#[ tommy i'm sick at heart ]

[fromkenari]

I know some of y'all are devastated about Buck and Tommy breaking up. Still, Tim, Oliver, and Lou have all been harping on it being "fresh and new" since they started talking about the season, which is why I have been holding off on throwing it all down for the ship because, yes, I DID want a place to talk about whatever was going on between them without getting bashed for it. It took me a WHILE to find that, and I don't plan to just leave those spaces because it ended.

Still, this relationship only existed for 13 episodes and was shown in less than half of those episodes. I didn't even understand why and how they were in a relationship until 8x05. I was prepared for that dinner to be their one- or two-month anniversary, not SIX, with the way Tim, Oliver, and Lou have played it in interviews, insisting they're still in the "honeymoon phase."

Six months is a long fucking time for a "honeymoon phase," which is why that reveal threw me so hard at the beginning of the episode. And for how long have we been saying Abby's ex was named Tommy since he showed up and kissed Buck? And then that's not even the reason they broke up. They had Josh give Buck a pep talk before they broke up. This episode was a shitshow, yes, but are you honestly really that surprised they had another Buck love interest do him dirty? And come to find out that Oliver wants Buck to get dirty?

I'm kind of pissed about how all of this went, yeah. Still, I can't imagine what it's like going through the character you've played for seven seasons being the goddamn scapegoat for the relationship-ending trauma nearly every single season, which makes the fans put your character on a pedestal and the one time you finally get to have your character screw up and cheat SINCE his life-changing relationship in season one, your character not only does not get to fall off the pedestal, it gets higher because he doesn't get a single bit of the blame from the fans. No, they're too busy trashing your character's love interests for what your character did to them, mainly because they're women.

Y'all can say, "Wow, that must be a breath of fresh air for Tracie to have Karen not be the unmoved, understanding wife and be petty for once," but say you're "betrayed" by Oliver wanting a piece of that same nuance for his character? I mean, unfollow and block him if you must, but fucking christ y'all, the man has to be tired of being the golden retriever. No wonder he fully leaped into this arc. Let him have some fun, and Buck get a little tarnished. He's made of solid gold. He's gonna still shine in the end.

No, I am not in any way condoning the biphobic implications of the shit Tommy said to him at the end. I can see why Lou didn't want it to end that way. It's an incredible disservice to the bisexual community, and I do take offense to that. But they can't erase that now. So fine. Let this new Buck break some hearts. There's nobody (except maybe Eddie) that can doom spiral like Buck can. He's going to be impulsive. and (for once) he's not looking for a relationship. And he even said in this episode, he kind of worshiped Tommy so as shitty as what Tommy said was, it's going to go to Buck's head and heart for sure.

The Daddy said "you're just gonna break my heart" to guy with Daddy Issues. Y'all keep calling Buck a brat. Maybe he is. And maybe we're about to see it on blast. That affection-starved man has never done anything half-measured in his life.

[gonnabeokaykid]

thoughts in the tags. genuine reflection of the season so far. not with any malice. more slightly sad resignation and a reminder to feel joy.

this is just a tv show after all <3

[guestp]

💔

7.05//8.11

for @somethingaboutfirefly

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

don't tell him. l Joel Miller

Summary: you tried to hide an unpleasant situation from Joel

Warnings: angst, attempted sexual assault, aggressive behavior, Reader feels guilty, violence, swearing; Ellie, Tommy, Ann, and Elliot appear

A/N: .

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

Your footsteps echoed quietly in the hallway of the building that served Jackson as a sort of town hall. You knew you would find Tommy there and you were right. When you pushed open the door, he looked up from the map and was surprised. He wasn't expecting a guest and your appearance gave him the impression that something was wrong.

"What’s up?" he asked, "Patrol went wrong?"

You adjusted the strap of your rifle that was still hanging over your shoulder and bit your lip, feeling your heart still pounding. Eventually, though, you nodded. “I don’t want to go on patrol with Elliot anymore. I’m sorry, Tommy, but I refuse.”

He frowned and looked at you carefully, getting up from his chair. "What happened? This was your third patrol together. Did he do something irresponsible?"

He noticed you looking away, but after a moment your eyes landed on him again. “Yes, he did.”

The third patrol with Elliot was no different. All patrolling personnel had to be able to cooperate with each other, so partners were swapped from time to time. Shane took on another partner for a while, and you agreed to take Elliot. It was fine. Until that day.

You should have set the boundary from the start, but this time your faith in people failed you. Comments that seemed strange to you and made you feel uncomfortable kept falling from Elliot's lips.

"They're just compliments, honey." he said when you gave him a warning look. "Anger hurts beauty."

Neither Joel nor Shane had ever spoken to you that way. But patrol was the most important thing and that was what you decided to focus on, so you ignored the red flags that were popping up in the back of your head. And he probably didn't like it.

“Listen,” he began as you put the thermos away after your meal and slowly prepared to return to Jackson. “I know you know I like you. I saw the way you looked my way.”

"What?" you looked at him surprised. "I didn't..."

"You did. At the bar or when we saw each other in town." he stepped closer.

"Listen, I think you misunderstood me." you replied trying to turn it all into a joke. "You know perfectly well that me and Joel..."

"Joel." Elliot snorted. "Please, will he protect you? Will he keep you safe?"

The words died in your throat as you noticed the change in the man's eyes. The gentle gaze darkened. Instinct told you that you should back off, not provoke him, because that was apparently how he perceived every reaction you made to his words.

"Let's go back to Jackson." you said trying to ignore Elliot's strange behavior. You threw your backpack over your shoulder when you felt him grab your arm tightly.

"I'm serious, honey." he hissed. He was standing close enough to make you feel threatened. "You're pretty and smart, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Here-" he looked around the forest surrounding you "Here everything will stay between us and..."

"Let me go." you interrupted him sharply. "You have no right to talk to me like that! I don't know what you've got in your head, but it's fucking sick!"

"You keep tempting and provoking me, don't tell me that..."

You yanked your arm away and stepped back abruptly. Elliot had barely taken a step when you pulled a gun from your belt and aimed it at him. "Give me a reason." you said.

You were terrified, but you didn't want him to see it. Eventually, he just shrugged, muttered, "Bitch!", and picked up his backpack, then started walking without even looking back. It was only then that you realized you were holding your breath.

Tommy looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and anger, but he didn’t doubt any of your words. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered when you told him everything. “I wanted Shane to go with him, but Elliot asked you to. He said you liked each other and he’s already talked to you about it.”

"He said that? Jesus."

Tommy walked around the desk and approached you. Concern was written all over his face. "I'm sorry, he'll never go on patrol with you again. I'll talk to him. Fuck! When Joel finds out..."

Your eyes widened in an instant. That was why you came straight to Tommy.

"You can't say anything to Joel." you said, and seeing Tommy's surprised look, you added "You know what he can do. Joel... That guy you caught when Sam and Anthony died... I don't want him to do something like that again because of me." 

You didn't know what Joel did back then, but you weren't stupid and you weren't fooling yourself. That man disappeared without a trace. You didn't feel any regret about it. Were you a bad person? Probably, but you didn't want Joel to get furious and do something stupid.

Tommy leaned in slightly toward you. "He's my brother. I should keep you safe."

"Nothing happened. Just make sure I don't have to see Elliot on patrol anymore."

Tommy shook his head, but eventually sighed in resignation. "Fine. I won't tell him. What about you? How are you feeling?"

"Better now."

You had your reasons for keeping Joel out of what happened. It was between you, Elliot, and Tommy, and you just tried to forget about it. Things were really good between you and Joel, and you didn't want something unpleasant to happen to change that, and Elliot definitely could.

For a few days you wondered if maybe you had actually done or said something that would make him feel like you were interested in him, but you had found nothing. Nothing beyond the normal greetings or exchanges of words that you had with other residents of Jackson. But the guilt quietly churned in the back of your mind.

Tommy, as he promised, moved Elliot to other duties and soon you went back to patrolling with Shane, which you welcomed with great relief. You were ready to forget about everything.

For the past few weeks, Joel had seemed worried about something, but every time you asked him about it, he would say, “It’s nothing, honey. Just… thinking.” And then he would kiss your forehead or temple and pretend nothing was wrong. You asked Ellie and Tommy about it too, but they would just shrug—for them, everything was normal.

"Maybe he's getting more grumpy with age?" Ellie once said, so you dropped the subject before she could say anything more. Things were good between you, so you didn't want to look for problems.

However, when Ann showed up at your door that evening, you knew something was wrong. She had a flushed face and seemed very concerned about something.

"Something with Elijah or Shane?" you asked, getting up from the couch and putting the book aside.

"Why didn't you tell me?" her voice was shaking. "We're friends after all."

"Ann, I don't understand." you replied, walking up to her "What happened? Where's the baby?"

"With Shane." she threw out casually, but her hand quickly grabbed your arm. "Shane told me. About Elliot and what happened. Why didn't you tell me?"

Shit. In an instant, you felt like the ground had dropped from under your feet. Tommy had promised you. Did he really...

But Ann must have noticed your surprise and calmed down a bit, or at least enough to speak a little quieter. “Shane was at the Tipsy Bison today. Elliot and a few other guys were there too. He…” she took a deep breath. “He said some really nasty things about you. Shane wanted to react, just tell him to shut up, but then he heard him talking about your last patrol…”

"What did he say?" the words just poured out of your mouth.

“Nothing specific.” Ann frowned, trying to remember her husband’s exact words. “Something about how you’d been seducing him for so long that he’d suggested a quickie but you got scared. That you and Joel were bullshit and you’d come to him soon.”

"Asshole!" you groaned, feeling tears welling up in your eyes, and the lump in your throat hurt more and more.

“I know!” Ann groaned, folding her arms across her chest. “Shane didn’t believe it either, he thought Elliot was just talking nonsense. But then… He remembered Tommy telling him that you asked him to so you wouldn’t have to go on patrol with Elliot, and he got a little scared. Honey, what happened?”

How were you supposed to tell her? You didn't want to go back to it, you wanted to forget, but at that moment you felt like you were really to blame for everything. Ann was looking at you, waiting for some kind of answer, so you gave it to her.

But as the words left your mouth, and her face grew even more terrified, you told her the same thing you had told Tommy. "I beg you, don't say anything Joel. He can't..."

Ann's eyes widened and her face tensed as she looked over your shoulder. You had no chance of hearing Joel's footsteps. You were so focused on your friend that you didn't hear him come in through the back door. He must have heard it all because when you looked at him, you were terrified. Eyes darkened, his jaw tensed. He looked at you in a way that made you feel like your legs were about to give out.

“Joel…” he moved, but it looked more like a wild animal preparing to attack. This wasn’t your Joel. “Joel…” you repeated, trying to touch him, but your fingers only grazed his shirt as he quickly walked past you, running out of the house and slamming the door.

Tipsy Bison was filled with people. Conversation and music filled the air, and almost no one noticed when Joel entered. He wasn't thinking. Emotions had completely taken over his body and he wasn't going to fight it.

When he got home he wanted to speak, but he heard Ann's worried voice so he just went to the door. What he heard completely shocked him.

Elliot. The same guy he had talked to a few times, the one he had seen in Jackson. The same one who seemed to be just polite to you. Joel didn't see him as a threat. Were his instincts starting to fail?

Joel's brain was producing visions of what could have happened, and it only made him more furious.

He swept his gaze around the inside of Tipsy Bison and soon spotted his target. Elliot was sitting at one of the tables with a few other men. The man didn't notice him, and when Joel reached him, he had no chance.

A strong hand gripped his shirt and pulled Elliot, forcing him to stand up. "What the hell?" escaped him, but he didn't even hear the answer as something hit him hard in the face.

The force of the blow was so strong that he tripped over a chair and fell to the floor with it. His companions stood up, surprised by what had happened, but Joel was already leaning over him. More blows fell, splitting Elliot's eyebrow and breaking his nose. Blood began to pour from his mouth. He had no chance to defend himself when Joel attacked with such force and fury.

"Enough! Enough!" a scream rang out.

Three pairs of male hands grabbed Joel, with difficulty tearing him away from the man lying and whimpering on the floor. Tommy looked at the bloodied Elliot in horror, and then at his brother. "We're leaving. Now!"

Joel didn't even protest. Adrenaline was pumping in his ears, his heart was pounding in his chest. He knew that if it weren't for Tommy and the others, he probably would have beaten that guy to death. He could do it. He wanted to do it.

The cold air swept over his face as they exited the building. "What was that?!" Tommy growled. "What are you-"

"I know what he did to her." Joel interrupted, noticing his brother's hesitation. "You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Not without hesitation, Tommy nodded. "I know. She told me. That same day."

Joel's blood began to flow faster again. "Why didn't she tell me? She should have!" he growled.

"That's exactly why!" his brother gestured to the Tipsy Bison door, where people were probably trying to help Elliot. "She wanted to avoid this! She was thinking about you!"

Tommy knew that Joel's head must be a real mess right now. He didn't hide the fact that he supported what he had done, Elliot should be happy that they managed to get Joel off of him so quickly. But Tommy felt sorry for him too, and for you. He loved you both, and his heart broke when he saw how this world treated you.

"How did you find out?" he asked, a little calmer now.

Joel sighed. "By accident. I heard her talking to Ann."

"You talked to her?" Joel shook his head. "Then do it. Damn it, she loves you and I know you love her too. She was the victim, don't forget that. She didn't tell you about Elliot to protect you. Even then, she only thought about you."

Joel didn't answer. Something tightened painfully in his throat, and his right hand was starting to hurt. Tommy didn't stop him as his brother started walking towards the house.

When the door opened again, you instinctively stood up. You didn't know what to expect. Joel left in such a state that you were afraid of every possibility. Ann wanted to stay, but you convinced her that it was pointless, she couldn't help you, she couldn't do anything.

"Come here." he said quietly, and when you came closer he just spread his arms.

You snuggled into his chest, hugging him tightly. Tears were pressing to your eyes, but when Joel hugged you, you felt safe. The steady beating of his heart was soothing, his warmth enveloping you. "You should have told me, baby." Joel didn't sound angry, rather sad and worried. "I should have known."

"I didn't want to worry you. I thought if I solved it myself, I'd forget about it..."

“And that didn’t happen?” He held you tighter. You sank deeper into him. You’d never needed anyone as much as you needed Joel. The silence was enough. His chest heaved with a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault, baby. That asshole got lucky anyway, because if it wasn’t for Tommy…” he sighed. “Elliot will never look at you again. I promise you.”

And you knew that Joel Miller always kept his word.

She quietly closed the door and took off her shoes so as not to make any noise. But after a few steps that Ellie considered unusually quiet, she heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen. “Good thing you know where you live, huh?”

The girl sighed and followed Joel's voice. The kitchen was barely lit, and he was finishing a glass of water he'd come down from his bedroom to get. It was almost midnight. Joel had never told her to be back at a specific time, only to make it a reasonable hour.

Ellie leaned against the doorframe and shoved her hands into her pants pockets.

"What?" he mumbled, looking at her sly smile.

"Nothing." She shrugged. "I heard what you did. Good job, dude."

Joel rolled his eyes. Ellie snorted.

"He deserved it. And it was your duty, after all." Joel frowned. "You're her man, right? You're supposed to defend her honor or something."

He nodded. "Sometimes I wonder how to protect you both, you know. This world is so fucking messed up."

“What if things were like they used to be?” Joel looked at Ellie in surprise, but she just smiled. “If things were like they used to be. Without the infected and the Riders and all that crap? Do you think you and her would meet? Or the two of us? I don’t think so.” Ellie yawned and stretched. “I’m going to bed. Good night!”

"Good night, kid." Joel mumbled.

He stood in the kitchen for a moment longer, listening to her slow footsteps as she climbed the stairs, then the slam of the door. In the room across from Ellie’s, you were sleeping peacefully in your shared bed.

For a moment, he felt like he was truly home. And even though deep in his heart he still mourned the life he had, this new life was with him and he wanted to be a part of it. Joel felt better as he lay down next to you, put his arm around you, and snuggled against your back, kissing your shoulder.

"Ellie's back?" your voice was quiet and sleepy.

"Safe and sound, baby." Just like you.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @

[rcmclachlan]

Reading the comments on this post and you know what? Tommy does have a podcast!

It's called Getting Rom-Commy with Tommy and he breaks down the history, plots, tropes, and cliches made famous by romantic comedies. He recorded the first episode—Tillie's Punctured Romance, the first feature film in the genre—in 2020 during the early days of the pandemic, and has since gained a small but loyal following who love his deep dives, quirky sense of humor, and the random breadcrumbs about his own life that he drops occasionally.

For three and a half years, he's posted an episode every other Thursday without fail, so it's the talk of r/romcommytommy when the promised episode about A New Leaf doesn't materialize. They worry about Tommy being sick or dead—or worse: growing bored with the subject matter—and flood his podcast inbox with well wishes and pleas to continue the series.

Finally, the episode goes up the following Thursday, and he prefaces it by apologizing for the delay. He had gotten tangled up in a work thing and had spent the previous week dealing with the fallout (i.e.: paperwork), but he's in high spirits because he isn't in federal prison and has reconnected with old friends. And made some new ones! Which has nothing to do with Walter Matthau's performance, which in Tommy's opinion is one of his best, and he jumps right into the movie and says no more about what kept him away.

After that, for months, the series takes on a different tone—more buoyant, almost bewilderingly cheerful—and it elevates what was already a great program to something that truly has a happy ending every time. More people start listening. The subreddit hits 10k members, and speculation about what's causing Tommy's audible joy runs rampant, with most agreeing it's because he has someone special in his life.

Then, the 103rd episode goes live. It's an unflinching look at the movie Blue Valentine, which is very much not a romantic comedy, and for the entire episode Tommy vacillates between sounding dead inside and on the verge of tears. "It's just another example of how even the most passionate relationship will erode over time," he murmurs. The episode ends without its usual jaunty outro.

It becomes clear over the next several weeks that something devastating has happened, because Tommy has ditched his beloved rom-coms for the most depressing movies ever made. The subject of the top trending post on the subreddit for a month is 'If I ever listen to the Closer episode again I will need the following: a gun.'

His listeners debate whether or not to jump ship, but the film analyses are still really good. Plus, it feels like abandoning a friend in their time of need.

I don't know if you will ever see this, Tommy, but I think I speak for everyone when I say: we love you, we're here for you, we're not going anywhere, but for the love of GOD please go to therapy, u/marshedmellowout comments on the post for the In The Mood For Love episode.

No one's quite sure if u/marshedmellowout got through to him, but it feels like a turning point when the subject of the next episode is Desert Hearts. Tommy spends almost half the episode runtime analyzing the film's hopeful ending, and even cracks a couple of jokes. While his voice doesn't have that incandescent happiness from before, it's much lighter.

The next few episodes continue that slow, upward trend, and the movies Tommy deconstructs go from having hopeful endings to happy ones. He's back to making terrible puns and laughing at his own jokes, and everyone on the subreddit breathes a collective sigh of relief. He's going to be okay.

