#and sometimes i just need an escape from you know

[book-lore]

Okay so I wasn't going to reply to this but I am still getting over being sick and this stuck to me. And for the record, it's okay that the OP feels this way and what I'm about to say doesn't mean they are wrong or bad or anything. Let's leave that person in peace. But as to why people don't like Valentine's day and some people even hate it, a gentle reminder:

There are a wide variety of reasons people can find certain holidays objectionable and one that tackles love specifically can be especially difficult for people who are struggling. A recent divorcee might wish to sit this day out because it can bring up how difficult being newly out of a relationship can be. This can be made even worse if the relationship was decades long and they aren't sure how to navigate the world of being single that looks nothing like when they were dating before. People who struggle socially who want relationships can find this to be a day that makes them feel a little more lonely. People who have lost a partner might feel their absence more acutely, even if that loss was years ago. People who have escaped abusive situations might have extremely mixed or hostile feelings about Valentines day (especially given how violent partners tend to become worse around holidays and this is extra true where the abused party is expected to behave a certain way). People who are in the closet might be feeling particularly confused or wounded right now as they feel worlds away from being able to accept or even find love.

The point of this isn't to drag the original poster, but it can be good to understand why sometimes hearts can be delightful for some and heavy for others. I know that some people can be well intentioned and say things like "think of the chocolate and candy" or "it's made up anyway" or "celebrate it with your friends instead", but those aren't really helpful. Love and its reminders can mean a lot of things to people and sometimes they bring up the bad emotions. Sometimes what people need isn't candy or hearts or even a pretend reason to see a friend. Sometimes they need to cry and a day that reminds them of loss or something they lack is what does it for them. Sometimes what they need is to know that they aren't the only one who feels like that when stores and displays and everything around them seems to point out what's making them feel sore.

It's okay to enjoy Valentine's Day. There are plenty of ways to do so if that's what you like. It's also okay to sit it out if you're sore or you're feeling a lot. It's alright if it's just another day in February.

dont understand people who "don't like" valentines day... I personally dgaf that its "made up" and "commercialist"... i love heart shaped things and i love everyone in my life. Its really simple

[kissesz]

[ablobwhowrites]

Im starting back my yandere poppy playtime. (Chapter 4 fucking broke me dude also kinda spoilers of chapter 4 so he warned)

(I'm not continuing the you can't leave, poppy playtime series. So I may start a new one but I don't know really)

yandere poppy playtime idea but this one is more platonic yanderes. Cause imagine a y/n who was kid who escaped the orphanage one day but ended up coming back as adult and coming back into the factory. And y/n being remembered by the toys and they don't want to hurt y/n buy know the prototype may find out y/n is in the factory and would try to hurt them so but y/n doesn't remember them well as it was a long time ago but bro imagine the angst as mommy long legs being reminded of happier times and seeing y/n all grown up and wants to keep them with her because she can protect them, she can is what she thinks but when y/n gets away that's when the prototype finds out that they are back in the factory.

Plus y/n saves dog day and he helps y/n to go safer ways around the factory but sometimes wishes that the other smiling critters could have seen how y/n grown and wishing catnap was normal again, but he wants to protect them as the factory in the lower levels are not safe anymore and knowing it'll get harder from here and he'll try everything he can go help them and keep them safe. Catnap remembers y/n clearly and always favored y/n over the other kids he has known as they never were loud or constantly pulling or stepping on his tail or yelling him out of his naps and the other smiling critters and many of the toys in the factory liked y/n as they were the favorite kid. And of course sometimes giving the toys some heart attacks after wandering off somewhere after being busy with other things and somehow end up in the strangest places. Catnap thinks that the prototype will accept y/n and will be able to be in the prototypes graceful imagine.

Poppy does regret having to trap y/n in the factory but she sees them as a way to defeat the prototype. She does try to check in with y/n from time to time and sees how the hope that y/n has doesn't disappear even if they get hurt they still fight but poppy knows what would have happened if y/n never made it out of the playtime co when they were a kid because of not then everything would be worse and maybe become even more than nightmare.

Doey remembers y/n clearly and remembers how nice they were to him and with dog day being alive and the stories of them surviving so many things in the factory has him hoping that maybe just maybe y/n could save them and stop the doctor and prototype. He likes having y/n around as he was friends with them for a while and keeps him calm with them trying to help as much as they can even sometimes finding some boxes of canned food (but was badly injured by the Nightmare critters) so he is protective like dog day but he gets frustrated when poppy has y/n keep going out even if they are clearly injured and need rest so he kinda gets mad but and almost loses his temper but collects himself because he has people to take care of and now y/n.

(that's all for my yapping session rn but if you want more please don't be shy and request any ideas for fics or y/n's plus I might do two series and au where is ex employee y/n and just keeps the poppy playtime characters in their house after escaping the factory and thank God they have a big house for this but the smiling critters like to sleep in the same room so the living room is where they sleep and other stuff for this au idea. But the second will be a hard reboot for the 'You can't leave' series and might come out soon hopefully. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[yaoiification]

Your headcanons are so delicious🤌

Can you imagine taking Caleb’s virginity? All those years of pining and teasing and cold, cold showers….

Thank you for this omg I love virgin Caleb

Surely Caleb must have realized how thin the walls are by now. Even with his shirt in his mouth to muffle his whines it was obvious what he was doing every night.. and morning.. and sometimes in the middle of the day. Did he not realize how obvious he was being when he suddenly excused himself to go take a cold shower after your cuddling on the couch got a little more touchy than usual?

This time was no different. It was late- you both should’ve been asleep by now. Instead you lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling while trying to block out the sound of your adopted brother thrusting into his hand on the other side of the wall. You normally wouldn’t mind- sometimes you’d even press your ear against the wall and close your eyes, trying to imagine how he looks as he whimpers against his sheets. Tonight, however, you needed to sleep and his pathetic little noises weren’t helping.

Caleb never locked his door; he’d always reminded you that he would always be there for you whenever you needed him. He’d never thought you’d need him at 11:30 PM though.

Dressed in one of the shirts you’d stolen from him and nothing else, you swing open his door right as your name escapes his lips.

He scrambles to cover himself, but the friction of his sheets against his painfully hard cock sends a shiver through his body and a quiet yelp slips out.

“Having trouble sleeping?” He finally manages to stutter as if he’d not been moaning your name moments prior. Then his eyes slide down your body, seeing nothing but bare skin under his shirt. The fabric barely conceals you, covering just enough to hide the wetness between your thighs.

“You’re being too loud.”

You wouldn’t normally be this bold, but those years of secretly sneaking lustful glances at each other, of hands wandering just a little too far for siblings, and ensuring that no one came between the two of you had led you to this moment. He doesn’t stop you when you pull back his sheets; he just gives you those pathetic puppy eyes as the cold air hits his sensitive skin.

“I’m sorry”

Ignoring his words, you climb on top of him, legs straddling his as you cover his mouth with your palm.

“Be quiet.”

He’s never felt himself ache like this before. His eyes widen as your other hand slips downwards, wrapping itself around his cock. Caleb shakes his head as his eyes beg you to stop. You shouldn’t be doing this. But you know he needs it. You’ve heard him mumbling fantasies just like this countless times from the other side of the wall. He needs it.

His eyes roll back as he feels you press him against your drenched core. It takes everything in him not to climax right then and there, but he manages to hold out. You slip his length inside with ease as if you were made for each other. His whole body trembles beneath you as you feel him panting beneath your palm. His whines only get louder as you move- not even riding him, just readjusting your position. It’s clear he can’t take much more. His eyes meet yours once more and he silently pleads for it to stop- he can’t take it, it’s too much. You nod, the gesture giving him enough confirmation that he had permission.

You take your palm away from his lips as he cums, his whole body shaking from pleasure as he whimpers and moans before your lips crash against his. Caleb’s hands move to your hair, wrapping themselves around you just to hold you closer. Your lips against his are the only thing stopping him from waking the whole neighborhood with his desperate whines.

Eventually, he comes down from his high and you manage to peel yourself away from him, allowing him to catch his breath. He can’t meet your eyes, ashamed of reaching his peak within seconds of being inside of you. You slowly move away, releasing him from the softness and warmth of your pussy. Just that act alone causes him to choke and you can see a tiny dribble of cum escape his tip. While he’s still catching his breath, you lean down and kiss it, licking up the tiny droplets that slip down the side. Then you simply hop up and give him a teasing grin before giving him a quick peck on the lips, letting him taste himself.

He’s still in a daze as you slip out of his room and back into your own, but a few minutes later you hear the sound water running. It seems like another cold shower is needed.

[fawnindawn]

Summary: Dick Grayson has an internal breakdown and he finds himself at your window. (aka. in his worst moments, he always thinks to find you first)

"Dick?"

Dick Grayson is the closest equivalent to daylight befalling a ruined city, a ray of light that gives warmth to those in the shadows. He's a symbol as much as the Bat, if not more. Maybe that's why you're not surprised to find him outside your windowsill, resting on the brick wall on the outside of your apartment.

His head shuffles to meet your gaze, and you meet blue instead of a domino mask. So he's not here for work.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" He brings his hands up to gesture but his expression grows frustrated. That's a rare thing, for him to fall short on words. "I just needed to clear my head and I ended up here."

You don't comment on why his first destination was your apartment windowsill, only stepping out into the freezing cold, wrapping your sweater tighter around yourself as you sit beside him. Now that you're closer, you see tear streaks dried on his cheek.

“Guess you can see how much of a mess I am right now.” He laughs humourlessly, in such a self-depreciating tone that you’ve never once heard from him.

You're silent, unsure of this new territory you've stepped into. You're not surprised, to see someone that always shines so bright grow tired, but you've never thought he'd come to you. “No. I can see you’re human like the rest of us.”

He goes silent, but you know you’ve got his attention.

“I’m not blind to the pressure you take on, and how you keep pushing on without so much as a break. You act as a pillar to everyone, but I hope you know pillars have supports too. Don’t carry this all alone.” You tentatively place your hand on his shoulder, unused to comforting others, especially him, but you’re willing to try because- Even on the days he doesn't believe in himself, you still do. “Sometimes you’ve got me fooled with your charming smile, I forget to ask if you need someone to share your burdens.”

“You think my smile’s charming?” He says with a slight quip up his lips.

“Oh, don’t start.” You roll your eyes, knowing of course he’d focus on that of all things.

He looks at you, and his stare is a considering one. For what, you don’t know. Whether to let you in, or keep you out, maybe?

“What?” You whisper.

“Just wondering if you find me less charming right now.”

You blink in surprise and laugh, because that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard. “The sun will cease to exist before anyone finds you less charming.”

“I’m not asking just anyone.” He murmurs.

You pause, feeling something change in the air with his awaiting gaze. You clear your throat, taking him in, this rare view of a human Dick Grayson with tousled hair, wearing a slept-in shirt and loose sweatpants. Your heart beats faster at the sight and you look away.

"I think it's nice to see you when you're human." You answer eventually. He seems less unreachable and more tangible here on your fire escape, as the two of you slowly huddle closer for warmth.

"I think you might be the only few." He whispers back, leaning so close you can feel his hair tickle at your cheek. He slumps his head into the crook of your shoulder, letting out a sigh. "I don't think I know what I'm doing some days. And why people listen to me when they shouldn't."

You hum, knowing that feeling of self-doubt. "I think it's unfair to expect yourself to know everything. And I happen to know why people listen to you."

"Why's that?" He turns briefly, eyes meeting yours. At this distance, your noses nearly touch.

"Because you word everything with such sincerity, it's impossible not to remember what you say. You speak with your heart in your mouth, and when you constantly show others the faith you have in them unconditionally, it's only natural for the favour to be returned."

You don't notice his look of wonder at your words, at how he wonders if you know that the way you speak of him is how he views you. Maybe he was the pillar to others, but he's always thought of you as his.

"I never thought of it that way." He admits.

"Maybe you're too busy shining your light on others that you forget to see yourself." You take his hand, noticing the nail marks resulting from a clenched fist, and hold it tight. "You've got me, Gray, if you ever feel yourself falling."

He grips your hand back, lacing your fingers together. He uses his other hand to trace your interlocked fingers, eventually resting on your pulse. Focusing on the beat after the detonation of your words that set his heart on fire, he finds it hard to respond with words that could measure up to his gratitude.

You always seem to have that effect on him, rendering him speechless to your integrity. Maybe that's why his heart always knew to come to you.

"You've got a way with words, bird."

You smile then, and his mind goes blank at the sight. "I learnt from the best."

Oh, he might just kiss you tonight.

[niki-phoria]

'cause i don't wanna be in love with another / even in another life

pairing: arisu ryohei x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 965

notes: need s3 to be released immediately, mandatory apology for my inconsistent posting, uni is killing me, only one bed trope, established relationship, arisu is touch starved a little bit, awkward loser arisu my beloved <33, not proofread !! pls forgive any mistakes, title from the maria's - heavy

the twin sized mattress is far too small for two people - easily evidenced by the cramped way ARISU RYOHEI’S shoulder awkwardly brushes against your own. his entire body feels stiff; he feels more like a corpse than a man when he shuffles slightly, still overly close to you. 

the beach is never quiet. even within the confines of a hotel room you had chosen at random, you can vaguely hear the music blasting throughout the hotel. chatter fills the otherwise quiet night. if you’re not careful enough, you can sometimes walk in on a session of drunken sex or a drug deal in progress. neon lights dance across the sky, drowning out the stars that are visible near the eerily empty shopping centers and traffic lights. 

arisu freezes when you roll onto your side, moving even close to him in the process. it feels like the entire world shifts when you do. despite all of his effort, you’re impossible to ignore. “arisu,” you whisper. your voice cuts through the darkness, stealing his attention away from the intricate patterns engraved into the ceiling. the man twists just enough to face you, overly conscious of every movement he makes. “are you alright?”

arisu swallows. hard. he sends a silent prayer that the shake in his voice will disappear by the time he quietly murmurs, “i’m fine.”

the butterflies swarming throughout his stomach only seem to increase when you chuckle quietly. you smile softly. sweetly. “you don’t have to be so nervous, you know.” you reach up, gingerly resting a hand against his cheek. arisu’s skin feels hot against your palm as you trace your thumb against his cheekbone. “if you’re not ready to share a bed i can go find somewhere else to sleep. i’m sure kuina wouldn’t mind.”

