#magnet working temperature

[mpcomagnetics]

Temperature Condition for Brushless Motor Magnets

Temperature Condition for Brushless Motor Magnets Brushless motors use permanent magnet as one of their key components. These magnets usually use high-performance permanent magnet materials, such as rare earth neodymium strong magnets, mainly arc-shaped, fan-shaped, wedge-shaped, and rectangular. Today, this article mainly introduces the temperature requirements of brushless (DC) motor…

[tanadrin]

And God said, "Behold! I have created the fourth primordial force: the weak interaction!"

And the angels all clapped and nodded politely, and there was a long silence; and finally Verchiel, the Angel of Grace, spoke up and asked, "Er, what exactly does it do, O Fashioner?"

And God said, "What do you mean, 'what does it do?' It's the fourth fundamental force of the universe."

And Verchiel said, "You mentioned that. Um. But it's just that the other three sort of have a brand, you know? Gravity helps build large-scale structures, acts over vast cosmic distances, shapes time and space. The strong force is secret, hidden, binding together quarks and all that. Electromagnetism, very cool stuff, somewhere in between. We're all big fans of the whole magnetic monopole double bluff, very clever. But, er. What does this 'weak interaction' do?"

And God said, "It mediates radioactive decay. Sort of."

And Verchiel said, "Radioactive decay? All radioactive decay?"

And God said, "No. Just some kinds."

And Zephaniel, the Chief of the Ishim spoke, and he said, "A whole independent force just to mediate some kinds of radioactive decay?"

And God said, "Well. Not totally independent. Technically it's related to electromagnetism."

And Zephaniel said, "Wait, it's not even a real force?"

And God said, "It's totally a real force. It's just that it's one aspect of a combined electromagnetic and weak force. An electro-weak force, if you will."

And Metatron, the Celestial Scribe, scratched his head at this, but said nothing.

And Cambiel, the Angel of Transformation, said, "Maybe you can walk us through it from the top."

And God Sighed an immense Sigh, and said, "All right, fine.

"So the way it works is that all of space and time is permeated by a field that has imaginary mass."

And Cambiel said, "Imaginary mass, O Generous Provider?"

And God said, "Yes, imaginary mass. It's tachyonic, d'you see?"

And Sarathiel, the Angel of Discipline, said, "Wait a minute, I thought we agreed nothing was going to travel faster than light? All that 'c' business and the whole Lorentz transformation thing. What's happening with that?"

And God said, "Let me finish. The field is tachyonic. The particles in the field all move slower than light."

And Sarathiel had to think about this for a second.

And God said, "The point is, a field with imaginary mass has a non-zero vacuum expectation value."

And this really gave Sarathiel trouble, since he had never been very good at math.

And God, seeing this, went back to explain. "Most fields, like the electromagnetic field, have no effect when they are at their lowest energy state. It's like they're not there at all. If you give a field imaginary mass, then it vanishes only when it's at a very high energy state, and at a low energy state, it has a nonzero value everywhere."

And Sarathiel nodded, but he was confused, because he didn't understand why God would create such a thing.

But Verchiel thought he saw where God was going with this, and he was amazed.

"Truly, you are cunning beyond measure, O Only One Certainly Sound and Genuine in Truth! Only now do I understand your design! For in order to make the universe homogenous and isotropic, it is necessary that all large-scale fluctuations in temperature and mass must be evened out early in the history of the cosmos; and therefore, you have designed a field which will rapidly expand space after the Big Bang, many orders of magnitude in brief moments, and then swiftly and spontaneously decay as it gives up the energy it began with, giving rise to radiation and particles of all kinds as it does, which will condense into the material universe! It is a wonder to behold."

And God said, "What? No. I mean I did, but this isn't the inflaton field I'm talking about. This is something else."

And Verchiel said, "Wait, it's not?"

And God said, "No, I'm going to use a different field to drive cosmic inflation. The properties of this field are totally different."

And now Verchiel was also confused, and lapsed into silence.

