#damn this really just keeps going doesn’t it

[trainsinanime]

Also let’s be real here: Writers are not 100% rational. Writing is a scary thing. You take all your experience, your research, your education (formal or self taught), your creativity and your taste and try to turn that into a document that doesn’t suck. And then you do something even scarier: You share this deeply personal thing that represents part of yourself with the world, so it can judge this work, and by extension, you. You’re putting yourself out there with your deepest thoughts and going, “is this any good?” That is really damn scary.

And yes that isn’t fully rational, of course the opinions of the wider world don’t actually matter, of course your work has value even if you’re the only one who likes it. All fanfic writers know that. With experience, some of them may even start to actually believe that. But still, you will find yourself posting something and going, “only X kudos? Did this one suck? Am I getting worse as a writer? Should I stop?” That’s just because you care. If you didn’t, you’d never have posted.

I’m sure this looks silly from the point of view of a professional influencer or marketing executive or whatever, who sees it as a number's game and believes that the content they produce doesn’t actually matter that much. (It can be useful to keep that perspective in mind at times, e.g. that post that's been going around about how generally only 1% or whatever it was of people who liked something will interact with it on the internet, fanfic or not) But fanfic is one of the areas that are not dominated by this corporate mindset and I wouldn't like for it to be.

Sorry for rambling I think the important part to remember is this: If you're not a writer you probably have no idea how much a comment, or at least any sign you liked it, really means. You can make people so, so happy with just a single "I loved this".

I really don't understand how "without getting kudos or comments a fanfiction author is going to assume that people who clicked their fic didn't like it" became a controversial take.

I don't know why some people think an author should imagine, or guess that people who click their fic enjoyed it it when nobody is telling them that.

If you're re-reading a fic constantly, or leaving it up in your tab so that it re-loads every day for a hundred days the author is not going to know that unless you tell them. They'd love to hear it. It would make their day.

And if you don't tell them you liked their fic, there's no reason for them to assume you did.

[cinnamqnx]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ toxic ft, satoru gojo

summary. your ex boyfriend wants you back, but you just don’t think you can go back to something so toxic

you’re currently finishing touching up your makeup in satoru’s bathroom mirror after he had basically just ruined it all of five minutes ago, your legs still a little weak. but you weren’t about to tell that egoist.

satoru snakes his way behind you, resting his chin on your head and placing his large palms against your shoulders as you look at him the mirror

“what’re you doing?”, you ask, an amused smile on your face.

satoru’s face was anything but, “are you leaving again?”, he questions, that comes out in a tone you’ve never been familiar with.

you nod slowly, “well, yeah. why would i stay?”

“i dunno, we just slept together, i thought we could spend time together.”, he shrugs, trying to act as nonchalant as he could but satoru’s never been the best at hiding his feelings when it came to you.

you shrug him off you, turning to face him, “don’t. don’t do that.”

“do what?”, he asks, looking like a kicked puppy right now.

“we broke up for a reason. just because we’re sleeping together doesn’t mean we’re just gonna go back to how we were.”, you cross your arms together in a protective way, feeling like satoru could just do anything with your heart.

it’s always been that way. he’s always been a soft spot for you and even now as you stand your ground, you feel like if he reached deep enough he could get your heart back.

“i know, but, i feel like we could make it work if we tried.”, he replies, gently trying to grab your hand before you brush him off.

“satoru. there’s no way we can be together, not in a relationship anyway. you can’t be someone’s boyfriend, you know that.”, you reason.

your breakup with satoru was extremely messy. it’s not like he cheated or anything like that, but it was damn well close enough for you to leave him. the man always had commitment issues, trust issues, attachment issues. you name any of them and he probably has them. so, being with him has always been so chaotic.

it was too much for you. you’re still young and as much as you love him, you knew you couldn’t be with him any longer. especially when the final straw was catching him being a little too flirty with someone else.

“i can change. i can, baby. and i want to, it’s been hell since you’ve been gone. i feel like i’m losing you every time i watch you walk out my door.”, he utters, his voice shaky causing your heart to drop.

“please, satoru. i can’t have this conversation with you.”

“baby, please. just let me try. i miss you, so much.”, he walks closer to you, gently rubbing down your arms as you face away from him.

you couldn’t even look at the expression on his face. you had felt like you’d seen satoru in every way, but it was so rare that you ever saw him so.. desperate.

“please.”, he whispers once more.

you shake your head, your throat squeezing up as you remove satoru’s hands from you. you could not let him see how much this was affecting you, you know it’d fuel some sick part of him that believes you want him just as much as he wants you.

“no.”, his face drops.

“i’m gonna leave, now. i don’t want you to call me, and i don’t think we should be seeing each other again.”

“wait- what?”, he scrambles, his face panicked, “you’re telling me you’re just leaving me, again?”

“don’t do this, you know i won’t stop.”, he reminds her. god, she knew better than anyone he never stopped.

“i know! i know that, that’s why i’m leaving. i’m putting an end to everything.”, you raise your voice, your calm words from earlier clearly not even going through his ears.

“we’re toxic, satoru. we will never work, and you will never change. i love you, i really do but i can’t keep doing this, it’s driving me insane. when am i gonna get any peace?”, you rant on at him, seeing his face turn more and more guilty by the second.

satoru’s love could be overwhelming at times. he had so much to give but so much to take, and he will always be like that. you knew he loved you, no, obsessed is a better way to describe it. it was too suffocating for it to be love.

and you knew this was toxic, you knew sleeping with him wouldn’t have helped the situation any more, but old habits die hard and when he’s calling you at 2am, begging for you, to just fuck at least one more time, you really couldn’t control your body when you were already putting your shoes on.

“i’m really sorry. please, we can just forget everything i said. i cant just not have you at all.”, he pleads, something he’s good at.

you sigh, starting to put everything back in your makeup bag, not even caring that your makeup was half done at this point.

“wow, you’re actually leaving, again.”, he scoffs as you tune him out. you can’t do this, you don’t have the energy. physically and mentally. satoru could go on at you all day if he wanted.

as you finally speed off, satoru following your every move and pushing the front door before you could even reach it he asks, “are you really doing this? is this even what you want?”

you look up at him, seeing the wetness spread around his eyes, “we shouldn’t be together.”, you simple state.

“i know.”, he sighs, admitting defeat as he removes his arm from the door. he’s known this all along, but he wanted to be a little more selfish with you, “i just.. don’t wanna lose you.”

when he doesn’t get any response, not even one he hated, he says, “i love you.”, just one final time.

“i know.”, you sigh.

you turn the knob on his door, not taking a second glance at him as the cool breeze hit your face, stepping outside and leaving satoru gojo behind you, and hopefully for good this time.

© cinnamqnx | do not plagiarise or translate any of my work

[itsaintmebabe]

silver springs

summary: years after the outbreak, joel keeps seeing someone who shouldn't be alive—just a glimpse, always disappearing before he can be sure. on the road to jackson, a masked stranger steps out of the shadows, gun raised, eyes too familiar to ignore.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

notes: i love love love reunion fics, let me know if you guys like it! i would love to take any requests you have too! <3

The first time Joel saw her, he thought he was losing his damn mind.

It was in Boston—years after the world had ended—when he spotted a figure slipping between two crumbling buildings. The street was crowded, loud, bodies pressing against each other as people bartered and argued over scraps. But everything else faded the moment he saw her.

His breath caught. His heart slammed against his ribs.

It couldn't be.

Joel shoved his way through the market, ignoring the curses thrown his way, eyes locked on the spot where she had disappeared. His pulse roared in his ears as he turned the corner, boots skidding against the broken pavement.

But she was gone.

Just a ghost in the ruins. Another cruel trick of his memory.

Then it happened again. And again.

Always fleeting. Always just out of reach.

A silhouette in the firelight of a raider camp. A shadow disappearing around a corner in an abandoned QZ. Every time, he told himself it was nothing. Just someone who looked like her. Some stranger with her same gait, her same hair.

It was easier than the alternative.

Easier than believing she had been here all along, just beyond his grasp.

Easier than believing he had lost her twice.

────୨ৎ────

The wind howled through the trees, cutting through layers of fabric and sinking deep into the bone. Joel pulled his coat tighter, keeping a hand near his revolver as he and Ellie made their way through the frozen landscape.

They were close to Jackson now.

Joel could feel it.

Ellie trudged ahead, boots crunching against the ice-covered dirt. “You ever been to Wyoming before?” she asked, breath curling in the cold air.

Joel huffed. “No.”

She kicked a rock down the path. “Think Tommy’s gonna be happy to see you?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Ellie snorted. “Sounds promising.”

She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, voice more careful this time.

“So… that picture.”

Joel’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Ellie hesitated. “The Polaroid. The one in your bag. With you and—”

Joel cut her off with a sharp look. “Drop it.”

She frowned. “C’mon, man. I saw it.”

Joel clenched his jaw, his shoulders going stiff. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

Ellie huffed. “Sure doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Because she had seen it.

The faded Polaroid buried at the bottom of his bag, edges worn soft from years of being handled. Sarah had taken it—back before everything fell apart.

Joel stood in the frame, arm wrapped tight around Y/n’s waist, his head tilted just slightly as he looked at her. Not at the camera. At her. And Y/n—she had been smiling, really smiling, wide and bright. Ellie had never seen Joel look like that before, happy.

And now, he was acting like it didn’t exist.

Joel didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her. Just kept his gaze fixed ahead, hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

Ellie sighed, kicking another rock. “Fine. Whatever.”

But she wasn’t stupid.

Whoever she was—whoever had taken that picture, had captured that moment—she mattered.

More than Joel was willing to admit.

────୨ৎ────

Then— snap.

Joel stilled.

Ellie went rigid beside him, both of them drawing their weapons in a single, practiced motion.

The trees loomed over them, dark and endless, the wind shifting through the branches.

Then—movement.

A figure stepped forward, their boots crunching against the frozen ground. They wore a thick coat, dusted with frost, a rifle slung across their back. But it was the mask that set Joel’s teeth on edge. It covered everything but their eyes—worn, tattered, like it had been pulled from the wreckage of a life long gone.

“Drop the guns,” the figure said.

The voice was muffled, but something about it made Joel’s stomach turn.

Ellie stiffened. “I don’t think so.”

Joel barely heard her.

Because suddenly, none of this felt real.

His grip tightened on his gun. The wind cut sharp through the trees, but his body burned, his blood pounding as something ancient and wrong crawled up his spine.

He knew that voice.

His throat felt tight. “Take off the mask.”

The figure hesitated.

Then, slowly, they reached up, fingers trembling just slightly, and pulled it away.

Joel’s world stopped.

It was her.

Older, leaner—sharpened by the years, by the fight. But still her. The same eyes that had haunted him for two decades.

A breath punched from his chest, like something had reached inside and squeezed the air from his lungs.

Ellie’s voice broke through the silence, barely above a whisper.

“Oh my god.”

Joel didn’t move. Couldn’t. His feet felt rooted to the ground, his mind reeling as he stared at the impossible.

His hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach for her. To hold her. But she didn’t move.

The rifle was still firm in her hands, the barrel not pointed at him, but not lowered either.

“Y/n,” he breathed, stepping forward.

She stepped back.

His chest tightened.

She was looking at him like she wasn’t sure if he was real. Like he was something fragile, something impossible. Like if she blinked, he might disappear.

His voice wavered. “It’s me.”

She shook her head, lips parted, her breath shaky in the cold air.

Joel took another step forward.

And she took another step back.

His heart pounded as he reached for her rifle—not yanking, not forcing—just wrapping his fingers over it, solid and warm.

Her grip resisted for just a moment. A moment of hesitation, of silent disbelief, of fear that if she let go, this would all shatter into nothing.

Then—her fingers loosened.

And the rifle fell between them, landing in the snow with a muffled thud.

Joel’s breath came ragged, his chest tight with something too big to name.

Y/n stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted. Her hands twitched at her sides before—slowly, hesitantly—one of them reached up.

Fingers ghosted over his jaw, tracing the scruff, the rough lines of his face. Over the creases in his forehead, the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

Like she was memorizing him.

Like she was afraid he would vanish if she didn’t.

Joel swallowed hard, his throat burning.