“no! no- i-” arisu stutters. his face flushes an embarrassingly deep shade of red and his mind races. he desperately tries to remember whatever advice karube had drunkenly told him over rounds of cheap beer and ramen noodles. “please don’t go. i want this.” 

there’s a pause. arisu squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for you to say something. an apology lingers on the tip of his tongue, about to escape from his lips when you murmur- “good,” you smile. “i want this, too.” 

outside of your window, glass shatters. loud cheers fill the night as the party rages on with no regard for the time of night. arisu has never been a fan of parties, preferring to stand in the corner and watch as karube flirted with anyone who seemed interested or slipping outside under the guise of a “smoke break” with chota for some fresh air. 

you don’t seem to mind, however, as you shuffle ever so closer. your hand slips away from his face, leaving goosebumps in its wake. arisu frowns softly at the loss of warmth before you wrap your arm around his waist instead. 

beneath the cheap hotel blankets, you further entangle your body with arisu’s. he can’t seem to pull away. or, maybe he doesn’t want to. he hasn’t quite figured it out yet. 

but when you curl your body further against him, now leaning your head against his shoulder, he lets out a quiet breath. slowly, the tension in his body begins to slip away. his anxiety lessens with each passing moment until his heartbeat has calmed to a slow, rhythmic beating in his chest.

this time when he turns to face you, your eyes are closed. soft breaths occasionally leave your parted lips. tentatively, arisu brushes a shaky hand through your hair. he tucks a few stray strands behind your ear. 

with your features now exposed, he can see the way neon light streaming in despite the closed curtains dances across your cheeks. before arisu knows it, his lips have curled upwards into a soft smile. he lowers his hand until it rests against the curve of your waist, just below your rib cage. 

now finally comfortable, arisu allows himself to relax against the pillows. his own eyes flutter shut as the incessant pounding of the dj’s music begins to lull him to sleep. maybe he could get used to this.

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my aib masterlist <33

[pricegouge]

prompt fill based off this request. can be read as a sister piece to unlucky foot

rat race

cw: simon x gn!fairy!reader. predator prey dynamic and i really mean it. implied deaths offscreen. MDNI

it's a new maze every time. peg board floor, the walls mounted to it shifting with each session to keep you confused and, lost amid the erratic angles and dead ends. sometimes they're mirrored, reflect your mounting dismay back at you with every turn. mostly, he likes other obstacles, small puzzles you have to solve before continuing on to the next part of the maze.

today's impediment is a little more dire.

you smell it before you see it, the familiar reek of soiled bedding and cloyingly strong aspen. you're not alone.

simon sees the minute you register your predicament, dark eyes becoming hyperfocused when you stiffen up, fear locking your joints. he looms overhead, bad omen hung double in the sky where the glass which prevents you and the rat both from climbing out catches his reflection just enough to mirror him again, superimposes his mask just there above you. inescapable.

you think maybe one of these days he'll make the maze the same and pray it's not this day. you'd rather starve to death within it's confines than let the rat live off your corpse for a few days longer. maybe that's where he'd gotten all those fairy specimen that lined his study, their little shadow boxes visible even now, his largest mount displayed proudly behind his desk, looking over his shoulder at you pityingly. maybe you'll get a spot of honor, too.

but not if the rat finds you, vicious teeth and ravenous appetite. it had come close a few times, clever little nose giving it a leg up on you. simon had never once moved to help as it had closed in, just leaning closer to watch as the rat closed in, eyes darting between the two of you with the sort of anticipation and excitement one usually reserved for a well-balanced match.

so you can't depend on his mercy - not that he's ever given you reason to, really, but you'd hoped -

the pegboard holes are just big enough to catch your toes. you trip as you scurry along, fingers trailing on the walls next to you lest you miss a turn in your haste. not that it really matters, not when each turn looks the same. simon used to leave you little hints, offerings of sweets which would guide you closer to the end. he'd long since stopped that, seemed content to watch you twist yourself into knots for hours before you found a way out if needed. you hoped that wouldn't be the case tonight. the rat rarely ever needed hours to find you.

you stop to catch your breath when you reach the next four-corners. it's a dangerous spot to be, what with all the straight shots where the rat might see you, but it also gives you the most options for an escape if it comes to it, something you've learned the hard way. your chest rises with effort, tiny cloud of condensation collecting on the glass above. beyond it, you see simon's eyes dart to your left with just a little too much excitement and you take off to the right before you can even collect yourself, wood paneling flying by as you run blindly, right, left, left again, one-eighty when you hit a dead end. you huff in frustration, a muted spark flying when your fists clench in frustration and fear. you have options, you know, but you don't like the odds and -

it's surprising how quiet your companion can be, when it suits him. you don't hear the quiet chuffing of his breathing, nor the gentle patter of his little paws as he creeps closer. it's not even the slithering of its tail that gives it away, but the subtle scrape of its whiskers against the paneling, the wall on your left seeming to swell closer as the beast stalks by on the other side of it.

simon had lied, that pointed look from before meant to send you scurrying in the wrong direction - right into the rat's clutches. you'd be more mad, if you had time to be.

the path to the right is short - doesn't let you wander too far away from the beast that dogs you before forcing you to turn left. you're running parallel with it now, or at least you would be if it had kept on its same path. but that's unlikely in this labyrinth, and one right hand turn could send it your way. another could have it barreling down the aisle at you. you dip right as soon as you're able, do it again at your next chance -

and stop dead in your tracks when you see the very end of its scaly tale disappear around a corner up ahead.

faltering where you stand, you take a minute to try and find your bearings, weigh your options as you see them. there's no exit behind, but death could be waiting before and it takes you a minute to remember that if it's not there, it will be around the next corner (or the next, or the next) until you find your way out of here.

so you creep forward, each step placed carefully lest you slip, bare skin squeaking off the cheap wood. you don't make a sound as you approach the blind, not even as you peek around the corner to find the rat still at the end of the path, strong nose raised as if to sniff out whatever might be on the other end of the wall before it. you keep your wits about you, pull your head back to collect a calming breath before darting past the gap while it's distracted, your footsteps coming a little more calmly, a little more confidently as you slink away. you can feel simon's heavy gaze on you, seemingly magnified by the glass overhead. he's rapt now, his unwavering gaze only adding to your stress, nerves a tangled ball of pollen you can't find the end of, can't get a grasp on.

maybe that's why you're too distracted to mind your breathing, the harsh pants of your panic alerting the rat to your presence. it chuffs in its excitement, long body struggling as it tries to turn around in the close press of walls that surround it. you hear the scrape of its little claws, a series of suppressed sneezes it would never emit if it was still in stalking mode. the gig is up.

you don't even bother to look behind you before you're off, feet slamming against the pegboard in your haste. simon's too excited to bother suppressing it, unwittingly leading you toward the exit by how he leans too far forward, a subconscious tell which you try to focus all your concentration on. anything to avoid looking back, avoid seeing the scurrying beast which tails you.

it's gaining is the worst part. you can take corners quicker than it, but it's faster on straightaways and it's only now, as you weave your way through row after row of them that you realize there are a lot of straightaways in this maze. simon's note taking wasn't just for show, it seemed.

right, left, straight, right and right again. teeth snatch at your clothes, sharp enough to tear instead of catch. a mixed blessing as it allows you to slip its grasp this time. you drive yourself harder, chest aching with your labored breath as you try to stay just outside of its range. it squeaks and squeals in its excitement, a terifying littany you can't quite drown out even with your blood pounding in your ears. you focus on trending right because that's the way simon's leaning, are just starting to worry you've misjudged him when you see it: sweet sanctuary, a perfect circle in an external wall, the sweet smell of candy sitting just beyond.

you leap through it as soon as you're able, shriek in fright when you swear you can feel teeth snapping at your toes. but simon shutters the door as soon as you're through it, dull thud of the rat slamming against it the last thing you hear of it for the night.

supine, catching your breath, you watch almost disinterestedly as simon stands and collects the massive box from off his desk, big meaty hands lifting it gently before carrying it off to the other side of the room where he takes a minute to extract the rat and return it to its cage. it nips him, retaliation for a pointless maze, but simon just chuckles darkly, calls it cheeky as he feeds it a grape from his pocket. when he turns back to you, he asks why you haven't had your treat yet and you just shake your head, stomach turning at the thought of sweets right then. or maybe it's because the thought of being treated like just another one of his lab rats leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

the chair groans under him when he sits back down, his fist heavy as it drags over the pad of paper before him, taking more notes. everything about him is heavy and he never lets you forget it - movements purposefully drawn out to emphasize it, as if he's any need for it. even for a human he's a large man, and there's nothing your paltry sparks could ever do against him. you're not stupid, despite what he thinks.

"almost got you that time," he grumbles as he finishes up. you're still laying on your back, processing your predicament. he just uses it as an excuse to slide the paper you're laying on closer, his palm planted frimly next to you, framing you between forefinger and thumb. you don't bother arguing with him, don't see the point.

over his shoulder, some long-dead kin seems to agree.

"you'll be a wet specimen, won't you?" his mask hides his expression when he says it, but his eyes are just as animated as they'd been when he'd lead you astray, gleaming darkly in the low light of his banker's lamp.

you can only pout up at him, confused until he picks you up, turns you so you face the cupboard, one of its door's hanging slightly ajar, the low glint of glass glowing from within. even static it seems to dance, and you imagine the jarred contents within rippling, the mangled little corpses preserved in formaldehyde bobbing along. you shake your head adamantly, fear bubbling back to life in your belly. you'd only seen inside the cupboard once but it had been enough, shelves full of gored little fairies haunting you ever since, constant threat.

simon tuts, as if you're being petulant and contrary. "you'd best shape up, then. can't mount a half-eaten fairy."

[writersblockiskillingme]

I NEED GI HUN X F! READER PLEASEEEEEE

There’s barely anything for him:((

It can be literally anything but rn I’m craving comfort so maybe Gi Hun comforts his girl when she starts crying and she can’t really explain what’s wrong

Comfort | Seong Gi-hun x reader

Pairing: Seong Gi-hun x fem!reader

Summary: You knew that hunting down the salesman was going to be difficult, but after everything that you've been through in the games alongside Gi-hun, sometimes everything feels like it's going to suffocate you. Luckily, he's always there for you.

Warning/s: angst, hurt/comfort, a little fluff, short fic, just two traumatized people trying to heal each other, PTSP (talking about the games), death, tears, sadness, depressed atmosphere, cigarette addiction, cursing (?), mourning, guns, hunting down the salesman, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: So I finally got out of the writer's block, and I found some spare time, so I finally sat down to write. I gave it my best shot. I hope you like it! More to come.

Being his friend was easy. Being in love with him was even easier.

Once the games came around, everything became more complicated. I simply never thought that something like this was going to happen. Working in a job position that I did never brought me much money. Sure, it was enough to bring some food on my table and to cover the bills, but it wasn't anything big. However, once I found myself drowning in debt, I found myself in a horrific situation with no way out.

The money that I earned was not enough for respectable food, I couldn't pay my landlord for a few months, and I was a few weeks away from being kicked out on the streets. Not to mention the debt for which it seemed like I never paid enough to get out of. I thought moving back to Korea would somehow help me at least to escape the loan sharks and pay for necessary things, but I couldn't imagine how wrong I would be.

That's when I met him. The Salesman. Playing the ddakji with him for some money earned me some food for that night, but it also gave me an opportunity of a lifetime. It was an opportunity that I now know I would have never taken if I had known what was waiting for me out there once I called the number at the back of the card that he gave me.

Before the first game, I saw him. My old childhood friend Seong Gi-hun. Up until I saw him, I came to a realization about just how much I missed him.

Truth to be told, I have always felt something more than friendship for him ever since I was I kid. At first, I brushed it off, but when I entered my teenage years, I realized that I really loved him.

I had to move away when I was twenty years old. I haven't seen him ever since. I only heard a few snippets about his life during the years I spent away from Korea. I heard that he had a, now ex, wife, and a daughter.

It was his mother who called me. She used to watch over me sometimes when we were kids, and since I was her son's best friend back then, we kept in touch over the years. It was nice, to be honest. Up until the day that she called me for a regular check-up. I had just gotten off of work after a really bad day. I had just sat down by the kitchen counter when I heard my phone ringing. The entire time I was on a call with her, she sounded strange. Kind of nervous, maybe even a bit disappointed. After a while I couldn't take it anymore and when I asked her what was wrong she told me the joyful news.

"Gi-hun is getting married."

I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was suffocating. I somehow forced myself to finish the phone call, trying to sound as happy as I could, considering that the love of my life was marrying another. A few years later, he got a daughter, and I soon heard about the divorce. I tried calling him multiple times to check on him. He never answered.

We reconnected during the games. During the bloodshed. During the pain. During the tears. During the final game, where it was down to Sangwoo, him and I. After Sangwoo died, I knew I couldn't kill him. He couldn't either. After the stunt that we pulled, we survived. We were about to kill ourselves, we truly were, but then at the last second, just as the knife had scraped the surface of my neck, they announced two winners.

After that, I realized that I couldn't live without him. I didn't have a family, didn't have any friends. His mother died, and his daughter moved with her mother and stepfather to America he lost his family, too. We were everything to each other. We still are.

As the months, years, passed, we set ourselves on a mission of finding the salesman.

At first, we didn't touch the money covered with the invisible blood. We couldn't bring ourselves to do so, but when we realized that we may have a shot at taking down the games, we used the money only for that sole purpose.

The first thing we did was to pay off our debts. Then together we bought the love hotel called "Pink Motel" in Seoul. The sign outside was always tured off. We decided to buy it so we could live there and now we also use it as headquarters while tracking down the salesman. Which was always.

That was currently our only purpose in life right now.

After we figured out our plan, we started to work with the loan sharks that were chasing us because of our debts. We paid them to find the salesman, and they were searching relentlessly.

Our mental health hasn't been all that great either.

Both Gi-hun and I have developed a cigarette addiction. Sometimes all we did was breath in the intoxicating smoke instead of air. In a strange way it helped me breath. I wasn't so nervous anymore. My hands shook less.

Gi-hun has nightmares. Every single night. I have them, too, but not that frequently. He had a gun next to his nightstand. I had mine under the pillow. It brought a sense of comfort that was always short-lived.

The nightmares kept us up all night, and because of them, we couldn't find any rest even during the daytime. It was always the people we lost on that cured island. Sangwoo... Sae-byeok... Ali... The images of our friends dead never left my brain. And neither did Gi-hun's. Other times, we dreamt that we're still playing the games. Us dying. Each other dying. The Frotman. The salesman.

It was too much.

I was just monitoring the room where our most trusted men were practicing. I didn't realize when it had happened, but I fell asleep. I guess all those sleeping pills that Boss Kim gave to Gi-hun and me finally caught up to me.

I felt trapped. Gi-hun... he was dying in front of me during the squid game. I couldn't do anything about it. I held him, covered in his blood, crying, screaming, curing at the sky for the misfortune we had to live. Cursing the makers of the game. Cursing the Frontman. Cursing the pink guards that just stood there and did nothing. Cursing the world.

Hands.

They were shaking my shoulders.

My name.

It was uttered from the lips of the man that I would die for.

My eyes snapped open, meeting Gi-hun's worried ones. Once he realized that I was awake, his face visibly relaxed, relief washing over him as I heard him let out a sigh, his head and shoulders hung downwards.

"A nightmare again?" He asked me as he brought his hand up to my cheeks, whipping away the tears that I didn't know fell, but also wasn't surprised that they did.

"I-I can't-" I sobbed, unable to form a sentence as he quickly brought me in his arms, drowning me in his chest.

"Shhh..." He whispered as he ran his hand down my hair as I cried against his neck, drowning his black shirt with my tears, "I'm here. You're okay."

"Yo-You w-were-" I stuttered, tears streaming down my cheeks, "You were dying, and I-I couldn't s-save y-you."

