luvrbot404 - Tumblr blog

luvrbot404 · 4 days

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Y'all know that whole trend that was going around social media with women calling their significant other by their full name? Yeah, that one. Yet another conversation was had, this time it was about the reactions your favorite babygurls would have if you called them by their full government name because of reasons. Maybe.

Capt. John Price - He's, uh, startled but not enough to drop his cigar this time. Does take a puff of it, though, before addressing you like it's the calm before the storm. Isn't too fazed because he heard it enough from his own mom growing up and he figures he's suave and diplomatic enough to placate you.

Gaz - Pointedly ignores you while giving you side glances here and there which is a major indicator that he's gotten into some shit. Probably. More than likely. Yeah... it was Soap's fault.

Alex Keller - Actually did get into some shit. Does not answer the call of duty.

Soap - You hear 'ah, shit', heavy footsteps, probably a crash, and Soap's peeking his head out from the other room. Has a deer-in-headlights look about him. It was Gaz's fault, goddamnit. He's so adorable. It's enough to make you giggle.

Ghost - You get a grunt. And then it hits him. He stops doing whatever it is he's doing. Fuck, he knows that tone. Simon turns to look at you and he stares into your soul or something like that. What in the hell kind of made-up middle name is that? You spend the better part of a good minute staring each other down before you're all, "I love you ♥️," and Ghost groans and rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever it was he was doing. But not before he grunts out a "Love ya, too." in return.

Alejandro - This is one of the few things that'll actually faze the man. Will damn near break his neck turning to face you to see what's wrong and his eyes will be wide. Oh, the last time he heard his full name called like that was from his beloved grandmother and he'd gotten into some shit then, okay?

Rudy - Ducks his head. Doesn't show his face; he can't bear the sternness of your voice, your gaze. It wasn't him this time, he swears; it remains, though, the way you say his name, an echo in his mind: Ro-DOL-fo. Why'd you have the emphasize THAT part of his name, huh?

König - König.exe stops working. Actually does break something trying to get to you. His eyes are fucking saucers, okay? Oh shit, what did he do this time, Schatz? Are you getting him back after that one time he snuck up on you to surprise you and you dropped dinner? Did you find out about the time he accidentally messed up the laundry and the white clothes came out pink? WHAT DOES HE HAVE TO DO FIX THIS?! Oh, you... just needed him to grab something off the top shelf for you.

Horangi - Also did some shit. Is unapologetic about it. Hits you with a nonchalant, "Yeah?"

Graves - STAYS IN SOME SHIT, OKAY? Saunters in like the smug bastard he is. Smirks and winks at you. "Haven't heard that name in a while, darlin'. What's your fancy?"

Valeria - Pulls a Uno Reverse and calls you by your full government name. Wait―

#OH MY GOD THIS WAS YOUR POST????#I SAW IT FOREVER AGO AND THOUGHT IT WAS HILARIOUS #BUT NOW I'M JUST SCROLLING THRU YOUR BLOG AND FIND THIS?????#i ADORE your tone

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luvrbot404 · 4 days

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More goofball shit featuring your faves. This time it revolves around this scenario: your lover is away, you're winding down for the day, and it's that time of the week when you do your face mask. They FaceTime you (or you them, depending), you answer with the mask on, and... reactions may vary. Or something like that.

Capt. John Price - The old man is actually nonplussed about it, if only because you got him the first time he talked to you with your mask on and he damn near had a heart attack. Dropped his cigar in his lap and everything.

Gaz - "Hey, love—oh, shit—!" The call disconnects and you're laughing your ass off. You got him back for pranking you and made damn well sure you were in the dark before you answered him.

Alex Keller - He was tired and wanted to send his love before he got some shut-eye for a bit. Then he saw you and was jolted back awake. Kinda. What really happened was that he spent the next couple of seconds looking crazy as shit and wondering if that was really you. Got his confirmation when he heard your voice. Hell yeah, his ass needs some sleep.

Soap - Kinda sulks in Golden Retriever because he would really like to partake in the goodness that is skincare with you because he really needs to de-stress, his skin isn't doing too good this time around, and you're wearing one of his shirts—how could you tease him like that?! Sulks even more when he finds out you're using the Aloe Vera mask this time, too.

Ghost - You know that one person who you FaceTime and y'all just spend a few minutes looking at each other? That's you and Ghost. His mask is up past his lips so you see the stubble—god, you miss the way it brushes against your inner thigh—and he's just... staring at you. Placidly. And you're staring at his lips him. Not-so-placidly. "Nice mask, lovie," Ghost breaks the silence, and you: "Better than yours, Simon?" He snorts good-naturedly, "Not even close." Cheeky bastard.