“‘M real,” he rasped.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers trembled as they pressed against his skin, as if expecting them to go right through.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and her lips parted like she was about to say something—maybe his name, maybe a curse, maybe nothing at all—before she was moving.

And Joel was catching.

His arms wrapped around her, locking her against him, holding her so damn tight he could barely breathe.

She gasped softly, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, gripping desperately, as if she was afraid to let go.

Joel buried his face in her hair, squeezing his eyes shut, breathing her in.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured, voice breaking.

Her body shuddered against him. She clenched her fists tighter in his coat, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.

“I looked for you,” she choked out. “Everywhere.”

The words shattered something inside him.

Because there was pain in them. Guilt, regret—love.

And just like that, all those years of silence, of searching, of ghosts and longing—

They collapsed.

Into the warmth of her body against his. Into the way she whispered his name like it hurt.

Joel clutched her impossibly closer, afraid to let go.

Afraid that if he did, she might vanish all over again.

[jjscrybaby]

jj maybank x sweetheart!reader | hurt & comfort | (gun violence, anxious!reader, comforting!jj.)

this is based on season 1 episode 1 but i did get the idea to write it from @blueheron15 !! i’m gonna write more scenes from the show with this pairing i think but as always keep sending reqs!

i went back and changed some things to do with sarah and john b in the first thing i posted for sweetheart!reader because i want it all to make sense timeline wise so it wouldn’t add up for reader to meet jj through sarah!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

The entire day had felt like torture for you. The others had enjoyed themselves, a day of adventure and excitement which you hadn’t all felt for a while, you felt the opposite. All of it was too much, the gun, the money, the dead body showing up. It was too much, maybe that’s why you’d agreed to the kegger so easily. Getting drunk can do nothing but calm you down.

“Okay, baby?” JJ asked softly as you came and sat down on his lap halfway through the night.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sipping on your bitter beer; there weren’t any other options and you weren’t in a complaining mood.

“Yeah? Why you lookin’ at me all grumpy then, huh?” He teased, poking your cheek.

You pretended to bite his finger, causing him to let out a mock gasp which had you giggling in his arms. He smiled sweetly at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Just an overwhelming day.”

“Yeah, but it was fun,” JJ replied.

“For you.”

“Maybe, but you had fun earlier when we were on the boat. And I know you liked bein’ pressed up against me on the ledge,” he teased, making your cheeks heat up at the memory.

“Shut it, Jayj. Didn’t have a choice, you forced me to come along,” you pouted.

He ran his finger over your lip, mocking you with the same expression. “C’mon, cheer up baby. Nothin’ else out of the ordinary is gonna happen, okay? We’re just havin’ a drink with our friends, and people we hate.” He pointed to the group of Kooks on the far end of the beach.

“Sarah’s nice,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Is she?” He’d never really heard you talk about her, all he knew was what Kiara had told him about her so he assumed that meant that you weren’t a fan of the blonde also.

“She hangs out with me at school sometimes. Kie doesn’t mind, I already checked,” you explained. JJ smiled softly at you, of course you’d made sure Kiara was okay with you talking to Sarah. You were just too sweet.

“She hangs with you at school?” JJ knew you weren’t a huge fan of school. A lot of the Kook’s used to take advantage of your kindness, and that lead to him having some serious conversations with them. No one bothers you anymore, but most also don’t make an effort to even get to know you.

You nodded your head, sipping your drink again. You weren’t feeling the buzz that you wanted. “We eat lunch together sometimes, or, like, we partner up for projects.”

“That’s nice, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your temple.

It was nice, and that was probably why later that night, when he’d had enough drinks to last a lifetime, he offered Sarah his spare drink. He meant no harm, he was just happy that someone at school was making you happy. It only took a minute for things to go wrong.

John B had saved JJ from a fight with Topper, something that’s happened more times than he could count, but Topper just had to have the last word. “Dirty Pogues!” It had sent John B reeling, turning around to shove him.

From there, it just spiralled. One moment Topper was winning, the next John B was, and soon enough the Kook had one of your best friend’s heads held under water.

“He’s drowning him!” Pope exclaimed.

JJ saw red. You watched as the blonde rushed over, and then the click of the gun safety echoed through your ears. That damn gun. It was held to Topper’s head, everyone seemed to freeze as they realised what was going on.

“Yeah, you know what that is. Your move, broski,” you could hear JJ threaten.

You were frozen. On one hand, you weren’t sure he had much other choice? If he hadn’t stepped in then there’s a high likelihood Topper wouldn’t have stopped until John B was dead. On the other hand, he was holding a gun to someone’s head; that spoke for itself.

The crowd dispersed, terrified of the mad man with the gun, leaving just your group of friends and Sarah and Kelce to deal with the aftermath.

“JJ! Put the gun down,” Sarah pleaded.

“Did you say somethin’, Princess?” JJ asked, not even turning to look at her.

“We’re good, we’re good,” Topper exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender as he slowly started to stand up.

“Kie! Can you check your psycho friend, please?” You didn’t necessarily like Sarah calling JJ a psycho, but he was sort of acting like one. You’d be the same if it was Topper holding a gun to JJ’s head; you’d probably be worse.

“Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!” JJ yelled, holding the gun in the air as he shot it off twice.

That was what did it. The waterworks were set off and you started to panic. You weren’t scared of JJ, you were scared for him. He just fired a gun, he could go to jail! You couldn’t help but to start crying as the overwhelming situation took over.

“Are you crazy? You idiot!” Pope exclaimed as both him and Kiara shoved JJ. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s not worth it!” Kie added.

“I’m saying his life, okay?” JJ argued.

It took only a few seconds for him to look at you. He was expecting you to be angry, not crying.

“You’re gonna jeopardise everything!” Pope carried on, but JJ wasn’t listening to the lecture anymore.

“Hey, hey, baby.” JJ rushed to your side, cupping your face in his hands. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you whispered, afraid of Pope and Kiara’s reactions to what you were worried about.

JJ’s eyebrows furrowed, he grabbed your hand in his as Kie and Pope ran over to help John B. He dragged you — gently — down the beach and away from the still lingering party-goers. His hands found your waist, tugging you so you were chest to chest.

“You don’t gotta worry about me getting in trouble, okay?” He soothed, stroking your hair.

“I don’t want you to go to jail!” You argued, sobs still leaving your mouth just at the thought.

“Alright, alright.” He was trying his best to not let the amusement show on his face. He couldn’t help it, you were just so cute. “No one’s going to jail, okay? I promise. I’m fine. Now, do you want to stand here crying or do you want to go home?”

“With you?” You checked, wiping the tears from your face.

He smiled down at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart. With me.”

[ireverie]

risky, sjy (ft pjs)

ᯤ that was too close

ׂ╰┈➤ smut, cheating, stepcest

your pajama shorts are bunched beneath your knees as they nearly knock into the bottom cabinet of the bathroom sink, your hands bracing the counter for purchase as jake roughly ruts into you from behind.

you don’t have to struggle to keep your lips closed. jake’s hand is flush against your mouth, the side of his index finger pressing slightly into your nose as his thumb jabs into your cheekbone and his pinky curves underneath your jaw. your quick breaths fan hotly against his palm and every sound is muffled.

to be fair, you had tried to stop him. you had tried to be a good, faithful girlfriend, telling jake that what you had together was in the past and he needed to let it go. but he didn’t listen. he sat you on top of the counter of the shared bathroom connecting his bedroom and your one when you still lived here, and ate you out.

if nothing else could convince you, that definitely did. 

maybe it was a bad idea to bring your boyfriend back home with you, but your parents had been dying to meet him and you could no longer put it off. you knew jake wouldn’t be happy, considering that you used to hook up before you moved out, but you didn’t expect him to take it this far.

heart unfurls in the tightening pit of your stomach as you feel jake’s thick cock so deep in your guts, stretching you past your limits just the way you remember. you hate that it feels so good, so familiar. he knows all the tricks to make your walls gush around him, kneading his cock and selfishly squeezing every drop of cum out of him. 

it’s not that your boyfriend is bad in bed, but damn, nothing can compare to the dick of the man that claimed your virginity and used to take you every day. his sex drive was insatiable, always down to blow your back out, always wanting you. more often than not, you were fucking with his hand clamped over your mouth when your parents were home, and fucking all over the house when they were not.

speak of the devil and he shall appear. there’s a knock at the door, from your bedroom. “babe?” jay, your boyfriend, calls out. “how much longer? i wanna cuddle.”

you stiffen, eyes widening as you meet jake’s gaze in the mirror. your bodies are sticking together, almost like you were never meant to be separated. jake leans into your ear, whispering, “talk to him, but don’t make a sound.”

jake doesn’t stop fucking you, merely moving his hand away from your mouth so that you can speak. you swallow the lump in your throat, your voice sounding a little breathless. “my stomach hurts, baby. it’s gonna be a minute.”

you can practically hear the frown on jay’s face, even though you can’t see him. “aw, i’m sorry, baby. do you want tummy kisses when you get out?”

jake scoffs from behind you. at that, he starts to slap his hips into yours even harder, damn near ripping a gasp from the back of your throat. he’s hitting all the right spots, knowing your body all too well. better than he should. at one particular thrust, you moan, wincing your eyes in regret.

“what was that?” jay asks, still hovering near the door. you curse under your breath, remembering that you didn’t respond. 

“sorry,” you call out stiffly, balling your hands into fists. your nails dig painfully into your palms. “it just really hurts.”

again, jake scoffs. this time, it doesn’t seem to be out of anger; it’s amusement. “hurts, huh?” he repeats. “doesn’t look like you’re hurting.”

“shut up,” you hiss irritably. it’s his fault you’re in this situation in the first place.

“okay, baby. i’ll be here when you come out,” jay answers sadly, likely feeling bad for you. he doesn’t like when you’re in pain; he drops everything to take care of you when you’re on your period.

“okay,” you echo, fighting back another moan with everything you have. jake isn’t making it easy. he says not to make a sound, but with how he’s fucking you nice and rough, lips brushing against your skin just the way you like, you would think he’s trying to get you to react on purpose. “i’m probably gonna take a shower first.”

“i’ll wait up,” jay calls back. you hear his footsteps, figuring that he’s finally turned back and gotten into your bed.

jake huffs, like he’s unsatisfied. not that he would ever say that. “so close,” he murmurs.

you exhale, relaxing your hands and tightening them again immediately as jake strokes your sweet spot. “too close,” you say, throbbing as you take in the sight of his body molding into yours in the mirror.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Love?

Warning, this story contains explicit content!

“So, I’m not going to Rask then?” Azriel raises a brow and you can see the fire sparking in his veins. A fire full of anger and betrayal. Another spymaster job Rhys doesn’t grant him to go on. 

“Exactly,” Rhys answers tightly, nonchalantly sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants as if not noticing the turmoil within his brother. But you know he notices and probably has good reasons to not send Azriel to the continent. You gather that it simply is too dangerous right now. He would risk his life, and that of his family, and Rhysand can’t allow that.

“Oh come on!” Azriel growls and throws his arms up in despair. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you trust me anymore? Is that why you give me no jobs anymore? Why you trap within this damn court!”

You press your lips together, shoulders slouching. He would never speak about the Night Court in that way. Only if he’s really disappointed, or angry.

You want to confort him, to go up to him and hug him, hold him, or at least hold his hand. But your relationship, if you can call it that, is still secret and now is not the right moment to put the cards on the table. 

“Az…” Rhys says calmly, though his body tenses. “You need to understand. I’m doing this because of Feyre, because of the ba–”

“Fuck of, Rhys, I mean it, fuck..,,” The rest of his curse is muffled, and swallowed by the rustling of his wings when Azriel dashes out of the room, shadows vividly swirling behind him. The door slams shut with a loud thump, rattling even the cutlery in the kitchen. 

For a moment silence falls upon you, no one moves until the High Lord blows out a long, pent-up breath and throws his head back. Once straightening up again, he turns to the door but you beat him to it. Sliding off the chair quickly, you hurdle to the door and grab the handle before he can do so.

“I’ll go talk to him,” you tell Rhys and pull down the handle. “I‘m not sure he‘ll listen, but I can at least try.”

Azriel is one of the most stubborn males you have ever met. And he is proud, too proud, and hates when Rhys denies him a mission. You don’t know if your words will even break through the hard shell he often builds around himself when brooding, but you can at least try your best.