And God said, "Like I was saying, this field is a scalar field with imaginary mass, and it does spontaneously decay to a ground state with a non-zero value. But it's not the inflaton field. Instead it combines with the W1, W2, W3, and B bosons."

And Metatron began to flip back through the pages of the Heavenly Record trying to figure out where he'd lost the thread.

And Zephaniel said, "The what bosons?"

And God said, "The W1, W2, W3, and B bosons. I'm sure I mentioned them. You know, the massless bosons?"

And Zephaniel said, "I'm pretty sure we only talked about the W+, W-, and Z0 bosons. All of which you said were going to have mass, O Owner of All Sovereignty."

And God said, "Yes, but this is how they get them, you see. Once this field acquires a nonzero value everywhere, the massless bosons interact with it and get mass. Well, some of them do. They turn into the W+, W-, and Z0 boson. And the photon."

And Zephaniel said, "…and the photon, O Accepter of Invocation?"

And God said, "Well, I did say I was going to unify the electromagnetic force and the weak interaction, didn't I? This is how. Above the critical temperature--right now I'm thinking 10^15 K, but I'm open to feedback on that one--electromagnetism and the weak force act as a single unifying force. Below that temperature, the field gets a nonzero value, you get three massive bosons to mediate the weak interaction, and the photon pops out seperately."

And Zephaniel said, "That seems… a bit overly complicated, doesn't it, O Reinstater Who Brings Back All?"

And God said, "No, it's exactly what we need. Look, that way the W and Z bosons have something to do, but the weak interaction still only travels short distances. Gravity is still the star of the show on cosmic scales, as it were. But now quarks and leptons can swap their flavor!"

And Zephaniel said, rather weakly, "Their… flavor, O Source of Good?"

And God said, "It's this new quantum number I'm trying out, to give the three generations of matter more unique identities."

And Cambiel said, "Three generations of matter? Now I'm really confused."

And God said, "I'm sure I mentioned this. You've got the lightest quarks and leptons, and then two heavier versions of each that can decay into the lighter versions."

And Cambiel said, "What do they do? New kinds of chemistry, is it?"

And God said, "Well, no. Mostly they just decay in a couple microseconds. Or even faster."

And Zephaniel began to rub his temples, and Cambiel sniffed.

And Cambiel said, "This all seems a bit ad hoc to me. Not really the stuff of an elegant and obviously ordered Creation. Why not have four generations of matter? Why not a trillion?"

And God began to grow irritable, and said, "Well, that's not really up to you, now is it? We're going to have three generations of matter, and the electroweak force, and that's that!"

And Zephaniel said, "As long as we are unifying fundamental forces, perhaps we could somehow also unify the electroweak interaction with the strong interaction, or even gravity."

And God hesitated saying, "Well, I haven't decided about that yet. I'm not sure I want gravity to be quantized, you know? Seems to take some of the geometric elegance out of general relativity."

And now it was Zephaniel's turn to sigh, and he bowed his head. "As you wish, O Possessor of Authority of Decisions and Judgement."

[urrmomzfavorite]

PAC: Your Next Relationship (who, where, when)

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile One🐲:

Who: A bombshell—someone sexy. You’ll see this person as eye candy. They’ll catch your eye the second you’re in the same room as them. They have a magnetic aura, they command authority simply with their presence. They could be taller than average. I’m hearing tall,dark and handsome. Where: I’m getting the image of someone’s hands holding your waist, saying, “Excuse me?” Ooooh, this is dangerous. The second they touch you? Electrified. The eye contact lingers, and the sudden rise in temperature sets your body on fire. You’ll fall for each other at first sight. I can feel the sexual tension, the people around too.lol. This is this type of thing when everyone at work can clearly see you guys like each other but you still play it slow. This feels like having a crush when you’re younger. Getting excited to go to work because you know they will be there. This is really cute, you guys make each other blush. When: This could happen when you’re starting something new—maybe a new workplace, a vacation, or even a cruise for some. It could happen after a move, I see movement. You won’t see it coming, but trust me, it’s coming. 18+ Thoughts: “You need a spanking” “Let me worship you” “Moan my name”