None of his listeners are prepared for how he starts the 118th episode.

"You're all in for a treat today, because I'm joined by a very special guest. He's not a big fan of movies, usually, but he's got a mind made for analysis, so making him watch Groundhog Day was kind of a no-brainer. I've been dying to hear him pick this one apart. Evan, say hi."

The joy from all those months ago is clear and present in Tommy's voice, but it's tempered with something new: certainty.

"H-Hi, everyone," Evan says, bashful and a little giggly. "Sorry, I've never done something like this before."

"You literally had a walk-on role in the country's most watched TV show. 22 million people tuned in that night, and that's not including the streaming numbers."

"That was different! I had one line. Plus, I didn't care about making Brad look dumb."

"Brad didn't need your help with that," Tommy says, audibly besotted. "Evan, you can't possibly make me look dumb. They can't see me."

Groaning through laughter, Evan gasps, "Oh my god, I said you get five stupid jokes and you just wasted one. Better make the next four count."

"I'll do my best," Tommy says. "So, overall, what did you think of the movie?"

It's the most listened to episode of the entire podcast, and u/cadburybunnyeggs's post 'Evan needs to be a permanent host and here's why' makes the front page of Reddit.

(A year later, the Four Weddings and a Funeral episode, which goes live two days before Tommy and Evan get married, is nominated for a Webby Award. What happens afterwards in the subreddit breaks containment and winds up in the New York Times.)

[mydear-corinthian]

Fainting || Shelby brothers x reader

Sypnosis: How they react when you faint. Pairings: Tommy Shelby x reader, John Shelby x reader, Arthur Shelby x reader (individual) Warnings: mentions of fainting (reader), pregnancy, skipping meals, may be out of characters, may contain a spoiler. Note: Not proofread. Click here to find the main masterlist. Click here to find the PEAKY BLINDERS masterlist.

THOMAS 'TOMMY' SHELBY

🥃 His face shows calmness but deep down he is already panicking. 

🥃Tommy just went back from his paperwork in his office when he saw your son on your arms, cradling him to sleep. "Why aren't you asleep yet, love?" he asked you, giving a kiss on your forehead before taking the little baby on your arms to his instead. You sighed in exhaustion, your lips were chapped, your face was pale as a ghost, your once neat hair bun turned into a madness; little strands of your hair was detached from your messy bun.  🥃 "I was just waiting for Charlie to sleep." you answered. His brow raised a little, showing a sign of confusion. "Then why are you so pale? You look like you've seen a ghost," his fingers found the strands of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. Charlie finally stopped crying, his eyes fell down as he snuggled on his father. "I'm just tired, that's all." reassuring your husband as you replied. Your husband gently placed your child on the white wooden crib, letting the baby sleep comfortably. He was starting to get worried, your breaths aren't steady, the way you denied that you aren't fine even though you look sick, his heart itched. 

🥃 Holding your shoulders with his rough palms, he asked again, "Are you sure, (y/n)?" Your vision was starting to get cloudy, you felt like the floor and the walls were shaking, Tommy's voice felt like it was speaking to you from afar. Your hands met his hands, gripping them tightly for security before you passed out. "(Y/n)? Are yo- (y/n)!" the sight of your body falling into his arms made his sentence cut off, he gasped your name, there was a tone of a rough yell at the same time. His body shows signs of calmness except for the eyes; the eyes never lies. Thoughts were racing on his mind, full of what ifs and worrying what will happen to you.

🥃 When you woke up, Tommy was beside your bed, sleeping uncomfortably on the wooden chair. His arms were crossed, his clothes were still the same indicating that he was 100% focused on you while you passed out. You called out his name softly, trying to reach his arms. The sound of your soft voice woke him from his uncomfortable slumber. He stood almost immediately, how are you doing. "How are you now?" his palms cupping your right cheek. "I'm fine, Tommy." you replied, holding his hand that was on your cheek, caressing it with your thumb. He sighed in relief, "The nurse said you were stressed and your stomach is empty," "I know, I'm sorry. I was so busy taking care of Charlie, I forgot to eat." you replied, your head dropped, you felt embarrassed. 

🥃 His head shook, both of his palms were now on your cheeks, his glowing blue eyes locked with yours. The way he's using his eyes as his language. "Shhh.., no need to apologize, thank you for taking care of our Charlie. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you." "Thank you for understanding, love. It's okay, I understand how busy you are in the betting shop." you said, giving him a kiss which thankfully he returned it. Tommy's personal nurse knock on the door before entering your shared room, her arms carrying a plastic tray with your favorite food and a warm tea. Your husband placed the tray on the small table near the bed, giving you a plate of your food. "Eat, you'll feel better."

JOHN SHELBY

🚬 You've been feeling unwell lately. Your head ached, your muscles were sore, you had strange food cravings, and you felt sick in the morning. You knew what this hinted at, but you can't be positive, and the last thing that should be checked is that your period is late.

🚬It was an awful day. You vomited in the morning, and your joints hurt. Washing off the vomit from the metallic sink, you checked the date on the small white calendar beside you.

🚬 You were definitely late. For over a week now.

🚬 Sighing in exhaustion, you accepted the outcome of what would happen to you. Your partner, John, had already gotten you pregnant before. This will be your fourth child. - You weren't precisely sorry about it, but you were worried about what would happen to your unborn child, and you felt stressed out because of your job as an accountant for Shelbys. There was a lot of paperwork to be done, but not as much as Tommy had, but it was still exhausting.

🚬 It was already ten in the morning., John was gone on business, and the rest of your children were in school. The house was now yours alone, and there was food on the circular dish on the dining table that John had left for you before leaving to start his day. You finished the meal. Your stomach was now satisfied, but your muscles remained sore.

🚬 Grunting in pain, you approached to the front door as you heard a knock. You opened it to see your husband standing there. His peaky hat adorned his hair, and a light wooden toothpick displayed his lips rather than his thick tobacco. "John? Your shift isn't going to end for hours," you questioned as John entered the room and removed his hat. "I know; I just want to see you," John said. You chuckled at his response and taunted, "I'm your wife, John. You literally see me every day." "It's just that you've been feeling ill lately, and I needed to take care of you, so I left the office early," he explained, his arms gently gripping your hips.

🚬 "Honestly love, it's fine. I can handle it, I just need to re-", fefore you could finish your sentence, your head felt like it had erupted. Your temples felt like they were twisting. Your vision was becoming increasingly fuzzy, and your husband's sight was beginning to fade away. He called your name worriedly, catching your attention. He tried again, but this time louder. All you could hear was your husband calling your name and a long bell sound. His hands tightened around your hips, stabilizing your body. His eyes were filled with concern. Suddenly, your legs and muscles gave out, and your frail body fell onto his broad arms. Your face was pale and your lips were dehydrated. Panicking, he quickly lays you down on the vintage couch. He contacted his aunt, Polly, for help.

🚬 "She's pregnant." Polly announced to his nephew, who was pacing back and forth and unintentionally messing with his hair while his aunt checked on his wife. "H-How so?" he asked. "Well, maybe it's because the both of you fucked?" Polly coldly responds. This gave John an unimpressed expression. "The morning nausea, unusual cravings, the sore muscles, all that you mentioned it," she said. "Oh for fuck sakes, John, give (y/n) a rest. Every year she's fucking pregnant, control that cock of yours." Polly's statement made him laugh. John was happy that they are again to bear a kid but he can't also help but get worried and scared at the same time since getting into labour's hard. "Thank you, aunt Polly," he thanked the older Shelby, helping her make way to the door. "Take good care of her, John,"

-🚬 "I will." 🚬 You woke up, your clothes has been changed and there was a glass of water on the table near the couch you were laying down on. You called your husband's name, hoping that he was still here. "How are you, love?" he asked, combing your hair with his fingertips. "I'm fine now. John, I-I think I'm.. pregn-" "Pregnant." he cut you off. Your head tilted to the side in confusion, looking at him, his face was plastered with a big smile. "Aunt Polly told me. I called her for help when you passed out. When did you knew that you were pregnant?" "Just today, I already accepted that my period was late and I'm bearing your child again." you answered, emphasizing. "Hey, I can't help it you know, you're just so pretty, I can't help but fuc-" "John!" embarrassed by his reply, you cut him off. Your cheeks heat up at his answer. "What, it's true! Let me take care of you, love."

🚬 "As you should, Mr. Shelby." 🚬 "I will, Mrs. Shelby."

ARTHUR SHELBY JR.

🥊 Marriage to a man like Arthur Shelby was dangerous. Risky in the sense that you are afraid your illness will worsen. 🥊 Arthur was a good partner to you. He is both a provider and a lover. However, he was a heavy smoker. You can see him smoking his thick tobacco every day; it's as if he can't function without it.

🥊 It was an ordinary morning; you were just staying at home, and he was smoking brown tobacco. The hazardous air entered his lungs, and he exhaled the surplus air very near you. This has been going on for several days. His smoking became worse as a result of his distress about what had happened to his father. His father abandoned them for years, and when he returned, he left them again. You choked as he exhaled the noxious air, but it was even worse. Your coughing episode lasted over five minutes, burning your throat and making your heart race. When your partner spotted the never-ending fit, he promptly discarded the unfinished cancer stick. "Hey, love, breathe," he patted your back hardly. Thankfully, your coughing fit ended, but you were beginning to notice little spots all over you. You blinked rapidly, attempting to get rid of the spots. "Hey - are you okay?" Arthur asked. "Arthur, I can't - can't see clearly." You worried and looked everywhere. Your heart pounded quickly, and your breathing became heavy. Your dizziness gradually overtook you as you fainted.

🥊 When you awoke, you expected to be in your room, but instead you saw grey walls and a strange mattress. You looked around the room before calling your husband's name. The wooden door opened, and the oldest Shelby brother entered the room. As he approached you, he removed his peaky hat. His face expresses worry and sorrow. He sadly smiled and reached out for a hug, which you accepted. You were panicking deep inside. You've been hiding your disease since you met your husband; you didn't want him to find out because it might make him upset or, worse, leave you.

🥊 There was an unpleasant silence in the room before Arthur chose to break it. "How are you managing now, (y/n)?" he asked with a heavily sigh. "I'm feeling better now, fortunately." There was more silence. "The doctor says you have arrhythmia .. it looks like you have it for quite some time now. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

🥊You always assumed that this day would come, but you didn't expect it to be today. Your mind is filled up with thousands of unpleasant thoughts. 'What if he leaves me?' 'My life would end without me' 'What do I-' "(Y/n?)" Shaking your head, you determined to give him the truth, even if the outcome wasn't pleasant for you. You took a long breath and eventually explained to him. "When I was a child, I had a very narrow arteries. It got worse when I grew up and the doctor diagnosed me about it. I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner, Arthur."

🥊 His hands found the side of your face and gently stroked your cheekbones. "It's okay, love. I understand. And I'm sorry for smoking all around you. I won't do it again." He kissed your forehead before massaging your back. "It's fine, Arthur; you didn't know." You smiled as you held his hands on your cheeks.

🥊 "We'll be fine, right?"

🥊 "We will." THE END

[ennn]

Things I Liked About the Agatha All Along Finale - Initial Thoughts

Wooooo boy. Hey look I'm a bleeding heart shipper but I'm old and have been in enough fandoms. Let's process shall we?

Alice! Alice echo-ing what so many fans are saying about her lost potential. Rio actually being kind in reminding Alice her death did have purpose. "You're a protection witch, you protected someone."

The development of Billy's extremely complicated relationship with Agatha. Kid's not loyal to Agatha, he's understanding her, or starting to at least. He sees her being a relationship with Death and he's curious about the story there. He cares enough to connect the dots and see Agatha as a full person. And we see that developed as the finale goes.

"That's it? That's all the time that I get?" The show reminds us that death sometimes just happens – "Sometimes boys die" – I wonder if one of these writers is a Sandman fan because I immediately clocked a parallel to Death of the Endless taking a baby's life in her first comic appearance.

Death of the Endless is of course much kinder than Rio is with her (iconic) reply to that eternal question. "You lived what anyone gets... A lifetime."

That whole convo we got in the preview clip. And then them just sitting down and talking more? Albeit with layers of manipulation but y'know that's them.

Agatha telling Rio that she'll hand over Billy if Rio leaves her alone: essentially making Rio once again choose between her duty and her feelings towards Agatha. The deepest cut Agatha could make – which we see echoed with "If you do this I'll hate you forever." They know each other and the best ways to hurt each other.

I laughed waaaay too much at Agatha ragging on Jen's last vegetable name.

Jen's unbinding ritual was powerful and a fantastic moment for the character. She recognised and embraced her power. Agatha's mask slipping a little at the end as well. Amazing. Sasheer killed it.

The whole scene with Agatha working with Billy to bring Tommy back was beautiful and emotional and well put together and showed the side to Agatha that cements her as a great mentor (when she's not being the biggest murderous asshole).

Agatha using what she learnt from her Alice and Jen – and what Lilia told her – to hold her ground with Rio... okay it lasted like 10 seconds but it was a nice callback! Agatha's such a shameless survivor.

Incredible kissing. We knew Hahn and Plaza would deliver and they did. When it comes to kissing women, these two absolutely go for it.

Rio looking absolutely gutted with having to take Nicky away. Plaza really delivered with Rio's pain in these eps. Agatha calling her "my love", cursing and then begging.

Rio being soft about Nicky despite her job. Nicky willingly going with her with no fear, no hesitation – suggesting that they did bond somehow? Nicky knew she was a friendly face and trusted her. It was really a good death, all things considered. He wasn't sick, he wasn't in pain, he wasn't scared he simply fell asleep and just went.

Rio reminding Nicky to kiss his mom goodbye. She cares so much, as much as a personification of death can. It's funny how some people thought Rio was going to be this manipulative big bad but no, Agatha's the more toxic one in this relationship.

Okay like imagine Agatha finally dying and just straight up BOOKING it before Rio pops up. Rio hates ghosts. The number of times Agatha deliberately pissed her off this finale was amazing.

"I'm sure he'll forgive you for... whatever you did." Aw Billy is a good kid. Just like Nicky was. Agatha needs that reminder, that anchor to not be the Worst.

Chemistry aside, Agatha and Billy being mentor-pupil makes a ton of sense because these Maximoffs do the most fucked up shit (unintentionally) with their magic and Agatha's got the knowledge, charisma, cynicism, and the morals of a spinning compass to support him.

Alright when are they announcing the sequel / spin-off? I know there's a rumour of it happening. Rio's got 2 abominations and one endlessly aggravating ghost of an ex to deal with now.

[firewasabeast]

Can you please do a hurt/comfort Eddie + Tommy friendship with Bucktommy - Tommy gets hurt in some way (mentally/physically/sick/etc) and Eddie helps him until Buck can get there

you gave me a reason to finish the fic I started earlier today! thank you!

His teeth were chattering. Had been since he woke up after hitting the ground.

He didn't hurt anywhere, which was never a good sign.

He laid there, surrounded by trees. Cold, wet leaves underneath his body. He could hear crickets and frogs all around him. Could smell smoke somewhere nearby.

There were distinct sounds of metal creaking mixed in with nature.

Slowly, he moved his head to the right, then to the left.

Fire.

It was about fifty yards away. Thankfully, due to the recent rain, the fire was contained to the helicopter that had so gracefully fallen out of the sky.

He wasn't sure how he ended up so far from it. Had no memory of being ejected or jumping or whatever happened that made it so he wasn't inside those flames.

He lifted his hands to his face, could barely see them as the sun set below the trees. He was sure there was blood. Dirt, mud, leaves, and blood.

They shook so fiercely he wasn't sure how he had any control over them at all.

His breathing was labored, heart beating rapidly. No matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to calm himself down.

Suddenly, in the distance, he heard something.

People talking.

Not just people, familiar people.

Family.

“H- Here,” he barely managed to get out, figuring they'd be running toward the fire instead of him. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Here! I'm here!”

The talking stopped, then there was running.

He could feel the pounding of the footsteps as they approached.

“Hey, we gotcha, Buddy!”

“Howie?”

“Yeah, it's me. Saving your ass, once again.”

Hands were on him now. Lights shining in his eyes, causing him to squint. He could hear others talking. Hen, Eddie, Bobby. Couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Chimney had him focus on him. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

“T- Tommy,” he answered. God, he wished he could stop shaking. He couldn't barely get out a word.

“Year?”

“2024.”

“Best paramedic you know?”

“Hen,” Tommy replied, choking out a laugh.

“Hey now!” Chimney exclaimed, mocking offense.

“I knew I liked you,” Hen said with a smile. She patted him on the shoulder before getting back to work.

Chimney chomped on his gum a couple times before asking his next question. “Can you wiggle your toes for me, Tommy?”

Tommy shook his head. He lifted his arm, tried to pull Chimney closer to him so he could whisper. “I c- can't feel anything,” he paused, sucked in a shaky breath, “b- below my waist.” He knew what this meant, and he also knew he was in shock. The adrenaline pumping through him was the only thing keeping him remotely alert.

Chimney nodded, sharing a glance with Hen. “Cervical collar for our dashing pilot here, please, Hen.”

“Already on it.”

“Ho- Howie?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Ev- Evan?”

“Buck went home early today,” Eddie answered, moving into Chimney's place so he could do whatever work needed to be done. “Chief is cracking down on overtime, so he had to be sent home.”

“We've... We've been sa- saving f- for the wedding,” he explained, although he wasn't sure why. Everyone there already knew that.

Eddie took Tommy's hand and wrapped it up in his own. “You were probably already up in the air when Buck sent you the text complaining about being sent home.”

“He'd say... He'd say th- the chief didn't want us t- to have the good hors d'oeuvres.”

Eddie nodded, tried putting on a smile. “He did mention that on his way out.”

Tommy squeezed Eddie's hand. “We m- might have to re... reschedule.” His lip trembled at the thought, tears welling in his eyes. Evan was so excited for the wedding. Had been working diligently and meticulously on every detail since they got engaged in October. He wanted a winter wedding, and didn't want to wait another whole year, so February it would be. With it being December now, Tommy didn't see any way he'd be able to fully recover by then.

If he did at all.

“Let's not worry about that right now, alright, Man? I don't think Buck will care when the wedding is, as long as there is one. Let's focus on that, okay?”

Tommy nodded. Blinked a few times to rid himself of the tears.

A few fell anyway.

“Ed- Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do I... Do I still have my legs?”

“You certainly do, Kinard,” Bobby interrupted. Tommy wasn't sure how long the captain had been on his other side. Bobby gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “You've got all your limbs right where they should be. You ready to move now, Kid?”

Tommy could've laughed at the nickname. He'd been called that by Bobby a couple of times, many years ago. It'd been a long while since then.

He nodded. “Ready.”

Eddie didn't let go of his hand as they lifted him and began carrying him to the ambulance. Tommy was a bit surprised. He didn't remember ever being moved onto the spine board. Hadn't felt a thing.