The corridor and also the staircase is dark, and slightly chilly, only a hint of moonlight lighting up the narrow space as you walk up to his room, thinking of the best way to approach him and not upset him any further.

You knock gently at first, a little louder when he doesn’t answer and then simply walk into the room when he ignores you a third time. 

Males.

Eyes closed, legs crossed at the ankles and head tipped back, he’s leaning against the bedrest of his bed, shadows lazily moving around him. “What?” he grumbles.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him. “Can we talk?” You pull your lower lip between your teeth, trying to keep your voice level and not let your irritation show.

“If you want to tell me that Rhys is right and I’m once again the idiot, you can immediately leave through the door you just walked in.” Azriel points a dismissive thumb at the door. He slowly lifts his head, his eyes open but are fixed on a point on the wall opposite him.

You frown at him. “I’m not here to talk about that, but to make you understand why he reacted like he did.”

“I’m not fucking stupid, I don’t need another explanation.”

“Well, you clearly understood it wrong, so–”

Azriel’s gaze darts to you, brown eyes still full of betrayal and hurt. “I’m not in the mood for this bullshit.”

“I know.” You let the door close behind you and walk into the room, still keeping a fine distance between the two of you. Then you exhale loudly. “He did it because of love. Because he loves–”

“Love?” Azriel's voice drips with mockery. “What do you know about–”

“Love?” you spit. “Clearly more than you.” The words slip through your lips and hit Azriel like a harsh slap. His eyes widen, shock filling them. But it’s too late to turn back now, so you add, “I’m not the one who is scared of it, to admit my love out loud, to tell you how I feel. Azriel, I know what loving someone means. And Rhys does not only love Feyre and his children, and wants to protect them at all costs, but he also loves you.”

Your nostrils flare when he doesn’t answer, only staring at you, and you wish you knew what was going through his mind.

“I told you that I loved you,” he finally mutters, dropping his gaze to his lap and his fidgeting fingers. “I said it back. I–”

“When we were fucking!” Your voice rises, hollowing through the suddenly very cold room. “It was the only damn time you said it. The only time you told me you loved. While you were fucking me, Azriel. While you had me on my knees, my ass up, my face pressed into the pillow. You couldn’t even say it straight to my face. Or while looking into my eyes!”

The frustration and slight anger about his unsaid words that has gathered over the past weeks, now bubbles up and gets the best of you.

“That doesn’t make it any less true,” Azriel breathes, and slowly, so painfully slowly, his gaze lifts.

You inhale a deep breath and pause. Then finally with a voice tinged with hurt, you say, “For me, it does.”

"Y/N …" He rubs his hand down his face, and there’s so much regret in his eyes when his gaze finds yours again, you can barely stand it. "Why did you never say anything? I had no idea."

You shake your head with a humorless laugh. "You’re such a male, obviously you wouldn’t know." Then you pull your lip between your teeth. "And I didn’t want to seem like a fool. I thought maybe this was only casual fun between us and nothing more—"

He is on you in an instant, your back hitting the wall as he captures your jaw in his palm, his other hand braced on the wall beside you. “Y/N, I love you.” He locks his gaze with yours. “I am in love with you. I am so in love with you. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn’t love you.” He drops his head, his forehead touching yours. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He whispers over and over again until you finally start to believe it.

"And you really mean it." You meet his eyes. "You’re not just saying it to make me feel better?"

Azriel's eyes soften, and he gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean it with every fibre of my being, with everything I am. I’m such a fool for not saying it more often, out loud for the whole world to hear." He gives his head a shake and deep crease forms on his forehead. "And…and I was scared." 

His head drops to your shoulder and for a moment he doesn’t continue, only breathes in your scent and then kisses your collarbone. 

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. "Of what?" you find yourself asking after a few moments of silence. 

As he lifts his head, his eyes slowly open, a pained expression crossing his face. “Because I was scared. Scared if I let you in completely that you would see how broken I really am. And maybe that you would think … I’m desperate. That I tell you how much I love you too soon, that you aren’t ready yet. That you aren’t there yet."

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands. “Azriel, I would never think you’re broken, and even if you are, then I want to help you fix these broken pieces. You don’t have to be perfect for me. I just need you to be you."

He leans into your touch, his eyes glistening with tears. “I love you," he whispers and this time it is really honest. "Can you forgive me?“

You pull him into a tight embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “If you never assume my feelings for you again. I love you, and I’ve told you so before. Don’t ever think I’m not ready to say it out loud, to confess my love for you out loud, to love you openly and freely."

He holds you close, his voice a whisper in your ear. “Let me show you that I mean it.” Azriel kisses your neck. “You spoke of us fucking and I don’t like this word to describe what it feels like between us. Let me make love to you. Let me show you how much I love you. Let me worship you."

Driven by desire and the wonderful four letter word, you both discard off your clothes in an instant, leaving you bare and fully exposed on the bed in front of him.

Azriel is kneeling between your thighs, your feet braced on either side of his hips as his heated gaze drops to your core. It‘s where damp heat already pools and soon Azriel’s mouth finds its place, to lick, and feast and devour. Soft, quick pants leave you when your eyelids start to feel heavy as you fully give yourself to him. Slowly dissolving into heat and pleasure.

Your knuckles turn white from how tightly you hold onto the pillows next to you, watching Azriel dip his head between your thighs. A low groan leaves Azriel, the sound raw and primal, turning you molten, and your legs begin to tremble. Your back arches into him, into the soft brush of his lips against your core, the feel of his tongue inside of you, but his firm grip on your thighs only tightens. He keeps you in place, exactly where he wants you to be.

"You taste—" He starts and drives his tongue into you once more, licking one long stroke from your centre up to your clit. "Divine."

He meets your gaze, watching for your reaction. But you can’t answer, you’re rendered dumb, feeling too hot, your nerves too stimulated. You can only moan and it makes the shadowsinger grin against your wet heat.

The strong tendons of his throat stand out when he clenches his jaw, his pupils dilating even more when he dips his head again. The broad stroke of his tongue through your silken folds up to the apex of your thighs, has you squirming. Your back arches even more, your hips lift, pressing against his face and a lewd gasp leaves you. 

It is the firm grip of his scarred hands that places you back on the bed, that holds you tightly, that limits your movements. Azriel chuckles lowly, sending vibrations and hot air right into your core. You squirm against him and the shadowsinger tips his head back only an inch. “Baby,” he coos, grinning, his lips glistening with saliva and your arousal. “Relax and let me worship you properly. Let me show you how much I love you. How much I need you.”

Using first one and then two scarred fingers, he brings out the most pleasure as he feasts, his tongue driving deep into. He licks and suckles, holding you firmly, the sounds that leave his mouth sounding like a sin in your ears. Azriel is like a hungry, starved male, his primal need fully unleashed, his restraints gone. You wreathe beneath his ministration, your walls clenching before you shatter, fall apart and fully dissolve into pleasure, crying out his name.

Wave after wave of hot pleasure wash over you, pulling you under, drowning you in passion and desire. And love.

You come with his name on your lips.

Azriel lets you ride out your height, softly guiding you through it, his tongue and lips still sloppily licking and kissing your sex and then a slow path up your belly. "I love you. I love you. I love you so much." He whispers against your navel, kissing your soft skin, up to the valley of your breasts. "I love you." 

Azriel pampers your collar bone in small pecks, all the while he tells you he loves you, over and over again until his mouth finds yours. But before he kisses you a second time, he holds your gaze and smiles. "I love you, Y/N, and I‘m sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn’t. I want the whole world to know how much I love you. And that," —he kisses you— "you‘re mine. Fully and completely."

He leans down and flicks his tongue over the hardened peak of your breast, while he positions his hard length against your entrance. His lips close around your nipple, licking, suckling. 

“Yes?” Azriel breathes against your breast. Your hips give a little jerk, making him slide him just the slightest bit. You revel in the feeling of the crown of broad cock pressing against you.

But he doesn’t move, doesn’t allow you to rub your hips against him any further. Instead, he says, "Words, baby. Use your words. Tell me what you want."

“I need you, Az. I need you in me. Please. Please, make love to me!”

Azriel’s reaches down between your bodies and adjusts himself between your thighs, softly pressing against your hot flesh. “Look at your dripping cunt, already soaking me.“ He grins as he meets your eyes again, but there’s an emotion in his eyes that catches your attention. One that makes tears spring to your heavy-lidded eyes. Love. 

Then he slides in and it has you both gasping. Both of you look down at where you are connected. Azriel’s lips part in a silent hiss. “Fuck your perfect. Your tight little pussy is gripping my cock so well.”

Azriel stretches you out to the fullest as he slides further into you, slowly pulling out and then moving into you again, making you feel every inch of his glorious, hard length, and drawing out the utmost pleasure from you. 

He leans in, softly brushing his lips against yours. “We were made for one another." Then he pushes into the hilt. The same moment, your hand slides into the hair at the back of his neck and your lips close over his. “We do,” you whisper. “You feel so good, Azriel.”

Azriel’s lips curl against yours when he stills for a moment, letting you both savour the moment.

Once you fall into the perfect rhythm of soft, gentle love making, his hips brushing yours with every time he moves deep into you, one of his hands slides to your lower belly gently adding pressure. You pull your legs up, curling them around his waist and moan at the feeling of it. Gods, it truly feels perfect. 

“Az…“ you whine, your eyes rolling back in your head as your nails pierce the skin on his shoulders. 

His entire body covers you, his wings flared, creating something like a cocoon around you. And then he kisses you deeply, with fever and passion, his tongue meetings yours with every stroke and his pace increases. 

“Tell me how good I make you feel,” Azriel whispers when his lips close over your lips once more. You love his cocky confidence in the bedroom and how sure he is off his skills when you’re tangled in the sheets.

“So good,” you breathe through gritted teeth, your head thrown back, your eyes squeezed closed, the sound of skin moving against skin in your ears.

Azriel kisses a path down to your breasts, taking your right nipple into his mouth. He hums against our skin and you can feel yourself clench around him. 

"I'm close.“ You let your nails scratch down his back as you cry out.

"Let go." You know he can feel you tighten around him, your walls hugging him tightly, almost milking his cock. 

The spymaster’s pace turns softer once more, slowly, steadily moving in and out of you. His thrusts are long and coordinated now. A lewd sob parts your lips, as your back bows of the bed. Calluses scrape over your soft skin when Azriel’s hand slides up your body, cradling your face. He lowers his forehead to yours, exhaling warm air that feels like a summer breeze against your skin.

"Look at me," he demands softly. "Look at me and let me see the pretty look on your face when you come around me."

And so you open your eyes, pupils fully dilated, mouth still agape. 

"Good girl,“ he praises and a grin forms on his lips. "I love you so much."

Your back arches, pressing against the solid body of your lover, your mouths meeting in a sloppy brush of lips and teeth and tongues. Azriel’s stomach flexes, cock twitching and balls tightening. He’s close as well, but he always wants to make sure you come first. Or at least that you come at the same time.

Giving you the last little push you need, he thumbs clit, rubbing small circles against the bundle of nerves, adding the tiniest bit of extra pleasure that lets you fall over the edge and dissolve into pleasure.

Your pants come out quicker, your moans getting higher. You claw at his shoulders, flecks of white and black sparking in your vision when your eyes roll back. You clench around him, and a lewd cry parts your lips as you come. 

Azriel follows you not even a second later, his entire body trembling as his release spurts against your walls, his forehead dropping to yours. 

"I love you, baby. I love you so much,“ he breathes against your skin, cradling your face. "I love you."

Together, you ride out your high, hips moving sloppily against one another, mouths occasionally meeting in open-mouthed kisses as you continue to whisper sweet declarations and words of love.

And when you finally lie in each other’s arms, you meet his eyes and say, "See, I know a lot about love."

Azriel smirks and simultaneously pinches your butt. "Smartass."