Alejandro - Has one of the most anti-climatic reactions ever. Doesn't even miss a beat with whatever it is he's doing and tells you to get some much-needed rest. Also mentally makes a note to take you up on your offer of getting a face mask once he gets home.

Rudy - Stops himself mid-laughter. Tries to hold it in. Busts out laughing. This was after he was startled because how else was he supposed to deal with the nervous energy? "What's so funny, Rodolfo?" Oh, shit, he knows that tone—

König - König.exe is in overdrive because you're using the sheet mask he bought for you. You can't see the goofy smile but you see the way his eyes crinkle. He'll be riding this high for a couple days, give or take. You'd give a smile in return but with the way the mask is practically plastered to your face...

Horangi - He's the one who bets that you'll fall asleep with it on. Bullshit. You were just resting your eyes because you had to keep it on for 20-30 minutes.

Graves - Doesn't even bother to react because he's seen you with a face mask on more often than not. Does pull this stunt though: "Say hey to the guys, darlin'. Wish 'em luck." And there you are in all of your skin-care glory for them to see. You awkwardly say hey and one sweet soul awkwardly waves back. Go to hell, Phillip.

Valeria - Turns out she loves her some face masks as well and y'all could be twinning, babes. And then she finds out which one you're using. "Huh. Sounds familiar. That wouldn't happen to be one of the ones I purchased, would it?" Oh, look at the time, gotta run—

Roach - Hits you with the thumbs up. Until you tell him you got one just for him, too. Uh...

Keegan - Spends the better part of your conversation wondering if you're okay (if the way he keeps staring intensely is any indication) because there can only be one masked mess in this relationship and it sure as hell shouldn't be you. You then had to give him a crash course in skin care.

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luvrbot404 · 4 days

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I made a quick 90s heartthrob version bc this is the ideal man

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luvrbot404 · 5 days

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your freak-of-nature boyfriend that we locked up in a high security lab is loose in the fucking facility send help before he kills us all

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luvrbot404 · 8 days

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Carmen finding out his partner didn’t tell him about an important milestone/achievement they achieved. It can be some academic/job performance they didn’t think to tell him due to being conditioned (family issues) to not celebrate their own achievements and not wanting to bother Carmy with unnecessary things. I imagine he isn’t pleased to find this out.

"Where are the flowers from?" Carmen hummed, finger trailing across the soft petals of the small bouquet on the kitchen table.

"Oh," You turned, watching him push the card attached open gently. "My coworker got them for me."

"Coworker?" Carmen's brow lifted, eyeing you carefully. "Should I be worried?"

"No," You blushed shaking your head. "No, I, uh, one of my projects got chosen to be in the big expo thingy, so she was just congratulating me."

Carmen paused, his body stilling, mind racing through the different things you told him- nothing about this. "Wait, you-you... That's amazing." Carmen grinned, hugging you tightly.

You blushed, shaking your head, trying to hide in Carmen's chest. "It's nothing, Carm..." You mutter.

"No, it's-it's amazing, baby. That's so great. Why..." Carmen almost didn't say it. He didn't want to. He wanted to let you have your moment and not ruin this, but he couldn't ignore that nagging in his head. The same question on a loop.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

You cringed, body going rigid in his touch. "It's-It's nothin', Carm. I was just doin' my job." You mutter, pulling back but still refusing to look at him.

"Yeah, but you-you did better than everyone, and... Why are you bein'- hey, look at me- Why are you bein' like this, hm? What's goin' on?" Carmen's voice was gentle, eyes searching your features while his hands cradled your jaw, lifting your gaze to his.

You couldn't look at him, eyes darting away and down, anywhere but those blue eyes that begged for you to look at him. You couldn't. You felt entirely too vulnerable. That wasn't how things like this worked. You were supposed to get things like this. You didn't celebrate something that should be done, only criticized if you didn't get there. Or at least that's what was always hammered into your head.

"It's just... It's not a big deal, Carmen, it's my job-"

"-It is a big deal." Carmen's tone was firm, hands cradling your jaw. "It's a very big deal. Your project's being used at the expo? You worked so hard on it, and you deserve it, baby. Why aren't you excited?"

"I am." You huffed, the burn of tears swelling in your chest.

"Are you?" Carmen pressed, tilting his head to the side lightly. "Because you're not actin' like you are."

"I just- I-I am excited." You admitted with a shaky breath. "I'm actually really excited."

"You should be." Carmen pressed a kiss to your forehead, thumbs gliding over your cheeks soothingly. "I'm so proud of you. You worked hard. You deserve it, y'know."