A part of him had wondered if they'd even been working on him during that time. That maybe Eddie was the chosen distraction until he drifted off and his breathing stopped.

He was glad to know he was wrong.

*****

Bobby drove them to the hospital, with Eddie staying in the back beside him. It was a bit cramped with him, Eddie, Chimney, and Hen all back there together, but the fact he was surrounded by these people made him feel a bit more comforted.

Tommy looked over to where his and Eddie's hands were still tightly gripped together. He wasn't sure if Eddie was refusing to let him go, or if he was refusing to let Eddie go. Didn't really matter either way. He needed something to keep him tethered to reality.

He shook his wrist back and forth a few times to get Eddie's attention. “Can you... Can you call Evan? Please?”

“Of course,” Eddie replied, grabbing his phone out of his pocket with his free hand.

“You've got some cuts on your arms, Tommy,” Hen explained as Eddie pressed Buck's name. “We're gonna work on those on the way to the hospital, so you might feel some stings, okay?”

“Yeah. That's okay.”

Eddie put the phone on speaker and Buck answered on the third ring. “What's wrong?”

“Buck-”

“Who is it, Eddie? I just left work an hour ago. Is it Bobby? Hen? Chim?”

Tommy took a deep breath. “B- Baby.”

Silence.

Then.

“Tommy? Is that you?”

“Had a... a little accident.”

“What hospital?”

“The usual,” Eddie replied.

“I'm heading there now.”

“Evan? Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, wanting to get his attention before he got in the car and started to drive.

“I'm here, Tommy,” he answered. “I'm gonna meet you at the hospital.”

“I don't wanna... wanna scare you,” Tommy said, and he could feel the tears burning his eyes again. “I can't. I can't feel my legs.”

“He's stabilized,” Chimney added quickly, before Buck could ask. “Likely a lower spinal cord injury.”

Another pause, followed by a quiet. “Okay. Okay.”

“He's doing well, Buck,” Eddie reassured him. “We're all right here with him. He won't shut up about you, like always.”

Tommy smiled. He hoped Evan did as well.

“Feeling's mutual,” Buck replied. His voice was softer now. Tommy knew the words were meant to keep him focused and thinking positively.

It worked.

“Need you t- to be safe.”

“I will, Baby. I'll drive safe and I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay. L- Love you.”

“I love you, too. So damn much, T- Tommy.”

Tommy wasn't sure who hung up first, but he could tell by the way Evan's voice wavered at the end that he was probably close to falling apart.

“Thank you,” Tommy said as Eddie put his phone back into his pocket.

“Whatever you need, Bud, I'm here.”

“Just... Just keep ho- holding my hand.”

Eddie nodded, squeezed a little tighter. “I can do that.”

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

"Buck's still baking."

There's a long pause following these words, though they've been uttered in such an alarming way. Apart from that, Tommy can't make sense of it.

"He's ... baking?"

"Yeah, well, you know," Howie stretches each word, he's chewing on them.

"I sure don't," says Tommy.

"Wait, has nobody told you?"

Disbelief is dripping from Howie's voice now, and Tommy can only bite his lips to not remind him of the obvious: no, nobody has told Tommy anything about Buck in the past months, and he's not dared to ask. That's the uncomfortable truth, and since he doesn't really know where his and Howie's friendship is to place right now, he doesn't say it. He doesn't need to, because Howie is quick to talk on.

"He's been baking since you two broke up," he explains, as if that would explain anything. "Breads and cakes and pies and whatever, he's just not stopping. At first, he said it distracted him from calling you, but now I'm not so sure."

Oh, thinks Tommy. His mind doesn't stop there, he did want to call me? Why didn't he? Why did he need distraction? What does it all mean? It's an endless cycle of why's, and his stomach kind of hurts about all the missed opportunities. His own fingers have typed messages, almost on their own, so many times. He's deleted them all.

"And now," Howie continues, "now Eddie's gone, and he said Buck came by to say goodbye and he brought him some cookies. He's made cookies for Eddie, so he's still baking, and Tommy, we can't take it anymore."

"You can't take it anymore?"

He's thinking about the constant ache, that Evan-shaped gap in his heart and mind and how it never went away, never got any smaller. Weeks turned into months, but the pain persisted, like caries eating away at teeth, gnawing away more and more of the enamel because it wants to get to the core. And the core, well. The core is his feelings, Tommy knows that. He's just not sure what Howie understands of all this. Why he would care.

"No. Our fridge is packed, the cupboards are loaded, Tommy, he doesn't stop baking, and we're paying for it! He's at our door all the time, not only at ours, he's been baking for Hen and Bobby and the whole dispatch and ... everybody, really. But it still doesn't stop. There's tons of baked goods!"

"You... you called me because you're sick of cake?" Tommy asks, he can't believe it.

"The cake is a lie!" Howie almost screams now, close to hysterical. "Why are you two not talking? You need to talk."

He calms down a bit, takes a deep breath before adding, "It's not the cake, Tommy. It's ... he's sad. He's unhappy. He's not well."

"I can't fix him," Tommy snaps.

"You're sure about that?"

Yeah, Tommy, are you?

"Look, Howie, I don't really know what you expect me to do."

"Talk to him," he replies, as if it were really that simple.

But isn't it?

"You're guilt-tripping me because I'm the one who left," Tommy says.

What he thinks, however, is that it's been months, how can Evan still be unhappy? How can he still be sad? The answer is obvious.

"Yeah, does it work?" Howie replies. "Because we don't know what else to do, Tommy. At least talk to him. I know you want to."

That's bold.

"Why would you say that?"

There's a typical Howie-laughter, a low chuckle close to a crack.

"I got friends at your station," he claims, which is probably not true, but Howie is a prankster. Howie knows how to pry into secrets. "So I know," he continues, "that you pounce on every hour of overtime. You've slept in the hangar. You're not dating anyone. You're on some strange diet that is apparently so time-consuming that you haven't had an after-work beer since you broke up. Shall I go on?"

Tommy curses at the satisfaction in Howie's voice, but what can he say? All of that is true (and some is a lie, and Howie knows it).

"All of this means ..."

Don't say it, thinks Tommy.

"... Buck's still got a chance."

That's not quite the right conclusion, because he never not had a chance. This is Tommy thinking he didn't have another, that he didn't deserve it.

"Please," Howie pleads, "we don't need more breads and cakes. And Buck deserves to be happy again. You know he was happy with you, right?"

This is not Tommy's fault. And it is Tommy's fault. And maybe, maybe it's just a big misunderstanding. Something adults can work on, even if they - he - said some hurtful things.

"You think he would bake me some cookies?" he asks, and he's not even joking.

[oldnehisoda]

Once More to See You - DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader No Outbreak AU

Explicit; Minors DNI 18+ only.

Summary: Joel knew exactly how to drive you wild, make you forget everything but the sensation of him; make you forget he was breaking your heart.

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: POSSIBLY DUBCON as reader has been drinking (also tagged), P in V sex, ANGST, smut, secret relationship, praise kink, dirty talk, cream pie, heartbreak, Joel is kind of a dick, dbf!joel, au!joel, no outbreak!joel. Legal age gap (reader is early 20s, and Joel is 56). No use of Y/N. Mood board for aesthetics only; reader's features aren't specified other than Joel can pick them up.

A/N: Posting this a day late as I literally only started writing it yesterday out of nowhere. Enjoy!

Joel's annual fourth of July party was in full swing. Children were running around with sparklers, families were gathered around picnic tables laden with food, and the air was filled with music. Tommy was in control of the music, so of course, AC/DC and Lynard Skynrd had been playing all day. The smell of grilling burgers and hot dogs wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of freshly mowed grass and the tang of chlorine from the pool.

You spotted Joel near the grill, expertly flipping burgers and chatting animatedly with your dad. You felt a flutter of excitement, eager to see him after your last…hangout. As you approached, he glanced your way but quickly looked away, focusing intently on the food.

"Hey, Joel," you called out, trying to sound casual despite the nervous anticipation in your voice.

"Hey," he replied, not meeting your eyes, his tone brisk. He immediately turned to your dad, asking about the game they were planning to watch tomorrow.

You hovered nearby, hoping for a chance to talk, but every time you tried to engage him, he found a way to sidestep your attempts. First, he asked another guest to grab more buns from the kitchen. Then, he excused himself to check on the drinks. Each time you approached, he either walked away or started a conversation with someone else.

Determined not to give up, you followed him to the drinks table, where he was refilling the coolers with ice and beverages. "Joel, can we talk for a minute?" you asked, keeping your voice low.

"I'm busy right now," he said curtly, not even glancing up. He continued to work, his movements tense and hurried.

Your frustration grew as the party continued. You watched him from across the yard, perched on a bench gripping your solo cup tightly as he laughed and chatted with everyone else while avoiding you like the plague. You noticed the way he stiffened whenever you were nearby, how he seemed to find any excuse to move away from you.

“Hey, loner,” your friend Kayleigh slid in next to you, nudging your side. You didn’t answer.

“Um… you…oka-.”

“Not right now, Kay,” you answer abruptly, standing up to get yourself another drink. You downed it in one to try and quell the unease sitting in your stomach. Although it just made you feel even more sick. Something was up.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow and someone had started setting up fireworks for later. Joel had just left the grill, heading toward the house with a tray of empty dishes. This was your chance. With a few more drinks in your system, you'd found the courage to quickly follow him, catching up as he reached the back door.

"Joel, we need to talk. Now," you said firmly, grabbing his arm to stop him.

He looked around, clearly uncomfortable, his eyes darting to make sure no one was watching. "Not here," he muttered.

You tailed him into the kitchen.

He began absent-mindedly washing up some dishes with his back to you.

"Alright, what’s going on? Why have you been ignoring me all day?" you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest trying to sound confident.

“How much have you had to drink?” He said, ignoring your question.

“Not a lot,” you retorted, heat rising up your body.

“That’s a fuckin’ lie,” he scoffed in his southern drawl.

“Oh, so I'm the bad person now, huh?” You replied a little too loudly. “I’m just some silly little girl who doesn’t know anything, running around after you, wondering when you might fuck me next!”

Joel threw a dish into the sink with a loud clatter, making you jump. He turned to face you, his eyes flashing. "You think this is easy for me?" he hissed, keeping his voice low but intense.

Before you could respond, the kitchen door swung open.

"Hey, you two!" Tommy greeted cheerfully, oblivious to the tension. "Just grabbing another drink. Everything okay in here?"

"Yeah, just fine," Joel replied dryly, turning away from you to look out at the yard.

Tommy lingered momentarily, grabbing a drink from the fridge and chatting casually about the party. “We’re settin’ the fireworks off soon,” he said smugly with a toothy grin.

“Oh, great.” You feigned excitement, trying to act normal, but your heart pounded.

The moment he was gone, Joel turned to you, his eyes fixed. "We can't do this here," he said through gritted teeth.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "Then where? When? You can't just avoid me forever, Joel."

Joel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. Upstairs. Now." Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed toward the stairs, tugging you along by your arm.

You struggled to keep up with him as his heavy boots marched up the stairs; the drink made coordinating your feet very difficult.

Joel turned to face you once you were in his all-to-familiar bedroom with the door closed behind you.

“This needs to stop,” he said sternly.

Your heart dropped at his words. "Stop what? Us?"

"Yes. Us. It’s wrong, and it’s only goin’ to end badly. For both of us." He placed his hands on his hips.

"But we make each other happy. Isn’t that enough?" You said franticly.

"It’s not that simple," his voice strained. "Your dad… if he ever found out… it would be such a mess.”

You shook your head, tears pricking at your eyes. "But he doesn’t have to find out. We’ve been so careful. Please, Joel…I love you,” you sobbed as he pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you tightly as your fingers twisted in his plaid shirt. The warmth radiating from his body seeped into your bones like a cruel comfort.

"Shhh, I know, baby, it’s okay." Joel hushed, stroking your hair. “It's just so complicated.”

“I don’t care” you pulled back, searching his eyes for any sign that he might change his mind. But all you saw was resignation.

"Please," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Don't do this."

He cupped your face in his hands. “You deserve better than this. Better than sneakin’ around and hidin’. You deserve someone who can give you everything.”

"But I don't want anyone else," you cried, tears streaming down your face. God, you probably looked like a blabbering mess. "I want you."

Joel closed his eyes, pain etched into his features. "And I want you, too. More than you know. But this... it ain't right, darlin’,” and there is was; his velvet drawl reeling you in again. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, and something inside you snapped. The finality of his touch felt like a betrayal. You shoved him back with all your strength, your hands shaking with anger and hurt.

"Don't you dare!" You shouted, your voice trembling with rage. "Don't you fucking dare tell me what's right for me. You don't get to decide that."

Joel just stood there and took it.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you muttered.

You pushed him again, harder this time. "I wish I never fucking met you!” You repeated.

Joel's expression hardened, and in an instant, he grabbed your arms, backing you up against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of you. Your eyes were wide as his burned into you, and for a moment, you were actually scared of him. But before you could protest, he was unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. He roughly hiked up your sundress and lifted you up by the backs of your thighs.

"This is what you want?" Joel growled, his voice low and intense. "One last time, huh?"

"Joel, please...", you gasped.

Your heart raced as his lips sloppily crashed against yours. It was intoxicating; you could smell his cologne and the beer on his breath as you wrapped yourself around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to lose yourself in him. One last time.

The room spun around you, the noise from the party outside fading into oblivion as he slipped your panties to the side and entered you all at once. You took a sharp breath at the sudden stretch you were unprepared for. His movements were driven by a desperate need, forcing himself into you with a mixture of pain and pleasure as you clung to him like your life depended on it. The boom of fireworks outside was the only momentary glitter of light as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs and ass; you’d hoped to find bruises there in the morning. A flash of red, then white, then blue lit up the right side of his face."You drive me fuckin’ crazy," he leaned in to mutter against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. "I can't stop thinkin’ ‘bout you."

"Th-then… d-don't," you struggled to get your words out as he knocked the air out of you. “J-just b-be with me..."

“Aaah, fuck, who’s got good pussy baby?” Joel growled, his voice low and rough.

"I... I do," you gasped, barely able to breathe as he thrust brutally against your cervix, each movement sending shockwaves through your body.

"Say it again," he demanded, his pace relentless. "Say it again, baby. I need to hear it."

"I do! " You screamed, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. "I-I’ve got good pussy, Joel. It’s all y-yours!”

"Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he spat. "Screwing your daddy's best friend." He whispered, raw and guttural, sending shivers through you. You could see the intensity in his eyes, his primal need for you. You started to be able to take him more easily as you became wet with arousal. You arched your back, meeting his thrusts with equal fervour, every part of you alight with pleasure. Joel’s hands gripped you tighter, holding you in place as he pounded into you."Ugh…yes, Joel,” you moaned, nails clawing at his salt-and-pepper locks to pull his lips to yours. “l love it w-when you f-fuck me.”

“Hmm, always feel so good, baby,” he pants, as his cock relentlessly slides in and out of your puffy lips. Each thrust hit that sweet spot deep within you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Joel knew exactly how to drive you wild, make you forget everything but the sensation of him; make you forget he was breaking your heart.

“That’s it, baby, it’s okay, just cum for me, cum all over this cock.”

Your body trembled as you cried out his name, your pleasure shattering through you in waves. You closed your eyes tight, feeling yourself gripping every inch of him as you dug your fingers into his shoulders. Joel held you through it, his strong arms keeping you secured against him and the wall as you came apart.

He followed soon after, his release a powerful, shuddering thing that left him collapsing onto you. He emptied every last bit of him into you with a growl.  You pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead before he buried his face into the crook of your neck, panting for breath. He pulled out of you with a groan, releasing your legs and letting your feet find the ground again. You shuffled awkwardly, rearranging your underwear and smoothing out your dress. Joel looked away, avoiding your eyes as he did his jeans and belt back up. The silence between you was thick and heavy.

"Is this really it, then?" you asked quietly, your voice trembling as you struggled to keep your composure.

Joel sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "It has to be. We can't keep doin’ this."

You felt a surge of anger rise in your chest. "So that's it? You just use me one last time and then throw me away?"

He finally met your gaze. "It’s not like that. I never wanted it to end this way.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face.

"But we can’t keep playin’ childish fuckin’ games, and you’re too naive to see the damage this could cause.”

"Don’t you dare put this all on me," you snapped, your voice rising. "You’re the one who started this.”

Joel took a step back. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I can’t see you again,” he said coldly.

You turned away, your heart shattering with every word he said. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. "Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, storming toward the door. You yanked it open and stepped into the hallway.

Downstairs, the sounds of the party continued but it all sounded like you were underwater.

You moved quickly to the front door and stepped out into the night, the cool air hitting your tear-streaked face. You hugged your arms and walked quickly. The air smelt like sulphur as fireworks illuminated the sky. You didn’t stop until you reached home.

The house was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Your heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise, each breath harder to draw than the last. You could barely see through the blur of tears as you climbed the stairs, having to use your hands to steady yourself.

You reached your room and slammed the door shut, leaning against it for support. Your legs trembled, and you slid down until you was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. You clenched your fists, trying to push down the sobs, threatening to break free. You had known the risks, known how wrong it was, but you hadn't been able to help yourself.

Fucking your dad’s best friend, what did you expect; thought you’d live happily ever after with a white picket fence?

Maybe Joel was right. Maybe you were too naïve. You were fucking crazy to think this could have ended any other way.

But no one made you feel like Joel did. No one felt like Joel did. It was electric. The way he touched you, the way he made you feel alive, cherished, and understood, no one had ever come close. Joel was everything you had ever wanted and more. But now, it was all over.

A soft knock on your door. "Sweetie, can we talk?" Your dad’s voice was gentle, but you couldn't face him.

"Go away," you choked out, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Wondered where you were. You’re missing the fireworks, honey.”

"Please, just leave me alone."

“Hm, Joel did say you weren't feelin’ well, had too much to drink?”

How so desperately you wanted to tell your dad everything just to relieve some of the weight off of your shoulders, but how could you? How could you tell him, oh, by the way, I've been fucking your best friend behind your back for months, buts he’s just ended things and torn my heart into a million pieces? I know exactly just how many kisses fit between his eyes? I know the face he makes when he cums, and I think I can actually feel his cum leaking out of me right now?

divider credit to @kthice

*title inspired by "Once More to See You" by Mitski

[salty-autistic-writer]

Tommy is sick. 

That doesn’t happen often. And especially not like this. This combination of bone-shattering exhaustion and lung-rattling coughing is new. His whole body is shaking, shivering, sweating into the sheets. His nose is dripping without a pause.

It’s disgusting. Tommy is fighting the urge to tell himself to stop being so pathetic and to get up from the bed before someone can discover how weak and useless he is. He knows where that’s coming from.

He can still hear the echo of his father’s voice. Man up. It’s just a sniffle. Real men don’t lay in bed, acting weak. They get up and out there every day.  For Tommy’s Dad, everything in life had been some kind of battle that had to be won. And it’s pretty ironic that the last battle he fought - and lost - was the one he brought to himself with his alcoholism: pancreatic cancer.