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two🧚🏾:

Who: You know them. Yes, it’s them. I know you’re tired of hearing about them, but listen—you need to talk to this person. They don’t want to let go. They can’t let you go. It’s you; it has to be you. Wow, someone’s spiraling.This person is losing their mind over you. You might be ignoring them, a little taste of the silent treatment huh? They can’t handle it. Now it’s clear they have no power, and by the way they are reacting, they know time is up? You’ve given a lot of time/chances to this person. It’s funny how karma works, all that time wasted on them is now being repaid by constant obsession and insecurity when it comes to their place in your life. Their position is rocky? Do they even still have one?

Where: I don’t know if this person is blocked, but they’ve spent an insane amount of time in their Notes app, trying to come up with the best way to start a conversation. Adding you on social media with fake accounts? This is actually wild. I don’t feel like they’re dangerous—they just seem desperate for your attention and approval. They seem determinated? Needing to know what you are doing, with whom? This person is unwell. Pile two this is your next relationship reading, but you don’t have to make space for someone in your life when they are in this state. Also you don’t even have to date them, but they have a huge pull on your energy, frantikly trying to hold onto you. They regret not telling you how they felt, how much you mattered. They don’t know why they tried so hard to make you feel like you didn’t. Omgggg this is actually hurting my head.

When: I think you haven’t talked to this person in a while, and that’s the problem. Paranoia has had time to grow, and now it’s like a virus. They’re losing sleep over this. It’s like all those times they tried desperately not to think about you—and succeeded—are coming back to haunt them. And they’re not letting go 18+ Thoughts: “ I want to make it up to you in bed” “Answer my calls” “I miss you caressing me”

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three🍀:

Who: You don’t know this person yet. They’re really tall and love earthy colors—green looks amazing on them. This person is crafty and loves spending time in nature. They have this quiet confidence. Where does it come from? From knowing exactly who they are. They are secure in themselves and it shows in the way they walk, talk, breath.lol. This person has a strange effect on you, they feel like a warm blanket, and this feeling is constant. No roller coaster. As if you were spending the early mornings on a beach watching the sun rise. This is finally a love that doesn’t take anything from you, it just adds to your life.

Where: This will happen outside on a summer day—maybe in a garden or a park. This person sees you reading? LOL, they quickly Google the book on their phone before approaching. Smart one! This person knows what they want and doesn’t play games. They’re also excellent cooks! You could meet them at a class someone invites you to—you’re trying it out for free. This person feels so refreshing, they are exactly what you need when you meet them. They see you and already start plotting, They don’t look like it tho. With their dazzling smiles. I’m getting surfer boy energy lol. They seem so zen, so at peace, and this energy will rub off on you.

When: They’re slow-moving, and your paths haven’t aligned yet. I’m hearing that both of you need to make some lifestyle changes before being united. This one is really up to divine timing but it is worth it.

18+ Thoughts: “Let’s break the bed.” “Let me tie you up.” “I want to make you c*m”

✨Psst check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !✨

[ariestrxsh]

sub!pizzaboy!chris x customer!reader

🍕 content warning: smut, oral (m! & f!receiving), praise, masturbation, edging, fingering, unprotected sex, age gap (both characters are adults)

🍕 summary: your delivery boy, chris, is used to getting away with everything due to his dashing good looks, but it does him no good when he tries to resist your magnetic charm. when he arrives with your meat lovers earlier than expected, you're hungry for more than just the pizza.

if it's cheesy, it's because i wanted it to be 🧀 may this fic make you cum whilst you laugh at my stupid wordplay

dividers by idkk?? i saved them forever ago and forget where i got them from; if you know who made them, lmk so i can give credit !

Pizza Guy

chapters: | intro | 1 |

It was a cool, late-autumn evening, the wind rustling through the falling dead leaves and the temperature slowly dropping with every day that winter neared. You were at home, lounging in a silk pajama set on your couch, curled up with a book and a glass of wine while you were waiting for the pizza you'd ordered to arrive.