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @cadiawrites @bookishbroadwaybish @tele86 @fuckingsimp4azriel

[mossangelll]

Out of all the arcane sugar daddies/mommies: who do you think are most likely to fall/want a relationship with their sugar baby🤔

OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR ASKING THIS!!! honestly thinking of starting a series based on this concept - it’s so fun ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

based on this work!

cw: mentions of sex

Caitlyn

Cait is very repressed when it comes to relationships. I mentioned in a previous work that her childhood was probably a bit devoid of affection in the sense that she wasn’t treated so much as a child but as a future heir who had to be perfect which definitely contributes to this complex. This isn’t to say her parents didn’t love her, they definitely did, but they did instil these impossible expectations that leached over into her love life and the expectations she has for herself and her future partner. I mean, the whole reason she went on a sugar baby site was because she dedicates her whole life to work and pushes aside love. This isn’t because she doesn’t want it, quite the opposite - she wants it badly but knows that whoever she chooses has to live up to her family’s expectations and come to terms that for Cait, the Kiramman house will always come first.

This is why Cait opts for a “no strings attached” arrangement because in her mind, this is the best outcome she can hope for. Someone to keep the loneliness at bay while she focuses on what’s important. That is until she meets you and gets to truly know you as a person; it goes from a simple dinner date to her buying you a penthouse - she’s down bad.

Her friends warn her that you’re just a gold digger, that this isn’t a long-term arrangement and that she deserves someone of a higher standing. She couldn’t care less. You truly get her, not the version of her who is the genius heir to an important family, but the version of her who wants to chase her own dreams and simply slow down. Being with you doesn’t feel like a societal obligation or an

She would agonise over how to tell you that she wants more from you, from the both of you. Cait is definitely the kind of person who gets unbelievably sappy after sex and so she can’t help but whisper out those three important words when she thinks you’re asleep. Except you’re not. When she realises, she freaks out and ditches your place 😭 She basically goes into hiding for a week as she works out what exactly the next step is and how she should approach the situation.

You’re hurt that she would leave you, especially since you were just about to say “I love you” back so with the help of your friends you refuse to contact her first, and she’s hurt since you haven’t contacted her and it makes her wonder if maybe her friends were right and you didn’t really care about her. Two idiots in love. Eventually, Cait comes to her senses and visits your penthouse with a a bouquet of those flowers that last a whole year without wilting. A show of her immense love for you.

Needless to say you’re beyond happy that you’ve finally reunited and from that moment on you two are official, society and familial expectations be damned.

Jayce

Oh Jayce.

Another one who is inexperienced when it comes to love and serious, committed relationships. Again, he focused a lot of time on his research and didn’t have the time for anything more than short flings and hookups.

At first he genuinely isn’t looking for anything serious with you, he has work and friends to keep him occupied enough. It would take a while before he starts to view you in a more romantic, genuine way since building a deep bond is very important to him. But when he does realise? He doesn’t want to let you go.

You two had agreed that you weren’t exclusive, but after many months of seeing each other, he had stopped going on dates with others and had to suffer in excruciating silence when you talked to him about someone you had a nice time with last night. It was his fault for asking, but can you blame him - he needs to scope out the competition! Because of this he ends up coming across a bit petulant, starting petty arguments with you as if you were cheating even though it was clearly agreed there were no strings attached.

You can only tolerate so much of this behaviour though. After all, you have an obligation to go on dates with him when he pays, but it’s hard to enjoy your time when he’s practically interrogating you on your date last night. So, you put an end to this as soon as possible, you do like Jayce a lot and can’t stomach being in this weird, uncomfortable limbo with him. It’s nerve wracking for sure, asking out a chancellor, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world when you see the way his eyes light up and his jaw drops, revealing his ever-so-slightly gapped teeth. Being able to reduce such a big man to a puddle of shock is quite exciting.

From then on, he uses every excuse and chance he has to slip in the fact you’re his girlfriend into the most unrelated conversations. He’s ridiculous 😭

It’s a bit awkward because as a chancellor, people talk and talk they did when they caught onto the fact that you were his sugar baby. But you’re his now and he does not tolerate people speaking ill of you or what you used to do in the past. None of that matters, especially not now that you’ve confessed your love for each other!

The moment you come to him with tears in your eyes over nasty comments (sure, you’ve built a thick skin over the years but nothing compares to the cattiness of rich aristocrats) he is finding that person and having words. Or, if he wants to create a more lasting impact, he uses his connections to bad talk the person and limit the job opportunities they get with members of the council.

Despite taking a little longer to realise his feelings compared to the other two, he would be the quickest out of them all to propose. Now that he knows that you’re the love of his life, more important than even his hextech, he doesn’t want to wait any longer to solidify your relationship and show the world the scope of your love <3

Vander

Vander is older than you which complicates your relationship from the get-go; no matter how much he yearns for for something more than this arrangement, it feels wholly inappropriate. Just the thought of meeting your parents, people closer in age to him than he is to you, makes him wince.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from acting more like your boyfriend more than just some guy who spoils you in return for your time. He picks you and your friends up from the club, gives you back rubs when you complain about a long day of work, even gossips with you about random celebrities he knows nothing about. He is sooooo whipped he practically has heart eyes whenever he so much as thinks about you. He admires everything about you and sometimes the doubt weighs down on him - you’re perfect in his eyes and it makes him believe that if he wasn’t essentially paying you to be with him, you wouldn’t have looked twice at him.

In this situation, he is so hopeless you would have to be the one to reach out to him and ask for a serious relationship. He would be taken aback, sure he knows he’s attractive but wouldn’t you want someone your own age? Someone you wouldn’t feel ashamed being with openly? Once he gets over all his fears and doubts this guy goes all out - he’s in love! Every time you guys get intimate, he can’t help but call it “making love” since now it’s something special that truly means a lot to you both.

Expect to be spoiled™️ when it’s time for holidays such as valentines and christmas. He doesn’t even expect anything from you, your presence is a gift enough for him, but if you do get him something (especially a well-thought out gift that shows how much you care) this man is bear hugging you with tears in his eyes. He is beyond ecstatic that he found his special someone, even if it happened in a very unorthodox way :’)

special mentions: jinx, viktor

masterlist

[thefatesofspring]

The suicide baiting in FaS & SF is honestly enough to send anyone over the edge.

Like I just don’t get how a woman who said she went through extreme depression/trauma in her personal life & that writing FaS & SF was her way of working through that & helping to heal herself only to then turn around & write not one but two of the most habitually abusive main male characters in the series (excluding the actual bad/villainous characters) who are supposed to be somewhat “good, misunderstood & understanding” characters & have them suicide-bait two other characters (Tamlin & Nesta) whom without them Rhysand & Cassian would NOT be alive.

Nesta & Tamlin are already at the lowest points in their lives & she really thought having Cassian tell Nesta everybody hates her, he doesn’t know why her sisters love her, having him neither agree or disagree that she belongs in the HC & that damn suicide hike was really the way to go?????????

To have Rhysand say to Tamlin that he can off himself after he’s helped in the war & by extension help keep Rhysand & Feyre alive…AGAIN (since they’re in a death pact together) is the way to go????????

I just don’t understand how she really thought that for Nesta, “yep this is a love worth going through hell for”

No.

Or how she thought having Rhysand trespass into The Spring Court & tell Tamlin not only is he ungrateful for Tamlin helping to bring him but that his own wife & mate isn’t enough…😬

Yeah…NO.

[slightlyconcious]

A:N: first post on here.... !! ofc with my main man

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, fingering, etc, etc, (it's smut)

It was obvious to everyone else, even if the two of you were oblivious to the other’s longing gazes and heated expressions. “Oh they totally like each other, you kidding me?” was a phrase passed around the prison often as more and more of the group caught on to the feelings simmering between you and Daryl. You thought you were being coy about it, that no one could tell. Lucky for you, the one person who’s opinion really mattered was just as blind to things as you were. 

Daryl had been into you ever since he met you, just the way you carried yourself intrigued him to no end. All he ever wanted to know was what you were thinking, more than he had ever wanted anything else, and he wished for once, he was the kind of man who could carry a conversation with you to draw those thoughts of yours out of you. 

As for you, well there was something just as attractive in Daryl. You had endless admiration for the man. Everything he did to protect the group, that gruff exterior hiding the kindness in his heart. And those arms. Jesus Christ those arms. 

*     *     *

You’ve been waiting by the gate for Daryl, nervously anticipating the run you had to go on together. You know it was kind of pathetic, the amount of time you’d spent in the cracked up bathroom mirror this morning getting ready, making sure your hair and outfit were just that perfect amount of cute and functional. The sight of you standing by the fence line, rocking on your heels excitedly almost took Daryl’s breath away. Your bare forearms and the crescent moon of your collarbones in your shirt made him shiver, just thinking of touching your smooth, soft skin. 

“Hey,” he says. Approaching with his bike in tow and his crossbow hung over his shoulder. 

“Hey,” you smile, blushing slightly at the sound of his gruff, low voice. The warmth dotting your cheeks like freckles. 

“You ready for the run?” There’s a hint of worry in his voice. 

“Mhm,” you nod, “we’re taking your bike, right?” You couldn’t help anticipating the feeling of him against you. Hours on end of the two of you pressed together on the bike. He shrugs and motions for you to climb on. His heart’s beating out his chest, and he knows he can’t say anything for fear his voice will reveal everything he’s feeling. 

Halfway across the prison field Carol and Maggie are watching the two you head off on the run, “you think they’ll finally come to their senses?” Maggie asks. 

“I doubt it, those two are gonna spend the next couple years circling each other like a couple of damn dogs.” Carol laughs. 

*     *     *

The tension of the ride is almost unbearable. Of course, both of you think it’s all just in your head. The run goes well, but you can barely keep your cool together through all of it. Distracted by him, the careful way he walks and the concentration of every movement. On the way back you try to calm down, slow down your breathing. 

The strength in his back and the way his shoulder blades flex as he grips the steering wheel is driving you crazy. You watch the road fly by beside you. Trying to concentrate on anything except for your thoughts running wild, thinking of him taking you against this bike. The way he’d feel inside you. 

Stop it.

Get a grip. He doesn’t like you. 

You tell yourself and grit your teeth a little harder. Out in the distance of the woods you suddenly see a flash of color. Recognition fills your senses and you absently lick your lips. 

“Daryl, wait, did you see that?” You say, leaning closer to his ear to speak over the roar of the wind. 

He slows the bike a little, fidgeting at the throttle like he’s not sure if he should speed up or not, “what? walker?” 

“No, it looked like berry bushes.” You tell him, “we shoulda stopped,” you can’t help but be a little disappointed at the thought. You haven’t had fresh fruit in so long. 

“Nah, we can,” Daryl says and suddenly jerks the bike in a 180. You have to clutch the sides of his jacket to keep from falling off and a slight squeak leaves your mouth in surprise. “Where’d ya see it?” Daryl asks. Eyes scanning the horizon of the woods. 

“Just a couple miles back.” You say, still surprised at his break from the protocol to get in and out as fast as possible. What you don’t know is how he’d break just about any rule if it meant making you happy. 

The two of you retrace the path down the road, cruising slowly, until you spot the bushes. 

“There!” You call out excitedly. Daryl’s heart skips a beat at the happy tone of your voice. His hand juts out suddenly as he climbs off the bike, awkwardly offering to help you down from the high carriage of the Triumph. His hand rests in yours a moment too long, both of you savoring the sparks that fly from the contact. “Let’s go,” you decide, keeping your hand in his, tugging him into the underbrush. 

Daryl looks around nervously. Maybe for walkers. Maybe for some imaginary presence to tell him he’s being crazy and you can’t possibly be flirting with him. But you keep your hand in his, and you keep glancing back to softly smile at him, and he can’t help wondering for the first time if you might feel the same way. Like just the mere contact of your hands has broken an invisible barrier that kept you from seeing the other. 

You approach the blackberry bush excitedly, head spinning from the feel of Daryl’s rough, big hand in yours. 

“God, these look so good,” you finally break the hand hold to reach for a berry. The palms of your hands get purple and sticky the more you eat. They’re sweet and fresh, a taste of a world so far away from you by now. Daryl just stands back, a few feet away. He’s still on high alert, but the forest is quiet. Nothing but the soft murmurs of your enjoyment in the cool afternoon breeze. “Aren’t you gonna have any?” You ask him. 

“Nah,” he shrugs.