It was ugly. Tommy didn’t care. There have been enough days when he hoped it did hurt plenty. But now he’s trying to leave all that behind him. He’s also trying to overcome the life “lessons” his father pushed into his head, where they took root and grew like parasites. Because now he knows it’s not pathetic to be sick. And he doesn’t have to do everything alone. He has people who care about him and most importantly, he has a special person who loves him on good and bad days. No matter what. It’s not always been easy to accept that. To let down his guard and let himself be loved like that. Because in his experience, good things don’t stay and his heart’s been growing tired of all the disappointments. The losses. But this is different, Evan is different, and they deserve a chance because it’s foolish to let ghosts of the past haunt the unknown future. Tommy doesn’t want to be his own self-fulfilling prophecy anymore.

Tommy waits for another coughing fit to pass, then texts Evan.

Sorry, I’m sick. Can’t do the double date tonight. Tell Maddie I’m sorry. Can you by any chance get me some groceries? I can’t move. 

He doesn’t have to wait long for Evan to answer. With a shocked-face-emoji.

Oh no, I'm so sorry to hear that you're sick, how are you feeling? I’m coming over! And yeah, totally, send me that list. I’m also going to cook some soup for you!

Tommy feels warmer reading the words. But he still texts back:

I feel like a load of bricks fell on me and now I can’t get up, but I don’t want you to get sick too, Evan :/  

Of course, Evan doesn’t want to hear it.

Hey, don’t worry about me, I have the immune system of a horse, and even if your pesty bacteria manage to throw bricks at me too, that only means, we can be sick together! :)  

Tommy’s chuckle turns into another cough. Evan seems to be so good at finding something positive in every kind of situation. It’s an important part of why Tommy loves him so much.

Okay, he texts and then sends a list of things he needs. After that he feels exhausted and breathless again, so he closes his eyes, trying to take a nap until Evan arrives. The thought makes him smile. It’s nice to not be alone. *

Evan’s eyes widen when Tommy opens.

It took all of Tommy’s strength to put a robe on and drag himself to the door, so now he’s swaying, heaving, trying to pull air through his stuffy red nose and feels so hot. Too hot. He’s glad when Evan puts a steadying hand on his back. “Come on, let’s get you back to horizontal. Jesus. You’re so hot,” Evan says, concern making his voice softer. “Thank you,” Tommy croaks and Evan laughs, shaking his head.

Tommy slumps on the couch and watches through heavy-lidded eyes, as Evan empties the grocery bag on the kitchen counter. He pulls out what Tommy asked for, but also … a whole lot of other stuff. Several bags of flour, salt, sugar, butter, eggs, vanilla.

“I’m going to make you some tea and soup, then bake cookies. I found a recipe that claims to be the best and I want to find out if they’re right,” Evan announces, moving around Tommy’s kitchen with a kind of familiarity that somehow makes Tommy really emotional. There are tears in his eyes and they are not only from all the coughing. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, blinking the tears away. Evan looks at him with a surprised smile. “For what?”

“For being here,” Tommy says seriously. 

“Of course,” Evan says after a little pause, smiling at him. “Now relax, okay? Maybe take a nap. This will take a little while. And your body needs all the rest it can get.”

“Yeah.” A nap sounds nice. Tommy can already feel his swollen eyes falling shut. He listens to the sounds coming from the kitchen and allows himself to drift off.

A little while later, they are snuggled together on the couch, sharing a blanket. Steaming mugs of tea, bowls with equally steaming chicken soup and a plate of cookies on the table in front of them. A Netflix movie is running, but Tommy doesn’t really know what it’s about. After eating the soup - the hot liquid feeling like a balm for his scratchy throat - and sipping his tea, he keeps dozing off, his head resting on Evan’s shoulder.

He’s sick and everything hurts, but he feels comfortable and loved. So it’s not as bad as it could be. 

“How are they?” Evan asks, when Tommy tries a cookie, tilting his head and eagerly waiting for feedback.

Tommy chews, swallows, and then looks at Evan with a sad smile. “Well, the combination of crunch and chewiness is definitely 10/10, but unfortunately, I can’t tell you more than that. Because I can’t taste much right now. Not being able to taste chocolate chip cookies. I think that’s the saddest thing that happened to me today.”

Evan makes a sympathetic noise and cuddles Tommy closer to him, giving him a kiss on his head. “It’s okay. As soon as you feel better, I am going to make them again.”

(A03 Link, Written for @tevanadvent2024, Day 18: Cookies)

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Hey guys! It's all crazy and to top it off I'm still sick, I'm getting better thanks to teas and Advil. But here I am...

Enjoy it! <3

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader

Warning: +18, smut, anal play, impregnation fetish, degradation, jealousy Wanda

Summary: You find out what happens when you're pushed to the limit

Hey. Now I've a masterlist

SHINE

Morning arrived gently, like a whisper only the skin could hear. Light filtered through the curtains, painting shadows and shapes in golden tones across the rumpled sheets. The room smelled of warmth, a faint floral perfume, and something unmistakably Wanda.

Your body was still wrapped in the haze of sleep, but awareness began to surface in waves, carrying with it the presence of the woman beside you. A barefoot touch grazed yours, warm and subtle, as if seeking something more profound than a simple connection: a silent promise of closeness.

Wanda’s nose brushed the curve of your neck, a simple yet devastating gesture. You could feel her rhythmic, tranquil breath, spreading like a caress across your skin. The soft texture of the sheets contrasted with the comforting weight of her arm draped over your waist, holding you as if fearing the dawn might steal the privilege of having you there.

It was in these quiet moments that everything felt different. The lightness that love brought wasn’t an escape but a new weight—one you carried gladly. The fine line between what was her and what was you seemed to blur, like the light filtering through the curtains, merging day and night.

Wanda shifted slightly, pressing her lips to the space between your neck and shoulder—a kiss that felt like a signature on your skin, a reminder that you belonged to her.

You opened your eyes slowly, feeling the warmth of your breath against the pillow. “Are you awake?” you murmured, your voice rough from sleep.

“Maybe,” came the whispered, humor-laden response, her tone magnetic as ever.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat. “Staring at me again?”

“As if it’s a crime,” Wanda replied, her fingers trailing lightly along your waist—delicate but firm.

“Flirting with me before eight in the morning,” you teased, turning in bed to face her. Your eyes met hers—green like a sunlit meadow.

“I’m entitled,” she said, leaning closer. The gentle touch of your noses was followed by the soft pressure of her lips against yours, a kiss that held everything: the tenderness of the night, the warmth of the day, and the promise of everything to come.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet aroma of bread toasting in the kitchen as you assembled the twins’ lunches at the counter. Tommy and Billy sat at the table, eyes still half-closed, already bickering over who could finish the orange juice first.

Wanda entered the kitchen, her hair slightly tousled, with an expression of pure morning laziness that only made her more irresistible. You felt her presence before you saw her—a warmth that seemed to fill the room.

“What’s your plan for the day, professor?” you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you spread butter on Billy’s toast.

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her eyes sparkling with a kind of intimacy that made the world feel closer. “The usual,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s so dull going to work and not seeing your face. Did you know I only took that job to see you?”

You laughed, stepping closer with an intentionally loaded look. “Miss intimidating me in your office?”

Her voice turned naturally seductive as she leaned just slightly toward you. “You have no idea how much.”

Her hand rose to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your forehead, her fingers moving with calculated tenderness. There was an electric charge in the exchange, a tension that seemed to absorb even the muffled laughter of the twins in the background.

“Eww! No kissing!” Tommy interrupted with exaggerated indignation, making Billy burst into laughter.

You and Wanda pulled back with knowing smiles, though the playful glint in her eyes was impossible to ignore.

“Ah, puberty...” Wanda sighed, feigning resignation as she turned to the boys.

“Mom, don’t tell me you never thought it was gross when your parents kissed,” Tommy shot back with a grimace.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, already prepared with a sharp retort. “Of course, I did. But look at me—I survived. Love doesn’t kill, Tommy. Neither does a little romance.”

“Maybe boredom does,” Billy added, laughing and earning a high-five from his brother.

You watched the scene with a serene smile, handing the finished lunches to the boys. “Come on, eat quickly. You’re almost late,” you said, though your voice carried the lightness of someone who was home.

As the boys dashed off to grab their backpacks, Wanda turned her gaze to you, the earlier intensity returning.

“One day, they’ll understand,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

“If they don’t, oh well,” you teased, smiling as you returned the affection. “They’ll have to deal with it, because, sorry, I’m addicted to you.”

Wanda laughed, the sound light and filled with a love that made the day begin just right. “And I’m addicted to you,” she whispered as the boys’ hurried footsteps echoed through the house.

The clock read 10:37 AM when you finally found a moment to pause at work. The teacher’s lounge was quiet, except for the soft clicking of keys in the background. The air smelled of stale coffee, and you took the opportunity to pour yourself a cup. The morning had been intense but rewarding—your students were finally beginning to grasp Whitman’s poetry.

You were about to sit down when Maria Hill walked in. Her deliberate, measured steps immediately drew your attention. The last time you crossed paths had been during a board meeting, and even then, you exchanged little more than a formal nod. Today, however, she seemed determined to speak with you.

"Professor," she began, her voice carrying a casual tone that felt too practiced to be genuine. "It seems your class is one of the most talked about this semester."

You looked up, studying her face. There was something difficult to decipher there—a contrast between professional composure and something far more personal.

"I'm just trying to keep things interesting," you replied with a polite smile, doing your best to ignore the faint unease her presence stirred within you.

Maria leaned against the counter, arms crossed in a posture that appeared relaxed, though her gaze remained fixed on you, observing every detail. "Interesting is an understatement. Some teachers spend years trying to make that kind of impact."

You knew it was a compliment, but the way she said it sounded... odd. As if there were layers beneath her words that remained unspoken.

"It's part of the job," you said, keeping your tone neutral.

Maria smiled—a small, enigmatic expression that hinted at something veiled beneath the surface. "Have you always been like this? Passionate about what you do?"

The question caught you off guard. Before you could answer, her eyes narrowed slightly, as though analyzing more than just your words.

"Are you asking if I’ve always wanted to teach?" you asked, attempting to diffuse the tension.

"Not exactly," Maria said, her tone lowering, becoming softer. "I mean... have you always been like this? Strong? Resilient?"

You paused, feeling the weight of her question. The way she spoke stirred old memories—ones you preferred to keep buried. Times when you had no choice but to be strong, to endure, to survive.

Before you could respond, Maria pressed on, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, but carrying an emotional weight that felt more personal than professional. "Not everyone can turn the scars of their past into something... powerful."

"Do you have kids?" you asked abruptly, steering the conversation away from uncomfortable territory.

"Two," you answered, a softer expression crossing your face as you thought of Billy and Tommy. Just the thought of them brought a brief, calming reprieve.

"They’re lucky," Maria murmured, her voice gentle but with an undercurrent of something more complex. "Lucky to have someone like you looking out for them."

“Your husband must be proud,” she added, the statement sounding casual, though her eyes watched you intently, studying your reaction with what could only be described as calculated curiosity.

"I'm not… married to a man," you replied evenly, though you felt a warmth creeping up your neck at the subtle shift in the conversation.

Maria tilted her head slightly, absorbing your words with a careful consideration. A faint smile touched her lips—not one of surprise, but of quiet understanding, as if you’d just confirmed something she’d long suspected.

"Not married to a man," she repeated slowly, each word deliberate, precise. "Interesting."

The weight of her gaze was palpable, almost tangible, like an invisible pressure pressing against you. Her eyes never wavered, and the intensity of her scrutiny made it hard to breathe.

"And your wife… or partner?" Maria continued, her voice dropping to a lower register, each word laden with significance. "Does she understand who you are? Everything you’ve been through?"

You took a step back, feeling an all-too-familiar tightness in your chest. Maria had a way of asking questions that cut deeper than they should, as though she could peel back layers of your soul with little more than a glance. Whether she intended to or not, it left you feeling exposed.

"She understands what matters," you said firmly, striving to maintain your composure. "And that’s enough."

Maria took a step closer, and the air around you seemed to shift. There was nothing overtly threatening about the movement, yet her proximity felt overwhelming, as though each step carried an unspoken intent. Her presence was suffocating, each motion precise, calculated to unsettle you.

"Does she?" Maria murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because I remember a version of you who didn’t have anyone. Who was alone. Vulnerable. And I wonder…"

Her words trailed off, but the impact lingered, each syllable like a key turning in a lock you desperately wanted to keep shut.

"I wonder if that part of you still exists," she continued softly, her tone almost gentle, yet with an undercurrent of sharpness, like a blade hidden beneath velvet. "If there’s still something inside you that misses it—being pushed. Being tested. Being forced to the edge."

Her proximity was unbearable, her warmth pressing against you like a physical force. Her voice, low and steady, seemed to sink into your bones, coaxing out thoughts you’d buried long ago. You tried to take a steadying breath, but it felt as though the very air had been siphoned from the room.

Your nose prickled—a familiar, unwelcome sensation—and you felt the warmth of blood trickling down. Instinctively, you brought your hand to your face, recoiling slightly as you pulled back to see the crimson smear on your fingertips.

Maria’s gaze followed your movements, her eyes darkening as she took in the sight of blood. For a fleeting moment, her expression shifted—something crossed her features that you couldn’t quite place. Fascination? Concern? It was gone too quickly to tell. But there was a gleam in her eyes, a flicker of something primal, like she understood more about what was happening to you than you did.

"Are you alright?" Maria asked, her voice carefully controlled, yet carrying a weight that felt almost predatory.

"I'm fine," you said quickly, though your voice trembled slightly. The pounding in your head intensified, each beat reverberating like a drum. Waves of pain radiated outward, distorting your vision and making it hard to focus.

"Are you?" Maria pressed, taking another step toward you. "You don’t look fine. In fact… you look like you’re about to break."

Her words carried a strange satisfaction, as though she’d been waiting for this—for you to unravel, for your control to slip.

You are our sun.

Shine.

Shine for the world.

The voice returned, insidious and relentless. Your parents’ mantra echoed in your mind, weaving itself into your consciousness like a thread you couldn’t untangle.

"Y/N?" Maria’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. It snapped you back to the present, anchoring you to reality for a fleeting moment.

You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your vision. Maria stood closer now, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that bordered on invasive. There was something predatory in her gaze—something that made you feel like prey trapped in a hunter’s sights.

"I said I’m fine," you repeated, taking another step back. But your body betrayed you, trembling under the strain. It was as if an electric current pulsed beneath your skin, wild and untamed, begging for release.

Maria tilted her head, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "No, you’re not. You’re burning from the inside out. I can see it."

Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but it carried an undercurrent of satisfaction, as though she’d been waiting for you to reach this breaking point. Waiting for the cracks in your façade to show.

You are our sun.

Shine for the world.

The pounding in your head grew louder, the mantra intertwining with the pain, with the memories you’d fought so hard to bury. Your vision blurred again, and the room spun, but the voice remained crystal clear.

Maria tilted her head, observing you intently. “You don’t look well. In fact, you look… ready to explode.”

There was something in her voice—a touch of barely concealed satisfaction. As if she had been waiting for this, waiting to see how far you’d go before breaking.

You are our sun.

Shine.

Shine for the world.

The dizziness worsened, the ground seemed to shift beneath your feet. Then, for an instant, you saw something—a flickering image in your mind like a broken reflection. Light. A golden glow radiating from you, warm and relentless.

You stumbled, leaning against the nearest wall. “I just… need to get out of here.”

You left the room, holding your nose—blood dripping hot between your fingers, unstoppable. Your vision wavered with every step, the world around you distorting as if it were unsteady. The sound of your own shoes against the floor felt muffled, distant, while the pain in your head throbbed relentlessly, a pounding drum deep in your mind.

Every step toward the car felt monumental. The pain spread, no longer confined to your head, but racing down your spine, burning like a line of fire. Sharp stabs concentrated behind your eyes, stealing your breath. Your knees threatened to give out, and you clung to anything nearby, seeking balance.

Shine.

Shine for the world.

The voice was incessant now, growing louder, as if merging with the pain itself. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it out, trying to make sense of it. But it was impossible. Everything was too much—the blood, the pain, the suffocating echo of the words.

When you finally reached your car, your hands trembled so much that you couldn’t find the keys. The dizziness worsened, and the world began to spin. You leaned against the car door, breathing deeply, but the oxygen refused to reach your lungs.

In that moment, that second of pure desperation, you heard something. A different voice. More real.

“Y/N?”

Lifting your eyes with difficulty, you saw Wanda. She was standing at the doorway to the house, her face a mask of worry. You tried to say something, but your voice failed. The pain was unbearable now, a knife buried deep in your mind.

In an instant, Wanda was by your side. Her red magic shimmered around you, and before you could protest, she lifted you effortlessly into her arms.

“Wanda, I…” You tried to speak, but the world was spinning so fast it felt like it was collapsing.

“Shh,” she murmured, her voice low and urgent. “Don’t talk. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

As Wanda carried you inside, her touch resonated within you. But there was something more. You realized she was feeling the pain too, sharing it in some way. Her face was tense, as though every step was a struggle.

“It’s burning me,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe and pain. “What’s happening to you?”

You wanted to respond, to explain, but you had no answers. All that remained was the pain, the blood, and the voice that continued to whisper.

Shine.

Shine for the world.

When you reached the living room, Wanda set you down gently on the couch, her gaze drifting over the blood still dripping from your nose. Her eyes were filled with tears she was holding back through sheer willpower.

“I’ll take care of you,” she said firmly, but you saw the fear behind her words. “I promise.”

As she placed her hand on your forehead, trying to channel her magic to ease your pain, all you could feel was the unbearable weight of that voice. And for the first time, you feared it might be right. That you needed to shine—but at what cost?

The weight was crushing when you opened your eyes. The room was cloaked in shadows, with only the moonlight filtering through the curtains, painting soft lines on the floor. Your entire body ached as if it had been crushed by something invisible, but you knew you had to get up.

With effort, you swung your feet onto the floor, trying to find your balance, but the world spun. The dizziness was overwhelming, and your shaky steps betrayed your weakness.

Before you could take more than two steps, the door abruptly opened. Wanda entered, carrying a tray of food, her eyes immediately locking onto you, filled with worry and irritation.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Her voice was firm, a command that cut through the air. “Lie down.”

You tried to protest, but she was already by your side, guiding you back to the bed with a gentleness that contrasted with her authoritative tone. She adjusted the pillows behind you and placed the tray on your lap, filled with hot soup, bread, and a glass of water.

“You’re going to eat this, and then rest. I don’t want to hear another word about getting up.”

Her manner was almost maternal, but the intensity in her eyes revealed something deeper: concern, love, and an almost desperate need to protect you.

When you finished eating, Wanda took the tray and pulled a chair close to your bedside. She held your hand, her fingers stroking yours. Her voice was softer when she finally asked:

“Now tell me… What happened?”