Suddenly, a knock at the door broke your attention away from the page and brought you back to the present moment. You glanced over at the clock. Surely, that couldn't have been the pizza. You weren't expecting it for another half-hour.

You pulled open the door to reveal a cute blue-eyed brunette in his work uniform who greeted you with a sweet smile. He was a few inches taller than you but looked to be a few years younger than you, and he had this innocent demeanor about him that immediately sparked your interest.

You wet your lips as your gaze scanned the delivery boy's features. You were drawn to his captivating eyes, his pink cheeks, and his pouty lips. "Hello, ma'am. I have your meat lovers pizza with extra Italian sausage," he said, double-checking the box he held in his hands.

"You're gonna hate me. I left my wallet upstairs," you stuck your bottom lip out at him in a little frown. "Oh, that's fine, ma'am. I can wait here," he kindly responded, the corners of his mouth turning up again. "Aren't you gonna get cold out here?" You asked, giving him a sympathetic look. "I'll be alright," he shrugged, his eyes dancing over your attractive features.

"I can't make you wait out in this weather, sweet boy. Why don't you come inside?" You replied in a nurturing tone as you crossed your arms, pushing up your breasts and revealing your hardening nipples that were straining against the soft fabric of your silk button-down.

"I don't think I should," he softly answered even though he was contemplating it, his eyes drawn towards your chest. "I'm not even standing out there, and I'm freezing. What if you catch a cold because of me? I couldn't live with myself," you said in an endearing voice as you ran your fingertips along your arm, trying to warm up.

He knew it was against store policy to enter a customer's home, but he figured he could bend the rules just this once. After all, the only thing providing his hands warmth was the pizza box he was holding, and the tip of his nose was growing red from the biting chill. He nibbled on his lip and nodded, accepting your generous offer and hesitantly stepping into your home.

"Make yourself comfortable," you told him, letting him in. You turned around to retrieve your wallet from upstairs, and Chris' stare migrated to the way your ass jiggled in your silk bottoms as you hurried up the steps. He couldn't help himself. You were just so hot. He glanced at the fancy bottle of red wine you had sitting on your coffee table along with the romance novel that laid beside it.

He wondered what a gorgeous woman like you was doing on a Saturday night, drinking alone and reading a book about love instead of making it.

You trotted back down the steps with your wallet in hand, sights fixed on the boy standing in your cozy living room who immediately noticed you'd undone the top two buttons of your shirt while you were upstairs. He knew exactly what you were doing, but he couldn't entertain it. It was a weekend, and he knew there would be plenty of pizzas to deliver and a lot of money to make.

"What's your name, baby?" You wondered as you reached into your wallet to count your bills. "Chris," he replied, loving the pet names you called him. "Alright, Chris. How much do I owe you, sweetie?" You asked, peering into his gorgeous blue eyes. "Um, $19.69," he blushed, clearing his throat and looking down at the price on your receipt he had pinned between his thumb and the box.

You smirked at him, pulling two $20 bills out of your wallet. "Here's for being so patient with me," you leaned in and whispered into his ear as you hooked two of your fingers into Chris' front pocket and slowly slid the cash in. While your were leaned in so closely, you could feel the heat radiating from his body and you picked up on the scent of pepperoni and hint of weed that lingered on his clothing.

"Thank you, ma'am. That's so generous. I don't know if I can accept that much," he replied, feeling all the blood rush to the tip of his cock as you flirted with the idea of breaking the touch barrier but not doing so just yet. "Sure, you can. You deserve it." You took the pizza box from him and placed it gently on your coffee table.

"You should stay a little longer. I'll make you a cup of hot chocolate, and you can warm up a little before you have to go back out into the cold," you offered, licking your lips while you examined his softening expression. "I should really get back to the shop," Chris said, breaking eye contact and trying to exercise self-control.

"Oh, come on. Stay for one cup of hot cocoa, sweet boy. You can just tell your boss you had trouble finding my house. Do you like it made with milk or water?" You asked, not giving him another chance to decline your proposition.

His gaze flickered back up at yours. He had your money. He could have easily excused himself and gone back to work, but he was secretly hoping for an excuse to stall and spend a little more time with you.