For a moment, there was just quiet in the room. Neither spoke. The only thing breaking the silence of our bedroom were my cries.

"Do you know why I never answered your phone calls after you found out about the divorce?" He asked me, his voice low, but soft with comfort. His sudden question about that topic surprising me a bit, "Do you know why my mother told you about it instead of me? The wedding, the divorce?"

"No."

"It was because I didn't want to face the fact that I was the cause of your misery." He whispered, still softly running his hand through my hair, my cries slowly dying down as I listened to him speak.

"I have always loved you and I knew that I hurt you with my decision even though I never wanted that to happen. I just tried to forget about you, I never knew that I could actually be with you." He sighed, "I thought that it would be the best for you. I didn't deserve you, I'm not even sure I still do." He chuckled softly.

"But even though I may not deserve you, I will never stop fighting for you and your happiness. You are my everything, and I would be damned if I ever let you feel any sort of pain." He lifted my chin with his hand as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine, our lips almost meeting each other's, "We will find him and end this, but for now, how about I make you some tea and we get you to bed huh, my love? What do you say?"

-

-

-

@shadow-tumbler

[777bae]

THE RIGHT MOMENT WILL SMITH

Summary :: In a quiet moment with Will, the world around you fades as he leans in for a kiss, turning a simple touch into something deeper—something both of you have secretly longed for. (REQUESTED :: prompt 11)

Warnings :: kissing

Word count :: 2.1k

The evening air carries a cool, crisp bite, but it’s not enough to dull the warmth that spreads through you as you walk alongside Will. The arena’s sounds still echo in your mind—shouts from the crowd, the scrape of skates against ice—but here, out on the quiet streets of San Jose, everything feels calmer, more intimate.

You keep your hands buried in the pockets of your jacket, your steps slow but sure as you walk alongside him. For the first time tonight, the thrill of the game feels far away, and it’s as if the world around you has shrunk to just the two of you, caught in the spell of the post-game glow.

Will’s laughter fills the silence between you. “So, what do you think? Pretty good for a rookie, huh?” He raises an eyebrow in your direction, a playful glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes with a smirk, despite the flutter of something you can’t quite name curling up inside you. “A rookie, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now? You’ve been playing hockey for what, a few years?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, the motion casual but confident. “Just getting started,” he teases, nudging you gently with his shoulder.

It’s the way he’s always been—lighthearted, charming in that effortlessly disarming way—but there’s something different tonight. Something underlying in the way he looks at you, the way his smile lingers a little longer than it usually does. You can feel it, too—an energy that shifts the atmosphere around you, making your skin feel just a little bit warmer.

There’s an undeniable pull between the two of you, something deeper than just camaraderie or friendship. You can’t deny the way your heart races a little faster every time his hand brushes against yours, how his laughter sends a wave of warmth through you, or how his presence has become something you can’t quite imagine your life without.

You think you’ve known him well—his jokes, his competitive spirit, his dry sense of humor—but now, in this quiet moment between the two of you, you realize there’s a lot more to him. Something behind those blue eyes that’s been there all along but never quite surfaced.

Will falls quiet as you both make your way to the park, his gaze flickering toward the water. He seems to be thinking about something, lost in thought, and it’s then that you realize you’ve never truly understood him—not the way you want to, at least.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice soft as you step up next to him, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability that you’re not sure how to navigate.

He exhales, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and you watch him closely. “Just thinking,” he says quietly. “About the game, mostly.”

But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t quite match his words, a faint sadness or exhaustion that you can’t quite place. You reach out, instinctively, placing a hand on his arm. The warmth of your touch seems to pull him from his thoughts, and he looks down at you, surprised but not pulling away.

“You know you don’t have to carry all that weight on your own, right?”

Will’s eyes soften, and for the first time tonight, he looks at you with something raw, something unguarded. His smile falters, just for a second. “I know,” he says, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. “But sometimes… it’s hard.”

You don’t push him for more; instead, you just stand there with him, offering him the kind of quiet comfort you know he needs. There’s something sacred about this—about sharing these unspoken moments.

It’s then that Will looks back at you fully, his eyes catching yours with a depth that sends a flutter through your chest. For a second, time seems to slow. The air feels thicker, heavier, and every nerve in your body feels electric.

He’s standing closer now, and the space between you feels smaller than it ever has before.

“I don’t know what it is about tonight,” Will says, his voice low, almost hesitant. “But I feel… like everything’s different.”

You meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. You know exactly what he means.

Everything about tonight feels different. The way his hand brushes against yours when he speaks, the way his eyes linger on yours a little longer than usual, the way your heart skips a beat each time he smiles at you. There’s an unspoken tension hanging between you now—raw, intense, and impossibly close.

He steps forward, and you instinctively mirror his movement, closing the distance until there’s barely any space between you. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes. You can see the question there—unsaid but clear. And you realize, for the first time, that the answer is already on the tip of your tongue.

Before you can respond, Will reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch is soft, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he presses too hard. And for a brief moment, you close your eyes, letting yourself savor the feel of him so close. The steady rhythm of his breath, the warmth of his hand, the feeling that you’re standing at the edge of something monumental.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” Will says, his voice so low it sends a shiver down your spine.

The words hang in the air like a delicate thread, each syllable weighted with sincerity. His voice is hushed, almost like he’s afraid the world will hear him, but it’s also full of longing—raw, untamed, and vulnerable in a way you’ve never heard from him before.

You feel it—the undeniable pull of his presence, the tension between you that’s been building up ever since the game ended. The world around you feels distant now, muted as if you’re caught in a moment that’s too powerful for anything to intrude. It’s just the two of you, standing in the park with the quiet sound of waves lapping at the dock. The city’s busy hum is a faint backdrop, but all you can hear is his voice, so close, and the thudding of your own heart in your chest.

You stand frozen, your heart hammering in your chest as the air between you seems to thicken with every passing second. The words he’s just spoken seem to echo in your mind, over and over, almost like you’re afraid they’ll disappear if you don’t pay attention to them. You’ve known, deep down, that something has been building between you two for a while now, but hearing him say it out loud—so simply, so honestly—makes everything click into place. The confusion, the unspoken tension, the electricity that you’ve both been dancing around for what feels like forever.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re both caught in the weight of it. His gaze doesn’t leave yours, and you’re caught in his eyes—those deep blue pools that seem to see straight through you, to the very heart of your soul. It’s like the world outside you no longer matters. There’s just him. And you. And the unspoken truth that lingers between you.

His chest rises and falls as if he’s holding his breath, waiting for your response. You can feel the way his entire body is attuned to you, like he’s waiting for a signal, a sign that this moment is right. And you know—without a doubt—that it is.

You step forward, just a fraction, your body instinctively responding to the pull. You’re not sure what’s happening anymore, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. His words, his presence, the feeling that everything has been building up to this exact moment. It’s like all the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.

Without thinking, without hesitation, you lean in closer. The space between you feels impossibly small, and then, in a heartbeat, your lips meet his.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, like neither of you wants to rush through it. There’s something soft and delicate about it, as if you’re both savoring the moment, uncertain and yet so sure at the same time. His lips are warm against yours, gently pressing in, and you feel your heart skip a beat, the thrum of his presence filling every part of you. His touch is tender, almost unsure, like he’s testing the waters, trying to gauge how far he can go. And you can’t help but let out a quiet breath, your hands instinctively finding their way to him.

You feel his hand gently cup the back of your neck, his fingers brushing over your skin, sending a ripple of warmth through you. It’s a simple touch, but it’s enough to send your pulse racing, to ignite something deep inside of you that you’ve been trying to ignore. His fingers press lightly into the nape of your neck, urging you closer, and you respond without thinking, your arms slipping around his waist, pulling him in just as tightly. You can feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest, the intensity of the moment taking over everything else.

The kiss deepens, and it’s everything you’ve imagined and more. His lips move against yours with a sense of urgency now, as if he’s afraid it might slip away, and you can’t help but melt into him, your body pressing closer, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his jacket. Every inch of you is on fire, every sense heightened as the kiss becomes more passionate, more intense. The slow burn ignites, spreading through you like wildfire.

You lose yourself in him, in the heat of the kiss, in the electricity that zips between you both. It’s not just about the physicality—it’s everything. The emotion, the need, the unspoken words that have been building up for far too long. It’s everything you’ve been holding back, everything that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

Will exhales into the kiss, the sound soft, almost relieved, as if he’s been holding his breath this entire time, waiting for the moment to be right. It’s a sound that resonates deep within you, filling you with warmth. His hand moves from your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing over the curve of your cheek, and you can feel the tenderness in his touch, the care he’s taking with you. It’s like he’s savoring every second, making sure it’s everything he’s been wanting and more.

The kiss becomes slower, more deliberate now, as if he’s afraid to break the spell, afraid that if he pulls away, it might all vanish. But it’s impossible to ignore the way your body is responding to him—how the kiss is no longer just a simple connection, but a release, a moment where all the tension, all the longing, finally finds its resolution.

And yet, despite the intensity, it’s gentle. There’s something tender about the way he holds you, the way he’s kissing you as if you’re something precious, something he’s been waiting for. It’s like every part of him is pouring into this kiss, into this moment, and you feel it all—the depth of it, the emotion behind it, the desire.

Eventually, he pulls away, just a little, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you breathing heavily, your faces flushed, your lips still tingling from the contact. The space between you is just as charged, even though your lips are no longer touching. Will’s eyes are closed for a moment, his breath shallow as if he’s gathering himself, trying to calm the storm that’s rushing through both of you.

He opens his eyes, and they’re softer now, almost vulnerable, as if something inside him has shifted. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time, or perhaps like he’s finally allowing himself to see you in a way he hasn’t before.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve just been… waiting for the right moment.”

His words are raw, unguarded, and they hit you like a wave, crashing over you in a rush. The weight of everything he’s been carrying, everything he’s been holding back, is suddenly so clear, so real. You can feel it—his desire, his fear, his hope—and it makes your chest tighten with emotion.

You smile softly, a warmth spreading through you at his admission. Your fingers trace the line of his jaw, gently brushing over his skin. “I think the right moment is now,” you whisper, your voice steady but filled with the depth of everything that’s been building between you two.

Will chuckles softly, his lips curling into that familiar grin that makes your heart flutter. “I think you’re right,” he replies, his voice still laced with the same mixture of relief and wonder.

And as the night stretches on, the world around you seems to fall away. The city’s lights twinkle softly in the distance, the sounds of life are distant, fading into the background, and all that remains is the feeling of him—so close, so real.

[ghostgirl-22]

would it be ok to ask for patrick x reader cockwarming…

Mmm yes anon absolutely!!

CW: 18+ NSFW. Um inappropriate work behavior, everyone is into it but a sexual harassment video would still tell you it was wrong, skewed power dynamics, no actual employees were sexually harassed in the making of this fic.

——

You’re an intern at his dad’s firm and you’re doing everything you can to be a good employee but then Patrick shows up to help prep for an important case. He’s there for two weeks while his dads away on a business trip. He’s not a real employee but he is a real nuisance. To you especially.

You really wanted to make a good impression. You’re kind of a people pleaser. He notices you right away. You wave at him trying to be oh so friendly, standing there looking so prim and proper, hair tied up so neatly, long legs in a pencil skirt that’s just a little too tight. Your white frilly blouse just a tiny bit see through. Make up neatly applied. The curves of your body unmissable no matter how professional you try to dress.

He flirts with you all through the first week. Teasing you for being such a good girl. Saying yes to everyone. Helping everyone with their work like the goody two shoes that you are. You can’t help it that the teasing makes you wet. He’s stupid charming and handsome. Gets all in your face in a way that makes you shy. “Would you say yes if I asked you to kiss me?” He asks, and boy do you say yes.

It escalates from there. He’s such a nuisance. Needs you in his dad’s office to help him dictate case notes. The whole time you’re kneeling on the floor under his desk with your mouth full. Just keeping him warm, till the end of the day when he bends you over the bosses desk and fucks your dripping cunt. He likes it so much the first day that it becomes your position for the rest of the week.

He likes to loosen your bun so that your shorter curls escape and fall into your eyes and he plays with them. He likes to take phone calls, talk to his friends about tennis, weekends in the Hamptons, and girls he wants to fuck. All while his cock hardens and twitches against your tongue and your eyes water for the size of it.

He’s got no shame. No fucking responsibilities outside of this and it doesn’t even matter if he fails because his dad is loaded and he’ll still get everything.

Sometimes he’ll take meetings, dick fully hard and no one aware that you’re under his desk. Coughing to hide it whenever he needs to moan just a bit. Occasionally he says nice things about you. How you’re so good at your job, you’re so professional and you’re really going places. Sometimes you want to touch yourself but he’ll nudge you with his foot to make you stop, cover the phone reciever and whisper, “No sweetie. You come when I tell you.”

It’s kinda hot.

Your micromanaging manager is looking all over for you but Patrick assures her that you’re busy with something important. All while he’s shoving his dick in you all afternoon. You’re riding him, shirt unbuttoned, skirt hiked up and he’s sucking on your bouncy tits, whispering, “Can you call me sir?”

“Yes sir.” You moan.

“Oh. You’re such a good employee. Employee of the month actually. You deserve a big fucking raise. You deserve it all baby.” He’s pushing up into you, knowing he’d come inside you even if you weren’t on birth control because your pussy feels that fucking good.

Then one evening you’re leaving his office disheveled, his come dripping thickly out of you while you’re pulling your dress down. Your pussy still twitching in aftershocks from the intensity of your last orgasm. To your surprise your manager stayed late to catch you on your way back to your desk. She’s there ready to write you up, calling you a whore and telling you you’ll never go anywhere in the company by sleeping your way to the top.

You panic and text Patrick that night and he texts back: dont worry sweetheart with a smiley emoji. But he’s rich. He’s got nothing to lose. You need this.

You worried for nothing. It’s Patrick’s last day as an intern. And surprisingly your manager has been transferred to an office across town. She accepted a raise and a new position and you’re now in her old position at double her salary. The lead attorney congratulates you for being “so good at your job and so eager to please. It certainly paid off.”

“See… told you not to worry,” Patrick says. Spoken like someone who’s never experienced a consequence in his life. But his dick is so big and he fucks you so good you can’t help thanking him. You spend the rest of the afternoon thanking him, while you sit with his dick warming inside you, writing briefs at your desk in your new office.

(Is this realistic? Nah. But I don’t think y’all are paying me for realism here lol. )

[theprettynosferatu]

State of The Blog, February 2025, or As I Type This

CW: Politics, general downer.

I promised myself I wouldn't write about this. Guess this post makes me a liar, aside from a humble kink-maker. I also promised myself I wouldn't complain, and that I won't do. Things are fine. Texts are being written. The smut is flowing, even if slowly- or less rapidly than either of us would like, dear reader.

Now... shit sure is fucked, huh? Not the most eloquent way of putting it, I know. But who has time for rhetoric these days? And I'm not even American! But I happen to know that a large portion of my little corner o'smut here hails from the USA. I have lived there myself. I have, perhaps, something of a romantic streak when it comes to what America could be. Sadly, it's not what it could be that we have to deal with.