You hesitated, but her gaze didn’t allow for evasion. Sighing, you began to speak.

“It was Maria. The school principal. Today, at work. She… approached me.”

Wanda’s face immediately hardened, but she remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

“She started talking about the past. About who I used to be under her authority. I… I don’t know how to explain it, Wanda. Something she said threw me off, and my head started pounding.”

You felt Wanda’s gaze intensify, but the words kept flowing, like a painful confession.

“She humiliated me back in high school, pushed me in ways I didn’t understand. I hated it, but at the same time… I liked it. Liked the way she was cruel to me. Like there was power in it, something that made me feel alive in a strange, twisted way.”

The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the sound of your uneven breathing. Wanda remained still, but the magic around her began to pulse in soft red hues, like a racing heartbeat.

“Today, she did it again,” you continued, your voice trembling. “She got close, so close I could smell her. She asked about my life, pressed me with that tone that made me want to disappear. And I… I felt like I did back then. Small and insecure. I couldn’t react. My body just… gave in.”

Wanda’s green eyes were locked on yours now, and you saw something in them that made you shiver: anger, jealousy, and an intensity that seemed capable of setting the world ablaze.

“You’re telling me,” Wanda began, her voice low and controlled but electric with tension, “that this woman… thinks she has any claim over you?”

You tried to speak, but she didn’t give you the chance.

“Thinks she can pressure you, humiliate you, and get away with it?” The veins at her temples were visible now, her magic flickering around her fingers like flames.

“Wanda, I—”

“No.” She stood, her power surging around her, almost tangible in the air. “You are mine. And no one, absolutely no one, has the right to do this to you. Not Maria. Not anyone.”

The weight of her declaration hung between you, and for a moment, you didn’t know whether to feel fear, relief, or both. All you knew was that despite her intensity, Wanda’s presence was the only thing keeping you anchored to reality in that moment.

With a rough gesture, Wanda grabbed your chin to make you look at her.

The air seemed to vibrate with Wanda’s energy, charged with emotions you could barely process. Her power was there, pulsing beneath the surface, illuminating the room in crimson hues like a storm about to erupt. The question hung between you, heavy, impossible to ignore.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Her voice was low, but there was something dangerous in it, something that made your heart race. Her grip on your chin wasn’t gentle; it was possessive. Wanda held you as if the mere act of looking away would be an unforgivable offense.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. All you could do was feel—her overwhelming presence, the heat radiating from her, the knot forming in your throat as you struggled to process everything.

“Answer me.”

Her fingers tightened slightly, her green eyes blazing like fire. “Did you like what Maria did to you?”

Did you know the answer wasn’t simple? Nothing about this was simple. Part of you wanted to deny it, to walk away from this conversation, but another part... the part Wanda seemed to see so clearly... knew there was no escape.

“I…” Your voice faltered, and you swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in your throat. “I hated it. And... at the same time…”

Wanda tilted her head, her eyes narrowing, focused on every nuance of your words.

“Go on. Keep talking.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to summon strength. But all you could see was red — the red of her magic, the red of her anger, the red that seemed to color every thought in your mind.

“Part of me liked it because... because it reminded me,” you finally admitted, each word an effort. “Reminded me of how I used to feel. Of who I used to be.”

Wanda’s expression hardened, and you saw the pain your words caused. But she didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she stepped even closer, until your faces were nearly touching, her breath warm against your skin.

“And do you miss that?” The question came low, almost a growl.

You shook your head quickly. “No. I don’t want to be that person again.”

“Then why did you let it happen?” Her tone was merciless, but there was a vulnerability buried in it, a fear she couldn’t quite hide.

“Because I’m broken,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Because part of me still believes I deserve it.”

Wanda exhaled slowly, as though trying to contain her fury. Her fingers slid to your neck, pressing lightly, as if she wanted to feel your racing pulse beneath your skin.

“You don’t deserve that,” she said at last, her voice softer, yet still full of intensity. “You never did. You were young, weak… Maybe you still are, aren’t you? Of course, you’d let her have some kind of control over you.”

Wanda tilted her head, her fingers still firm around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you feel the rapid beating of your heart. Her eyes never left yours, piercing, as if she wanted to strip away every secret you still hid.

“You see yourself as a victim,” Wanda murmured, almost with disgust. “A puppet anyone can manipulate. But do you know what I see?”

You swallowed hard, your entire body on alert, every cell vibrating under her touch. “What?”

“I see a woman who needs to be broken in a different way.”

The tension in the room became almost unbearable. The heat, the silence interrupted only by the sound of your ragged breaths, and Wanda’s overpowering presence made the air feel heavy. Every word she spoke was an electric current running down your spine, igniting every nerve, every hidden desire.

Wanda’s fingers slid along your collarbone, the touch as light as a whisper. But there was a promise in the slow, deliberate movement, one that made your skin burn. You knew she was testing your limits — but you also knew Wanda wasn’t the kind to tolerate resistance for long.

“Broken… in a way that you’ll beg never to be fixed,” Wanda continued, her voice low and husky, as her fingers trailed up your neck, closing around your throat. “I can feel your heart beating here.” She pressed lightly, her thumb against your racing pulse. “I wonder who it’s beating for.”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. All you managed was a strangled sound, a mix of surprise and pleasure.

“What’s the matter?” Wanda smirked slowly, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Cat got your tongue, little doll? Still thinking about her?” She spat the words.

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the firm grip on your throat turned any attempt at a response into a shaky moan. Your eyes met hers, and the intensity in Wanda’s gaze made your entire body tremble.

Wanda’s face was a mask of control on the verge of breaking. Fury and jealousy burned in her eyes like a storm threatening to consume you entirely. Her grip on your throat was firm but didn’t hurt — at least not in the way you expected. Instead, every touch of hers made something inside you melt, every word laden with a dark desire that made your whole body hum.

“You should know,” she murmured, her tone low and rough, almost a warning. “You should know that no one else can have you. No one else can make you feel what I do.”

Her fingers tightened slightly, and you felt the pressure increase, the air growing scarce but still enough to keep you conscious. Wanda controlled every breath, every sensation — and you didn’t want her to stop.

“And yet, you let someone else get close,” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain and possessiveness. “You let another woman believe she had any right to you.”

“I—” you tried to speak, but Wanda increased the pressure, silencing you again.

“No,” she growled. “I don’t want excuses. I want you to understand one thing.”

She leaned in until her lips brushed yours, never easing her grip. Her breath, when it finally reached you, was hot and heavy with restrained anger.

“You’re mine,” she declared, every word a command that seared into your skin. “You’ve always been mine. And now… now you’ll pay for letting yourself believe, even for a second, that anyone else could possess you.”

Your eyes closed as a shiver ran through your body. Her tone, the firm touch on your throat, the promise of punishment — it all made the heat inside you rise to an unbearable level. You felt your body respond to her authority as if it were made to fit perfectly under Wanda’s control.

“Look at me,” she ordered.

Your eyes opened slowly, meeting hers. There was something primal there, a raw need mingled with her anger. You didn’t just see jealousy — you saw obsession. You saw love in its most dangerous, possessive form.

“Who’s your heart beating for, Y/n?” Wanda repeated, her eyes narrowing as her thumb pressed against your pulse. “For me… or for her?”

You knew what the right answer was. You knew exactly what Wanda wanted to hear. But at the same time, something pulled you toward the abyss—a desire to provoke her, to test the limits of her control, to see how far she would go to reclaim the authority she never should have lost.

So, instead of answering, you remained silent.

Wanda’s smile faded. For a moment, there was only silence, save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint, ominous hum of her magic lingering in the air.

“Silence?” Wanda arched an eyebrow, her tone almost mocking, laced with dangerous amusement. “Still thinking about her, perhaps? Thinking about what she did to you?”

“No!” you cried out, the sound hoarse, choked by the invisible grip around your throat. “I only think of you. Only you, Mommy.”

For a fleeting moment, her gaze softened, a flicker of warmth crossing her features—but it disappeared just as quickly. Her anger returned, simmering beneath the surface, more intense than before.

“Am I supposed to believe that?” Wanda asked, tilting her head slightly, studying you as if dissecting your very soul. “After what you did? After you allowed someone else to touch what is mine?”

She lowered her head until her lips brushed your ear, her voice low, intimate, dripping with both threat and promise.

“I’ll break you, my little doll,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “I’ll make you remember who you belong to.”

The constriction around your throat loosened just enough for you to take a shuddering breath, but Wanda gave you no time to recover. In one swift, calculated move, she claimed your mouth in a fierce, almost brutal kiss, her teeth scraping your bottom lip, drawing blood.

You whimpered against her mouth, your body surrendering entirely to the control she demanded. Tears streamed down your face, the salty droplets mingling with the metallic taste of blood on your lips.

“That’s it,” Wanda murmured, her voice softening as she pulled back slightly, her fingers caressing your cheek to wipe away your tears. “Cry for me. Show me you understand.”

Her gaze locked onto yours, intense and unrelenting. Her fingertips traced the contours of your face, the touch deceptively gentle.

“I want all of you,” Wanda said, her tone a mix of tenderness and authority. “Your body, your mind, your heart. Everything.”

You nodded, your eyes never leaving hers. “I’m already yours.”

“Then prove it,” she whispered, the words carrying weight, dripping with expectation. “Prove to me that you are mine. And only mine.”

The air around you both vibrated with her magic, the energy suffocating and comforting all at once. You knew she was about to push you to your limits—and deep down, you craved it more than anything.

Your tears streamed freely, thick droplets tracing down your cheeks as you whispered, “Do whatever you want with me, Mommy. Punish me. I deserve it.”

Wanda wasn’t finished punishing you. Her rage was palpable—it hung in the air like a storm ready to break, crackling in every word, every movement. She stepped back for a moment, pacing slowly across the room, her footsteps echoing in the tense silence. The suspense only heightened your anticipation.

“What’s your safe word?” she asked, her voice steady, controlled. She wasn’t testing your limits—she was daring you to withstand more.

“Crimson,” you answered, your voice raspy, barely above a whisper.

Wanda stopped pacing, her darkened eyes locking onto yours. Slowly, with deliberate precision, she walked to a nearby wardrobe and opened it. Your heart raced as you watched her pull out a black leather belt, worn and heavy—a symbol of unyielding authority, of her dominion over you.

The sound of the belt sliding through her fingers echoed in the quiet room, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” Wanda asked, taking a step toward you, folding the belt carefully in her hands.

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation. Your voice was steady, but inside, you trembled—with anticipation, with desire, with a desperate need to be hers.

“Then say it.” She stopped in front of you, her gaze smoldering, intense. “Tell me why you deserve this.”

“Because I… I let another woman dominate me,” you whispered, your eyes dropping to the floor in shame. “I let her believe she had power over me.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your confession hanging in the air. Wanda remained still for several long moments, simply watching you, analyzing every breath, every tremor.

“On your knees,” she commanded, her voice low but absolute.

You dropped to your knees without a second thought, your palms resting on your thighs, your gaze still lowered. Wanda circled you slowly, the sound of her footsteps reverberating through the room, each step increasing the tension, the fire burning beneath your skin.

“Look at me,” she ordered.

You lifted your head, meeting her gaze, and what you saw in her eyes made your entire body shudder. There was anger, yes—but there was something deeper, more profound. Reverence. As if you were a sacrifice offered to her, a precious possession that she would never let go.

“What are you?” Wanda asked, leaning closer, her face mere inches from yours.

“I’m yours,” you replied without hesitation, your voice steady, resolute.

“Whose?” Her grip on the belt tightened, the leather creaking under the pressure of her fingers.

“Yours, Wanda. Only yours.”

A predatory smile spread across her lips, dangerous and alluring. Wanda stepped back, raising the belt, running it slowly through her fingers as if savoring the anticipation.

“Lie down,” she commanded.

You obeyed instantly, lying on the bed, your body tense yet aching for her touch. Wanda climbed onto the bed beside you, kneeling next to you, the belt gliding over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“You deserve to be punished,” she murmured, her fingers tracing your jawline with deceptive tenderness. “And I will teach you what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

The first strike was sudden, unexpected. The sharp crack of the belt against your skin echoed in the room, and your back arched instinctively, a strangled moan escaping your lips. The sting burned, yet awakened something primal inside you—a deep, insatiable need to surrender completely.

“Count,” Wanda demanded, her voice unyielding.

“One,” you gasped, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

Another strike, this one harder. The heat radiated from the point of impact, and you whimpered, your body trembling with the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

“Two.”

Wanda maintained a steady rhythm, each strike precise, calculated. Each lash of the belt was a reminder—a mark of her ownership over you, etched not just into your skin but into your very soul.

As you counted each number, the tension between you grew, thickening the air around you. The magic surrounding Wanda crackled, her power tangible, suffocating yet intoxicating.

When you reached the tenth strike, your voice broke, tears streaming down your face. But they weren’t tears of pain—they were tears of release, of surrender. Of absolute devotion.

Wanda stopped, the belt falling to her side. She leaned over you, her fingers once again brushing your tears away with an almost reverent gentleness.

“My little doll,” she whispered, her voice soft, affectionate. “Look at you. So beautiful like this. So completely mine.”

You sobbed quietly, your body trembling under her touch, every part of you laid bare before her.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice cracking with emotion. “Thank you, Mommy.”

Wanda’s smile softened, though the possessiveness in her gaze remained. She leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and consuming. The taste of her was everything you needed—a reminder that you were exactly where you were meant to be

“This,” she murmured against your lips. “Now you understand.”

And you did. Every mark on your skin, every tear shed, every whispered word—it was all an oath. A silent promise that you belonged to Wanda. That you always had.

“My good girl,” Wanda whispered, her lips now brushing against your ear. “And no one… no one… will take you from me.”

The intensity of her words made your heart race even faster. Wanda’s hand ran down your neck to your chest, pressing you into the mattress, as if she were holding you both physically and emotionally.

Her eyes burned with something that went beyond anger. It was adoration, obsession, a love so deep and fierce that it seemed capable of consuming the entire world if it had to.

Wanda’s hands caressed the red skin of your ass. The contrast of the cold of her hands against your hot, abused skin. Her long fingers caressed your outer lips, feeling how wet you were. She uses your lubrication and takes it to your asshole, making your eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh… Look at that,” Wanda murmured with a cruel smile, her fingers still caressing your wet folds, slipping easily between the heat and desire that dripped from you. “So wet just from being spanked? From being put in your place?”

You moaned, trying to hide in the bed, but there was no escaping her. Wanda knew every part of you — body and mind. She knew exactly how to press until you had no choice but to surrender.

She laughed softly, and her laugh was both a comfort and a torture. “You’re such a desperate slut, aren’t you? How does it feel to have my finger in your asshole?”

The humiliation burned your skin, but it was a fire that only increased your desire. You tried to open your mouth to protest, but Wanda was already lowering her hand again. Not to hit you this time, but to slide her wet finger into your other hole, circling it slowly, threatening to enter.

“Surprise?” Her voice was a whisper of pure sin. “Do you think I’ll spare you after what you did? Do you think I won’t claim what’s mine?”

You felt her finger press into your ass, teasing the entrance to your anus, a slight push that made you arch your back and let out a loud moan. Your entire body trembled, torn between discomfort and the overwhelming pleasure that was about to explode.

“Oh. Look at that… A little slut who loves having all her holes used, isn’t she?” She pressed even harder, making your eyes roll back with the mind-blowing pleasure. The massage her fingers did in the spot was skillful, making you want more and push your ass against Wanda.

“Beg.” She said through her teeth, making circular movements in your ass. “Beg mommy to fuck your virgin ass.”

Saliva slowly dripped from the corners of your mouth, forming a shiny thread that fell onto the sheets beneath you. Your mind was in a dense fog, as if reality itself had dissolved around the intensity of the moment.

“Mommy, please…” Your tongue curled as you spoke due to the amount of saliva accumulated in your mouth.

“Try again.” Her rigid voice left no room for questioning.

“Mommy, please— Fuck, fuck me. Use all my holes however you want. Use me.” You cried out, whimpering. You begged for her. You had been a bad girl, but here you were seeking redemption.

“It’s something like this…” Wanda murmured, her voice hoarse as if each word was impregnated with repressed desire and pure fury.

The air around you seemed to vibrate with her intensity—not just her magic, but the emotional storm that Wanda carried within her. Jealousy. Anger. And an obsession that burned so hot it could incinerate anything it touched.

“P- Please touch my pussy, please, please, please,” you cried out, but Wanda only hummed.

“No, you don’t deserve to be touched there.” Wanda said, pushing the tip of her third finger into you.

Removing her fingers from you, she grabbed the bottle of lube and lubed up your strap-on. She pulled the toy out, needing to spread the lube around and what was the perfect way to do that? “You let me know if you need me to add lube, got it?”

“Yes- Yes, just fuck me already.” You trembled beneath the older woman.

You felt your hair being pulled at the roots, making you arch your back towards Wanda and stick your ass up against her strap-on. “You think you can give me orders now? Huh?!” She tugged hard on the strands, making you scream.

The scent of sandalwood filled the air around you, intoxicating your senses, making it impossible to even form a coherent thought. Each breath seemed to pull Wanda deeper into you, until all that was left was her overwhelming presence—burning like a secret you never wanted to confess.

Her fingers slid across your scarred skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“You should be so grateful,” Wanda murmured, her tone thick with contempt and adoration mixed into one sentence. “Even with that foolish mind of yours, that dared to stop thinking about me… I’m still here.” She leaned her face down until her lips brushed your ear, her voice so low it sounded like an inverted prayer. “Mommy is here… giving you exactly what you need.”

The weight of her words made your breath hitch, your entire body shaking under Wanda’s relentless control. Your eyes closed for a moment, letting the warmth of her presence consume you completely.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice weak and broken. But it wasn’t enough. “Thank you, Mommy,” you repeated, more firmly this time, as if each word was an offering.

“You should be grateful. Do you think Maria can give you that?” This sense of belonging, this love?” She growls as she pushes an inch inside you.

“Wands…” You moan needily, and receive a thrust so hard that it makes you gasp in pain.

“That name. You are not to use it now, understand? Not while you are nothing to me, nothing but a hole for me to use.” She snapped, tears welling in your eyes. You turned your head so she couldn’t see.

“Good, now that it’s all in, you will tell me when I can start fucking you. And I won’t start until you give me the green light, Dekta.” She soothed.

You nodded, shuddering as she pushed the rest of the toy inside you. As she promised, Wanda stood still, rubbing your lower back as she waited for you to adjust. You waited ten minutes, wanting to get used to the feeling. The strapon she was using was a size you weren’t used to, especially in your ass. But it wasn’t unbearable, and when you looked at Wanda and nodded, you gave her the go-ahead.

The witch began to fuck you at a slow pace, wanting to make sure she wasn’t actually hurting you. As much of a bad girl as you had been, you were still her girl. And nothing in the world would change that.