"Milk," he softly responded, completely in a trance with your caring nature. "You want whipped cream on top, baby? And marshmallows?" You cooed. "Yes, ma'am. Both please," he nodded, accepting your kind gesture. "Have a seat, Chris. Have a piece of pizza," you motioned towards the couch as you stepped into the kitchen to warm up some milk.

"How long have you been a delivery boy?" You asked, lighting the front left burner of your stove. "About a year," Chris replied, plopping down onto the sofa and reaching into the box to grab a slice. "Yeah? You make good money?" You inquired, fillling up a pot with milk. "Yeah, about $150 a night," he told you with his mouth full of pizza.

"Wow. That's a lot of money for this area. It must be because you're so timely and polite. And so handsome," you casually added, peeking up at him. He blushed and gave you a shy smile. "Oh, I don't know about that," he humbly replied. "Sure you are. You're cute, and you know it, too," you smirked at him. He took another big bite of pizza.

"So, do you always come quick?" You asked him. "Excuse me?" he politely answered you, nearly choking on his food and raising his eyebrows, unsure if he heard the question correctly. "I mean, when you're delivering pizza. Do you always arrive so quickly? I wasn't expecting you for another thirty minutes," you said, your eyes shifting between the boy on your couch and the clock on the wall. "I drive fast," he smiled.

"You really care about pleasing the customer, don't you?" You insinuated, bringing over the cup of hot chocolate. Your fingertips gently grazed his as you passed him the warm, ceramic mug. "Yes ma'am. I do. I live for it," he said in a submissive tone, glancing up at you.

"You ever get pulled over because you were driving too fast?" You wondered, raising an eyebrow at him and taking a seat on the couch beside him. "A handful of times, but it's always by the same officer in the same area I drive through. She always gives me shit, runs my license, registration, and insurance, and the whole bit, but she always lets me off with a warning," Chris replied before taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

"Mmmm, this is good," Chris said, licking the whipped topping off his lip. "Oh, baby. You missed a spot," you chuckled, moving a bit closer and gently running the pad of your thumb against the smudge and cleaning it off his upper lip while you stared deep into his eyes. You slowly licked the sugary cream from your thumb and grinned at him. He secretly liked the way you babied him and how in touch you were with your maternal instincts.

He took a few more sips of his chocolatey drink, savoring the warmth and sweetness it provided. "How much longer is your shift?" You wondered, studying his jawline and his full lips. "I close tonight, so at least another six hours," he gave a disappointed half-smile. "Awh. I can't believe they're making you work late on a Saturday night," you gave him a little frown. "It's alright. It's good money," he replied, drinking more of his hot cocoa.

"You know, I really appreciate the tip, the slice of pizza, and the hot chocolate, but I really should get going," Chris replied, setting the nearly empty mug on the coffee table. "Oh, sweet boy. Look at your pants. They're a mess," you chuckled, brushing crumbs off of his lap and gently grazing his cock that twitched in response to your light touch.

"Ma'am, you're making this very hard for me right now," Chris said in a serious tone, grabbing your wrist and looking into your eyes. "What am I making hard for you, baby?" You cooed. "I know what you're doing," Chris looked at you with his submissive eyes.

"Then why don't you let me keep doing it? I'll take good care of you, darling," you placed a hand on his cheek, cradling his face and searching for the answers in his expression to get him to stay. "It wouldn't be right.." he started to say, but his voice trailed off and he loosened his grip on your wrist as you leaned in, closing the distance between his lips and yours. You pulled him into a trance with your deep, passionate kiss, swirling your tongue around in his mouth.

"Says who? Isn't the customer always right? Don't you wanna leave me satisfied, baby?" You asked him, nudging his chin up with your nose, exposing his throat, and planting a soft kiss on the side of his neck. Chris was such a sucker for neck kisses and pleasing the customer. He couldn't stop you now. He wanted you too badly and so desperately craved to satisfy you.