Things are moving quickly. This is not by accident.

As I type this, the richest man in the world has gathered an unfathomable trove of data from the US government. Illegally, of course, but it appears such things no longer matter.

As I type this, information on gender and trans issues is being erased from government websites.

As I type this, self-ID is no longer a thing for my non-binary and transgender American friends, acquaintances and readers.

As I type this, ICE is raiding workplaces, schools, churches.

As I type this, someone has lost funding for life-changing research.

As I type this. the US is getting into a trade war on three fronts. All casualties in this war will be, as is always the case, the working people. On all sides.

The casualties of all these things will not be heralded. They will not the announced or published. They will be silent, in the form of people rationing medicine they need to live, getting sick from the cold and not being able to afford a doctor, perhaps choosing to not go on anymore in a world that seems to scream in their face that they don't matter, they are not wanted, they are Other.

You are shocked and traumatized because that's the point. To shock you into paralysis, so you won't have the bandwidth or time or energy to react- your reaction is what they fear.

I am nothing important. I make stuff to get people off. What right to I have to say anything to anyone who is really suffering? What the fuck can I do? Provide some escapism? Perhaps. It is useful, insofar as burning out on doomer shit helps absolutely no one. I'm nowhere near a front line, so to speak. Perhaps I'm being delusional thinking I am contributing something worth fuck all to people, but hey, I can do delusion. Or hope. It's hard to tell them apart sometimes.

I can't tell you to fight. I can't start preaching about the importance of community. I can't tell you what to do. It's not my place, and it's not my expertise. I'm not here to play armchair resistance, and neither are you. You are here for kink, and so kink I shall give you.

But I couldn't do the State of the Blog and let this go unremarked. As futile as it may be, as stupid as it sounds (and I am aware of the ass I'm making out of myself here), I just wanted you all to know you ARE wanted, you CAN handle this. Shit is bleak. But it won't be bleak forever, because YOU won't let it. The dawn is in your hands. And when you need a break and want to read smut, I'll be here.

Oh, and before I go, just in case anyone isn't clear:

Fuck off fascists.

Fuck off transphobes.

Fuck off xenophobes.

Fuck off racists.

Fuck off real sexists.

Life is not on your side, you absolute dogfuckers. It never has been, and it never will be.

[maikelfist]

@chimneyz encouraged me to come off anon and take credit for my horny headcanon and I thought I'd do it by turning it into a fanfic. If you’re in the mood for hurt/comfort and self-indulgent smut this is for you. You can find it on ao3 here:

The Mechanisms of Pain Relief

BuckTommy | 9k | rated: E

Summary:

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected. What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury. Or: Tommy takes care of Buck and Buck is overwhelmed in so many ways.

Symptoms of a concussion may include headaches, dizziness, confusion, sensitivity to light and noise, fatigue, sleep disturbances, memory problems, slowed reaction time, irritability, anxiety, depression and sensitivity to stress.

If you experience any of these symptoms worsening, you should speak to your healthcare provider.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected.

What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury.

Tommy’s heart stops for a moment when Eddie’s text comes through, and he doesn’t even wait for his supervisor’s approval when requesting time off work to rush to the hospital. This isn’t like a dislocated shoulder, where it makes more sense to wait until his shift ends to check on Evan, no matter how agitated he felt at the time. This is much more serious.

A sigh of relief escapes Tommy’s lungs as he steps into the observation unit and sees Evan awake, propped up in bed. Evan’s face is pale but relaxed under the fluorescent lights. A bandage covers the treated head wound, and the sunglasses perched on his nose—definitely Eddie’s—give him an oddly fashionable look despite the circumstances. Blocking the harsh hospital light in style. The tension in Tommy’s shoulders eases slightly when Evan greets Tommy with a sleepy, sedated smile and the reassurance that it’s “not too serious of a concussion.” CT scans have been done and pain relief has been given.

“Don’t even need to stay the night… pr-probably,” Evan continues, his speech more slurred than Tommy would like. “I-I told Eddie it’s not a big deal. Head wounds are a lot worse than they look.” Evan pauses, confusion flickering across his face before he corrects himself. “No, wait. Other way ‘round.” He thinks for a moment, visibly rearranging the words in his head, taking longer than necessary. “They look worse than they are!” Evan exclaims with more energy, pleased that he got it right. “The head has so many blood vessels that—that even a small cut can look like… like a crime scene… b-but it’s usually not that bad—”

"Evan." Even when he keeps his voice low, Tommy delivers the name with a seriousness that he knows will make Evan pause, hold his breath for a moment. "How long until you can leave?" Tommy has hundreds of other questions on his mind, but he doesn’t want to put any strain on Evan. He’ll squeeze out all the information he needs from Eddie later.

“Uh… they said they wanted to watch me for a couple of hours. I-I don’t know how long it’s been. Eddie will know. He wanted to—he’s…” Even with only half of his face visible, it’s clear that Evan is scrunching it up in puzzlement. “Water!” he exclaims after a few seconds, as if the word had just clicked into place. “He’s getting me more water.” Evan slowly turns his head toward the entry, as if mentioning Eddie's name might make him return more quickly. When Evan realizes that no one is standing there yet, he shifts his gaze back to Tommy. A dopey smile spreads across his lips. “They asked me if… if I had someone who could take care of me at home.” Evan sluggishly lifts his arm, fingers bumping into the back of Tommy’s hand before he manages to take it, his grip weak but warm. “I said yes.”

Tommy’s chest tightens, a mix of relief and affection flooding him as he squeezes Evan’s hand gently. He isn’t sure whether to feel glad or disappointed that Evan is wearing shades. On one hand, it’s good that the sunglasses are providing Evan with some comfort, but on the other, he’d give anything to see those sunny eyes of his—the ones that have the power to melt him inside and leave him weak in the knees. Right now, Tommy knows he needs to be strong for Evan, but he can’t help giving in to the widening grin on Evan’s face, returning it with a soft smile of his own. He brings Evan’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Evan hit his head on a car door. That’s the short version of the story. Eddie almost makes it sound like a slapstick sketch with how casually he remarks on it. Tommy knows, though, that Eddie’s calm demeanor is just a cover for how worried he is. Tommy knows that feeling all too well.

The full story is far less comedic. Two cars collided, leaving one severely damaged. It ended up wedged against a concrete barrier, with the passenger side crumpled like tissue paper. Thankfully, the father and son had been seated on the driver's side, and they managed to pull the unconscious father through the broken windshield. Extracting the son was more difficult. The child, sitting in the back seat, was trapped by twisted metal around the rear door, crying, panicking and in pain from a broken leg.

Evan was tasked with prying open the car door using a hydraulic spreader. He placed it between the door frame and the car body and began to apply pressure. The metal was severely bent and difficult to move—until it suddenly gave way. With a loud cracking sound, the door swung open so abruptly that Evan lost his footing and fell face-first into the swinging metal, a sharp edge striking his temple. The force was so strong that it cracked Evan's helmet.

Tommy’s stomach churns as he listens to Eddie’s retelling. Seeing Evan in his patched-up state is already bad enough; Tommy can’t picture what a terrifying sight he must have been to their friends—unconscious, blood gushing from the wound down his face, soaking into his clothes and hair. He doesn't even want to imagine what Evan's head would have looked like if he hadn't been wearing protection.

Eddie says he’s pretty sure Evan put too much pressure on the spreader, trying to get the boy out as quickly as possible.

Tommy doesn’t give in to the urge to rub his eyes. Instead, he quietly jokes, “Well, kids are a weakness of his.”

Eddie exhales a humorless puff of air in reply. “Yeah.”

They are whispering back and forth in Evan’s kitchen, the only illumination coming from the faint streaks of light peeking through the edges of the closed blinds, loft darkened to keep the fading day from hurting Evan’s eyes and allowing him to sleep peacefully upstairs. 

“Hey,” Eddie adds softly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hoping the lack of light conceals the awkwardness of it. “You really don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway. How many of your vacation days did you use to get two weeks off work? Just to be stuck in the Bat Cave?”

“You’ll keep us alive by providing us with food and supplies, so who’s the real Batman here?” “I think that makes me Alfred.”

"Who has been called Batman’s Batman," Tommy points out, raising a finger at Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, we’re both awesome,” Eddie relents, batting the finger away. “I’m just saying, I… I would’ve looked after him at my place, but I just got Christopher back and I don’t think it would be good for him to see Buck like this, so…”

“I get it. You can count on me, all of you.”

“Well, except that one time,” Eddie drawls.

There will likely never be a time when Tommy won't feel shame when reminded of how he ran away from Evan out of fear of getting hurt. At the same time, it floods him with relief knowing that Eddie and the others are casual enough about it to use it as roasting material. He would listen to their quips every day if it meant being with Evan. However, that doesn’t mean he will just take it lying down. “Yeah, we all need to make a monumentally stupid mistake once to learn not to do it again, right, Eddie?”

The blow makes Eddie close his eyes for a moment, and Tommy can practically see the Kim fiasco flashing behind them. When Eddie opens his eyes again, Tommy is met with an unimpressed look. “You’re lucky this ended well for both of us.”

Fond amusement quirks Tommy’s mouth. “So are you. And this will turn out well for Evan, too. Alright?” Tommy assures Eddie.

The first genuine smile of the day brushes across Eddie’s lips, so small that it's nearly unnoticeable. “Yeah. Alright.”

Shoulder bumps turn to hugs turn to goodbyes. Tommy holds the door open, promising to regularly send Eddie updates, lists of groceries and other things he needs from his own place, while Eddie swears he’ll come by as often as possible. When the door closes, Tommy listens for a moment until he can no longer hear Eddie’s muffled footsteps. Then he turns to face the dark.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The recovery time is a bit of a whirlwind. Or rather, a tornado.

Tommy learns to navigate Evan's loft almost blindly because he refuses to turn on any of the bright lights at night. Who thought open-space architecture was a good idea? The evening he broke up with Evan was filled with many moments that make him shake his head—mostly at himself—but Evan asking him to move into a place that was essentially one big room was certainly one of them. Then again, even through walls, Tommy feels an odd sense of guilt whenever he has to make a sound louder than his toothbrush. It will probably be a while before he stops cringing every time he needs to flush the toilet.

The stairs end up being Tommy's biggest source of stress. Through eye contact alone, Tommy knew that he and Eddie were on the same page about the desire to simply carry Evan up the stairs and into bed if Evan hadn’t insisted on climbing them himself. Instead, Eddie led the way, walking backward and holding on to Evan's arms, with Tommy behind Evan, hands on his back, ready to catch them both. 

Tommy keeps having nightmare visions of Evan stumbling and falling down the stairs or over the railing. He considers taking Evan’s bed apart and moving it to the lower level, but their current situation isn’t exactly ideal for playing IKEA. Not for the first time, he curses his neighbors for having the most obnoxiously noisy construction work done on their house at the worst possible time. Otherwise, he would take care of Evan at his place. As it stands, he plans to keep Evan as far away from the stairs as possible until he’s healed.

Thankfully, it seems to be quite easy to look after Evan, his dizziness and confusion turning him pliant and receptive to Tommy's care. Tommy ensures that Evan stays in bed, always having water and Tylenol within arm's reach so he can remain hydrated and pain-free, and regularly prepares light, nutritious meals for him—though, trying to make sandwiches by the dim light of the open refrigerator is certainly an experience. He tends to Evan's wounds with gentle hands, is by his side when he takes a bath, washes and combs his hair, and stands by the closed but unlocked door whenever Evan needs to go to the bathroom, ready to help if needed. Evan sleeps a lot, but rarely a full night’s worth in one session, waking up every couple of hours, and Tommy is there to give him whatever he needs or simply keep him company.

His demeanor softened by the lingering haze of his injury, Evan soaks up all the attention and care Tommy gives him, and Tommy is more than willing to provide it. Evan is sweet and easy, and Tommy really should have learned from Billie Boils' “curse” that it wouldn’t stay that way.

After a couple of days, dizziness turns to irritation. Evan keeps getting up from the bed, desperate to move, run around, exercise, and he argues till his head aches when Tommy tries to coax him back to bed.

After getting the okay from Buck’s doctor, Tommy researches suitable activities for someone with a concussion and begins to incorporate light, slow seated stretching and range-of-motion exercises into their daily routine. They don’t work out for very long, only a couple of minutes at a time, until Evan realizes this isn’t what his body actually wants while it’s healing.

Tommy can tell what Evan misses the most is going outside and running in the park, but since that’s not possible, Tommy tries to bring the park to him. One afternoon, they lie in bed together, both of their eyes closed, as Tommy tries to create scenarios for Evan to imagine.

He describes the scene in a soft, soothing voice, painting a picture of clouds drifting overhead, leaves rustling in the wind, and even attempts to mimic the sound of the breeze, puffing out his cheeks and blowing air through his lips.

Evan cracks one eye open, unimpressed. “Your wind sound is almost as bad as your fake mouth static.”

Determined to make up for his apparently less-than-convincing sound effects, Tommy pulls up a video of city park ambience for relaxation, which turns out to be a huge mistake.

"I miss my phone," Evan whines behind his hands as the pads of his fingers rub his eyes in frustration, having remembered that the internet, with all its vast knowledge, exists.

"You're not allowed to look at screens, you know that," Tommy retorts, his voice gentle yet firm, as he lies on his side on the bed next to Evan, propping up his head with his hand.

Evan lets his hands thump to the pillow next to his head, his face sulky and disgruntled. “But I want to know how big jellyfish can get!”

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly and he can feel amusement tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Why?”

"I had a dream about an ancient god-like jellyfish the size of a whale. It talked to me but I forgot what it said," Evan says, arms crossed and pouting, as if the universe itself has wronged him.

The largest known jellyfish apparently belonged to the Lion's Mane species, boasting a bell diameter of 7 feet and tentacles around 120 feet long—if one can trust the Wikipedia article which Tommy slowly reads to Evan. Normal research often sends Evan spiraling down a never-ending rabbit hole of information. However, Tommy is happy to discover that research-via-boyfriend, listening to the calm, deep rumble of his voice, helps Evan fall asleep.

The research bouts aren't the only way Tommy engages Evan's mind. A nurse advised Tommy to regularly assess Evan's cognitive function. Initially, Tommy tries using crossword puzzles and simple math problems, but Evan quickly becomes bored. So, Tommy starts asking questions to jog Evan's memories—about birthdays, how their friends take their coffee, recipes and special events.

"What was the first city I flew Eddie to?" Tommy asks, fingers brushing through Evan’s curls as he’s sitting behind him on the bed, Evan leaning against his chest.

Evan grumbles, "I have a concussion, not amnesia."

"Do you know the answer or not?" Tommy presses.

"Vegas, and I also remember that you stood me up for it," Evan says, lifting his chin defiantly to look at him with accusatory eyes. 

"You did get to buy me a beer later.”

Scorn tinges Evan’s voice. “Oh, it feels so good to be a second priority.”

Tommy stifles a sigh, managing to keep a straight face. "What was the name of the restaurant we went to on our first date?"