“God, the mess you’re making of me just because I have my dick in your ass. You’re so fucking pathetic.” She laughed, picking up the pace.

Wanda leaned over you, her weight crushing both your skin and your soul, making it clear who was in control. Her fingers slid around your waist, squeezing with an inhuman strength, while her eyes burned with that corrosive jealousy that hadn’t yet dissipated.

Her voice came low, slurred, each word laced with venom and possession. "Do you think Maria saw you the way I do? Do you think she felt what I feel for you? No. She only saw something to use. An easy toy to break. And you let her."

You tried to shake your head, but Wanda wouldn't let you. The tightness in your throat tightened a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to silence you.

"You're mine. But do you want to know the truth?" She leaned in even closer, her lips almost touching yours. "Without me, you're nothing."

The words cut deep, a direct blow to your pride, but strangely, you felt heat spread throughout your body. Each insult was a testament to how much Wanda cared—her love was fierce, sickening, but it was also undeniable.

"Repeat it," she demanded, her fingers now slowly sliding to your jaw, keeping your face up so you couldn't look away. "Tell me who you are without me."

Your bottom lip trembled, shame and desire fighting inside you.

"I… I am nothing."

"Louder."

"I am nothing!" You screamed, your voice shaky and desperate, feeling the tears burn your eyes. "I am only something because you made me be!"

Wanda's fury was a weight in the air. Every beat of her heart seemed to set the environment around her on fire, her magic pulsing like a living creature, thirsting for more. Her fingers trembled as they slid through the leather belt she still held, but not from insecurity — it was the anger that bubbled inside her, a storm of emotions she could barely contain.

Maria's name echoed in Wanda's mind like a curse.

Maria.

This woman who dared to touch what didn't belong to her. Who dared to think, for a single second, that she could have you. Who could break you as if Wanda hadn't molded every piece of your soul with her presence, her touch, her burning love.

The jealousy burning inside Wanda was a wildfire, and her magic danced around her in response—deep red, dark crimson, like freshly spilled blood. The energy crackled at her fingertips, leaving a trail of sparks across the room as she paced in slow circles, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Did she have you?” The question reverberated in her mind, and the answer hurt like a raw blade. It didn’t matter that you were here, at her feet, begging for forgiveness. It didn’t matter that your every word was a promise of submission. All Wanda could see was another woman daring to believe she had any control over you.

Wanda knew what it was like to be marked by the past. She knew what it was like to carry the scars of pain, of abandonment, of loss. But to see you—the one thing in the world that made your darkness seem bearable—touched by another? That was unforgivable.

“Did she make you moan?”

“Did she see that look in your eyes?”

“Did she know how to make you beg?”

Each question fueled Wanda’s anger, and the magic around her responded with a perfect reflection of her emotions. The crimson sparks turned into strands of energy that snaked through the air, dancing like serpents around Wanda. The intensity of the magic increased with each dark thought that passed through her mind.

But what really made Wanda burn with jealousy—what made her want to rip out her own heart so she wouldn’t feel so much—was the fact that you let this happen.

You, who were hers.

You, who belonged to her from the moment your eyes met.

You, who were now marked not only by Wanda, but by another woman.

“No, Mommy. She never took me for her own. I’m only yours.” You murmured with difficulty, but firmly.

Wanda’s smile was cruel and satisfied. And it surprised you when you felt your clit being massaged by her fingers. “Mommy was very happy now.” She says and plants a kiss behind your ear, and now, the thrusts become hard and rough.

“Mommy’s little girl’s ass is so tight…” She murmurs without eloquence, just feeling, just corrupting your untouched body.

Wanda’s fingers tightened around your waist, her knuckles turning white. She knew she needed to release this energy before she lost control. But first, she needed something more—she needed to hear it from you. She needed to be sure that every inch of you still belonged to her.

She stepped closer slowly, her green eyes shining like emeralds beneath the crimson glow of the magic that still floated through the room. Jealousy brimmed in her voice as she whispered,

“Say it again. Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you murmured, your eyes brimming with tears.

“It’s not enough.” Her voice grew lower, more menacing. “Say her name.”

You hesitated for a moment, fear and shame mingling in your gaze.

“Maria…” The name fell from her lips in an embarrassed whisper.

Wanda shivered. The magic around her flared brighter, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to fill with that dark red.

“She thought she could have you.” Wanda smiled, but it was a cruel smile, sharp as a blade. “She thought it could be me.”

Her eyes flared, and the anger that had once seemed ready to explode was replaced by something even more dangerous: a calculated calm.

“She won’t think that anymore.” Wanda’s voice was low, a warning. “I’ll make sure Maria understands exactly who you belong to.”

Wanda’s magic fed on jealousy, on the desire to possess. And the more she thought about Maria—this intruder, this threat—the more powerful it became. The crimson sparks began to solidify, forming currents of energy that fluttered around Wanda, as if waiting for an order.

But for now, Wanda turned her attention to you. Because before she could deal with Maria, she needed to make sure you understood.

That you would never make the mistake of giving yourself to anyone other than her again. She gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to look at her.

“You’ll thank me for this,” Wanda whispered. “You’ll thank me for reminding you of who you are. Who you belong to.” Her touch burned, but it was a fire you craved. Because despite everything, despite the anger, the jealousy, the pain—you knew this was where you wanted to be.

“Thank you, Mommy,” you whispered, your entire body shaking under her intense gaze.

“Good girl.” Wanda smiled slowly, satisfied. But deep in her eyes there was still an unspoken promise—a promise that Maria would pay. Because Wanda was not someone who forgave easily.

Your orgasm was building with each thrust, you didn’t even know it could feel this good. But she found you begging for her: “Mommy, please! Forgive me, please, please! I need to be forgiven so much.” You cried, tears streaming from your eyes as you slobbered all over her mattress with your saliva and juices.

The sound of your sobs, the way you begged, made Wanda tremble all over. She tried to hold her breath, but her body betrayed any attempt at control. Her hands were steady, but her fingers trembled slightly as they caressed your tear-stained face. The weight of your words—“Mommy, please! Forgive me, please, please!”—echoed in her head like a song that fed her ego and her obsession.

You were so small, so surrendered, so broken. All that was left was a fragile, submissive creature, molded by Wanda’s hands, desperate for approval. She knew Maria could never have seen you like this. She would never have understood the absolute power that came from reducing you to this—to something pure, vulnerable, wanting to be molded, guided, belonging entirely to her.

The sight of you lying there, sweating, crying, your lips wet and your face pressed into the mattress as your saliva dripped like a glistening stream, was intoxicating. The absolute control Wanda had over you made her own pulse race. The corrosive jealousy of before gave way to something even darker and more pleasurable: the knowledge that you were hers alone.

“Look at you,” Wanda whispered, her voice shaking slightly. She couldn’t help it—a low, incredulous laugh escaped her lips. “So beautiful, so… pathetic. Begging as if your life depended on it.”

She gripped your chin, lifting your face. Your eyes were glassy, ​​lost in submission, and Wanda almost groaned at how broken you were—and how perfect it was.

She began to ease her thrusts into your ass and leaned down to place hot kisses on your back, an affectionate and reverent act. You were so precious, the most beautiful thing Wanda had ever had the pleasure of holding in her hands.

Wanda pulls out of you, missing the feeling of having you squeezing her. You huff, whimper, growl at not getting what you want and Wanda finds it adorable.

“What do you want?” She teased, already massaging the needy entrance to your pussy.

At that moment, there was nothing more urgent than this. You needed this, like you needed air to breathe.

“Mommy! Please touch my pussy. I can’t take it anymore.” You say in a shaky breath, your whole body trembling. “I need to be filled.” You begged, and heard a needy moan coming from her. It was clear, now this was torture for both of you.

“Fuck, turn around. I need to fuck you now.” She growled, pulling you into a claiming kiss.

The world seemed to stop the instant Wanda pulled you in, her strength and urgency drawing a gasp of surprise from your lips. There was nothing soft about the way she kissed you—it was a growl turned into action, raw and hungry, as if she were trying to engrave her possession into every cell of your being.

Her fingers sank into your hair, tugging at it with a firmness that made your scalp tingle, while her other hand anchored itself around your waist, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. The kiss was a fierce collision of lips, teeth, and desire, as if she wanted to devour you whole.

You could barely breathe, lost in her overwhelming heat, in the magic that seemed to vibrate in every inch of your skin. Her taste was a mix of anger and something deeper—something primal and possessive, that made your heart hammer and your legs threaten to give way.

And when she entered you, her eyes turned completely red and frightening. The pleasure she felt was not one of those safe types, it was corrosive, it made you burn inside.

“Fuck, that feels so much better now…” Wanda’s tone seemed lost in you, in your surrender and confidence. “Mommy wants her little girl to cum like this.” She murmurs in a slow rhythm, while biting the curve of your neck and inhaling the scent there.

“Oh, fuck, mommy—” You moaned loudly when you felt her cock hit the spongy spot inside you. “Tell me that you love me. That even after I messed up, you’re still obsessed with me.” You said in a dangerous impulse inside you.

Wanda’s body tensed at your words, her eyes shining with a mix of desire and something deeper—an abyss that she herself seemed unable to control. She didn’t respond immediately, and the silence between you was heavy, heavy, like the pause before a storm.

“Tell me,” you repeated, your voice a little lower, but no less provocative. It was a dangerous impulse, yes, but also a raw need to hear the words come out of her lips.

“I…” Wanda’s breathing was ragged, lust burning like liquid fire in her veins. Her hand came up to cup your face, her fingers trembling with an emotion she couldn’t name as she thrust inside you. “I love you. More than I should. More than is safe.”

The words came out almost like a forced confession, and yet there was an undeniable firmness to them. Wanda seemed lost, as if the intensity of her own feelings were drowning her, but she couldn’t stop.

“Do you think it’s obsession?” She continued, her voice hoarse, almost a whisper. “Maybe it is. Because when I look at you, I can’t think of anything else. I can’t breathe without wanting you closer. Without wanting you all to myself.”

You felt her body tremble against yours, a mix of desire and vulnerability that seemed to swallow the air between you. It was as if Wanda was completely intoxicated by what she felt, unable to contain herself. With you squeezing around her, sucking her cock—extracting all of her milk, making her spill inside you.

“I love you so much…!” Your back arched on the king-size bed, making Wanda bury herself deeper inside you. “So much, mommy…” You curl your fingers between her red strands, feeling the softness.

“Fuck. I’m going to fuck you so fucking hard.” She growled, increasing her movements—frantic and desperate. Wanda was going to cum, and she would cum hard.

Your breasts rubbed together, your nipples hard as rocks with excitement. And it was when she fingered your clit that you lost it. Your hips and legs trembled around her.

“Cum. Cum for mommy, little slut.” Wanda moaned in a slurred, needy tone, thrusting so deep that her hips were uncontrollably slamming into yours. “Shit. You’re so beautiful…”

“Mommy!”

You came, repeating her title like a sacred mantra, your legs shaking and swaying around the woman who kept thrusting—also already giving in to her own orgasm.

Wanda’s orgasm came like a volcanic eruption, a release so overwhelming that it seemed to tear the very fabric of reality around her. It was more than physical pleasure—it was power, pure, intoxicating magic, poured directly into you, as if each thrust was an offering, each moan an ancient chant that awakened something dormant deep within the sorceress.

She had never felt anything like it.

Sweat dripped from her forehead, dripping onto her hot skin, mixing with the tears and saliva you had already shed. But the trembling in your legs and the fire burning in your belly were clear signs that this wasn’t just a climax—it was a fusion. A part of her, an essence, a fragment of her very being, was being deposited within you like a mystical seed that would soon blossom.

“Fuck, this is…” Wanda gasped, unable to find words, her knees sinking into the mattress as her body convulsed with pleasure. The intensity left her staggering, barely able to maintain her balance, as if the weight of the moment were too great to bear. With each tremor, with each contraction of your inner muscles around her, Wanda felt her magic react—sparking, pulsing, flowing into you like a river that overflowed beyond any control.

She gasped, her fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. “You… fuck, you’re mine.” Her voice came out hoarse, almost like an animalistic growl. “All of this… everything you feel… belongs to me now.”

You repeated her title like a sacred mantra, your voice shaky and punctuated by moans. “Mommy… Mommy…” With each time you said it, Wanda felt her pleasure amplify, reverberating within her own body, until the peak was so overwhelming that she thought she might shatter completely.

When she finally collapsed on top of you, her face pressed against your neck, Wanda could still feel her heart pounding furiously against her ribs. But what truly left her breathless was the absolute certainty that coursed through her body like an electric current: you were marked by her. Indelible. Irrevocable.

“Do you feel it?” Wanda whispered, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. Her voice was low but carried a weight of power. “This is a part of me now, inside you. Growing. Taking root. You’ll never get rid of it.”

The thought made Wanda shiver again. Maria would never have this. She could never touch your soul the way Wanda did. You weren’t just her lover or her submissive anymore — you were an extension of her, the reflection of her magic and her obsession.

It was as if something vibrated beneath your skin, an invisible seed that Wanda had planted within you — something deeper than any physical touch, more penetrating than any word. Her presence was there, latent, like a magical current pulsing inside you, radiating through every cell, every nerve.

It was power.

And at the same time, it was devastation.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, as if it might burst at any moment, your legs still trembling around her thighs. Your breathing was ragged, but the air seemed insufficient, as though the world around you had changed — as though you had changed.

Wanda had left something inside you.

Something that was growing. Blooming.

Every mark on your skin burned like a silent vow. You belonged to her, and now her magic itself was woven into you — alive, pulsing, demanding to be acknowledged. Your fingers clenched into fists beside the mattress as a tremor ran through your entire body, residual pleasure mixed with a fear you couldn’t trace back to its origin.

Then everything shifted.

The lights in the room flickered.

Once.

Twice.

And then… darkness.

Your head began to spin. You felt a mounting pressure in your ears, a buzzing that seemed to come from within you, as if something were trying to emerge, to break through the surface. Your vision blurred, and the familiar scent of iron filled your nostrils.

Your nose was bleeding.

You brought a trembling hand to your face, touching the blood that slowly dripped down toward your mouth. The metallic taste mixed with the saliva still glistening at the corners of your lips, and you tried to speak, but no sound came out. Everything around you felt distorted, as if the world were spinning on an axis you couldn’t follow.

And then, the voice came.

Shine.

It was like a whisper, but it also echoed like thunder inside your mind.

Shine for the world.

Your body stiffened. The words reverberated within you, pulsing in time with the magic Wanda had left behind. The pain in your temples intensified, as though something was about to explode inside your skull. Each heartbeat sent a wave of agony through your body.

“No… no…” you tried to say, but the voice ignored your resistance.

You are mine.

It was no longer Wanda’s voice.

It was something older. Deeper.

Something that had always been inside you — waiting to awaken.

You rolled onto the floor, pressing your palms against the carpet, trying to anchor yourself to something real, something solid. But everything around you seemed to be crumbling. Your body shook, as if it might shatter under the weight of the magic coursing through your veins.

“I can’t…” you murmured, your voice broken. “I can’t—”

You will shine.

The voice laughed.

Because that’s what you were born for. That’s what you were made to do.

And you knew there was no escape. Wanda’s seed had been planted within you — and now it was beginning to bloom.

But it wasn’t just power growing inside you.

It was destruction.

And, at the same time, a promise that you would never be the same again.

“Please…” you whimpered, not knowing if you were speaking to the voice or to Wanda. “Please, mommy… don’t leave me alone.”

The lights continued to flicker, and the metallic scent of blood in the air made Wanda frown, her gaze darkening with confusion and concern.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was low, husky, still carrying the remnants of the possessive authority from before, but now there was something more. Something deeply maternal. Protective.

She saw you on your knees, trembling, and the sight hit her like a blow to the chest. The blood dripping from your nose made her heart stop for a moment. This wasn’t the kind of submission she wanted. This was pain. Real. Cruel. And, worse still, it was something she didn’t understand.

“Hey…” Wanda knelt beside you, her fingers trembling as she cupped your face. “Please, look at me. I’m here.”

You couldn’t. Your head was still spinning, the sound of that voice echoing like distant bells inside your mind. Shine. Shine for the world. The words kept hammering at you, as though they were being etched into your skin with fire.

“I can���t…” you whispered, sobbing. “It’s here. Inside me. Something… something is wrong…”

Wanda’s eyes widened, and her concern turned to panic. “Who? Who’s inside you? Maria?” Her voice was a low growl.

You shook your head frantically, your fingers clutching at the fabric of Wanda’s shirt like an anchor. “No… it’s not her. It’s something… A voice. Something that’s trying to use me.”

“No.” Wanda’s voice hardened, and the magic around her began to crackle in the air, sparks escaping from her fingertips. “No one will use you. No one!”

She pulled you into her lap, wrapping her strong arms around your trembling body. Her touch was firm, but there was no anger left. There was a fierce tenderness now, a possessive care that seemed to say: If the world dares to touch you, it will have to go through me first.

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” Wanda promised, her voice a fierce whisper against your ear. “Do you hear me? No matter what it is, no matter who it is. I’m your mother. I will protect you.”

You sobbed against her chest, feeling the security that only Wanda could offer. Even when everything inside you was falling apart, she was there—solid, unchanging.

"I'm so confused," you murmured against her skin. "My head... my head hurts so much..."

Wanda stroked your hair, her fingers gently gliding through the damp strands. "Shh... I know. I know, my love. Mommy's here. You don't have to do anything alone."

Her magic began to envelop you both, a comforting warmth that pushed the darkness away for a moment. Yet, even so, Wanda felt something strange—something coming from within you. A magic that wasn’t hers.

Shine. Shine for the world.

Wanda frowned. Those words weren’t hers, but they lingered in the air like a curse.

"You won't shine for anyone but me," Wanda growled softly, almost as if talking to herself. "You are my light. And no one will extinguish you."

She pulled your face to look into your eyes—her fingers firm yet gentle as she wiped the blood from your nose with her thumb. Your face was streaked with tears and saliva, lips slightly parted in a state of absolute vulnerability. It was the most devastating thing Wanda had ever seen.

"I will take care of you."

Her voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of an unbreakable promise. "Whatever it is... we'll face it together."

You tried to smile, but the fear still lingered in your eyes. Wanda saw it, and something inside her roared like an enraged bear.

"Whoever did this to you..." Wanda held your face more firmly, her eyes burning with restrained fury. "I will destroy them. I’ll tear apart every single piece of whoever dared to hurt my girl."

You shook your head frantically, panic rising. "No, Wanda... this is inside me."

"Then I'll go inside you too," she said with fierce conviction. "I'll rip it out. I'll cleanse you. I'll keep you safe. And you'll never feel this again."

But as Wanda spoke, you heard that voice in your mind again.

Shine.

It laughed.

Shine… until there's nothing left.

And then, everything went dark.

[...]

While you lay unconscious on the couch, Wanda was restless. She paced the room like a caged animal, her fingers trembling with the magic she was desperately trying to contain. After what had happened—your collapse, the blood, the pain—she felt it. She knew she couldn’t wait any longer. There was something greater, something darker, tied to your necklace, tied to you, and she needed to figure out what it was.