"What would I even say?" Chris wondered out loud, racking his brain for an excuse to get out of the rest of his shift but getting distracted by your luscious lips. "I'm sure you'll think of something," you mumbled, pressing your tongue against a sensitive spot on his neck and giving him another passionate kiss.

"I can't think about anything except how amazing your mouth feels," Chris whimpered, giving into the sensation. "Give me your cellphone," you said, pulling away and holding out your hand. "What for?" He asked you, hesitantly reaching into his pocket and placing it in your palm. You handed Chris back his phone after dialing the number to his work and tapping the speaker button.

"Just tell your boss you got a flat tire or something, and that you can't come back to work for the rest of the night. I'll make it worth your while," you seductively suggested, whispering as you gently nibbled on his ear. He let out a soft moan as your teeth grazed his earlobe. "Hey, Chris. What's up? You've been gone a while. You find the delivery address?" A man answered the phone, recognizing Chris' caller ID.

"I got kind of lost on the way there, but I eventually found it. Um, I actually called because someone slashed my tires when I stopped to take a leak. Could you put a manager on so I can explain the situation?" He asked, trying to keep his composure as your lips traveled back to his neck, sinking your teeth into his sensitive flesh. He bit down on his lip to suppress another moan.

"Of course. Give me a sec. I'm gonna put you on hold," the guy on the other end of the line replied. You grabbed the hem of Chris' work shirt, pulling it up and off over his head, disheveling his hair while you did so. "I can't believe you have me doing this right now," he whispered as you fell to your knees in front of him. You smirked up at him, your hands reaching for his belt.

"What are you doing?" He whispered, looking down at his lap wide-eyed, the sound of the metal clanking against itself as you unbuckled it. "You just get so many nice tips, I thought maybe you could spare one," you chuckled. "While I'm on the phone with my boss?" He peered down at you in disbelief. "Let's see how well you can hold it together," you smirked.

"Oh my god. I don't usually mix business and pleasure in this manner, ma'am," he innocently whispered as you reached into his underwear. "You can save the I don't usually do this talk for someone else, because guess what? You're already doing it," you giggled. He sharply inhaled as you pulled out his half-erect cock.

"Wow, it's so big, and it's not even all the way hard yet," you gasped, taking it into your hand and slowly beginning to stroke his shaft.

It was long and veiny, and the head was pink, smooth, and already beginning to swell with arousal. He was so flattered by the way you lovingly looked at it, gently petting it and causing more blood to flow to it. He peered down at you with hungry eyes and a lustful expression.

"Chris? Someone slashed your tires?" A woman spoke into the phone as you slowly licked from the base of his length, stopping right where the heads meets his staff. Chris' jaw dropped and his breath hitched in his throat as he watched the way you teased him. His cock, that had now grown to its full size, twitched at the sensation of your heavenly tongue, and a bit of pre-cum gushed from his slit.

"Chris?" The woman said again, sounding agitated. "Yes ma'am," Chris said in a strangled voice as you began spiraling slow licks around the tip, cleaning up the clear fluid. "Chris, are you stoned right now? You know, we've talked about this. If it were anyone else, I would've fired them on the spot after the first time. You're just such a hard worker and get such good reviews-" his boss started to scold him.

"No, no. Nothing like that, ma'am. I'm just shaken up. That's all," Chris cut her off, trying to keep his composure while he stared down at the way you flickered your tongue over his slit. Her tone immediately changed. "Awh, Chris. I'm so sorry I accused you of being high on the job. Do you need a ride home, sweetie?" She tenderly asked him.

"No, ma'am. I appreciate it. I already got one. I just wanted to call to let you know I can't get new tires until tomorrow, so I won't be able to finish my shift," Chris managed to get out before a small sigh escaped his lips and his head fell back as you worked your magical tongue on him. "Of course. Let me know if you need anything, Chris," his manager relayed in a tone you swore was almost seductive. "Anything at all," she emphasized, the desperation in her voice coming through.

He was so mesmerized by the way you sheathed his marble-smooth, pink head between your soft lips that he nearly forgot he was on the phone. "Chris?" His manager broke him out of his trance. "Yes. Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate that," Chris responded, staring down and nodding at you as you started to move your lips down his length, taking more of him into your mouth, massaging the backside of his dick with your tongue.