"Abandon-me-at-the-fronteria."

Laughter threatens to break out of Tommy's chest but he suppresses it as well, pressing his lips together and burying his face into Evan’s hair. Evan can be really fucking funny when he's acting like a brat, Tommy will give him that. That’s not a compliment Tommy should ever say out loud, though.

"Close enough," Tommy deadpans.

Eddie isn’t spared either during his visits. One time, he foolishly believes that Evan would be interested in hearing about the science project he’s working on with Cristopher and how well it’s coming along, only to throw a startled look at Tommy when Evan replies with a curt, “Good to know you’re having so much fun without me.”

Eddie texts him later.

Eddie: Please tell me he doesn’t act like that all the time

Tommy: He does sleep occasionally

Eddie: I bet you fluff his pillows and tuck him in after he curses your ancestors

Tommy: Don’t forget the kiss on the forehead

Eddie: You have the patience of a saint, man

Tommy: You’re patient with him too

Eddie: Because I get to leave

Tommy: I very much plan on screaming into a pillow when I can be loud again

Eddie: TMI

Laughter spills out of Tommy, and he just finishes replying with an emoji wearing a halo when Evan pipes up, “Rub it in my face that I can’t talk to anyone, why don’t you.”

“You just talked to Eddie.”

“That’s not the same.”

Tommy spends the rest of the evening catching Evan up on the 118 group chat, reading messages aloud and typing out Evan’s replies. Unable to resist, he puts on a different impression for each person—like a deep and steady tone for Bobby or a high, nurturing one for Maddie. He keeps it up until Evan starts to complain about his headache getting worse.

Not everything they do requires patience. In fact, there is one moment in particular that will forever be etched in Tommy's memory as one of the happiest of his life.

Only a small light in the living room is on, casting a warm, indirect glow up to the bedroom on the upper floor. Tommy has Evan in his arms, giving him support, and they're gently swaying back and forth, Tommy humming the melody of a song whose title has slipped his mind, intermingled with nonsensical lyrics he only half recalls. Slow dancing counts as low impact exercise, right?

Evan seems to agree, judging by the way he happily sighs into Tommy's neck, his warm, wet breath sending shivers down Tommy's spine.

If heaven exists, and if Tommy were allowed in, this is what it would feel like.

Until Evan starts kissing his neck. Tommy mindlessly leans his head back, giving Evan more room to explore Tommy's skin with his mouth. Evan's movements become more heated and demanding, and Tommy hisses when Evan bites a bruise into his throat. Only when Evan begins to open the buttons of his shirt does Tommy put up any resistance.

"Evan..." Tommy half-heartedly tries to push him away. "Evan, we can't—not yet."

Evan keeps clinging to Tommy and insists, "Come on. It's been so long. I'm almost healed." Nuzzling into the spot where neck meets shoulder, his breath comes hot and uneven against the sensitive skin. Fingers fumble with the buttons of Tommy’s shirt, lips trailing downward until they reach the coarse curls of his chest hair. Evan buries his face into the dip between Tommy’s pecs, inhaling deeply and moaning as if intoxicated by the scent.

The sensation sends a flush of warmth through Tommy, electric currents racing up his spine. He can feel himself getting hard in his pants at a speed that makes him dizzy, his body betraying him even as his mind fights to stay in control. Still, he doesn’t budge. "Almost isn't fully." 

He tugs at Evan's hair to lift his head, which in hindsight isn’t a great idea—Evan moans at the feeling, a soft, involuntary sound that sends a jolt of heat straight to Tommy’s core. Evan follows Tommy's lead for a moment, but then leans in, pressing his forehead against Tommy's. "Tommy, please," he begs, his voice barely above a whisper, plush lips brushing his. "I need you." The yearning in his voice reverberates in Tommy’s chest, and it’s just as delicious as the feeling of their bodies rubbing together when Evan starts to grind against him.

It’s impossible not to entertain all the vivid images flooding Tommy’s mind. It would be so easy to give in. They could be gentle. Tommy could blow him or ride him or hold on to Evan’s spread legs as he carefully rocks into him, letting Evan do nothing but lie there and look pretty, his breath hitching and thighs trembling as Tommy surrenders to his wishes, gives him what he wants. Evan’s back would arch, his hands gripping the sheets, and his moans would fill the room as he throws his head back in pleasure—

"No." Tommy tears himself away, allowing no contact between them. His voice has been in quiet mode for almost two weeks now, so his rejection comes across as startlingly loud, despite it still being softer than his usual conversational volume.

The ceiling lights don’t have to be on for Tommy to know that big, fat tears are starting to well up in Evan's eyes. The wet huff escaping his lips and the way he hugs himself tell Tommy enough.

"I don’t actually need you, you know?" Evan spits, voice corrosive with acidity and venom. "I can take care of myself. You can't stop me."

A pit wants to open in Tommy’s stomach, and he’s holding it together by sheer force of will. 

Evan doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean it. This isn’t about you.

Tommy closes his eyes for a second, as if that could help him ignore the ache in his chest, and reminds himself to breathe. Squaring his shoulders, he focuses on the situation at hand. Part of him actually wants to try to stop Evan, but he knows he won't win this fight. 

"Be careful then,” Tommy says, his voice purposely steady. “Make sure to do it lying down. And don't finger yourself. Your coordination isn't quite there yet, and you could move your head too much trying to get the right angle."

The next sound leaving Evan's mouth is less of a huff and more of a snarl. "Fine. Have it your way." Evan takes off his clothes and climbs onto the bed, all of his movements filled with spite, uncoordinated as they may be.

Tommy picks up the clothes that Evan has haphazardly thrown across the room and says, in the calmest voice he can muster, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The short, bitter laugh that bursts from Evan makes him realize how unfortunate his word choice has been.

"I’d say the same, but clearly you don’t need me,” Evan talks back, his tone dripping with resentment. “So I’ll just stay here, all by myself, moaning and begging for it."

Tommy balls his fists into the clothes he’s carrying to keep himself from arguing about how wrong Evan is. That wouldn’t actually be doing Evan any favors right now. He doesn’t mean it. Instead, he feigns an unaffected hum. "Have fun."

The pillow Evan throws at him nearly makes it to the lower floor, but Tommy manages to catch it just in time. He drops Evan's shorts in the process, but oh well—Tommy takes a deep breath—he can just pick them up again.

Tommy puts the pillow back in its place, unable to resist stealing a glance at Evan, who lets out a performative moan when he wraps his hand around himself. Tommy quickly averts his gaze and hurries down the stairs.

If Tommy spends longer than necessary in the bathroom, that is between him and the sink. And the floor. And Evan’s shirt, which he presses to his face, inhaling deeply and moaning into the fabric as the muffled, exaggerated sounds of pleasure from upstairs make his stomach twist with arousal and longing. He's just here to do laundry, that’s all.

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For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens, and sometimes one of them is stuck in bed for entirely different reasons, needing the other to care for them while they're recovering.

That makes it all the sweeter when the doctor finally gives Evan the green light to return to normal.

They could just attack each other's lips and exchange blowjobs or handjobs for quick relief when they get home. Evan could fuck him. Tommy would be more than happy to spread his legs for Evan and let him do as he pleases. But he knows that's not what Evan wants right now. Once Evan gets his hands on him, he will want all of him. Once he gets his hands on Evan, he will want to give him all.

‘All of him” requires some work, though. If Evan gets fucked regularly, he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, Evan has joked—multiple times.

However, when there's a long break, Evan needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again, similar to what they did when he made love to Evan the first time—good hydration, some stretching and breathing exercises, a hot bath to relax Evan's muscles and ensure he's nice and thoroughly clean.

Tommy starts by massaging Evan's back, digging his fingers into his shoulders and along the curve of his spine until Evan groans. He tries to keep it relaxing for Evan, but soon Evan begins to wiggle, urging Tommy to hurry up. Evan demands it knowing that Tommy won't.

It's moments like these when Tommy enjoys teasing Evan's hole with his fingers without ever actually entering it for a while. Instead, he taps, strokes, pulses and circles around it until the ring starts to pulsate as if trying to draw him in—until it remembers him. 

Evan has gone through his prep routine, and now it's time for Tommy to go through his, which involves tongue and finger-fucking Evan until he's crying and begging into the pillow.

He licks and sucks at Evan’s hole, devouring it like it’s candy and moaning at the taste. Excess saliva fills Evan up from the inside, dripping down his taint and balls, making him even wetter than he already is. Tommy spits on it for good measure. 

When it’s not Tommy’s lips and tongue teasing Evan—his stubble providing a fine rasp against sensitive skin—it’s his fingers pumping and scissoring inside him, massaging his prostate regularly but nowhere near enough for Evan’s liking. Every now and then, Tommy hooks both his index and middle fingers into Evan, spreading him wide so he can push and flick his tongue into the gaping opening.

Tommy is scraping together the last remnants of his patience for this, and he has no idea where they’re coming from, other than the knowledge that he doesn’t want to hurt Evan.

And maybe, just maybe, he wants to chastise Evan’s hole for having forgotten him.

"Tommy, I can't," Evan whines, punching the mattress with his fist in a pitiful release of frustration. "I need it so bad! Come on, give it to me—"

Tommy must be closer to his breaking point than expected, and he only realizes it when he hears a loud smack followed by Evan throwing his head back and fucking yelling at the top of his lungs. With a startled flutter of his lashes, Tommy registers what just happened.

He just spanked Evan's hole.

There's a moment of stillness as Tommy tries his damned best to assess the situation based on Evan's reaction. Then Evan turns his head, and Tommy catches a glimpse of his beautiful face—red and splotchy to the point where his birthmarks are almost invisible, with pillow creases marking his skin and lashes damp with tears. Both his lips and eyes are shiny, red and wide open with surprise and something that Tommy would like to call wonder.

"Was that okay?" Tommy asks, his voice extra gentle as if to compensate for what he just did.

A shivery, wet exhale flows from Evan’s lungs before his arms give out and his head falls back onto the pillow. Tommy can still see Evan’s pretty profile, and it takes him a moment to realize that the way Evan is rubbing his face into the fabric is meant to be a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that was okay,” Evan whispers.

"You want more?" Another nod. That wouldn't do. "Words, Evan."

A kittenish noise escapes Evan and he starts squirming again. "Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy, I want more." Evan stretches his back and lifts his ass, as if he thinks he needs to bring his hole closer to sway Tommy.

A ball of arousal tightens its grip on Tommy's insides before bursting, sending bolts of intoxicating pleasure through his body. It's reminiscent of the rush he feels when he's flying—that swooping thrill so addictive in nature one can't help but crave to relive it again and again. As Tommy's eyes flutter shut, he takes a moment to savor the sensation, his mind already replaying the sight and sound of his boyfriend trying to entice him—and succeeding. God, Evan is exquisite. Always, of course, but especially when he falls into a mood like this.

Tommy takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. He needs his bearings for what's to come.

"Evan." Tommy's hands settle on Evan's waist, his thumbs lightly digging into the curve of his spine as he holds him steady. He trails his fingers along the line of his back, shaping Evan’s form to his liking and making him arch prettily. Tommy’s body follows the upward motion of his hands until he can speak into Evan’s ear, attempting nonchalance, though the rasp in his throat betrays him as he asks, “How many days has it been since I last fucked you?” “Seventeen,” Evan replies without a moment's hesitation, a breathless hitch in his voice revealing his anticipation. The corners of Tommy’s lips curl up at that. Of course Evan would know the answer. Tommy could probably ask him about the hours, the minutes, the temperature, and Evan would fondly reminisce about the last time Tommy's cock was buried in his ass, down to the very last detail. Over the past two weeks, Evan hasn’t answered any of Tommy’s questions with as much eagerness as this one. Cognitive function? Check.

“And why is that?”

“C-cause I got hurt?” 

Evan’s reply is endearingly timid, which is why Tommy doesn’t tsk before he retorts, “Close, but no. Try again.”

A miserable little mewl escapes Evan’s mouth, disappointed that he didn’t get it right the first time. Happier noises start filling the room—musical, airy notes—when Tommy’s dick finds the cleft of Evan’s ass. “Please—” Evan starts begging, distracted by the contact. Tommy’s grip on Evan’s shoulders tightens before he can lose himself completely. “Evan. Evan,” he repeats with more force when Evan continues to writhe. “Try again.”

Evan fusses and hides his face in the pillow once more, his voice muffled as he admits, “Cause I was careless.”

Evan's curls feel damp as Tommy begins to stroke them. The gentle touch gives Evan the courage to glance at him again from the corner of his eye. Tommy leans in and kisses his cheek, cooing, "Good boy, Evan." Another one of Evan’s sweet sounds chimes through the air, but Tommy doesn’t let him bask in the praise for too long. He continues, "Yes, you were careless. But that's not the reason either."

"Wha—why then?" Genuine confusion furrows Evan's brows, and he pouts in a way that Tommy can only describe with one word: adorable, adorable, adorable.

Tommy leans in, his forehead touching Evan’s temple, careful of the healing wound there, and nuzzles against Evan’s cheek. “Because you’re precious and I had to be gentle with you. Wanted to be, so you can heal properly.” His tone shifts from soft explanation to a husky tease, a wicked, feral edge creeping into his words when he rasps, “But I can be rough with you now, can’t I, Evan?”

Pouting lips part to release a floating, weak little gasp, followed by a needy, “Yes, pleasepleaseplease—”

Tommy plants a quick kiss on the corner of Evan’s mouth to quiet him before continuing, “You know what that means?” Evan shakes his head as best as he can. “I will give you seventeen hits, baby boy, one for each day we couldn’t do this.” Tommy emphasizes the last word with a thrust, making Evan moan eagerly. “And you will count them all and say ‘thank you, Daddy’ after each one. Alright?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you, Daddy, yes—” “After I spank your hole, Evan, not before.” Tommy lets sweet condescension drip from his tongue, underlining the lewdness of the words, ensuring he voices what Evan is begging for out loud.

Another high-pitched mewl leaves Evan, followed by a distraught cry as Tommy pulls himself away from him. Tommy keeps one of his hands on Evan's back to prevent him from following his movements. “Stay.”

Evan goes still, except for his fists kneading the sheets, desperate to release his pent up energy somehow. Tommy should give his hands something better to do. “Hold yourself open for me.” Evan scrambles to follow his order. “Very good, sweet boy.”

Tommy takes a few precious seconds to enjoy the sight in front of him—Evan presenting himself for Tommy, his hole wet, puffy and pretty in pink, winking at Tommy eagerly.

The first smack comes as a surprise to both of them. For a moment, Tommy considers dragging things out, but apparently, he doesn’t have that in him anymore. The sound of shock that shoots out of Evan’s lungs tells him he made the right call. Evan likely also assumed Tommy would tease some more.

Tommy waits, then chides when he hears nothing. “Evan.” Evan gasps, realizing his mistake and hurrying to correct it. “One! Thank you, Daddy.” Two, three, four and five follow in quick succession, the slapping sound made even more obscene by the wetness of lube and saliva spread between Evan’s cheeks. The next strikes follow a more irregular pattern, keeping Evan on his toes, each impact ripping through him like an earthquake. Tommy spanks with enough force to make it sting, to make the nerves feel raw and exposed—the kind of pain that makes you hiss and lean into it. 