“Aw come on Daryl,” you pick an especially nice one and step closer to him, “please? Just try one.” You extend your hand closer to him, reaching up towards his mouth. There’s hesitation in your reach, but you push past the nerves and decide ‘fuck it, might as well,’ and continue to move towards him. The knuckles of your fingers brush his lips as you lift the berry to him to taste. Stubble on his face rough against your hand. 

“Good?” You ask. 

He nods, but there’s more to his look than just satisfaction. A deep hungry look has pooled in his eyes, turning his eyes to a darker than usual blue. Pupils blown wide open. He steps closer, “can I ask–” he pauses, unsure of how to phrase a single thing with the way you’re looking up at him through your eyelashes. Your wide doe-eyes and the way you bite softly on your lower lip without realizing it. 

“Ask what?”

“I need to say something.” His voice is strained. “I need to tell you something.”

“Please, tell me,” you can feel the weight of the words coming, but you need to hear them from his mouth. 

“I need you. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.”

“Same,” there’s a veiled amusement in your reply. A bit embarrassed at how long it’s taken you to admit this. 

He takes a shaky breath. He’s so close now you can feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

“Can I kiss you?” Daryl asks, looking nervous to close the inches of space that remain between you. 

“Please.” 

And when his lips meet yours he tastes exactly how you expect. Masculine and reassuring, the faint taste of cigarette on the back of his tongue. You can hear him whimper into the kiss, all his passion still held by a thin veil of discipline. His lips are rough against yours, teeth grazing as you two desperately try to taste the most of each other. His tongue darts out, meeting in the pool of your mouth. 

You’ve just been standing here in the middle of the forest beside the berry bush, but Daryl begins to back you towards the nearest tree, needing some sort of surface to press you against. Once you feel your back hit the bark of the tree, you slide one leg behind his ankle, pulling him closer. His knee slips between your thighs finding the swollen sweet spot of your clit under your jeans. He jams his leg there, slowly pressing and releasing the pressure. 

You can’t help but moan into his mouth, sending a wave of heat through him. Daryl’s hands roam over your skin, tracing the soft spots of your collar bone and the side of your neck with his big, strong hands. You tangle your hands behind his neck, reaching up the nape of his neck to pull the loose strands of his hair. 

You break the kiss just long enough to say, “please Daryl, I need you inside of me,” your forehead resting against his. As your lips reconnect, he groans, a raw sound, unbridled desire coursing through him. His hands dive under the hem of your shirt, tracing along your ribs, up to the soft lace of your bra. He squeezes, soft and yet firm, moaning in a frenzy at the perfect way your breasts fit in his hands and fill out against his palms. You begin to fumble with his belt, but he reaches one hand down to pull your hand away.

“Not yet darlin,” he uses his free hand, the one way isn’t groping your breast, to undo the buttons of your jeans and tug them in a swift move halfway down your waist. You shimmy them off the rest of the way and kick them off to the ground beside you. Daryl’s hands land on the new expanse of your thighs and ass exposed to him. Grabbing desperately at you like you’re about to disappear. He wraps his hands under your thighs, lifting until your legs are wrapped around his waist. 

With just the soft fabric of your underwear remaining, you can feel the bulge in his jeans rough and throbbing against your core. He backs you tight against the tree, holding you up around one side of your ass with one hand as the other dives down into your panties. His thumb swipes once, twice along your folds, finding your clit and swirling in slow circles. 

He doesn’t seem confident in what he’s doing and keeps looking into your eyes as he kisses you, trying to figure out if you’re enjoying yourself. He dips his middle finger against you, pressing into your entrance and then letting his ring finger come up and join. He thrusts his fingers in waves inside of you, finding that hard to reach spot and making you jerk your hips up closer to him. You feel hot all over, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his thumb still rubbing circles on your clit is just about too much. 

“Fuck, Daryl,” you moan, your lips parted and your head thrown back. Daryl can’t resist any longer and he lets your dazed hands find their way to his belt, tugging at it until his fly comes down and slips his pants down his knees. You glance down and audibly gasp. He’s so much bigger than you imagined. Even being held up, you can feel your knees buckle slightly at the thought of fitting him. 

“You alright?” His low voice sounds at the corner of your ear, as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple. The tenderness makes you feel even closer to your release, a knot tightening in your stomach. 

“Mhm,” you nod. 

The head of his cock swipes against your folds and he removes his fingers slowly to hold you more securely. He presses in just about to the head and slowly begins to entrance you the rest of the way. You feel as he goes in about halfway and hits that one spot. Makes you feel almost too tight, like it’s not going to fit, but then he slides in all the way and all you feel is just perfectly full. 

“Fuck, so fucking tight for me,” he groans against the side of your head, his head buried in your shoulder. You’re too fucked out already to form any words. Just the mere catharsis of the Daryl Dixon finally being inside of you, has you close to the brink of orgasm. Then he goes back to rubbing your clit and you just about feel like exploding. You squeeze at his biceps, grip so tight that it almost hurts.

“You’re doing so good,” and that’s when he starts moving, and you’d just about forgot that he was going to, and the feeling has you writhing against him, your hips rocking in time with his thrusts. The harsh sounds of your flesh slapping together melts in your ears with the soft sounds of him whimpering in your ear, his voice high and vulnerable like you’ve never heard before. 

“I’m so close,” your voice sounds far off, your ears popping like you’re at some high altitude. The nails of your fingers scratch down his forearms, pressing into the flex of his muscles. Daryl speeds up, the head of his cock hitting the perfect spot in you every time. 

“So good– so fucking perfect just for me.” And with the sound of his voice deep in your ear the knot inside of you tangles so tight that it snaps. As your orgasm hits you, Daryl feels the squeeze of your walls closing in him, locking him in place inside of you. The veins in his hands tense up, trying to hold himself back from releasing inside of you. 

“Oh fuck– Daryl, fuck,” you whine, shaking as he rides out the waves of your orgasm with you, his fingers twisting and brushing against the sensitive head of your clit and the buds of your nipples. 

As you come down into the afterglow, Daryl pulls out of you, the feeling of him sliding out hits you just as sensitive as your orgasm did and you bite your lip to keep from hissing out in the feeling of his size as the head of cock pops from the tight squeeze of you. 

With a final whimper Daryl comes on your stomach, his fingers shaking as you pump every drop out of him, your hand over his hand on his length, slipping on the slick of his precum and the wetness still dripping from between your thighs. 

Your eyes meet and the two of you let out a breath. Desire still strong in his gaze, but with a tired adoration too. 

“Let’s get you home, huh?” Daryl says, hesitantly pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. You nod, too fucked out to do anything but hold his hand as he helps you get dressed and leads you back to the bike.

[holylulusworld]

Plants & Babies

Summary: Lloyd is Lloyd, but he’s a good dad.

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, naughty Lloyd, daddy Lloyd, fun, implied smut, no daddy kink

Catch up here: A very Lloyd Christmas

Plant apocalypse masterlist

“You’re always hungry, like your daddy,” you softly coo as your daughter latches onto your nipple. She greedily suckles at your tit, eyes focused on your face. “He loves them too.”

“Did someone say my name?”

Lloyd casually strolls into the bedroom, his eyes immediately drifting toward your exposed chest. He licks his lips and hums while cupping his crotch. Adjusting his pants, he tries not to think of getting naughty with his daughter around.

You chuckle because you saw him tug at his pants. Since you had his baby, Lloyd is obsessed with getting you pregnant again. Not that he wasn’t a horny dog before.

“I heard you ladies need daddy.” You snort at his words. “What?” He asks, his brow furrowed. “I’m here to save the day. What can I do for you today, Cupcake? I want to help.”

“You can make me tea and breakfast.” You grin at Lloyd. “Your daughter is sucking all the energy out of my body. And I need to put her to bed. It will take me some time to get her to sleep.”

“Consider it done, Cupcake.” Lloyd is gone before you can blink. He whistles a tune, already planning on getting you round again.

Lloyd is a man possessed. He cannot think of anything but having you on any surface of the house. Of course, he won’t tell you so. He’s obsessed with his newborn daughter too and doesn’t want you to strangle him before he gets the chance to watch her grow up.

“Your daddy is a dirty man,” you whisper before kissing your daughter’s head. “He tries to hide it but fails every time. You need to be careful, baby girl. He’s going to keep all the boys away from you. Your daddy loved to get naughty but wouldn’t have anyone near you.”

“Damn right,” Lloyd huffs as he walks back inside the bedroom, a tray filled with all the things having your mouth water. “No one is getting near my girls.” He smirks as you slowly rock your daughter in your arms. She burps loudly, making you chuckle as Lloyd snorts.

“She’s her father’s daughter.” Proudly puffing his chest, Lloyd steps in front of the bed to put the tray down. “Let me handle her, baby. I’ll put her to bed, and you can have breakfast and rest a little longer.”

When he carefully takes your daughter out of your arms, you smile. Lloyd is not only a horny dog but also a determined father too. “Now, pretty lady, I’m going to take you to bed.” He chuckles as he looks at you, not your daughter. “But first, I’ll help our sweet daughter sleep.”

“Naughty, Mr. Hansen,” you grab a croissant from the tray. “Maybe I got some sugar for you later.” You wink at Lloyd.

“I’ll keep you up on that promise, Cupcake…”

Watching Lloyd sneak back inside the bedroom, the baby phone in his hand, you smirk. “She’s asleep. Our little angel looks so sweet when asleep. Just like her mommy.”

“Hmm…” you purr his name and kneel on the bed. “Say something sexy to me, baby.”

“I love how your tits fight the nightgown,” Lloyd groans, eyes glued to your tits. “You look ready to get eaten, Cupcake.”

“No, say something really sexy,” you crawl toward the edge of the bed, tugging at his pants. “Come on, say what I want to hear.”

“Baby.” Lloyd cups your face, thumb brushing over your lower lips. You mewl when he says, “I’m going to take you plant shopping…”

[bullet-prooflove]

Bad Girl: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @mia1653 @kimbergoldess @cortmac1989

Companion piece to:

Sick Day - Terry knows something is wrong when you don't pick up his call.

Love Story - Terry questions your taste in literature.

Health Care - Terry takes care of your healthcare siutation.

Recovery - Terry plays an active role in your recovery.

Money Matters - You and Terry discuss your money concerns.

You’ve been a bad girl. Terry finds this out after a meeting with his accountant about the tiny monetary increments that are being added to his bank account month after month. It’s only a hundred dollars here and there, but to you, someone who works two jobs to support themselves, it’s the difference between paying rent and eating.

 It infuriates Terry because he explicitly told you he doesn’t want you paying back the cost of your medical care. It was a gift, something he was happy to do because the love of his life was at death’s door and he couldn’t stand the thought of a world without her.

The part that really pisses him off is the duplicity of it, the fact you were able to fly under the radar for so long before he realised what was going on. That’s months of you struggling to make ends meet over some ridiculous perceived debt.

Which is why you’re face down over his lap, your wrists bound behind your back with that pretty silk scarf you were wearing when you breezed in as if you haven’t been picking up your groceries from a food bank so that you can eat.

Your skirt is shoved up over your hips, your underwear tugged up so it dips between your ass cheeks, each one crimson from the back of the silver hairbrush he’s been using to spank you with.

“You’re taking it back.” He says forcefully, his leather gloved palm lightly caresses that perfect peach. The scent of your arousal floods his senses and he wants to bury his face between your thighs, to taste that honey on his tongue but that’s only for good girls.

And you are certainly not being a good girl right now.

“No.” You bite out and Terry growls his response, pinching just enough to make you writhe against his lap.

“Georgia.” He snarls but you’re already tilting your head to look at him over your shoulder with that steely look in your eyes.

“Terry baby, you can spend all night working me up like this and it won’t change a damn thing. I’m not taking back that money.” He spanks you again and you bite your lip holding back the moan that threatens to erupt from your throat as the leather kisses your skin.

It’s unusual that you’re stubborn like this. The two of you don’t disagree on much but there are a couple of things you dig your heels in over and this is apparently the hill you’re making a stand on.

Terry knows when he’s beat so instead of dishing out another punishment he counters with a proposal.

“Dinner with me, four times a week.” He negotiates, already forming a plan to resolve the situation. “You take home left overs so I know you’re eating something other than ramen and cereal.”