Your chest filled with warmth, hiding your face in Carmen's shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of his spicy cologne, faint smells of herbs and spices mixed with the smoke from his spirits. It was overwhelming to your senses but it was Carmen. Carmen was proud of you. It made your hear soar hearing the words you never got to from the ones you wanted most.

The next day, an even bigger bouquet was on your desk. Obnoxiously large with a note attached.

Congratulations. You amaze me every day. I'm so proud of you.

Love, Carmen

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luvrbot404 · 8 days

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hiiii could you write something maybe about carmy comforting reader through a panic attack + casual dominance when she comes to visit him at the restaurant? thanks! love your writing!!

"Chef, how is the seven fishes?" Carmen barks, looking over his shoulder at Tina.

"Almost done, Chef!" Tina replies, separating the prep easily, sautéing the sauce and the remoulade.

"Ebra, the to-go orders. Are you ready? We can not have another fuckin' disaster like before." Carmen grumbles, tasting the potatoes with a curt nod to the chef in front of him.

"Ready, Chef." Ebra answered, looking at the machine. "Gary will help."

"Good, and please remember house keeping chefs. Clean up now so we don't clean later." Carmen called, nodding at the chorus of replies.

"Hey, Cousin." Richie muttered, dropping beside Carmen. "I think you need to go to your office."

"What? Fuck off, I don't-"

"-Cousin," Richie's tone is firm, eyes narrowing with urgency. "Step out. Go to your office."

Carmen huffs, annoyed, but goes to his office regardless. Palm slapping against the door to push it open before he sees you, his shoulder's instantly dropping.

You looks at him, wide eyed, nearly skittish. Hands trembling and lip tucked between your teeth. Carmen frowns, shutting the door. "Hey, what are you-"

"-I'm sorry." You squeak, voice cracking and wobbly. "I-I'm sorry, I know you're busy, and-and I shouldn't have come during prep. I just... I didn't know-w where-" The gasp in your breath, like your lungs were squeezing. They felt like they were. Chest heavy, gasping breaths that left you dizzy. Like you couldn't breathe, which made you panic even more.

"Hey, hey, hey, no, look at me." Carmen cooed, his tone dropping to a soft tone. His heart hammered, scanning over your features, hands on your face. "What's goin' on? Are you ok?"

"No," You whimpered, shaking your head. "I just, I needed to see you, and-and-" You inhaled deeply, a wheeze in your tone that had Carmen's stomach turning.

"Hey, ok, I gotcha, ok? I gotcha, baby. Just breathe." Carmen's hands cradled your face, cupping your cheeks gently. "I need you to breathe ok? Look at me." Your eyes were watery, meeting his anxiously, body shaking in his hands.

"Breathe." Carmen commended. "In through the nose... Good girl, now out through your mouth." You followed his instructions, breaths and exhales shaky. "Good, now do it again, baby. Do it again for me."

He was using that tone, the one he always used to get you complacent, mind numbing and following his every word. Slow, deep breaths in, and long exhales until your chest felt looser, like you could finally breathe.

Carmen could feel his own chest loosening at the feeling of your tremors stopping. "Good. You did good, baby." Carmen muttered, arms wrapping around you, swaying slightly.

"I'm sorry." You squeaked, cheek smushed to his shirt. "I didn't... I didn't mean to bother-"

"-Don't you dare." Carmen warned, glaring at you lightly. "Don't even say that, alright? I don't mind. Want you to come to me when you're like this, alright?"

You nodded against his chest, his hands running soothing circles down your spine. "Now tell me what's goin' on. What happened?"

"I-I can just tell you later. I-I know you're busy-"

"-Tell me." Carmen frowned, looking down at you. "What's goin' on?" He asked, pulling you into his lap, sitting at his desk chair.

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luvrbot404 · 8 days

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AYO EDEBIRI, JEREMY ALLEN WHITE and MATTHEW MATHESON on the set of THE BEAR season 3

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luvrbot404 · 8 days

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How does lip respond to like a softer reader and he’s being his normal dick self one day when she brings him lunch at work or school and she’s just like 🥺 why are you being so mean to me when I’m just here to support you?

i feel like he'd do it out of pure just asshole almost defensiveness. you bring it to him while he's at work, and all the other guys are giving him so much shit about it. like they're just being assholes and he's used to it, knows they're just fucking with him, but it irritates him to no end.

"i brought you lunch!" you're all cheery and excited, it's in a brown paper bag- lip insists- but you always draw his name with a little heart. maybe stick a note inside telling him to have a good day and you loved him. secretly, he loves it. makes his heart soar. but he can't let the guys see that- let them think he was a softy.

