “Don’t be shy. I wanna see you.”

You obliged, forcing your eyes open, watching him above you. You found it hard to believe you never fully saw how handsome Joel was.

When he began to push into you, the stretch was much more than his fingers. You had to open your legs wider. Joel ran his hands up and down your hips and waist, soothing you as he eased himself inside, telling you, “It’s okay, you’re doing great. Just relax. You’re taking me so well,” and you couldn’t help but bask in the praise. It hurt a little, but you were practically purring by the time he was fully seated inside. You didn’t mean to, but your body squeezed him, and his cock throbbed inside you.

Joel made a noise of pure bliss as he let his weight rest on you. You were so overheated, sweat slick between your bodies. When he started kissing you again you almost forgot about it. He was a good kisser, which made sense given he had more experience than you. A twinge of jealousy ran through you at the thought of him with anyone else and you pulled him closer. It wasn’t quite a laugh he let out, most just a sound of amusement at your actions.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

One of his hands found the back of your head, holding you so your mouth was his and he could have his way. The other hand ran over your ass and down your thigh, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him. You did.

He started to move, then. Pulling back a little and pushing in. It was such a foreign feeling. You couldn’t keep your noises to yourself, but Joel savored them. When he started to move a little faster, his methodical motions turning into thrusts, he seemed to be seeking those reactions from you.

It was a cycle. The rougher he moved, the more whimpers and moans he pulled from you, and then in turn the sounds spurred him on. You were holding onto him for dear life by the time he was pounding you into the couch, groaning your name, telling you how good you were.

“It’s like you’re made for me,” he grunted into your ear, and you hoped he meant it, because you believed it.

“I’m yours,” you told him.

“Tell me again,” Joel started in a grunt, thrusting forward. He held himself completely inside you for a moment, shuddering as your nails dragged down his back. It took your breath away, feeling so full. He pressed his forehead to yours as he said, “Do you mean it? You love me?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. It was true. It was the only thing you’d known to be true and maybe this wasn’t the way, wasn’t something you imagined, but it didn’t make that simple fact any less true.

“Say it.”

“I love you.”

Joel groaned, shoving his hips forward. You whimpered. He was already in you to the hilt.

“Again,” he groaned.

He needed it just as bad as you did.

“I love you, Joel. I love you.”

He pulled out before thrusting back in. Again and again you told him, and he moved, building back up to an even harder pace than before. You could hardly stand it but you told him over and over again like a chant;

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” and even breathless you never faltered. Even when Joel kissed you rough and needy, like he was starved, you still got out the words, “I love you.”

Your legs were barely holding on despite your effort. Your hands began to slide from his back but you continued to grasp onto him. One of his hands found your wrist. You would let him if he wanted to, but you didn’t want him to hold it down. You needed to touch him. Needed to feel him. Needed the security that he proved.

As if he could read your mind, he turned his face to kiss your palm, then let your wrist go. He gave you free range. You chose to run that hand fully through his hair. Every part of you needed to be touching every part of him. He invaded your mind and soul, the last step was your body, and he was accomplishing that this very second. You belonged entirely to him. Even as tears pricked in your eyes at how overwhelming it all was, to love and be loved by Joel was all you’d ever wanted and known for years.

He huffed out a half grunt half laugh when your body started to tense. He was pleased. Could read your body better than even you. You were so lost in the sensation that you let out a yelp when a hand moved between your legs, rubbing at you in tandem with his cock slamming into you.

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Just let go.”

And you did. It didn’t even feel like a choice. It just happened. The pleasure became too much to handle. It rippled through your whole body as the knot in your belly snapped. You tensed and shuddered around Joel, holding onto him as your cunt clenched down around him, trying to keep him inside to allow you ride out the wave without feeling empty. Joel wasn’t keen on denying you. His thrusts became shallow but hard, sending jolts through you until you felt it. With a groan he stilled inside you, and then warmth flooded your insides. He rocked his hips forward a little as he spilled inside you, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

As the haze started to fade and awareness returned, something akin to dread settled over you. Everything became all too real all at once.

Joel kissed life back into you. His hand between your legs moved to run across your belly and thighs, while the other held your face so he had as much access to your lips as he wanted.

You started to move, feeling crushed, but Joel took care of that. He managed to turn your bodies so you were lying on top of him, but he was careful to not withdraw from you. He bucked his hips up a little and you whined. Joel chuckled as he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to him. You turned your head to the side, your cheek resting against his chest. You listened to his heart rate come back down, unfocused eyes trailing around the living room. Joel kissed the top of your head and ran his calloused hands over your back.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked, not really looking for an answer. You didn’t have one, anyway.

You wanted to crawl off of him. It was all becoming too much again. As good as it had all felt, it confused you, and you thought maybe you wanted to cry, but then came the words that had you subdued.

“I love you, Y/N,” Joel breathed.

You didn’t think he understood the power he had in his words. As far as he knew, you loved him the same way as he loved you. You would continue to let him think that if it meant you could protect him from the heartache, and if you could keep hearing him say the words you craved. You knew, eventually, you could learn to love him this way, too. If he was happy, you knew you could be too. Being loved by him was all you ever wanted. It didn’t matter how else you felt because that need would take priority over everything. You would always choose him over everything else. It was just what you did.

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @dontphunkwithmylove @cilliansangel @amethystwonders11 @frogsmuahh037 @andy-rocks @melllinaa @alitaar @melanie451 @b00kw0rmsworld @reverieisaway @avengersfan25 @aheadfullofsteverogers @strangeh0rizons @spideysimpossiblegirl @shannonmariebee @str84pedro @koukatsuki @darleneslane @larascorneroftheworld

I wasn’t sure whether to use the taglist for smut since I’d only written fluff for him before, so if you’re on the taglist and only want to be tagged in fluff not smut just lmk

if you would like to be added to the joel taglist just send me an ask or a message!