His issue is that you’re not eating properly because you can’t afford to, he suspects poor diet is one of the reasons you were susceptible to pneumonia in the first place. You won’t let him pay for groceries but you abhor food waste so if he asks his chef to batch cook a few of your favourite meals you’ll have no choice but to make use of them so they don’t spoil.

“You’ll keep the money?” You ask and he squeezes that sweet peach tightly in his hand as he makes a noise of non-committal.

He will not be keeping that money, what he will be doing with it is investing it for you so that you can build your own nest egg. When the time’s right he’ll return it to you tenfold and then you can cuss him out for manipulating you, the same way that you’ve been manipulating him.  

“Do we have a deal?” He asks, his gloved fingertips chasing down between your legs, tracing teasing circles over your clit.

“Yes.” You cry out as he taps it lightly, the impact causing you to arch against him.

“Good girl.” Terry purrs, his fingers snagging the elastic of your panties before he drags them down your thighs. “Now let’s have little fun now, shall we?”

Love Terry? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[socgf]

chapter 3 - playing dress up

in which ... soc and greaser worlds collide and rosie's not welcome in either.

dallas winston x curtis sister ! oc

wc: 809

warnings: none

you really got me: masterlist

i spot randy and his crowd from the diner huddled near the pool tables, looking as out of place as their madras. before i can look away, he catches my eye and raises his hand in recognition. dally's watching me like a hawk as i give a small wave back, my posture automatically straightening.

"well hello to our favorite waitress." randy drawls walking over to me as his eyes flicker over my dress. though his next words are a bit more pointed. "didn't know you hung around this part of town." 

"i could say the same to you," i respond back, keeping my tone light. the vodka cranberries are working their magic, making the edges of the room softer and my smile come easier than it normally would. before randy can get another word out, i can already feel dally's presence behind me, and his arm wraps around my shoulder lazily. 

"oh dally, this is my friend from work-" i start, but he cuts me off, not taking his eyes off the soc. 

"yeah, i know who you are."

i suddenly feel like the biggest idiot in the world, letting my alcohol-induced confidence blind me to the obvious tension. randy's looking between me and dally, obviously putting pieces together.

"c'mon rosie, let's get you another drink," dally mutters, his fingers digging into my shoulder as he steers me away. the look he gives randy could freeze hell over.

"wha.. what was that about?" i ask once we're far enough away, stumbling over my words a bit.

dally just shakes his head. "nothing you need to worry about. just stick with me, alright?"

but as the night wears on and the drinks keep coming, dally gets pulled into a poker game, and i find myself drifting through the crowd. the music's gotten louder, the room hazier, and i've lost track of how many times buck's refilled my glass.

i’m shoulder to shoulder with the other buck’s patrons, swaying a bit while gulping down from my now fourth vodka cranberry. dally’s snaking his way through the crowd, and i can already tell he’s three sheets to the wind from how his eyes narrow in at me, a bit hazy but as intense as they always are.

dally looks mildly disgusted at the middle-aged regular whose hands are sliding down towards my hips, and he moves himself between us, shoving him off roughly.

“yeah, she ain’t interested man. or legal.”

the man grumbles off like he’s had this exchange often enough, but dally’s eyes are fixed on me now.

“i don’t need you to rescue me like i’m some damsel, you know. i can handle myself.” my tone is even, like i’m trying to puff up my chest.

“sure look like a damsel. and don’t act like it’s an accident, you coming here like that. you've been doin' this all night.” dally gestures loosely to my outfit, giving me another rough once-over.

“what’s that ‘sposed to mean?” my eyes narrow.

“c’mon. ain’t it obvious? you waltz in here looking like you belong at a country club, talkin to these guys all proper. you like playin’ fuckin’ dress up, rosie?”

i feel a pit in my stomach, trying to keep my tone firm. “it’s my mother’s dress.”

“your mother wasn’t no damn debutante, so don’t go actin’ like it.”

his words take all the air out of the room. i can’t help the tears pricking at my eyes, but i’m not about to make a fool of myself, so my gaze flickers up to the ceiling to keep them from streaming down my face.

“don’t you dare talk about my mother like that.”.

he knows he’s gone too far, i can see the flash of regret in his eyes, how his gaze falters before it hardens once again. because dally doesn’t back down, even when he knows he’s sinking himself deeper and deeper. he gets more brash, like my offense is egging him on.

“like what? it’s the truth. you think the little outfits and the makeup and batting your eyes at the socs at work makes you one of them? can’t fool me, rosie.” he’s sizing me up with his eyes, like he can see right through me.

“i’m not trying to fool anyone, dallas. this is who i am.” i snap back, more in an effort to convince myself than anyone else.

dally scoffs coldly. “right. i know you think you’re better than this place. think you're better than me, yeah? you’re just as fucked up as the rest of us.”

there's nothing i can say back. regardless, he doesn't let me. he gives me one last piercing look before he disappears back into the crowd.

a.n. don't know how realistic it is for socs to be at buck's but let's just suspend our disbelief for a moment here. i thought it would be interesting to explore this because the outsiders never really touches on womens' places here beyond cherry and the greaser girls. i was curious what it would look like for a girl with a 'greaser' socioeconomic background who tries to separate herself from that lifestyle, and how female social roles at the time would help her 'code switch' more easily.. idk if anyone is intrigued by that. but that's kinda the underlying plotline beyond rosie/dally that i want to continue.

also thought it would be necessary to mention this is PRE CANON… obv dont think rosie would be hanging around randy during/after the events of the story.

taglist:

@mrsdillonx @hailpacino @magefelixir @jujuheartz13 @coastershells @r0seb100d @awsomeemochick @mattdillonlvr69

[nephilimeq]

Take A Chance

Prompt: doing something new together

@bucktommyfluffebruary

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62721625/chapters/161946559

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind, I don’t wanna do this,” Buck said as they approached the building, yoga mats slung over their shoulders, and his boyfriend let out a sigh and said, “Evan, no. We talked about this, we’re doing this. Together.”

It was something that they had decided on back when Buck hold told Tommy that he felt that they didn’t go on enough dates.

Tommy had said he would take him on more romantic outings, and Buck had agreed that he would try more new things that weren’t really dates so that they could spend more time together.

…but now that meant he was going to be trying yoga for the first time, and he did not want to do that anymore. He saw the people inside through the glass windows, all of them looking far more limber than him, and he just wasn’t sure he could do it anymore. Maybe if it were a private class where it was just him and his boyfriend—but even then, he saw the way they were all built, proportional and slender, and he knew he would feel awkward as hell.

As they walked through the front door, Tommy had his hand on his lower back and said, “We’re trying something new together. It’s okay if we’re awkward, it doesn’t have to be perfect. We’re here to have fun,” and Buck was still amazed at how his boyfriend could practically read his mind.

“Hi! Welcome!”

Buck awkwardly waved at the bubbly blonde who stood at the front of the room, greeting students.

“Yeah, fun,” he muttered to himself as the two of them made their way into the room to pick out their places, and Buck found himself somewhere near the back with his boyfriend situated just a little bit in front of him, giving him a perfect view of all his assets.

Buck wore loose, silver gym shorts that came halfway down his thighs and an oversized red t-shirt, whereas Tommy was wearing blue shorts that barely had a four-inch inseam along with a light gray split side tank top that did little to hide his gorgeous physique. He could see the eyes going towards his boyfriend, and he didn’t blame them—he was damn good looking and even he was staring at him, and he was already in a relationship with him.

The bubbly blonde then clapped her hands and got everyone’s attention, saying, “Okay! Hello, everyone, I’m Sara and I’ll be your instructor today! Let’s start by doing a few sun salutations, shall we?” and then drew her arms over her head as the rest of the class scrambled into position.

Buck knew enough about yoga, at least, to not make a total ass of himself, so at first things were fine.

They did the beginning stretches, warming up the arms and legs…

…and then they dropped down to the mats, and she instructed them to go into butterfly pose. Okay. He could do this.

He put his elbows on his knees and tried to push them down towards the mat—and grunted when he realized his hips wouldn’t open in that particular position and stared in envy at the way Tommy did it without any effort whatsoever, keeping his knees flat, still looking edible from behind.

“Okay, now lean forward!” Sarah instructed, and Buck watched as everyone else moved forward…except for him.

His goddamn knees wouldn’t go down.

Feeling a flicker of frustration, he looked towards his boyfriend…and just about swallowed his tongue as he watched him not only keep his knees down but stretch down almost flat to his stomach with practically no curve to his back. Fuck. He was flexible, too—and then it was showcased even more when Sarah had them move to their stomachs and go up into cobra pose, and Buck found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the perfect curve of his boyfriend’s ass.

Fuck.

--

Tommy felt good as he leaned into the beginning stretches in butterfly pose and then into a basic cobra, enjoying the way his body opened up and he wondered why he hadn’t done it sooner. He was used to his normal heavy duty workout routine, but this was doing something for him.

As he let out a soft sigh, he glanced up towards the woman who was giving them their instructions.

He didn’t know what it was, but the airman swore he recognized her from somewhere.

“Okay, now up on your toes into upward dog!” Sarah called out, and Tommy squinted as he did as she instructed. “Okay, we’re gonna hold that position for a bit, but if you can’t then don’t worry about it. Just do what your body is telling you to do…”

From behind him, he heard his boyfriend mutter, “It’s telling me to go home.”

He snorted and did his best to keep in his laughter, barely able to keep his position, whispering over his shoulder as best he could, “Evan, behave,” and the firefighter said, “This is me behaving,” and he shook his head and went back to focusing on the yoga, moving into the next position as she instructed them to, feeling a delicious stretch in the backs of his thighs as he moved back into cobra, letting out a long slow breath…

…and then Sarah said, “Now we’re going into downward facing dog, so just copy me! If you can’t keep your heels down naturally, then bend the knee a bit, don’t force it.”

Tommy did as she asked, still confused why she seemed so familiar.

Even as he moved through the poses rather easily, he could hear Evan struggling behind him. He wanted to laugh but did his best to keep a straight face. His boyfriend was very strong and fit, at nearly peak conditioning for his age, as well as decently flexible…but he had always had a shortcoming when it came to short burst calisthenics like yoga.

He smirked to himself as he thought about how long it had taken him to convince Evan to go to yoga with him, his boyfriend fighting him almost the entire time, trying to argue that yoga was stupid and that neither of them needed to do it and they could put the money that they were using for the class towards something cooler, such as a karate class or even a pottery class, just anything but yoga…and now Tommy understood why.

As he glanced back behind him, he realized why Evan was struggling was because of how long his legs were.

He did his best to hide his smile of amusement—and then was taken off guard when Sarah suddenly said something that triggered a memory, her voice ringing out sharp and clear, “Just one more stretch towards the ceiling with your hips…and there we go! Now walk your hands back to your feet and slowly—slowly—rise all the way back up! Reach for sun!”

Oh my god. It was—

--

—pure agony, Buck thought to himself as he attempted to drop his heels to the floor while upside down, wondering why anyone would choose to do this for fun.

The only thing that made it worth it was the view that he had of his boyfriend, the older man somehow incredibly more limber than he was, and he was equal parts envious and impressed…but mostly he was horny as he saw the incredible curve of the airman’s ass in front of him. He could see a few discreet glances towards his ass, but didn’t feel the least bit jealous, because he knew that his man was all his and Tommy would never look at anyone else.

Except he was.

In fact, at that very moment he noticed his boyfriend’s eyes were locked on their yoga instructor with a laser like focus that would have been disconcerting had he not known that his boyfriend was very very gay.

Still, it bothered him as he slowly stood and stretched his arms up to the ceiling (or to the sun, as Sarah said), and he wondered why Tommy kept on looking at her with an intensity that reminded him of the way he looked at an interesting problem on his truck, like a problem to be solved, and at realizing that, he felt his nerves settle.

Okay, so he was confused by her. Now the question was why?

Did he know her from somewhere, and if so, then how—

—shit. His bad leg began to cramp up and Buck hastily dropped down to his knees, resting most of his weight on his good knee, and he let out a disappointed grunt, and said under his breath, “Fucking shit,” deciding it was better for him to not push himself. And then he was grateful when Sarah said for them to stand back up all the way, and he quickly scrambled to his feet…and then was baffled when she asked for tree pose from them.