Evan’s howls turn into keens with each hit, but he doesn't forget Tommy's instructions again. He does struggle to maintain a firm grip on his cheeks every now and then, his hands slick with sweat, but he manages to regain control each time.

Tommy takes a break at ten to check on Evan’s condition. Evan has stopped burying his face in the pillow, head tilted to the side again, likely because he needs air. His chest heaves beneath him and soft whimpers leave his mouth with each exhale. 

“You okay?” It takes Evan a couple of seconds to realize he’s being spoken to, but once he does, he nods. “Seven more, you think you can take it?” Tommy asks more clearly. A nod, again. “What did I tell you about using your words, Evan?”

“Yes, thank you, Daddy,” Evan rushes to deliver breathlessly, having reached the point where he mindlessly uses the phrase like a punctuation mark. Tommy couldn’t be prouder.

Tommy leans down to kiss Evan's skin, first grazing his hand and then his ass with a gentle brush of his lips, punctuated by another sharp smack to his hole. 

All the sweet reactions he used to elicit from Evan come flooding back as he remembers slapping his dick against Evan's cheeks and hole, teasing him with the heft of it before letting him feel it from the inside. He should have realized earlier just how into this Evan would be.

By the time Tommy reaches the end, an endless string of sobs is wracking Evan’s body, interspersed with heartbreaking hiccups whenever Evan is forced to inhale. Tommy makes sure that the last spank is the hardest one.

“Ah! Hah- oooh, s-se-sev'nteen, th'nkyuDaddy,” Evan barely manages to slur in between his whimpers, but like a dutiful little trooper, he perseveres.

Tommy takes a good look at his creation.

Evan’s right cheek is squished into the pillow, his mouth slack-jawed, and he’s either uncaring or unaware of how much he’s drooling. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed over, appear to gaze at nothing at all, unfocused, feverish and fuck-drunk, despite Evan not even having had a dick inside him yet. Maybe next time they do this, Tommy will place a vibrating egg against Evan’s prostate, see if he can come from that and the sting of spanks against his hole alone. A different kind of fucking.

Evan’s cock is a mess, just like the rest of him, twitching when air touches it and slowly but steadily leaking an obscene amount of precum onto the towel beneath him, thoughtfully placed there just for this purpose. Tommy’s mouth is watering with the urge to lap it up, but he resists. No distractions. He can still taste a hint of Evan’s ass, rich and carnal, on his tongue and that is enough to sustain him for now. 

Speaking of... Tommy's eyes fixate on the focal point of his masterpiece. A bright red circle glows around Evan's hole which pulsates to the rhythm of blood pumping beneath the skin. Tommy hovers his hand above it, dead certain he can feel the radiance of heat emanating from the area. He’ll have to treat it later, with Evan spreading his cheeks for Tommy so he can apply cooling, soothing aloe vera gel to the skin.

A deep, primal groan rumbles up from the depths of Tommy’s chest, and he can feel the last shreds of his self-control coming apart. He hurriedly grabs some lube to slick his cock, hissing in discomfort as he touches it and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. His dick has been neglected for so long, and it’s letting him know just how displeased it is—angry red and overfilled with sensitivity. Tommy softens his touch; the caress of his feather-light fingers gradually gives way to careful strokes, maintaining the movement until he no longer feels like he might burst out of his skin. Once he feels ready, he gives Evan’s hole a soft parting kiss and crawls up his body, making sure his chest is fully pressed against Evan’s back.

Evan isn’t begging anymore, too out of it to understand what’s happening when Tommy starts feeding him his dick. Tommy didn’t forget that it’s been a while, but he isn’t taking it anywhere near as slowly as he usually would. He can’t.

A beautiful, silent O forms on Evan’s lips when he realizes that he’s finally getting what he’s been panting for all this time, eyes widening in pleasure-shock at the feeling, and his hands clawing at any part of Tommy he can find. His feet begin to lift off the bed at the same measured pace Tommy is entering him, as if every muscle in his body contracts more and more the deeper Tommy goes. All muscles, that is, except for the ring around Tommy’s cock, stretched wide and striving to stay open. Tommy can only imagine what it must feel like to be filled after such sweet torture to his hole—nerves oversensitized and rewired to perceive pleasure and pain as one and the same.

Only when Tommy’s hips are flush against Evan’s ass does a wanton moan break out of Evan, his legs thudding down onto the bed as his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pressure of Tommy’s cock against his sweet spot.

Evan chokes on a sob, saliva-garbled exclamations of “guh-good, s-so good” spilling from his lips, and tries to call for him, if his broken “Da-!” is supposed to mean anything, letting Tommy know that he can start moving and—

God.

This.

This is the moment Tommy has been waiting for over two fucking weeks—the moment where he’s finally allowed to snap, not a single cell in his body capable of patience or self-control anymore.

He practically throws his cock into Evan’s hole, not holding back on the power in his muscles, pistoning in and out as if trying to punch Evan’s prostate with each snap of his hips.

Tommy should probably put a hand over Evan’s mouth, muffle his howls and wails and sobs, his cries of yes! and please! and Daddy!, but he’s too far gone to deny himself the reward of Evan’s ecstasy. If Evan’s neighbors end up struggling with eye contact after this, that’s their issue.

For some reason, Evan’s orgasm takes him by surprise, untouched and early as it is, even though it really shouldn’t, considering how long Tommy has been dragging him along. The tight, spasming clench of Evan’s hole makes his hips stutter, but even that isn’t enough to restrain him. He grabs a fistful of Evan’s hair, both to pin him down, to stop him from thrashing around too much, and as leverage to put even more force behind the relentless push-pull-shove of his thrusts.

Normally, he would comment on how quickly Evan came, especially when it happens solely through prostate play. Evan has told him how much he adores it, unpredictable as it is—both the physical sensation and the meaning Evan has given it, the feeling of being a good hole for Tommy. Depending on the mood, Tommy either rewards him with soft words for surrendering to his pleasure, or teases him for being easy, praise glazed with honey-sweet mockery. Tommy doesn’t even have that in him anymore.

“I’m not stopping,” Tommy warns instead, voice guttural and feral with savagery, unrecognizable even to him.

Evan accepts his fate if the way one of his hands shoots out to the headboard is any indication—support to hold on for the ride. He could say his safeword if he truly wanted Tommy to stop. Instead, Evan grabs the pillow and bites into the fabric, bearing the overstimulation with scrunched shut eyes, gritted teeth and desperate grunts, unable to sing his pleasure through pretty moans anymore with how shot his voice is.

The tight heat of Evan around him—his body safe and sound beneath him, right where he’s meant to be—consumes Tommy entirely. He pounds into Evan’s hole with enough force—hard and deep—to make the flesh of his cheeks ripple with each slap of skin on skin. Evan’s knees start to slip on the sheets, drifting further and further apart with each punishing pump, until the insides of his thighs must be aching. Tommy imagines the tip of Evan’s cock brushing through his own spilled cum, steadily leaking a delicious mess onto the towel, as it bops up and down each time Tommy’s hips bounce off of his ass.

His climax creeps up on him like a bird of prey, lurking but undetectable until it grabs him by the throat—pleasure clawing its way through his body until it releases itself in unrestrained, rapturous groans resounding through the loft as he fucks his load into Evan, filling him up with hot fluid. That of all things earns Tommy a small delighted squeal from Evan, sweet, little cumslut that he is.

Tommy doesn’t give Evan a chance to think it’s over. While his length still twitches and jerks with the force of his orgasm, he reaches for Evan’s. He doesn’t know if Evan’s cock has refilled or if it never really went down, and it doesn’t matter. All Tommy cares about is the silky-wet feel of it in his hands as he begins to stroke it.

“Nnng-ooh—!,” Evan whines pitifully, reflexively placing his hand on top of Tommy’s but doing nothing to move it away. Tommy’s not sure if that was a moan or a no, and Evan likely doesn’t know either. Another thing that doesn’t matter. Tommy’s hand is wet in seconds from how much Evan’s cock is drooling for a fist to fuck into.

“You’re not done yet,” Tommy growls. It will take a few more minutes for Tommy’s erection to fully go down. He clenches his jaw against the sharp sting of overstimulation coursing through his body and makes the most of that timeframe, rolling his hips into Evan and scraping his sweet spot in staccato rhythm. “Come on, sweet boy, give it to me,” Tommy urges, echoing Evan’s earlier plea, the gentleness of the pet name contrasted by the roughness in his voice.

Evan doesn’t stand a chance against the double stimulation, torn between arching back into the stretch of Tommy’s cock deep inside him and thrusting into Tommy’s fist as he empties his balls again, thick ropes of cum adding to the mess already on the towel. Evan makes his own anguished bliss known to the walls as his body convulses uncontrollably, giving Tommy a reminder of just how strong Evan is. It’s almost as if he’s trying to put his feet flat on the bed and lift up to get Tommy off him, bucking like a mechanical bull that doesn’t understand it’s meant to be ridden. Tommy puts Evan in a loose chokehold to gain better control and then flings them to their sides, still milking Evan for every last drop. Only when the hand on top of his starts pulling at his wrist does Tommy let go.

Tommy stares at his hand for a second, moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to marvel at the beauty of the pearly white fluid covering it. He contemplates licking his skin clean but ultimately decides against it. He knows he would get lost in the taste, and his desire to touch Evan takes over. Instead, he wipes his hand on the towel and then rests it on Evan's heaving stomach, mindlessly playing with the trail of hair there. Tommy buries his nose in Evan's hair, inhaling deeply as he catches his breath and holds him through the twitches and trembles rocking his body.

Peppering sweet, light kisses along Evan’s neck, Tommy waits for him to calm down—keeping them connected, Evan filled up the way Tommy knows he likes—until Evan feels ready to part.

After a little while, Tommy lifts his head in confusion when he notices that the shaking doesn’t subside, sniffling sounds filling the air.

“Evan?” Tommy asks carefully, receiving a hitching breath in response. “Evan, what’s wrong? Is it your leg?” he adds in alarm.

Evan digs his stubby nails into Tommy’s wrist and shakes his head, his voice thick with tears as he stutters, “I-I-I’m sorry, ‘m s-so sor-”

Tommy tightens his grip on Evan and hushes him as gently as he can. “Shh, sweetheart, there’s no need for that. Why would you be sorry?”

“I-I d-didn’ mean t-to hurt.” 

Tommy tries to make sense of the phrasing. Hurt who? Himself or others? Regardless, his heart aches for Evan at the thought of how exhausting the last two weeks must have been for him—physically and emotionally vulnerable, feeling both overwhelmed by and disconnected from the world. He must have felt incredibly isolated and confined when everything he usually loves caused sensory overload—stuck in a dark place in more ways than one.

“My sweet darling,” Tommy soothes. “I know you didn’t. This wasn’t a punishment. You know that, right? I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I-I know. And y-you do— you take s-such good care of me…”

A shivery exhale escapes Evan and he starts curling in on himself. Tommy mirrors the movement, embracing him more securely—as if holding on firmly enough could stop the shaking of Evan’s body. He caresses the skin beneath his palms and responds in a gentle, calming tone, “Of course I do. I care about you.”

“M-me, too. Me, too,” Evan returns, the words spilling out in a breathless rush, as if trying to convey far more than they can express. He gently squeezes Tommy’s hand and lifts it, pressing it to the rapid beat of his heart. Tommy takes a moment to treasure the words and the proof of Evan alive beneath his palm, his mind already racing for ways to make him well again. He infuses a teasing lilt into his voice as he jokes, “You care about me or yourself?” Thankfully, that has the desired effect—soft, wet laughter bubbling out of Evan as he lightly slaps Tommy’s wrist. “You, of course.”

Tommy hums gently at that. “Well, you should care about yourself. Make sure you come back to me safe, healthy and happy every day.” The light-heartedness fades from his next words, but there’s still a casualness to them, proof of how self-evident they are. “But even if you don’t, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Right beside you,” Evan repeats, his voice carrying a dreamy cadence as his breath evens out more and more.

A sound of agreement rumbles in Tommy’s throat. “For now, we’re going to cuddle a little longer, then I’ll clean us up, we’ll drink some water, and after that, we’re going to sleep. How does that sound?”

Evan nestles his face into the crook of Tommy's arm and gently kisses the skin, his reply a soft brush of lips against it.

"Perfect."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bright sunshine is streaming through the window, warming Evan’s skin and making him glow. Just as it should.

A small, content smile curls on Tommy’s lips as he watches his boyfriend sleep, a picture of sweet serenity. When Tommy woke up, he considered getting out of bed to make coffee, but then he decided he was allowed to indulge in the beautiful and dearly missed sight before him: Evan bathed in sunlight.

Tommy’s smile widens even more as he watches the tell-tale signs of Evan waking up: the way his eyes struggle to open, how he scrunches up his nose, the small grumble in the back of his throat—all betraying his reluctance to leave the comfort of rest. Until his eyes find Tommy. Then his expression transforms into one of sleepy joy, his smile slow and sweet, reflecting the bright light of the sky—Tommy’s favorite sight.

“Good morning,” Evan croaks, voice still hoarse and groggy from sleep and sex.

Tommy’s voice is steadier, filled with warmth, as he returns the sentiment in a gentle whisper.

They had fallen asleep facing each other, Evan’s head tucked under Tommy’s chin. Evan must remember this, because after staring at Tommy for a moment longer, he returns to that position, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Tommy’s neck with a pleased exhale.

“You okay?” Tommy can’t help but ask, recalling how last night ended.

Evan makes another satisfied sound. “More than,” he replies happily, a sense of satiation tinting his tone.

It’s Tommy’s turn to sigh and close his eyes in contentment, his fingers gently tracing over Evan’s skin.

For a moment, Tommy thinks Evan has dozed off again until he starts to feel him vibrating in his arms. It takes him a second to understand that the warm puffs of air hitting his skin are giggles bubbling out of Evan's chest.

Evan carefully stretches in his arms, his movements languid and indulgent, and tilts his head to look at him again. “What the hell, Tommy,” he exclaims through breathless, incredulous laughter, his sleepy expression a mix of reverence and playful accusation, as if to say, How dare you ruin me like that?

Tommy’s lips quirk in amusement. “I take it you enjoyed yourself last night?”

Evan raises an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think I saw the face of God. And I’m not very religious.”

It’s Tommy’s turn to laugh. Evan is so damn lovable Tommy wants to squish him. He does exactly that, tightening his arms around him as he jokes, “Was he good-looking?”

The sun has nothing on the grin Evan is giving him. “Yeah. He had a cleft in his chin.” One of Evan's thumbs finds its way to said spot, a favorite resting place, as he leans in to give him a chaste kiss—morning breath be damned.

Tommy hides his smile against Evan's lips, adding another moment to his ever-growing collection of Happiest Memories. There have been many more since Evan came into his life.