"yeah, i fuckin' see that." lip huffs, pulling you by your elbow lightly to the break room, ignoring the snickers of the other men as he did. "i told you to just text me when you got here."

"i did, lip." you pout. you felt like you'd done something... wrong? like lip was angry at you. you'd just brought him the lunch he always forgot. "you didn't reply so i just-"

"-you just brought it in? couldn't wait?"

"why are you- why does that even matter?" you could feel your pitch rise in that shrill, the one that meant you we teetering on a fight.

lip cringed at the sound, hovering over you so the guys couldn't see your upset expression. "you know they're gonna bust my fuckin' balls when you do shit like this. they're-they're gonna fuck with me all day about this."

"about me bringing you your lunch?" your throat burned with an all too familiar heat that meant you were close to crying- to spilling right over.

lip could see it, see it in your eyes, in the wobble of your lips. he sucked in a breath, nerves shot and itching for a cigarette desperately. "baby," though the endearment was spoken with more of a grit to it than the normal coo. "i told you to text me and i'd come to the car-"

"-why are you mad at me right now?" you squeaked, voice bubbling up with a cry. "i just brought you your lunch, lip." then the tears come. the big tears that flood your water line before rolling down your cheeks, always making lip's heart break- even more so now because he was the asshole who made you cry.

lip shuttles you to the car, wrapped in his arm, hoping the guys wouldn't see you. wouldn't see the way he cooed at you, hushed gentle apologies and kisses on wet cheeks, sharing his sandwich with you sweetly.

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luvrbot404 · 14 days

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sobbing and throwing up thank you for writing this im getting it lasered onto my brain

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

One thing you love about Simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. Strong, steadfast, there when you need him. Even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

Not that you’ll tell him that.

You hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. Whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

Except for Simon.

Which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. You don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

Losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. You've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

But losing Simon? You don't think you'd ever get over that.

It's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. Your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

Your call log is all Simon.

Some appointments here and there, but Simon everywhere else.

Fuck.

You hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

You don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

He answers before the third ring.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. You take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "Am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired. “No, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. You’re only half-convinced.

"I'm sorry," you begin again. Your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. You're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "I didn't know who else to call, and I lost my tram pass, and I don't have an umbrella, and — "

“Dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. You ache.

"I can just walk home, I-I'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone. “Darling,” he says, a little stern. Not angry, never angry. Trying to focus you. “What’s wrong?”

“U-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "I waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "Messaged him too, y'know. He just. Didn't show."

You think you hear Simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick. “Where are you?”

There's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. You manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking. “Twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “Sit there and be good and patient and I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"Okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

Thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. You make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

You can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

He says your name gently. You take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. He's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. Assessing you, worrying.

"I'm sorry," you croak out. You can't help it. It's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. He doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"Love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. His eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." Your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "You know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. He hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"This is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. You were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"Yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "You really think I'd let you stay home alone?"

His eyes are so fucking bright. It startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"I..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "I was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"As if I don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. You scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"Go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

You hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"Go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

His flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

Well.

You might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. It's a you're a bit clumsy thing. Simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

His bedroom is familiar as well. Which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

You take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. You’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

As you pad back out to the living room, Simon’s already on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. You’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

His balaclava is off. The last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“Knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“Am I that predictable?” you mumble, a small thank you as he hands you a bowl.

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

The silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“Were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

You blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. You can’t read his eyes. Something hot twists in your gut.

“I-I don’t know, Simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “Maybe?”

He doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “Depends how the date went, I suppose. Doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. His gaze hasn’t changed. “Why?”

His jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “You deserve better ‘n that.”

A confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “I know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

He seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. You feel sick.

Dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. You bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“Don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

Your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. Relationships aren’t easy. Being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

You never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. You don’t deserve that kind of attention. After a while, they’ll get tired. You’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

It’s easier to be by yourself. The only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“Love.” He tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. How hasn’t he gotten tired of you yet?

A hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. Your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“What’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

You swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “No one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

Frustration burns the back of your throat. Isn’t it obvious? You can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. How can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? How could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“You wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. You crumble back into the couch.

“Make me understand.”

Heat flashes at the nape of your neck. He takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. Your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“How aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. You look at him. Hesitant. Scared.

The silence is loud. His own frown deepens. It takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“You know I’d do anything for you, yeah?”

Your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“Because you do the same for me,” he continues. You doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

His touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. He slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips just above the waistband of his boxers.

You slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. Firm and broad and safe.

“You apologize so much. You worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. One hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“You’re allowed to ask for help.”

You shake your head, a no caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“Oh, love.” He cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “You have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

He lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. His cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. You’re so tired.

His lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. You’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

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