Buck’s balance on a good day was iffy—at best—and now she wanted him to stand on one leg and pretend to be a ‘steadfast oak’? Her words, not his. But he decided to try anyway, standing on his good leg and attempting to rest his aching one on top of it, bending his leg to allow him to rest his heel against his knee.

Tommy (of course) was doing it perfectly…but he continued to stare at their instructor.

At that point, Buck was no longer jealous—though he was starting to get irritated.

He had wanted to do something different and had tried to convince his boyfriend that yoga was not his thing—but Tommy had explained that it was important that they do new things together and so he was doing his best to behave, even if all he wanted to do was stamp his foot and storm from the room like a petulant child. Unfortunately, he had made a deal with him that he would genuinely try, so that’s what he was doing.

God, he hated being such a good boyfriend sometimes. Sometimes he just wanted to—

--

—scream.

Tommy held the tree position, but some unknown muscle in his lower back was adamantly protesting and he was wondering if perhaps Evan hadn’t been right, because as much as he enjoyed the stretch of yoga, it seemed that some parts of his body didn’t agree—though he would never let Evan have the satisfaction of knowing that he had been right.

Instead he grit his teeth and bore through it, doing his best to pretend that he was an oak tree…

…while at the same time he was wrapping his head around the fact that he knew their instructor from her online shop where he had purchased Evan’s engagement ring.

Fuck.

Apparently like everyone else in L.A., Sarah had multiple jobs, one of which was running an online custom jewelry store with her husband where he had managed to get the perfect ring made for his soon to be fiancé. He just prayed that she didn’t recognize him and ruin the surprise. He had looked forever for a ring and found nothing, until he had come across her page, called Oak & Storm – “Custom made rings for the rugged hidden romantic.” They specialized in rings for people with hands on jobs that wanted to have something they could wear every day without risk.

The ring Tommy had designed for Evan was sitting at home in the back of a drawer in his unused office-slash-guest room, the one place that his boyfriend never went looking, even when he was doing his random deep cleans, and he did not need something—or someone—ruining the surprise.

“And now back to two feet and bring your arms out to the sides to stretch those chest muscles!” Sarah instructed, and he did as she asked, checking on Evan from the corner of his eye.

He looked a bit annoyed, but relatively fine, letting out a long breath as Sarah told them to.

“Okay, now lift up your feet and roll those ankles, loosen them up after you put them through the ringer, and let’s see if you can go into first warrior pose! Take your time,” she said as she began to walk through the group, checking on them individually, touching a shoulder or a hip here and there, gently correcting their form. “Want to see some strong warriors out here! Keep your chin up, and your hips nice and level…and you have perfect form,” she said directly to him. “You’re a natural…”

Tommy nodded, wondering if she recognized his picture from his e-mail profile; they had exchanged about thirty e-mails back and forth when he had been initially designing the ring and now he was nervous that she would—

“Do I…know you?”

His eyes widened and he gave her a tight-lipped look and shook his head.

“No, I don’t think so. Me and my boyfriend are here for the first time,” he said pointedly, gesturing with his chin as best he could…and saw her eyes widen as she realized where she recognized him from—and then let out a sigh of relief when she said, “Yes, that’s right…I must have mistaken you for someone else…”

Sarah then turned her attention to Evan and said, “Nice form…”

--

“…but you need to lift your front hand a little higher,” the instructor gently corrected him, and Buck felt a faint flush in his cheeks at being singled out, wondering if anyone was staring at him…and then after a quick cursory glance, let out a sigh of relief at realizing that no one seemed to care.

He lifted his front hand a bit and said, “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

She flashed him a bright smile, her perky ponytail bouncing behind her as she moved among the rest of the class, calling out, “Now into reverse warrior!”, and he had the errant thought that she might have been his type once upon a time—but now all Buck could focus on was the exquisite lines of his boyfriend as he moved from warrior pose into reverse warrior even as he struggled (again) to move into the new position, his bad knee protesting the entire time.

He never wanted to do yoga again.

Still, he might be amenable to watching Tommy do it from time to time, he mused as they eventually moved through all the poses and were now back sitting in butterfly pose, his boyfriend sitting with a perfectly straight back, eyes focused on their instructor with an intensity that he wish was turned on him.

Buck wiped some sweat from his forehead and glanced around the room, noticing that he was the only one that was sweating, and suddenly felt self-conscious once more.

Yeah, no more yoga for him. He would rather just do some basic stretches and be done with it—or, maybe he could convince Tommy to do some Tai Chi.

Now that would be more fun.

“Okay, now take a deep breath in…and out! In…and out! Good! Now let your muscles relax, close your eyes and set your goal for the day…and then you can go when you’re ready to go!” Sarah said, sounding far too cheerful for someone who had just put him through one of Dante’s levels of torture.

He was eager as he quickly got back up to his feet, wincing slightly at the pressure on his knee, and rolled up his yoga mat all while Tommy continued to sit there for a little while longer, eyes closed, lips softly moving as if he was talking to himself. Buck paused in his rush to leave and admired his boyfriend for a moment, appreciating the fact that despite all of the machismo that he portrayed on a regular basis, that his man was layered and in touch with his emotional side, which he loved.

Buck moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder, and Tommy’s eyes popped open.

“Hey…you ready to go?”

Tommy nodded.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he drawled, easily rolling up to his feet without using his hands before leaning over and retrieving his own yoga mat, and Buck took a second to catch his breath at seeing the strength and flexibility of the movement, feeling a rush at the fact that the man in front of him was his and no one else’s.

Briefly forgetting that he was in public, he breathed out, “Fuck, you’re so hot…”

…and Tommy giggled and shook his head, pulling the strap of his mat over his shoulder as he said, “Oh, Evan…and you are still so adorable,” and then leaned in and pecked a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before grabbing his hand and leading him out of the studio, and he felt a warmth in his chest as they made their way back home, Tommy’s hand firm on his thigh the entire way, not once moving it from its spot, occasionally drifting his fingers down to rub at his sore knee, as if he knew.

When they pulled into the driveway, his boyfriend gave him a sideways glance as he put the car in park, and he could sense the question before he even asked it.

“So…yoga. I’m guessing that’s a no for you?”

Hesitantly, Buck nodded and admitted, “I’m not a fan. I mean, I like stretching, but I just don’t…like yoga,” he explained. “But you doing yoga…feel free to do it whenever you want babe,” and at that, Tommy chuckled and nodded back at him and said, “Noted.”

“But I still had a good time because I was with you,” Buck added, needing him to understand. “I mean, yeah, my knee hated me for most of that, but being able to see you going through the poses so effortlessly and enjoying it…that was nice. I like watching you when you do things that you love, you know?”

At his words he saw something shift in his boyfriend’s expression…

--

…and then he was kissing Evan as best he could across the front seat of the car, not quite believing he had gotten so damn lucky. The younger man made a noise in the back of his throat, as if surprised, and Tommy drank it up, curling his hand around the back of his head and holding him to him, unable to stop kissing him.

But after a moment, Evan gasped out, “I…the gear shift, Tommy,” and he quickly pulled back.

“Right, sorry…inside, we should go inside…”

He nodded and they each grabbed their yoga mats and headed into the house—but the instant he stepped foot inside, he found all of his energy had left him, and they barely said two words before going and collapsing on the couch at the same time, letting out identical grunts as they put their feet up on the coffee table in front of them.

“So…we’re not moving right?”

Tommy nodded.

“Yeah, we’re not moving.”

He then snuck a look at his boyfriend’s profile as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch and felt himself fall a little bit more in love at seeing the faint sheen of sweat across his forehead and the small, satisfied smile at the corner of his lips. Sure, yoga wasn’t for Evan…but damn if it didn’t make Tommy happy to have tried something new with him. He thought about the ring upstairs.

Soon, the two of them would be embarking on something new that he knew they would both be looking forward to…

…and he couldn’t wait.

[bybobbysbeard]

One Unbroken Line

Day 13 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: love declarations read on ao3 read other days here

Buck tugs at his sleeve, fussing with the cuff. He’s wearing one of Tommy’s flannels over a long t-shirt, and the edge of the tape is still showing. He could grab a hoodie, but two shirts are already overkill for today’s weather. And he can’t stop fidgeting.

Tommy’s going to suspect something immediately.

He had a whole speech and reveal planned, but now he’s doubting his ability to get through it without tripping all over himself. This is stupid. Why is he nervous? They live together, for God’s sake. They’ve been exchanging ‘I love you's for months. Why does this feel like a big step? 

The key turns in the front door lock before he can psych himself out any further. 

“Honey, I’m home!” rings out in a high falsetto. 

Buck snorts. Such a dork. He pulls on his sleeve one last time, before standing up from the couch and turning towards the foyer. Tommy comes through, duffle bag dangling from one hand, a tray with two to-go cups in the other. Buck can smell his hazelnut latte from here. 

“Ooh caffeine! Thanks babe.”

Tommy steps close, brushing a kiss over his cheek. “Anytime. Needed a pick-me-up after my shift, so I stopped at that new place on the corner.” He holds out the tray. “I got your usual.”

Buck reaches out, fingers stroking over Tommy’s as he grasps the cardboard tray with his left hand. 

“Evan…”

The duffle bag hits the floor with a thud. A big hand intercepts Buck’s before he can pull back, fingers wrapping gently around his forearm. The tray is lifted away from him and his wrist is turned over. A strip of medical tape and gauze is just visible, hiding the narrowest part of his wrist from view.

“What happened? This wasn’t here yesterday. Are you okay?” Tommy’s voice is concerned, low and controlled, already trying to triage the situation. 

Damn, he noticed already. “I’m fine! I did it on purpose.”

“Excuse me?” Tommy’s eyebrows rise up his forehead and his blue eyes snap to Buck’s.

“Wait, that came out wrong. Hold on.” Buck takes the tray back and steps to the side, leaving Tommy’s hand hovering awkwardly between them. Turning away, he sets the drinks down on the coffee table. He rolls up both shirt sleeves as he moves back within his boyfriend's reach. Tommy presses close again, both hands cradling his wrapped wrist.

“Here, I covered it up because I was cleaning the kitchen, but it’s fine.” Buck guides calloused fingers to the edge of the gauze and looks up at Tommy’s expression. He’s focused, completely intent. His lips are pursed and his eyes are downcast, staring at their hands. Blunt nails pick delicately at the tape stuck to the thin skin of his wrist, peeling a corner up.

The adhesive pulls lightly, before lifting. The cool air of the living room is a relief on his sensitive skin. Buck keeps his eyes on Tommy’s face. His eyes go wide and those perfect lips part. He stares. Buck looks down too. The tattoo looks good, considering it's barely two days old. The artwork is minimalist, but stylized; less geometric than some of his other pieces. It’s one unbroken line, a continuous drawing covering about two inches on the narrow side of his wrist, just behind the bones that join his forearm to his hand. 

An index finger traces along the edge of the ink. “You got a helicopter tattoo?”

“Y-yeah, I did. My appointment was yesterday morning, after you left for your 48. I wanted to surprise you.” 

Tommy looks up. His eyes are still wide, but a beatific smile breaks over his face. Buck lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Well, I am definitely surprised.” His face crinkles in that amazing way. Buck can’t get enough of it. Fingers flex on his wrist, capturing it more firmly now that the older man knows it isn’t injured. 

Buck huffs out a relieved laugh. “I know things have been really good, and living together has been great, so this doesn’t have to be a big deal, but I wanted something permanent. To show you how I feel. To show you how much I love you.”

“I love you too.” Tommy interjects quickly. 

Buck looks down at their clasped hands, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. This man. “I know.” 

One hand worms out from their shared grasp, reaching up and wrapping a warm palm around the back of Buck’s neck. “I get you saying this isn’t ‘a big deal’ but, honestly, it kind of feels like one to me. You marked yourself. For me.” He sways closer, looking down besottedly at Buck’s freshly-tattooed wrist held securely between them. “I’ve never had someone love me enough to permanently etch it on their body.”

Buck brings his other hand higher, tipping Tommy’s chin up until they’re looking eye-to-eye again. “Tommy, babe.” He shakes his head ruefully, laughing again. “If I thought I could survive the teasing from my family, I would have gotten a giant heart with your initials in it.” Buck taps his chin once, stroking over that cleft he loves so much. “Or maybe a big ‘Property of Tommy Kinard’ stamp on my ass.” Tommy snorts helplessly, and starts laughing too. “I thought something a little classier would be safer.”