Evan slowly pulls away and makes sure to rub their noses together before leaning back to look at him again. His eyes lock onto Tommy's, and for a moment, he simply stares. "Tommy?" Evan breathes, his voice laced with achingly soft tenderness. "Thank you."

“I think you said that enough times yesterday,” Tommy deadpans.

“No, I mean—thank you,” Evan repeats emphatically. “For—for everything. For being there. For being you. God, I—,” breathless laughter interrupts Evan’s words for a moment, “I-I can’t believe how lucky I am.” His eyes are filled with unapologetic warmth and sincerity, that unique brand of earnestness he exudes. It always makes Tommy feel small and delicate, as if he’s looking at something much larger than himself—something that could crush him but promised it wouldn’t. The desire to cherish is palpable, and Tommy feels like he’s staring at the sun. He has to look away.

“You would do the same for me,” Tommy shrugs awkwardly. It’s supposed to be a wave-away statement, a Don’t mention it, and Tommy freezes when he realizes the true implications of his words.

Two thoughts fill his head simultaneously. How can you possibly think someone could ever feel such devotion for you? and Of course Evan would take care of you, he’s the best person you’ve ever known. Ideas so at odds with each other that the cognitive dissonance makes Tommy’s head hurt.

Evan must see something in his expression, something that stirs his urge to comfort, because the next thing he does is take Tommy’s hand. Tommy looks back just in time to watch Evan press a kiss against it. The words he breathes against the skin carry such a profound sense of truth that they act like Tylenol on Tommy’s nerves.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

[albertasunrise]

Work Wife - Eight

Masterlist

Summary: Working as a Secretary at Miller & Sons Construction, you fall hopelessly in love with the eldest son Joel. What you don’t realise is that Joel’s completely in love with you too. What will it take for the two of you to realise whats’s right in front of you?

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to give any so the plot isn’t spoiled. This fic is 18+ (Wow, last chapter got such an amazing reception. So glad you enjoyed it. Hopefully you enjoy this update. I am hoping to get a few other fics updated in the next week or so but for now... enjoy ♥️)

Series Masterlist - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

2 days earlier…

"Joel!" Anna called as Joel walked out from the lobby and into the hot, texas sunshine.

"Everything okay?" He asked as he took her in. From her stance, it was clear that she had been waiting for him although why she had wasn't clear to him.

"Yeah, I just... I wanted to talk to you about something." She said as she pushed herself off the wall she'd been leaning on "Kinda wanted to discuss it in private."

"What's up?" He asked, resting one hand on his hip whilst the other swung loosely as his side.

"Look, Joel... I'm just going to be straight with you." She started and Joel nodded.

"That would be great." He responded sarcastically, something Anna didn't pick up on when she giggled at his response.

"I like you." She replied plainly, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear as she walked up to him "I like you a lot and I wondered if perhaps you'd like to get a drink with me sometime?"

"Anna..." Joel trailed off, trying to find the nicest way to let her down "As flattered as I am…" He started as he gave Anna a sympathetic smile "I have feelings for someone else." He stated plainly.

"Oh." She replied, looking down at her feet a moment before taking a step back "Is it Pip?"

"It's complicated." Joel replied and that was all the confirmation that Anna needed.

"Why aren't you two together?"

"It's not my place to discuss this." He replied, "But I am in love with her and I cannot risk losing her."

"I think I have the right to know!" Anna demanded and Joel grew irritated at her tone.

"You're not entitled to know anything." He growled and she instantly looked guilty "I have a baby Anna. Things aren't simple for me right now but Pip and I, we are takin’ things slow."

Anna nodded, smiling sadly at Joel.

"You're a great gal Anna and I have no doubt you'll meet a great guy but... That guy ain't me darlin'."

"I understand." Anna said, stepping closer to Joel "You're a great guy. Pip's a lucky girl." She finished, quickly pecking him on the cheek.

The movement took Joel by surprise and his head snapped towards her, brows furrowed as he gave her a bemused look and then her lips were on his. In that moment his brain seemed to disconnect from the rest of his body. His whole body seemed to freeze, only the sound of Sarah crying seemed to allow Joel to escape from the icy prison his body seemed to be caged in.

His head quickly wiped to his right and there you stood, holding his crying daughter, looking utterly devastated. Tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Pip..." He mumbled as he looked at you, his heart, shattering at the sight of you crying.

You were then storming past him, and he jumped to attention, grabbing your elbow when passed him.

"Let go of me." You growled at him and he felt sick to the stomach.

"Pip please." He pleaded but your eyes turned from sad to firey in an instant.

"I need to feed YOUR baby Joel." You spat "So let. Fucking. Go. Of me."

He did as you asked and watched as you disappeared inside.

"Joel..." Anna said from behind him and he instantly felt his blood boil.

"Get the fuck out of here Anna." He growled, turning to face her with a face of thunder "Get the fuck out of here and don't show your face around here again."

"But-"

"No buts." He spat "You kissed me without consent... You're fired with immediate effect."

"You can't do that!" She squeaked and Joel laughed humourlessly at her.

"I can." He growled out, his eyes burning as he glared at her "Leave now and we might give you a reference." He snapped "But that's the best you're going to get from me."

...

Present day...

You hadn't spoken to Joel all weekend.

You had ignored his calls and hid upstairs when he'd knocked on your front door. You didn't want to see him or speak to him but unfortunately, there was no way you were going to avoid him in the office. You were dreading the inevitable grovelling. You couldn't care less what excuses he had for kissing Anna. He had promised you that he would wait for you.

He'd lied...

Your body tensed when you spotted Joel out of the corner of your eye, entering the office. Just like every morning, he had two coffee cups in hand and you braced yourself for his greeting only it didn't come. He placed the coffee on your desk and walked to his office. Not saying anything to you. He didn't even glance your way.

To say you were surprised would be an understatement but at the same time, you had no right to be upset about his lack of greeting. You were the one who had been ignoring him since the barbecue.

"Everything okay with you and Joel?" Simon asked a few hours later, having noted how if Joel had spoken to you it had been to the point. Preferring to leave notes if that was possible.

"Not really." You replied honestly, thinking it futile to try and state otherwise "Caught him kissing Anna on Friday at the barbecue."

"Huh." Simon replied, and this made your brows draw together.

"What?"

"Anna's been sacked." Simon replied "Apparently it was something to do with sexual harassment. Didn't go into detail, just said he'd sacked her with immediate effect."

"Oh."

"You sure he was kissing her back?" Simon asked you let out a humourless laugh.

"Yes... He was definitely kissing her back."

"You sure you didn't just see what you wanted to see?"

"You think I wanted to see that?" You growl at Simon and he let out a long sigh as he replied.

"You know that's not what I meant." He groaned "Shock can make us see shit that's not there. He fired her... makes you wonder if the kiss was consensual."

"I know what I saw Simon." You growled and he threw his hands up in surrender.

"Perhaps you should just hear him out." He said turning to walk back to his desk "Just think about it."

.

"Any messages?" Joel asked as he walked up to your desk and placed the shredding he needed doing.

"You sacked Anna?" You asked and Joel nodded "For sexual harassment?"

"Yes." He replied plainly.

"Right."

"Messages?" He asked again and you handed the few you had taken for him "Thanks."

"That it?" you asked as he started to walk away from you "Did you sack her because she kissed you?"

"What do you want from me Pip?" He growled "You ignored me all weekend. Hid from me when I came to your house to see you. I got the message. You want space… So I am giving that to you..." He trailed off "What more do you want from me?"

"I want to understand why." You choked, tears pooling against your bottom lids "Why tell me you'd wait for me then kiss her?"

"I didn't kiss her." He replied simply "She kissed me but I know you aren't going to believe me."

"Joel-"

"Because the fact of the matter is... you don't trust me." He continued "You're constantly looking for reasons for us to not be together."

"That's not true." You choked, watching Joel's hand as it scraped over his mouth.

"I don't have time to discuss this with you now Pip." He sighed "Can you shred all that for me when you have a chance. I need to go relieve Mum."

"Joel-"

"Come find me when you're ready to trust me Pip."

With that, Joel left. You tried, in vain, to blink away the tears that stung your eyes but they fell anyway. You hated that you were upset that Joel was giving you the space you had, without saying it, demanded from him.

Was he right? Did you not trust him?

Only you could answer that question.

...

The awkwardness between you and Joel continued in the weeks that followed. He still brought you your coffee every morning but only spoke to you when it was absolutely necessary. The longer this went on, the more confused you felt about it... But if you were being completely honest with yourself, you wanted him to fight for you.

It felt like he had just decided to give up... But in reality, you know that he's just giving you what he thinks you want.

.

"How long are you two going to continue going on like this?" Simon asked as he glanced at you through the window of Joel's office.

"Till she decides to hear my side of things." Joel replied sharply and Simon let out a long sigh before responding.

"Try and see it from her perspective Joel. You had sworn to her that you'd wait for her just a week before and then she walks in on you and Anna kissing."

"I didn't kiss her." Joel growled and Simon huffed.

"I know that but she's in a delicate place Joel." Simon sighed "She's been through a lot and her emotions are all over the shop at the moment."

"I know that." Joel growled out "But I don't know what to do Simon. She clearly don't trust me or she would have let me say my piece weeks ago."

"I don't think it's a matter of trust." Simon said softly, giving Joel a sympathetic smile as he said "I think it's more a case of her insecurities getting the better of her."

"She knows how I feel about her." Joel argued, "She should trust that I think she's the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Then fight for her." Simon said as he stood from his chair "Don't let her slip through your fingers man."

.

Later that day found you and Simon enjoying lunch outside. He’d offered to treat you to a burger from your favourite diner and it had taken little persuasion to get you to agree.

"When are you and Joel going to work shit out?" Simon asked as he dipped a bunch of fries into his mayonnaise.

"Simon..."

"I know... I know... You're upset for him for kissing Anna." He said as he grabbed another bunch of fries "Only... he keeps telling me how he didn't kiss her. She apparently, kissed him on the cheek and it startled him." He continued, shoving the chips into his mouth and chewing them a few times before saying "He turned to look at her and she just went for it."

"That may be so but he didn't stop her." You grumbled.

"You telling me that if I kissed you out of the blue... you wouldn't freeze too?"

"Simon-"

"He's hurting Pip." Simon interrupted "He's doing what he thinks you want but I think we both know that this isn't what you want."

You look away from Simon, tears gathering again on your bottom lids and you quickly wipe them away.

"You need to talk to him Pip." Simon urged as he threw his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into a sideways hug "You're just going to hurt more and more the longer you leave it."

You nod but you don't say anything.

"I'm not saying you have to do it tomorrow or anything." He said softly "Just think about it yeah... And don't leave it too long."

"Okay." You replied with a nod, not trusting your voice not to crack.

...

You took a few days to ponder what Simon had said to you. The more you did, the more you thought about that day and what you saw. Anna stood in front of Joel, their lips locked.

Except... the more you thought about it, the more you realised that Joel's posture had been so rigid. Like he'd been standing outside in the snow for hours.

Yet...

There was still that little voice in the back of your head that told you that he had lied to you. That he had kissed her just a week after promising you that he would wait for you to be ready for more.

And you had almost been there. You were so close to being ready and now it was all up in the air. You wanted to believe Simon. You wanted to believe him and yet your heart didn't seem willing to let you forgive. Yet the longer this went on the more you missed him.

The more you missed Sarah.

So when Mrs Miller had asked if she could pop over with Sarah that Saturday morning, you couldn't have said yes quickly enough. Sitting there with Sarah smiling at you as you bounced her on your knee, you felt the most complete you had in months.

"How have you been?" The older woman asked and you shrugged. There was no hiding things from this woman.

"I know what happened with Anna." She said, "Joel told me that evening and he was a wreck." She paused to take a sip of her tea before continuing "He's still a wreck."

Lucia gave you a sad smile before waving at her granddaughter who was completely unaware of what was going on between her father and you.

"I'm scared." You replied honestly "I'm scared of getting trampled again. I don't think my heart can take any more sorrow."

"I know darlin' but Joel isn't gonna hurt you." She said softly "He just wants the chance to prove he loves you."

You nodded, smiling at Sarah who was grinning at you, her two bottom teeth making you smile and want to weep in equal measure.

"He loves you, sweetheart." She said sweetly "Not saying the boy isn't thick as soup sometimes but he loves you somethin' fierce."

"Thank you, Lucia."

"You're welcome."

...

It had been a slow morning.

Joel and the boys were on site that morning, meaning you hadn't had a chance to see him. You'd had the rest of the weekend to think about what Lucia had told you and you knew you needed to give Joel the chance to tell you his side of things.

The phone rang a little after 11 and after quickly chewing and swallowing the mouthful of toast you'd made yourself as a late breakfast you answered with your usual greeting.

"Miller and Son's construction, how can I help?"

"Pip it’s Simon." He started and his tone instantly made your blood run cold "There's been an accident on site..."

"Is everyone okay? What happened?"

"Um... We're not sure what happened... Nobody saw it." Simon continued, his voice wobbling "One minute he was next to me on the scaffolding and the next he was on the ground. I have no idea how he fell."

"How who fell?"

"It all happened so fast that I... Shit, I just froze but-"

"Simon!" You shout, stopping his rambling "Who's fallen?"

"Joel."

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[wtfaniii]

Escape To The Bathroom

Summary: You love adrenaline, you are shameless and you are not interested in anyone but yourself or sometimes your brother, however... a certain guy can make you bend your legs with just one look.

Warning: Slight smut, drugs and inappropriate language.

Lee Myung gi x fem reader

Your eyes were filled with amusement even though your lip was split and you could taste your own blood in your mouth.

—Rawrr... the old man knows how to have fun —You said, standing up without taking your eyes off of player 001 who had intervened in the small fight that your brother, his friend and you had created against 333.

Thanos and Nam gyu turned away tired and in pain after the beating he had given them but you continued to keep a smile on your lips despite the slight body pain you felt.

You turned to Myung gi and blew him a kiss before returning to your group.

—He's an idiot —Your brother Nam gyu complained as he sat on the edge of his bed.

—So do us —You responded, sitting next to him —Mom would be embarrassed if she knew we fought at lunch.

He grumbled at your words knowing you were making fun of him.

While you were sitting with your group your eyes were still fixed on Myung gi, you couldn't deny it, the idiot was handsome, since you saw him in his YouTube videos you considered him a potential crush but after having left you in ruin for that investment you reconsidered your thoughts, you wanted to hit him but you also longed to feel his lips on yours.

He felt your gaze and directed his eyes towards you, his look was irritated but also curious, ¿why did you see him so much? It was uncomfortable to a certain extent and you noticed this so you formed a teasing smile on your face.

Your eyes remained fixed on him, it was like a silent battle of glances, only he transmitted annoyance and you conveyed challenge.

You didn't even realize Thanos was talking to you until he snapped his fingers in front of your face to get for attention.

—The earth calls you —He said at the same time that he directed his gaze towards where you were still looking —Don't tell me you liked him.

—It's cute —You responded without much importance, looking away.

—Go and talk to him —The rapper encouraged you by playing with the rings on his fingers.