But she didn’t know how.

In a desperate move, she did what she had avoided for months: she reached out to Carol, suspended on the brink between life and death. Wanda had placed Captain Marvel in that state, confining her to a space where her consciousness was held in suspension. But now, the weight of guilt and the need for answers outweighed her hesitations.

Wanda took a deep breath, and with a flick of her fingers, her red magic enveloped Carol. Slowly, she brought her back. Carol's body convulsed, a scream caught in her throat as she opened her eyes.

"You..." Carol whispered, her voice hoarse from so much time in silence, her eyes wide in shock and disbelief that she had allowed herself to be overtaken by Wanda, that she had underestimated her.

"I need you conscious," Wanda said, her tone firm but with an underlying fragility. "This isn’t about you. Not now."

Carol coughed, trying to catch her breath as her senses slowly returned. Her body felt heavy, almost broken, but her mind, always sharp, quickly pieced together what had happened.

"You... kept me like this," she said through gritted teeth, her voice filled with rage. Her eyes glowed, the cosmic energy within her trying to manifest but failing under Wanda's restraints. "How long, Maximoff?"

"It doesn’t matter," Wanda replied firmly. But there was something in her posture—a mix of guilt and desperation—that betrayed more than her words.

"It doesn’t matter?" Carol stood, though unsteady, facing Wanda. "You imprisoned me. You erased me. And now you decide you need me? What gives you the right?"

Wanda stepped closer, her eyes narrowing, her magic still pulsing in her fingers. "I did what was necessary. You wouldn’t understand."

"Wouldn’t understand?" Carol let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing through the room. "You’re so arrogant, Wanda. You think that just because you have power, you can manipulate people as you please? How wouldn’t I understand? Do you forget who I am?"

"You’re someone who tried to stop me," Wanda retorted, her anger beginning to seep into her voice. "You tried to take her from me. And I couldn’t let that happen. I won’t lose anyone else!"

The two faced each other like two forces of nature on the verge of collision, the tension growing with every second. Carol clenched her fists, the energy within her struggling against Wanda's constraints.

Wanda took a deep breath, her shoulders falling slightly as the intensity in her eyes remained unwavering. The glow of magic in her hands flickered but didn’t fade entirely. She looked fragile, like a branch about to snap, but at the same time terrifyingly formidable, like a storm ready to consume everything around her.

Carol crossed her arms, her expression stern, but there was something different in her stance now. She wasn’t just angry; she was trying to understand, trying to make sense of Wanda’s fierce obsession.

"And what are we going to do then?" Carol asked, her voice a little lower but still filled with skepticism.

Wanda raised her gaze, the red glow reflecting in the dim room. "Take me to Strange."

"Strange?" Carol arched an eyebrow, almost laughing at the idea. "You know he sent me to capture you, don’t you? He gave me clear orders to stop you, Wanda. What makes you think he’ll help?"

There was a heavy silence. Wanda looked at you for a long moment, still unconscious on the couch, your expression soft in contrast to the relentless strength she had shown moments earlier. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost reverent.

"Because she’s different," Wanda murmured, as if the words were a secret she didn’t fully understand herself. "So different that even forces like us can’t comprehend her. There’s something in her, something that doesn’t belong to this world… or any other we know."

Carol followed Wanda's gaze to you, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration. "This is about her, isn’t it?" Carol repeated, pointing in your direction. "You think you’re protecting her, but you don’t see that you’re putting everyone in danger! Wanda, what if you’re wrong?"

The question hung in the air, heavy, as if the entire universe was waiting for the answer.

Wanda straightened her shoulders, the brief softness in her expression disappearing, replaced by a cold, unyielding determination. She walked slowly toward Carol, stopping so close that Captain Marvel could feel the heat of the magic pulsing around her.

"If I’m wrong," Wanda said, her voice as sharp as a blade, "then I’ll make it right. Because I won’t lose her. Not now, not ever."

For a moment, Carol remained silent, assessing Wanda as if trying to decide whether to keep fighting or simply accept the inevitable. Finally, she sighed, throwing her hands up in a gesture of resignation.

"Fine," Carol said, defeated but still irritated. "I'll take you to Strange. But know this: if he decides you're a bigger threat than anything else, I won't intervene. You're on your own, Maximoff."

Wanda didn’t respond immediately, but a small smile curved the corners of her lips—not one of satisfaction, but of somber relief.

"I'm not alone," she murmured, her eyes drifting back to you.

Carol shook her head, exasperated. "You're insane. Literally insane."

Wanda lifted her chin, an aura of power mixed with her trademark stubborn arrogance. She faced Carol with the confidence of someone who had confronted the impossible and emerged victorious.

"I'm not crazy, Carol," Wanda said, her voice sharp as a blade and as steady as the magic still pulsating in her hands. "I’m just a simple woman... who loves. And when you truly love someone, there’s no sacrifice too great."

Carol narrowed her eyes, still trying to decide whether that response was genuine or just another of Wanda's manipulations. But the Scarlet Witch offered no further explanation. She turned away, walking toward you with determined steps, her crimson cape billowing like fire as she knelt by your side, her fingers gently brushing your forehead.

"She’s ready," Wanda said, her voice softening as she spoke to you, even with Carol standing just behind her.

The last portal closed behind you, swallowing the dazzling glow of stars and worlds dancing on the edge of the possible and the unknown. In the silence of the new space, Wanda held you firmly in her arms, as if carrying not just your fragile body but all the hope that still lived within her.

She wasn’t foolish. She knew the paths she had chosen would lead to dangers that challenged even the strength of the Scarlet Witch. But she also knew that the light she had found in you—the only one bold enough to pierce the darkness that once threatened to consume her—was something she wasn’t willing to lose.

You were her sun, even now, unconscious and vulnerable. You were the center around which she orbited, the warmth she sought even in moments when the shadows of her mistakes seemed endless. No matter how many worlds they had to cross, how many battles they had to fight. Nothing would be big enough, nothing frightening enough to extinguish the radiance you had brought to her existence.

There was something sacred in the silence between you, something no spell could explain. Every step Wanda took, every surge of cosmic energy you crossed, seemed to strengthen her resolve. No matter the cost, no matter the enemy. She would do anything to protect you—and whatever it was you were about to discover.

In that moment, as the Sanctum loomed ahead like a monolith of mystery, Wanda knew she stood on the brink of something monumental. Something that would change not just her story but the course of the multiverse itself. The pendant around her neck pulsed faintly, as if responding to the presence of the place.

She took a deep breath.

Her destiny lay in the shadows of a mystery she couldn’t unravel, but the light? That was with her, in her arms, ready to be defended against all odds.

As she took the next step, there was no doubt in her mind. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it with the ferocity of someone who had seen the brilliance of something real—and would not allow it to be extinguished.

"Shine." That word echoed in her mind, a silent command and a promise. Because even in the deepest darkness, a sun never surrenders.

~*~

So?

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[lovetommyactually]

everyone kept saying I'm mean so I had to write a part 2, you all won :(

part1, both parts also on ao3

Buck woke up to a pounding headache and the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. He groaned, shifting against his pillows, only to realize he was practically undressed. His shirt was missing, his jeans were gone, and he was left in just his boxers.

“Ugh, what the—” he mumbled, forcing himself upright.

The room spun briefly, and he grabbed his bedside table for balance. That’s when he noticed the water bottle and pills sitting there, placed neatly like a quiet afterthought.

For a moment, he just stared at them, his foggy brain trying to piece together how they’d gotten there. He didn’t remember setting them out. Hell, he didn’t even remember getting to bed. The last thing he could recall clearly was...

He frowned, rubbing his temples as flashes of the night before began to surface: leaning heavily on someone, their arm steady around his waist; tripping on the stairs and being caught with ease. A voice—low, familiar, and maddeningly calm—had murmured something to him. What was it?

He glanced down at himself again, his bare chest and boxers making his face flush hot with embarrassment. His jeans. Someone had taken off his jeans.

“Jake,” he muttered, the name foreign and strange on his tongue.

He rubbed his face, squeezing his eyes shut, as more disjointed images floated to the surface. He could see himself sitting at the bar, laughing at his own stupid jokes, talking too much, sharing too much. There was something about pancakes—no, syrup. He had been slurring about syrup. And then there were hands, steady hands, pulling a blanket over him.

And then: "I don’t even look like a Jake, Evan."

The words came back to him in a sharp, gut-punching jolt, as clear as if someone had just whispered them into his ear.

Buck sat bolt upright, the headache momentarily forgotten. His heart thudded painfully as the weight of that one sentence crashed over him.

“No,” he said aloud, shaking his head as though it would physically dislodge the thought. “No way. That’s insane.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress as if the ground might give way. His gaze flicked back to the water bottle and pills on the bedside table, and a sick sort of certainty began to creep in.

The pieces were starting to fit now, sliding into place with an agonizing clarity.

He’d recognized the voice, hadn’t he? Not in the moment, but now that he was sober, it felt impossible to mistake. The calm demeanor, the way "Jake" had held him, carried him, the way he’d spoken with quiet humor and careful distance.

And then there was the way he’d said his name.

Not "Buck." Not "buddy" or "man" like a stranger might. He’d said Evan.

“No,” Buck whispered again, his voice trembling. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small room like it might burn off the sickening realization building in his chest. “No way. It can’t—he wouldn’t—”

But the more he tried to shove it down, the clearer it became. It wasn’t just the voice or the name. It was the water and the pills, the fact that someone had taken off his jeans and tucked him in. The way "Jake" had been there, steady and unshakable, even when Buck had been at his absolute worst.

Only one person would have done all that.

Only one person would have cared enough.

“That bastard,” Buck said, his voice breaking on a shaky laugh. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, like it might stop the sting that was creeping into them.

It had to be him. Tommy.

And if it was... if it really had been Tommy... then what the hell had he been doing there?

Buck shuffled to his kitchen, shirtless and still groggy, to make coffee. The loft was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made it impossible to ignore his own thoughts. Every creak of the floorboards and hum of the coffee pot seemed louder, sharper, pressing on him like the silence was mocking him.

He stared at the coffee pot as it brewed, drumming his fingers on the counter. “No way,” he muttered again, though this time it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

But the more he replayed the night in his mind, the harder it was to deny. It wasn’t just the familiarity of the voice—it was the details. The way "Jake" had carried him up the stairs, tucked him in, and left water and pills by the bed, all without a single complaint. Even the way he’d spoken, low and calm, with that quiet humor in his tone—it wasn’t the way a stranger would treat him. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t indifferent.

“That bastard,” Buck muttered again, his head throbbing and his chest tightening. He ran a hand through his hair, his pacing growing more erratic in the small space. “Why wouldn’t he just—” His voice caught, the question hanging in the air, unfinished.

And then it hit him, sharp and sudden, like a gut punch.

Because Tommy left.

Eddie had gone to Texas, chasing a fresh start for himself and Christopher. Maddie had her own family now, her own life to focus on. And Tommy... Tommy had looked him in the eyes and told him he wasn’t the last.

Buck let out a bitter laugh, his hand clutching the edge of the counter for balance. “Not the last, huh? Guess you were right.”

The words came out shakier than he wanted them to, his throat tightening with the weight of it all. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to stop, but they kept coming—Tommy’s steady hands catching him as he stumbled on the stairs, his calm voice murmuring reassurances Buck couldn’t quite make out, the way he’d tugged off his jeans with quiet care, like Buck was something fragile.

And then, the words that lingered in his mind like a bruise: “I don’t even look like a Jake, Evan.”

Buck opened his eyes, staring down at his empty hands like they might somehow hold the answers he couldn’t find.

Tommy had left to protect himself. That much was clear now. But why had he come back? Why show up, take care of him, and leave all over again? What kind of person did that?

Buck’s jaw clenched, anger flaring briefly before it was swallowed by something heavier, something that felt a lot like grief.

“Damn it, Tommy,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this?”

The coffee pot beeped, startling him out of his spiral. He grabbed the mug with trembling hands, taking a sip that burned his tongue but didn’t dull the ache in his chest.

The loft was still quiet, but now the silence felt unbearable.

---

"He’s the worst best person I’ve ever met.”

Tommy huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you’re not so easy yourself, Evan.” He said it aloud, as though Buck was standing right there, the sarcasm softening into something raw and defeated. “But you’re... God, you’re everything.”

He’d thought helping Buck home would be enough—a small act of care to make sure he was okay. But it hadn’t been enough. Not even close.

“Tell him... I miss him.”

Tommy sighed, wiping his hands on a rag. He wasn’t good at walking away—not really. It wasn’t something he’d practiced or perfected. In truth, Tommy had always been the one left behind. The one who’d watched people walk out of his life, one after another, leaving him to pick up the pieces of himself they’d shattered on their way out.

Maybe that was why he’d left Buck first.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care—God, he cared too much. That was the problem. He’d looked at Buck, at all the messy, beautiful hope in him, and thought: This is going to break me. He’d seen the writing on the wall and decided that this time, for once, he’d be the one to leave.

It hadn’t made it any easier. Leaving Buck had felt like cutting off a part of himself, like walking away from something he wasn’t sure he’d ever find again. But at the time, it had felt like survival.

But with Buck, it was different.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the moment he walked away. Every memory of Buck—the way he laughed too loud, the way he threw himself into everything with reckless abandon, the way he looked at Tommy like he was worth something—kept creeping back in, no matter how hard Tommy tried to shut them out.

And then, last night.

Tommy hadn’t planned on seeing Buck again. He’d been out running an errand, a late-night excuse to get out of his empty house and clear his head, when he spotted him through the hazy glass of the bar. At first, he thought he’d imagined it—just another trick his mind was playing on him.

But then he saw Buck stumble, his head lolling forward as he waved a nearly empty glass around. Even from outside, Tommy could hear the slur in Buck’s voice, the faint, muffled sound of his laughter as he leaned too heavily against the bar.

Tommy’s instinct had been to walk away. To pretend he hadn’t seen him, to let someone else deal with it. It wasn’t his problem anymore.

Except that it was.

Because it wasn’t just someone in there; it was Evan. And no matter how much distance Tommy tried to put between them, that had never stopped mattering.

So he’d gone inside, telling himself he’d just make sure Buck got home safe and then leave again. No lingering, no conversations. No giving himself room to feel the pull he knew he’d never be able to resist.

But Buck had made that impossible.

Tommy could still hear him in his head, the drunken, rambling way he talked about him—not knowing who he was talking to, not knowing Tommy was right there. “He’s the worst best person I’ve ever met.” The words had been funny at the time, but now they just felt like a punch to the gut.

And then Buck had said it—those five small words that Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since. “Tell him... I miss him.”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face, staring blankly at the engine in front of him. He’d thought hearing Buck’s voice again would help. That it would give him some kind of closure, make him feel like he’d done the right thing by leaving.

Instead, it had unraveled him completely.

He stood there for a moment, the rag dangling uselessly in his hand, his mind spinning in circles.

Tommy had always thought he’d be good at leaving. But now, for the first time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it again

---

It didn’t take Buck long to find Tommy. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone looking—anger, maybe, or closure. Probably both.

The garage door was open, the faint sound of an old rock song playing. Tommy was leaning over the engine, his broad shoulders taut, his hands steady as they adjusted something Buck didn’t care to figure out.

“You don’t even look like a Jake.”

Tommy froze. His shoulders stiffened, his grip tightening on the wrench. Slowly, he set it down, straightening and turning to face Buck. His expression was calm—too calm—but his eyes betrayed him.

“Evan.”

Hearing his name made Buck’s chest ache. It wasn’t the anger he’d expected to feel—it was something messier. He crossed his arms, but it did nothing to steady him. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Tommy sighed, running a hand over his jaw. “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Buck snapped, stepping closer. “Maybe why you couldn’t just tell me it was you? Why you came back at all? Why you think you get to show up, play the hero, and then disappear all over again?”

Tommy’s gaze dropped to the concrete floor for a moment before he looked back up. “You were drunk. You didn’t need me making it more complicated.”

“Complicated?” Buck’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “That’s what you’re calling this? You didn’t do it because I was drunk. You did it because you’re a goddamn coward.”

Tommy flinched, and for a second, Buck thought he might argue. But instead, he just nodded.

“You’re right,” Tommy said softly.

The admission threw Buck off balance, his anger faltering. He blinked at him, unsure what to do with the raw honesty in Tommy’s voice. “That’s it?” he demanded. “You’re just gonna admit it and think that makes it okay?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “No, Ev-Buck. I don’t think it’s okay. I know it’s not okay.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “But I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think I could stay, and I didn’t know how to leave without breaking both of us.”

“Well, congrats, Tommy. You managed to do both,” Buck shot back, his voice cracking under the weight of his words. “You broke me when you left, and now you’re breaking me all over again.”

Tommy’s face twisted, his carefully constructed calm cracking under the force of Buck’s pain. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry I left, and I’m sorry I came back. I just—” He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought I could handle seeing you again. I thought maybe... maybe I could fix something.”

“Fix what?” Buck demanded, stepping closer. “You can’t just patch this up like one of your damn engines, Tommy. You can’t just...” His voice broke, and he shook his head, looking away. “You can’t just leave and then show up like this. It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not,” Tommy said quietly. “But I couldn’t stay away. Not after seeing you like that.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Buck muttered, wiping at his face.

“No, it’s not,” Tommy admitted. He hesitated, his voice softening. “But it’s the truth.”

Buck stared at him, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself together. “You don’t get to do this to me, Tommy. You don’t get to show up and remind me that you cared—because you did care, right?”

“I never stopped,” Tommy said, his voice steady but full of regret.

“Then why wasn’t I enough?” Buck’s voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Tommy stepped back, the question hitting him like a blow. “You were,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “You are. But I didn’t think I could be enough for you. And I didn’t want to hurt myself—and you by staying and proving myself right.”

“You hurt me... us, anyway,” Buck said, his tone flat but laced with exhaustion.

They stood there in the heavy silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Buck’s chest felt hollow, like he’d poured out every piece of himself and there was nothing left. Finally, he let out a shaky breath and shook his head.

“I don’t know if this can be fixed,” Buck said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But I think... I think I need you to figure out what you want before you come back again.”

Tommy’s shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” he said quietly.

Buck hesitated, the ache in his chest screaming at him to leave before he broke down completely. He turned toward the door but stopped just before stepping out.

“If you ever figure yourself out...” His voice was steady this time, but there was something fragile underneath it. “Maybe call me. Maybe I’ll pick up.”

Tommy didn’t respond, but his eyes were on Buck as he left, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

---

Back in his loft, Buck stared at the bottle of water on his bedside table. He didn’t throw it out. Instead, he placed it back carefully, like it was something worth keeping.

Across town, Tommy sat with his phone in his hand, a message typed but unsent. It read simply: "Hey."

He didn’t send it. But he didn’t delete it either.