“Much safer.” Through his giggles, he brings Buck’s wrist up, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm, a few inches away from the fresh ink. His blue eyes glint, and that happy smile turns into a smirk. Buck feels his stomach swoop. 

“Save the tramp stamp for our anniversary.”

[heaven-s-black-box]

Run Home- Neuvillette x fem!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: February 20th, 2025

Description: Hello could I request a story where the reader is female and is in a relationship with Neuvillette but the reader has been hellbent on avoiding him lately, I'm thinking about the reader being pregnant with his child and wasn't sure how to tell him at all, mainly because she's worried because she's a human and he's a dragon. She literally tried hiding behind the traveler one time as Neuvillette walked by.

Notes: CW Pregnancy fears This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. Reminder, Sky is my Lumine's name.

Word count: 1 096

Back to directory

“You can’t run from him forever,” the traveler sighed as Y/n finally returned to the table.

“Who?”

Sky slowly raised her teacup to her lips, staring at Y/n over the rim as the other woman settled back into her seat. She twisted the hem of her cardigan, one that fit her a little loose, between her fingers and looked out over the balcony of the cafe.

“I saw you start coming back.”

Y/n frowned, picking up her fork and poking at her dessert.

That was successful escape attempt number four. 

Escape number one had been convincing him she needed to go back to her place for a bit. She barely remembers what she’d said, something about a story that was closer to her place. Hopefully Charlotte would back her up, and then of course she’d have to answer to her fellow reporter.

Escape two had been the next day, and she’d totally set herself up. Damn Furina for getting her hooked on that stupid bakery, and damn Neuvillette for always keeping her favorite pastries in the house for her. She hadn’t even given him an estimated date of return, but he’d be damned if she came back and there weren’t any waiting. Y/n had just barely been able to duck behind a display when he came in before sneaking out the door.

Escape three, the most recent, had been on the way to the cafe with the traveler. 

“I just- what do I say?”

“The truth? You know him, he’s not going to leave you. He won’t make you do this alone.”

Silence blanketed the table. The traveler picked up a macaroon and Y/n took a sip of her coffee– decaf. It was comforting, something Y/n hadn’t experienced in a long time. No one seemed to really understand her relationship with Neuvillette, it made her curious as to why Sky seemed so understanding.

Paimon was off somewhere, Sky had been making sure these meetings were private. The guide was sweet but couldn’t keep secrets for shit.

The two met up by the Steambird and made their way over to the cafe in Hotel Debord. That was when they’d nearly run into Neuvillette. Y/n had ducked behind the traveler without thinking. She’d felt Neuvillette’s eyes on her, but he hadn’t said anything. It worried her a little. He’d clearly been on the way to the Steambird, obviously looking for her because he turned around after greeting the traveler and left.

“You know… we talked about having kids but we never talked about having kids.”

It was Sky’s turn to frown, brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to follow the train of thought.

“I’m lost.”

At least it made Y/n laugh, the tension she’d been carrying slipping away from a fleeting moment before her eyes took on a sad tinge. She deftly circled the rim of her cup. 

Neuvillette wasn’t one for coffee, he preferred tea if he couldn’t have water. He only kept it in the house for Y/n, on a shelf just for her with her favorite snacks. It had been there the first time she stayed over, put together through conversations and observation. That was the moment that made it real.

That first morning together, he’d made her coffee as perfectly as he could. He’d set it out with breakfast and his tea. It was so natural.

“We talked about… the logistics, of a dragon-human baby, but we didn’t talk about if we wanted kids.”

“So you are worried he doesn’t want the baby.”

“Surprisingly? No. It’s just a feeling but, maybe it’s the way he is with the Melusines?”

Sky rested her chin in her palm. She was finally starting to follow.

“Then it’s the pregnancy that scares you?”

“The pregnancy, the birth, what if… what if my baby’s more dragon than human and I can’t take care of them? What if something happens to Neuvi and he can’t help me? I don’t-” Y/n took a deep breath, “I don’t, want to tell him until I know how I feel about this.”

“He wanted to know you were okay.”

“Hm?”

Sky nodded towards the door of the hotel. “When he came in, he asked if you were okay. He said he didn’t want me to tell him what was wrong, but he had to know if you were okay.” She reached out and took Y/n’s hand. “Talk to him. He wants to be there for you. Let him help you work through this.”

—

She could waltz in; open the door with the key hanging off her waist, next to her own apartment key that she only keeps incase. She doesn’t; she knocks, and she waits.

There’s no count before the door opens, and Neuvillette is standing before her in his loungewear.

A drop of water hits her shoulder. Then one hits the top of her head. Another lands just between her and the door.

“Come in,” Neuvillette says, stepping aside as the rain begins to pour.

Y/n is amazed it took him this long to start crying.

They sit at the dining table, across from one another like that first morning. Like they had three mornings ago when Y/n said she needed to stay at her old place for a bit.

“I’m sorry for leaving like that.”

“And I’m sorry for showing up at the Steambird,” his voice dropped a little as he continued, “and then following you to hotel Debord.” There was a brief silence, both waiting for the other to say something, and then Neuvillette spoke again. “Would you like some coffee? I bought some without caffeine the other day.”

Y/n’s laugh was somewhere between amused and tired. “You knew.”

Neuvillette’s nose scrunched up and he looked out the kitchen window, watching their reflections in the glass. A group of children splashed around in the rain.

“I knew before you did, I just didn’t know if I should tell you.”

“Is that why my coffee’s been tasting funny?”

“Chlorinde mentioned it had a different taste without caffeine, I was hoping you wouldn’t investigate.”

Y/n rested her chin on the heel of her hand, laying her hand palm up on the table.

“Neuvi, I’m scared.”

“And I’m here for you, to make it a little less scary. I wish I could take it all away,” a ray of sunlight cut through the rain splattered window, “but this is the best I can do.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/n cracked a small smile. “That’s enough for me.”

[rangersoup]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tags @carlos-in-glasses @paperstorm @nisbanisba @henrygrass @thisbuildinghasfeelings @heartstringsduet @annoyingcloudearthquake !!!

Here's another snippet of my Carlos getting shot fic, tentatively titled The Lone Ranger.

They’re still taking fire, but it's all just background noise, a familiar tune playing in the back of his mind, one that he’s had a lot of practice drowning out. He takes a second to look around, to find them a way out. He has to get Carlos out of here, but his truck isn’t going anywhere, all four tires have been blown out by bullets, and the engine probably looks like swiss cheese under the hood. His gaze finally falls on Dante’s truck. The single cab. The fucking single cab. Why’d he have to keep that damn single cab?

“Get your truck. I’ll lay down some cover fire.” he orders. It’s not far from them, but farther than he has any desire to drag Carlos while they’re still being shot at. “Back it straight up to us.”

Dante hands off his AR and makes a run for the truck.

“Hang in there, brother,” Sam says, giving Carlos’s shoulder a little squeeze. He acknowledges with a weak thumbs up. Sam grabs the gun and stands up, painting the side of the house in bullets. The shooting stops as both of the shooters dive for cover only narrowly avoiding being shot. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder as the engine of Dante’s old truck rumbles to life, then down at Carlos who is looking paler with every passing second. His gasps for breath have gotten faster. He’s rapidly circling the drain. Sam lays down another round of fire as Dante backs the truck up to them, kicking up a cloud of dust as the tires slide to a stop in the loose dirt.

Sam tosses the gun to the bed of the truck and drops the tailgate. 

“Don’t even get out!” he shouts to the other ranger. He wants to be gone the second he has Carlos in the bed of the truck. “Start getting us an ambulance, we’ll meet them.”

He grabs the med bag as he crouches down next to Carlos and launches it into the back of the truck, its contents scattering in the bed. 

“You still with me?” Sam asks, pulling Carlos’s limp arm over his shoulder. His partner manages a weak head nod. “Good. This isn’t gonna be comfortable.”

Carlos shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t care. Sam pulls him upright, his whole body screaming from the strain. He musters all the strength he can and hoists Carlos up into the bed of the truck. He slams the tailgate shut and jumps in after him. “DRIVE!”

----------

They hit a bump that sends Sam flying forward. He bites back a cry of pain as his back slams into the back wall of the truck. It takes him a second, but he recovers and returns to Carlos’s side. The metal floor of the truck bed is slick with blood. There shouldn’t be blood; the seal on his chest is doing its job, it's staying put and it's not leaking. He grabs hold of Carlos, the blood covering him making his hands slip. He tightens his grip and rolls him onto his side, finding what he’s looking for. There it is. The exit wound just below his left shoulder blade. He fumbles around, finding the trauma sheers among the items scattered around them collecting blood. He makes a cut in the top of the shirt and tears the back of it open before applying another chest seal. It won’t actually stop the bleeding, it will just contain it to the inside of his body. 

He stops and takes a second to process, clinging tightly to the side of the truck with slippery hands. He’s not a paramedic or surgeon, which is what Carlos really needs right now. He’s done everything he can do except pray, pray that they make it to the ambulance on time and pray that Dante doesn’t kill them trying to get there. He scoots closer to Carlos and grabs his legs and props them up on his own, that’s really the only thing there is left to do. Keep the blood in his core.

“Sam…”

“We’re almost there. The ambulance is gonna meet us. You’ll be okay,” he promises, grabbing Carlos’s cold hand, not knowing if its true or not. He has no idea where the ambulance is coming from or if its even remotely close. It can’t be too close, they’re coming from the middle of nowhere.

“TK…” Carlos mumbles at the mention of an ambulance.

“I don’t know who’s coming,” Sam says, he hopes for TK’s sake that he’s not the one on the truck. He doesn’t need to see his husband like this. And he really doesn’t need to be the one in the back if… He doesn’t let himself finish the thought.

Carlos shakes his head. “No…” He reaches with a trembling hand for his pocket. “Phone…”

“You don’t need to be talking right now,” Sam says, “Just work on breathing, okay?”

Carlos shakes his head again and keeps digging his pocket. Sam sighs, he can’t deny him this, and even if he wanted to, he’s pretty sure he couldn’t actually stop him. He moves his partner’s hand aside and retrieves his phone for him. TK’s picture is lighting up the screen. He’s calling him. He knows something has happened, which means he’s on the ambulance coming for them. He doesn’t know TK well, but he knows him well enough to know he’d do anything and everything in his power to get to his husband if he thought there was even a chance something bad had happened.

“Please,” Carlos mumbles, reaching for the hand holding the phone.

“Okay,” Sam agrees and slides his finger across the screen leaving behind a streak of blood as he answers. He holds the phone up to Carlos’s ear.

“Carlos, thank God.”

“Hi baby,” Carlos mumbles, the wind snatching away the sound of his voice.

He doesn’t hear the paramedic’s response, but he knows he’s caught on and knows somethings not right.

“I love you,” Carlos breathes, before coughing. “I love you.” 

His head flops back against the bed of the truck and his eyes roll into the back of his head. His hand goes limp in Sam’s. Sam drops the phone, forgetting to hang up.

“Reyes? Reyes, you gotta stay with me,” Sam urges, shaking him, but he doesn’t respond. “Damn it, come on Carlos!”

He reaches for his neck and tries to find a pulse but feels nothing.

“Fuck,” Sam swears, sliding his legs out from under Carlos’s to kneel over him. He grabs the phone off the floor board and perches it on his shoulder before placing his hands in the center of his partner’s chest. There’s an unpleasant crackle as he pushes down, breaking his ribs. 

“Carlos!” TK’s frantic voice is calling into his ear.

“This is his partner, Campbell,” Sam says. Pumping Carlos’s chest in a steady rhythm. 

“Campbell? What the hell is going on?”

“He’s been shot,” Sam says. “He just lost a pulse. If you guys can drive any faster, you need to.”

Tagging: @my-beloved-lakes @futures-tense @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @chicgeekgirl89 @lemonlyman-dotcom @welcometololaland @the-126-family @emsprovisions @lonestardust @captain-gillian @dear-viv @tellmegoodbye @neversleepuntilfive @ccgrizzy @eclectic-sassycoweyes @lutavero @guardian-angle22 and an open tag for anyone who wants to join in the fun!