—¿Talk to who? —Nam Gyu approached you and gave you a friendly blow on the head, making your lips twitch.

—Nobody —You responded immediately, giving Thanos a threatening look but he was more focused on his music than on your conversation.

You knew Nam Gyu like the back of your hand and if he knew that you liked the man he didn't like it was definitely going to be a problem.

When it was time to play the next game, they took them to a colorful room where they had to form teams of five members. Your brother integrated you into the team with Thanos, but your eyes and mind wandered to a certain player with the number 333.

—Maybe I should look for another team, we don't know what we are going to play —You excused yourself by walking away from them without letting your brother object.

You walked between the players until your gaze fell on Myung gi, you formed your best smile and went towards him, he jumped a little when you suddenly put your hands on his shoulders and shook him to annoy him.

—It seems that we will be a team —You said standing in front of him.

—¿Your team didn't want a woman? —he ask, scanning you from top to bottom with a judging look.

—It's not that, I thought it would be smart to divide us.

He seemed to brush it off and motioned for you to follow him in search of his other members, it was simple and once their team was ready they sat on the ground while they gave the order.

You felt Nam gyu's gaze burning the back of your neck but it was the last thing you cared about now, you needed to get through these games alive but your mind was also flying towards the guy who was next to you.

—¿And what are you good at?

—I'm good at whatever you want —Your response caught him off guard, you were supposed to hate him ¿and now you were flirting with him? That small smile on your lips and the look in your eyes did not go unnoticed,but when you did not receive a positive response to your suggestion you said the following: —Gonggi.

Your team passed the test and they were sent back to the huge room, your brother and Thanos had not yet passed through so you stayed silent and sat on your bed.

You admitted it, if you cared about your brother but you also tried to keep a cool mind and your feelings buried, here had to survive and win, the chances of dying were very high so you were prepared for that.

—This is very stressful —Myung gi's voice brought you out of your pensions and to your surprise he was standing next to you, watching you cautiously.

—But fun —You responded, moving a little to the left to make room next to you —The worst that can happen to us is a shot in the head.

You tried to ease him tension but that seemed to stress him out even more so you quickly spoke up.

—Anyway, I don't think they'll eliminate us, you're good.

—You too.

The answer was sincere, you had paid each other a compliment, Myung gi continued looking at your profile while you kept the gaze down, you were pretty although had a shitty character, however... maybe he could ignore that.

The silence between you was not awkward, in fact it was loaded with attraction, your heart was beating like crazy to the point that you could swear he heard it, your red cheeks and the shine in your eyes were beautiful to him, your thoughts wandered into fantasies that you wish you could do him, fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

—Hey... I'll go to the bathroom, to relieve some stress —You said softly and with a slight smile, a clear invitation for him to accompany you.

You got out of bed and walked cautiously towards the door with him following you, you asked the guard at the entrance for permission to go to the bathroom and the two of were guided down the long hallway.

The bathrooms were divided into men and women but when the guard turned around to watch, you and Myung gi entered the women's room.

As soon as you heard the "click" of the door closing, you launched yourself at him to kiss him needily.

He reciprocated the kiss and backed away towards one of the stalls where he opened the door with a light kick and sat on the cup with you on top of him.

Hearing him rapid breathing and feeling him hands on your hips was just as you imagined, a gasp escaped your mouth as he pulled you closer to his body to feel each other.

—You gave me a black eye —He murmured to you with a touch of reproach but also with the heat of the moment.

You were going to mock him but your words were interrupted by a small cry of pain mixed with pleasure when you felt him teeth dig a little into your neck.

—Now we are even —He said proudly, pulling away from your neck to see the purple mark he had left on your skin.

You bit your lower lip and continued with the heated kiss, him hands were responsible for removing your clothes and you did the same skillfully.

The cubicle they were in was small and not exactly the most comfortable but the only thing you could feel was how he entered you again and again with erratic movements, hearing him grunt and gasp quietly was like music to your ears and in those at times the thing you least cared about was the risk of another player entering the bathroom or even the guard.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you pushed yourself up and down to reach climax, Myung gi's gaze was fixed on your face, seeing your closed eyes and the sweat that fell on your forehead, with one hand he removed the hair that bothered your face as he listened to you moan and gasp.

Like a gentleman, he let you finish first and then he finished off of you to avoid future consequences.

—If you tell anyone, I'll blacken your other eye... —You said as a warning, taking deep breaths and relaxing your body on him.

—I don't promise anything —He responded while kissing your neck and caressing your hair.

You knew that if Thanos or Nam Gyu bothered him again he would defend himself with this just to make your brother a little more angry, he was an idiot but you didn't regret anything.

You and him heard the knocking on the door and the guard's complaints telling them that they had to leave to return to the other players so you stood up on shaky legs and adjusted your clothes.

—¡Come out now! They've been in there for a long time —The guard demanded for the fourth time, knocking on the door —¡I'm going in!

When he opened the bathroom door, fortunately you and Myung gi were already dressed and outside the cubicle, you had just finished washing your hands when you saw the guard with a look of indignation and displeasure.

—¡You can't go into the women's bathroom! ¡This is harassment and disrespect! —You said, looking at him with annoyance as you walked past him to leave.

The guard looked at Myung-gi who also kept a serious and firm look.

—¿What? I'm a gentleman, I'm not going to leave a girl alone with a masked man in a place like this —He said in defense, passing by him side but not before bumping he shoulder into him in an act of disdain.

The two returned to the other players and you smiled calmly when you saw your brother sitting with the others on the stretcher stairs.

—¿Where were you? —Nam Gyu asked curious but calm, the drug he had consumed with Thanos had not yet fully worn off.

—I went to the bathroom —You responded without importance, sitting between him and Thanos, your gaze went to 333, who also saw you with a slight smile on his lips.

—Shit ¿What happened to your neck? —Thanos asked seeing the purple mark on your skin and you instinctively covered it with your hand, Nam Gyu also turned to look at you with intrigue.

—An insect —You knew it would be a problem to fuck your brother's enemy but you couldn't care less, you could do whatever you want, whenever and with whoever you want.

And every chance they had, they both took a little escape to the bathroom.

N/A: It's not one of my best works but I had to upload something, do I write more about him?

[anomalys-bane]

so I need help pls

Idk how many other ppl have this problem but I've been kind of struggling with bring hyper aware of misogyny and patriarchal oppression, and by being aware I mean aware of everything from the origins of the system caused by biological vulnerabilities, those millennia worth of oppression and subjugation and seeing the patterns repeated in every aspect of our lives to this day. I can't stop ruminating on the whole thing, the structure so ancient and pervasive it rears it's ugly head wherever you look. I can't stop analyzing and trying to make sense of it. I can't stop looking at people in a crowd and feeling neutral for a blessed moment and then wondering how many of the men there believe in subjugation women, how many have assaulted and abused the women in their lives and I feel sick. Driving in the city I pass buildings and houses and apartments and alleys and wonder what horrors are going in there right now that I can't see. I wonder how many women are suffering and I can't bear it man. I see it reflected in the people close to me because I'm trapped in a very religious conservative household, on the internet where I go to escape, there's still unbelievable misogyny that pops up everywhere. Sometimes I just sit back in disbelief and wonder what the fuck women did to deserve this on a cosmic scale. I feel so painfully aware of this ancient system. I feel acutely aware of the vulnerability we have to live with and suffer for. I understand that we have made so much progress but it seems we're regressing and it all feels hopeless. Radblr is the one place I feel most at home but it's not known for positivity haha. Does anyone else have this hyperawareness problem and/or know how to deal with it?

[loulou-land]

Chicken Noodle Soup for the Heart

Day 2 of @bucktommyfluffebruary | Cooking Together | 1,470 words

It was the kind of day that made staying in feel inevitable. Outside, torrential rain fell against the loft’s windows, its relentless rhythm sounding softened inside the kitchen. Buck was grateful they both had the next 48 hours off—no calls, no alarms, just the luxury of enjoying the bad weather from the warmth of home instead of going against it.  

And Buck could think of nothing better on a day like this than making soup from scratch—something rich, hearty, and comforting. 

He moved instinctively, pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry, spreading them out on the counter with practiced ease. Taking a step back, he ran through his mental checklist, envisioning how each component would come together to create the perfect chicken noodle soup.  

Over the past couple of years, Buck had come to appreciate the art of cooking, taking pride in the growing repertoire of recipes he’d mastered—many of them learned through trial and error, as well as sheer persistence. He had pestered Bobby until he had every little detail down to a science. 

Now, he could already imagine the depth of the broth, the way the herbs would meld together, the chicken turning perfectly tender, the explosion of flavors in his mouth. A pleased hum escaped him at the thought. 

Which was when Tommy's voice broke through his focus, momentarily reminding him that he wasn't alone in the kitchen. 

“You know there's a can of soup in the pantry, right?” Tommy said, voice laced with amusement. 

Buck stopped. Turned in his direction. Stared. 

Tommy, leaning lazily against the edge of the counter in one of the kitchen chairs, looked entirely unbothered by the deep offense he had just committed. 

“A can?” Buck echoed, as though repeating it out loud would change the fact that his boyfriend had seriously just suggested he heat up canned soup. “Why would I—? You think I’m just gonna—? Tommy.” He shook his head, muttering, “I can't even look at you right now,” before moving to his cutting board, whispering the recipe under his breath like a mantra. Willing himself to ignore the overly amused man watching him from the other side of the kitchen counter. 

Buck was not falling for it again. 

He knew Tommy’s tactics. He loved to rile Buck up when he was in the kitchen, often distracting him from his cooking until it led to wandering hands, panting kisses, loud moans, and eventually—burnt dinner. So no, Buck wasn’t going to let himself get sidetracked this time. 

He soon lost himself in the rhythm of it—chopping onions, heating butter, letting the scent of sauteing vegetables fill the space. A little salt, a little pepper, the start of one of the recipe's components coming to fruition. 

But then—he couldn't ignore it anymore. 

An intense gaze. Like a soft caress running over him. 

He glanced up, catching Tommy watching him with an indefinable expression. Soft. Slightly exasperated. Amused. Fond. 

In love. 

Buck swallowed hard, a flush running up his cheeks and ears. He quickly shifted focus, turning to the pot—stirring with intense concentration. He was just cooking. It wasn't a big deal. 

But the way Tommy was looking at him—like Buck had hung the moon and all the stars just for him—it made him feel unbelievably warm inside. His throat tightened, the onslaught of things wanting to spill through his lips catching in the sudden knot that formed there. Still, the words echoed through him.  I love you. Thank you. I Love You. 

The breakup had left its mark on them both in different ways. Buck’s sometimes manifested in moments like this—in wanting to say it over and over, in wanting to make sure Tommy knew. That he was grateful Tommy had come back, was still here. 

Okay, Buck needed a distraction. 

“Alright,” he announced, clearing his throat. “You're not just gonna stand there watching—I'm putting you to work. If you want soup, you can help.” He placed his hands on his hips with authority. 

Tommy raised an eyebrow at Buck's bratty little stance, lips quirking like they did anytime he acted like that. Buck just knew Tommy was already plotting some kind of retribution for later. He felt a shiver run down his spine but he quickly shook it off. 

Tommy let out a small, amused laugh before stepping up beside him. “Fine. What am I doing, chef?”

Buck’s heart stuttered. The playful nickname wrapped in that special way Tommy always said his name. He cleared his throat. 

“Carrots.” Buck handed him a knife and some whole carrots. “Cut them like this.” He demonstrated, cutting them into tiny, perfectly uniform cubes with quick, even movements. 

Tommy hummed, took hold of the knife—then did absolutely none of that. 

Buck watched in mounting alarm as Tommy hacked his way through the first carrot. The slices were uneven, some too thick, some too thin, one somehow triangular. 

“What—what are you doing?” Buck asked, voice bordering on distressed. 

Tommy barely glanced up, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he butchered another carrot. “Cutting the carrots.”

“Well, they look—” Buck inhaled sharply, letting out a nervous chuckle. “um…artistic.”

Tommy snorted. “Don't backseat cut, Evan.” 

“What—Tommy, that’s not a thing.” 

“It is when you’re breathing down my neck while I wield a knife.” 

“I am guiding you.” 

“You’re hovering.”

Buck clenched his jaw, breathing through the urge to snatch the knife away. He lasted maybe three more seconds, wincing as Tommy whacked the blade against another carrot (why is he whacking at them? Buck thought, horrified) before exhaling sharply and gently shoving Tommy aside with his hip. “Okay, I'll cut the carrots.” 

Tommy threw his head back and laughed, stepping away with his hands up in surrender, as he allowed Buck full control of his kitchen again. 

Buck frowned at him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously when Tommy threw him a wink. 

“Were you butchering them on purpose?” he asked, already working through the rest of the carrots with quick, precise cuts. 

“Not at all,” Tommy said, completely unconvincing. “I was trying my hardest.” His voice was dry as he wiped his hands on a rag, then leaned back against the counter—subtly flexing his muscles at Buck. 

Buck’s lips twitched, before he ducked his head and let himself smile. 

He'd never known love could feel like this. Had never had this with anyone else before. This easy banter, the teasing, the laughter, the way he felt wanted and above all, free to be himself.  

When he looked up again, Tommy was still watching him, smiling happily, the crinkles around his blue eyes, deep and warm. 

“You’re such a liar,” Buck said, voice bright with laughter. 

“Hey, now, those are some serious accusations.” Tommy said in mock offense. 

Buck rolled his eyes fondly before stepping into Tommy’s orbit, pressing a quick kiss to his boyfriend's cleft. 

Tommy caught him by the waist, his hand settling below his chin as he pulled Buck in for a  deeper, softer kiss. Saying his I love you in the way he held Buck close, in the way he kissed him like he was something precious. And Buck said it back with another gentle press of his lips, his fingers curling into Tommy’s sweater. 

Buck sighed happily, then nudged Tommy away with a grin. “Alright, stop being a menace and go wait on over there” he pointed to the chairs “while i finish the soup.”

Tommy hummed, pressing a quick kiss to Buck’s forehead right over his birthmark. “Yes, chef.”

By the time the soup was simmering, warm and rich, Tommy had set the table and opened a bottle of wine. Buck stirred the pot one last time before ladling out two bowls and bringing them to the table. They clinked their glasses together, sharing a look that said how grateful they were for these moments. 

Tommy took one bite and let out a deep, appreciative moan. “This is wonderful, Evan.” 

Buck felt himself flush, both at the compliment and Tommy’s reaction. He ducked his head, stirring his own bowl. “Well, you helped a little.”

Tommy tilted his head, amused. “Oh?”

Buck smiled, lifting his spoon and pointing to the triangular carrot in the broth. 

Tommy stared for a moment before breaking into a grin, something bashful and deeply touched flashing across his face. He reached across the table, catching Buck’s hand in his own before bringing it to his lips, pressing a warm lingering kiss to his knuckles.  

They smiled softly at each other, before they continued eating, slipping into easy conversation—talking about nothing and everything. 

Outside, the rain kept falling. The rest of the world tinged gray, cold and wet.  

But inside, they were bathed in faint yellow lights, their hearts full of warmth and love.