Part3

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

this one morning. l Joel Miller

Summary: signs appeared

Warnings: fluff, some worries and concerns, some tears, Ann and Tommy appear, pregnancy?

A/N: tell me what you think about it. about this chapter? about this story? about what I write? about anything? special thanks to @underneath-the-sky-again. thank you, sweetie

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The patrols had been called off due to the blizzard. Joel and a few other men were securing the stables and then they were going to tackle the interior of another house. Ellie and Dina didn't feel like spending time with you, which you understood perfectly, so you bundled up and went to Ann's house. The Christmas lights were shining in her windows, Ann had an uncanny ability to create a wonderful homely atmosphere and you knew that spending time there would definitely help you.

“I can’t believe how fast he’s growing,” you said, looking at Elijah who was sitting in his playpen, busy with his toys.

“I just need to blink and he’ll grow up a little.” Ann laughed, placing a cup of tea in front of you. “Joel brought in the wooden blocks he made for him yesterday. I didn’t know he could do things like that! Are you sure you don’t want some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” You replied. “I haven’t been able to drink it or even smell it lately.”

Ann handed you a piece of cake, smiling as if she remembered something really funny. “I remember Shane making me coffee once. I got sick and threw up in the kitchen sink. Then it turned out to be Elijah’s fault. Right, honey?” she cooed at the boy, and he squealed as if he understood her.

But his mother's face suddenly turned serious, her eyes widening as she looked at you. Your name fell from her lips in a whisper. "Can you be..." she began.

You couldn't answer. The thought had been circling your mind for almost two weeks. You hadn't talked about it with anyone, but deep down you were glad that it was your friend who asked the question you were afraid of.

"I don't know." You answered quietly, gripping the hot mug tighter in your hands. "I... I have no idea."

Ann sat on the edge of the couch, leaning toward you. “But you can be? How late are you?”

“Six weeks, almost seven.”

Ann’s face gave way to a ghost of a smile, but then she turned serious again. “Did you take a test?” You shook your head. “Joel knows?”

“I didn’t tell him.” You looked down, feeling a knot in your stomach. “I don’t want to give him hope…”

“Hope?” Ann’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You tried for that baby!”

You put the cup on the table and hid your face in your hands, sighing deeply. You wanted to tell Joel everything. You hated keeping secrets from him, but at the same time you were afraid that it might be a false alarm. You had been feeling uneasy for a few weeks now, but you kept it to yourself.

"I'm scared." You finally said, giving vent to what had been sitting in your chest for so long. "After what happened last time, I'm scared..." You looked at Ann, tears glistening in her eyes. You finally stopped defending yourself. A few tears rolled down your cheeks. "What if this all happens again? My heart would break if..."

“Don’t think like that.” Ann cut you off and quickly stood up, then sat down next to you. “You both deserve to be happy. You should take a test and tell Joel. Do you have one?”

You nodded, wiping your cheek. “I found it at the pharmacy on my last patrol.”

“Don’t tell Joel that.” Ann grabbed your hand, smiling. “If Joel finds out you suspected you were pregnant and were on patrol…” 

You both giggled. A weight lifted from your heart and you felt a little better. This conversation didn’t solve all your worries, but you already knew you weren’t alone in this. And that was comforting.

The soft whistle of the kettle echoed through the kitchen. Joel poured boiling water into the mugs, then picked them up and slowly walked up the stairs. It was still early, and you had plenty of time before you had to take care of your duties. You could spend this time lounging in your warm bed and lazily cuddling—Joel really liked that. Time just for the two of you, time to pretend the world hadn’t ended at all, and everything was as it could be.

He set the cups down by the empty bed and noticed that the light was still coming from under the bathroom door. Nothing else. No sound, no morning bustle, no running water. That worried Joel a little. He walked quietly to the door.

“Sweetheart?” he knocked. “Are you okay? I made you some tea.”

Silence. Joel frowned, feeling a growing unease in his chest. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair and knocked again.

“You’re worrying me, sweetheart. Can I come in?”

You didn't say anything. Joel put his hand on the doorknob and the door opened without a problem. He carefully entered and immediately saw you sitting on the edge of the tub. Something was wrong. Joel swallowed.

"Something wrong?" he asked "Baby, talk to me, please..."

You looked up at him with barely visible eyes, tears glistening in them. "Joel..." your voice broke.

You couldn't speak. You held out the long, white object to him, and Joel, slightly confused, took it in his hand. It took him a few seconds to realize what he was looking at. Two distinct lines could only mean one thing.

"Baby..." he sighed, looking at you in a way he had never done before. "Really?"

You nodded, feeling tears streaming down your cheeks again. "I'm almost 7 weeks late. I don't feel nauseous, but my breasts are sore, and the smell of coffee is irritating... Yeah, I think we did it, Joel."

You looked at each other for a moment. Neither of you knew what to say, the moment had swallowed you like a bubble and you were completely stunned. Finally, it was Joel who made the first move, placing the test on the sink and reaching for you. You took his hand and stood up, snuggling up to him. He was warm, smelling like home. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, feeling your heartbeat and at the same time feeling like his legs were made of cotton.

"Are you happy?" you gasped, your cheeks still wet.

A warm hand cupped your cheek. Joel smiled. You saw the small wrinkles around his eyes, his soft brown eyes full of feelings for you.

"I'm the happiest man in the world, my love," he replied, "I have everything with you."

And he kissed you, already knowing that what he was saying was true.

"Joel? What the hell are you doing here?"

Tommy approached his brother, who was preparing to go on patrol. His horse was already saddled, and his rifle was slung over his shoulder. He looked at him, demanding an explanation.

“How does that look to you? I’m going on patrol,” Joel replied, still working. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“It’s not your turn,” Tommy said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What now? She was feeling sick the other day, and then she had to help Ann. You can’t keep covering for her on patrol.”

“That doesn’t bother anyone,” Joel muttered. “Come on, Tommy.”

The man snickered. “What? Is she pregnant or something?”

Something in Joel shifted slightly. Tommy had known him long enough to notice it. He noticed the small gesture, the change in his gaze.

“No shit!” he choked out. “Really? Damn! You still have it, don’t you? Oh, man!” he patted Joel on the shoulder. “That’s good news!” But he noticed that Joel’s face wasn’t as happy as he’d expected. Quite the opposite. Something was nagging at him.

Tommy leaned in slightly. “But she’s fine, right? Have you been to the clinic yet?”

Joel nodded. “Yeah. She goes almost every week. Listen…” he looked at Tommy, and Tommy saw the hidden fear in his eyes. “After what happened, we don’t want to take any risks. Morris says everything’s great, but we won’t be able to relax until we get to the second trimester.”

“What week is she?”

“Almost ten.” The corner of his mouth lifted. Just the thought of you and the baby growing under your heart made him want to smile.

Tommy looked at the men preparing for patrol, then back at Joel. “Listen, you’re not alone. We’ll all keep an eye on her, I promise you. No patrols, no hard work.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. We’re family, right?”

Joel nodded. “Don’t spread it around. We want to keep it to ourselves as long as possible.”

“Sure.” Tommy grinned. “Back to diapers, huh? You must be so happy.”

“We are.”

The same day you took the test, you went to the clinic. You waited until dusk again and kept it a secret. Dr. Morris examined you and assured you that the pregnancy was progressing.

“The results are normal. The heart is beating strongly,” he said as you stared at the blurry image on the screen. “You should be more careful because of what happened earlier. But I think you’re out of danger at this point.”

From that day on, every night, Joel put a red cross on the calendar in the workshop. He counted down the days until you were both safe. There was nothing more he could do. Joel took over for you on patrol, but that was all. Oh, and he also started drinking coffee by the open window or on the porch so the smell wouldn’t bother you. Despite all your fears, you were truly happy.

And you were in this together, like a family.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait

[deantfwinchester]

Gingerly

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader, same timeline

This one is set not long before the events of "A New Chapter" - before Reader & Sarah pick out Halloween costumes :)

Summary: Early mornings in the first trimester present a new set of challenges for the growing Miller family. Joel does his best to find remedies for their dilemma.

Warnings: pregnancy, so many euphemisms for vomit, so beware

A/N: this one isn't very long. it's lowkey a prequel to the one I'm posting next. Very similar stories at two different points in their lives. <3

Word Count: 1.8k.

____________________________________________________________

You’re spending longer than usual this morning hugging the porcelain. It didn’t take long after discovering your pregnancy for the morning sickness to kick in, and it’s a killer. This is happening more often than you’d like, but at least it’s over pretty quickly most days — just a little eviction of last night’s dinner to make room for breakfast, apparently. Isn’t this kid supposed to make you hungrier? What’s their deal?

Today’s a little different, and you’re left retching long enough to impact your punctuality to work. Gotta send a text to some coworkers to get your class covered. You hate it, but it’s not exactly a willpower game at this point — this kid wants all of yesterday’s food GONE, but your stomach is putting up a fight. Unfortunately, you’re the one losing.

Joel’s wandering anxiously in and out of the bathroom, worrying like hell. He’s going back and forth between sitting with you and rubbing your back —he’d pulled your hair up for you after the first evacuation — and checking on Sarah, making sure she gets ready for school. He’d hovered for a while until the two of you heard Sarah come downstairs, and you insisted he go get her some breakfast, just please don’t tell you what it is. He’s in and out as Sarah eats, and she pops in to check on you and tell you she made him sit down for a minute and eat something too. You shoot her the most grateful smile you can muster on the green-around-the-gills visage you’re sporting at the moment. He’s got a full day ahead as well, and you’d been worrying right back… from your position on the bathroom tile, at least. 

When they’ve both finished breakfast, Joel returns to your side, waiting until the last possible second to leave before Sarah’s late for school. You assure him it’s not a big deal, you’ll be okay in a little while. He knows this, and that it’s normal, but it breaks his heart to leave you there on the floor.

“How ‘bout I drop Sarah off and come right back? Tommy can get everybody started at the site, and I’ll just stay long enough to get you to work,” he questions, placing the back of his hand to your cheek to check your temperature again “just to make sure that’s all it is!” before sighing and tucking some loose hair behind your ear. You shake your head slowly, trying to minimize the nausea. 

“There’s not really anything for you to do, sweetie. As much as having you here with me afterward makes me feel better, we can’t both be late to work every day for the next month. Maybe longer than that. I’ll probably be fine by the time you get back anyway. Just be a wasted trip.” You huff at the end, hoping the nausea is reaching its end for this morning and you can get up and get ready to leave.

Joel looks at you with a pained expression and cringes at the word month. Just seeing you dealing with this the last few weeks has been agonizing for him — he doesn’t even want to imagine how it feels. 

“No such thing as a wasted trip when it comes to you, darlin’. ‘S my job, you know that,” he responds, with a sympathetic smile, and continues before you can rebut. “But alright, I’m goin’. Promise you’ll text me if you’re feelin’ any worse?,” he lifts a pinky to you, and you hook yours right back, turning your cheek when he tries to kiss your lips. You chuckle at his disappointment when his own lips meet your cheek.

“Gross, you do not wanna kiss me right now,” you laugh through. He begs to differ but understands your reluctance. He tells you to hang tight for just a minute before he finally leaves, and returns with an armful of supplies. Next to you on the floor are a water bottle, some plain crackers, some tylenol, and something with bubbles to settle your stomach. 

He asks you to “please try and eat a little somethin’ before you leave, baby”, to which you nod and assure him you’ll do your best, trying to get him satisfied as possible and light a fire under him before Sarah’s late for school. He bends down, kisses the top of your head, squeezes your shoulder, and heads out the door to meet Sarah in his truck. 

______________________________________________________________

Joel's texting to check on you around the time you get off the floor. You’re nibbling the crackers he left and trying small sips of water like he asked — which he’s reminded you of again — but you’re struggling with it.  He calls you as you’re packing your things to leave. 

“Hey sweetheart, how you feelin’? Get any of those crackers down for me?” he inquires.

“I’m fine, just about to leave. I ate a couple of them, and I’ll bring them with me,” you respond, trying and failing to keep the exhaustion from your voice. He pauses for a moment.

“Level with me, baby. You don’t sound up for it, you sure we don’t need to talk to the doctor? I can come home, we can go today, I’ll just—” but you cut him off before he can spiral any further.

“Joel. You’re sweet, and I know you’re worried, but it’s not any worse than normal. It’s just sticking around longer today. Yes, I’m still a little,,, blech,,, but it’ll be gone in a bit. I’ll make some tea before I leave, that’ll help,” you affirm. He lets out a sigh that tells you he’s not convinced, but resigned to the fact you’re going to work regardless. Soon enough, he arrives at the site and asks you to keep him updated, which you promise and wish him a good day and an “i love you” to get you both through the day. 

______________________________________________________________

You get to work right before the switch to 2nd period, still not feeling great, but stable enough to drive there safely and get your kids started on something to keep them busy. Today’s a good day for a documentary, a worksheet, and a dark classroom. The kids will thank you for it anyway, but somehow still need something every three minutes. That’s at least one thing that won’t be unfamiliar when the baby arrives — even though you have high schoolers. 

You shoot Joel a text, letting him know you got to work okay, and that you’ve chosen something to help you take it (slightly) easy today. You hope this message will ease his mind so he can get back to work as well.

Joel responds with a brief message in the affirmative, but he’s still worried sick. He’s seen you deal with this each day for the last couple of weeks, but this morning your voice was shaking and your face was ashen. What if this isn’t just today? What if it’s getting worse? He's afraid you’ll end up dehydrated or won’t bother to eat enough at work. You struggle with remembering lunch on days you feel good, he knows you won’t even bother today, and it’s eating at him while he works. 

He decides to surprise you at lunch time with something filling that won’t upset your stomach, and that’ll entice you to eat. He wants to make sure you’re fed today, and that there are some more options at the ready — for your sake and his own. He does a little research and stops by the grocery store to grab an array of plain foods and a bunch of liquids. By the time he leaves there are multiple types of crackers in tow, applesauce packets, a few bone broths, some of your favorite juices and teas, a bag of ginger candies plus a jar of ginger gummy vitamins, and more. He’s no technology wiz, but the man can google up a storm when the need arises. 

He rolls up to your classroom’s back door when he knows it’s time for lunch and texts you, grabbing his things and stepping out of the truck to meet you. You walk out to find him with a big bottle of cold gatorade and a takeout bag hanging from his fingers. You muse that the pretty big gatorade bottle looks normal-sized in Joel's large, gentle hands. You don’t even take anything from his grasp before you lean forward into his chest and wrap your arms around his waist. He smiles, and wordlessly puts his chin atop your head before wrapping his free arm around you, rubbing lightly up and down your back.

Neither of you has to say a word for him to tell you’re still not feeling 100%, and he’s whispering sweet things while you stand there in his embrace. You hide your face in his chest trying to quell your tears before they start. You know him well enough that this gesture doesn’t exactly surprise you, but he’s so thoughtful that his kindness moves you every damn time. It’s not something you ever felt before Joel, but he’ll never stop trying to get you accustomed, and you know that.

You look up at Joel like he hung the moon, memorizing every warm shade in his bright eyes, hoping your own reflect the appreciation and admiration dancing in your chest. He holds you tight and sits you in the passenger seat of the truck before pulling out the takeout boxes and cracking open your gatorade. The cool, lightly-flavored liquid soothes you in a way water hasn’t quite accomplished today — doesn’t even matter that neither of you knows what “Glacier Freeze” means, it’s effective. 

You lean against his shoulder while you both eat lunch, talking to each other and the baby. Joel laughs and praises you for putting on a movie for your kids before recounting the events of his morning. He shares everything he learned from his research, and even more he heard at the grocery store from a couple of older women who saw him contemplating the ginger options by the prenatal vitamins. You imagine him staring intently at bottles in the pregnancy aisle of the Health & Beauty section and laugh, thinking of how his concentration and concern would’ve made the old ladies he spoke to melt. You’re surprised he didn’t get a cheek pinched at this rate. 

You sit together until the school bell breaks your reverie and you have to kiss him goodbye. He hands you an already prepped ziploc baggie of even more shelf-stable snacks he bought to keep in your desk to settle your stomach as needed. You grin at him again, shaking your head.

“Joel, this is too much trouble. I can’t believe you did all of this just this morning!” you exclaim, before he scoffs and responds. 

“I told you — no such thing as a wasted trip for you, baby.”

[greeniscosmic]

MY UNORGANIZED THOUGHTS ON THE TOMMYINNIT SURVIVAL TOUR:

⚠️ SPOILERS BELOW ⚠️

before the show, i saw a technoblade cosplayer walk in!!! they weren't part of the show or anything, they were just an audience member, but, GOD it was awesome. i just wanted to give a shout out to them bc i genuinely thought their cosplay was really cool :)

someone held up a schlanket, some other people held up rammies, and other people held up tommy's merch. we all cheered when this happened. peace and love on planet mcyt ❤️

now onto the show itself:

tommy had a fake invisible girlfriend throughout the whole show. i think it was actually a commentary on The Voices in Le Head, but my friend thinks it was more of a spongebob bubble buddy scenario. (now that i think about it, i feel like she might be right)

a lot more audience interaction than i was expecting!!! i was half expecting tommy to walk around the auditorium and quip with people individually, but i was SO FUCKING GLAD he quiped with the audience as a whole. i would've killed myself in front of him if he ever even attempted pointed a microphone in my face.

(he did quip with people individually, but only with the people in the very front. everyday i thank the Lord.)

"im half white. other half? also white." PEAK CINEMA ✋️😑🤚 WORLD CHEERS 👏👏👏 EVERY DISASTER ENDS

"i'm asain. caucasian!" WHITE BABY YOU CANNOT BE SAYING THESE THINGS

side note, getting a crowd of people to cheer for a white boy on the second day of AAPI month is crazy fucking work. sick and twisted of tommy for stealing the show and we should cancel him immediately. slash j as the kids say.

DEAFENING CHEER FOR SCHLATT HOLY SHIT (im guilty of this too lmao)

schlatt repeatedly called us all gay and woke. baseball, huh?

the guy that shouted "bababooey" and got noticed by schlatt himself 😭😭😭

speaking of heckling, THE ACEDENTAL MINOR JOKE??? DID ANYONE CATCH THAT ON CAMERA OR IS IT DOOMED TO DETERIORATE SLOWLY IN MY BRAIN

here's what i remember about that joke specifically: tommy asks something (i forget what). someone in the crowd shouted "MINORS" and tommy goes "ye- NO 😨". crowd laughs, and tommy says something like, "that's gonna make this next part real awkward lmao"

schlatt flirts with a chair. i'm sure some people in the audience creamed their pants.

tommy made schlatt do what was essentially The Pacer Test on stage. go white boy go!!! (i have footage of this btw. i heart watching him suffer for my entertainment ❤️)

that's all i remember for now. i'll post more if i remember anything else!!!

at one point in the show, schlatt and tommy just started chugging water bottles and popping the caps off while the whole crowd cheered them on??? that wasn't even in the script btw. they just started doing that shit 😭😭😭