"Good night, Chris. Do whatever you need to do to relax," she said, definitely picturing him masturbating. "Good night, ma'am," Chris replied before concluding the call just in time for a guttural moan to pass through his lips and fill the room. You paused for a moment, taking Chris' dick out of your mouth with a faint pop, creating a wonderful suction for his nerve endings.

"Are you fucking her?" You narrowed your eyes at him and gave him a smirk. "My boss?" He asked with a surprised inflection, raising his eyebrows. You nodded at him. "No, ma'am. I swear I'm not," he quickly shook his head. "Well, she wants you to," you smiled. "Anything at all," you mockingly exaggerated her desperation. "I know. She's so obvious about it," Chris smirked down at you as you made his cock disappear behind your lips again.

He could finally enjoy the way you gently suckled on it, rolling your tongue around on his tip, and he didn't have to hold back his delighted noises anymore. Whimpers escaped his lips, one cascading after the other, filling the room with the sweet sound of his pleasure. He started to comb through your hair with his fingers as he sank further into the couch and further into his desire to fill your mouth with his seed.

"You work so hard, always taking care of everyone, but at the end of the day, who takes good care of you, hmm?" You cooed, stroking his length. He moaned loudly at your words. "Good boy. Enjoy it. You deserve it," you whispered before teasing the head with your tongue again.

"Ma'am, I don't know how much more I can take," he looked down at you lustfully, studying how you encircled the head with your licks. His dick involuntarily jerked again, a reflex to the way you intuitively knew what he liked. "I know you can take it, and you're going to," you whispered seductively. "Yes, ma'am," he whimpered as you took more of him into your mouth, sliding your lips all the way down until his tip hit the back of throat.

You loved how respectful he was even when he was on the brink of orgasm.

He clawed at the seat cushion underneath him, a desperate attempt to keep himself from finishing too soon. He thoughtfully watched your every move, thoroughly enjoying every subtlety of your technique that was becoming sloppier and messier. "Please, I need to cum," he whined, furrowing his brow, wetting his lips, and looking down at you with carnal desire in his eyes.

But you couldn't give into him just yet. You wanted to hear the desperation seeping into his tone of voice and see the neediness carved into his expression before you even thought about letting him finish.

"You don't understand how bad I need it," his luscious voice poured into the room. You carried on, ignoring his pleas to cum and fervently bobbing your head up and down on his cock some more. His moans became more strained as you continued to make him hold out, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes.

"Look at me, baby," you ordered him before you resumed manipulating all his tender nerve-endings. He loved the way you bossed him around, obediently following your directions. He did as he was told, peering back down at you and your tongue that was dancing around his tip, relentlessly teasing him.

"Please, ma'am. I've been such a good boy," he urgently begged, becoming teary-eyed. That's it, you thought to yourself. That was the kind of desperation you'd been patiently waiting for. You nodded at him, giving him silently permission as a tear rolled down his cheek. He let out a few loud, guttural moans, his voice cracking and his breath getting caught in his throat again.

You felt his dick pulse between your lips while you hummed against it, pressing the flat part of your tongue against his tip and causing his sweet and salty substance to spray off into different streams into your mouth, intensifying his orgasm. A few more primal sounds poured from his lips while you drained his throbbing member of his tasty seed.

"Thank you, ma'am. Thank you," he graciously praised you as you collected every last bit onto your tongue before swallowing it, making sure not to waste a single drop. He stared down at you breathlessly with his bedroom eyes, his flushed cheeks, and his slightly parted lips, his heart beating out of his chest.

"You're so good with your mouth, ma'am. How can I ever repay you?" Chris wondered, wiping away his tears of satisfaction and slipping his cock back into his pants. "Not necessary. It was my pleasure," you whispered, winking at him. "Ma'am. I insist. Please let me show you how good I can make you feel," he said in a soft, subservient voice, giving you puppy dog eyes.

You nibbled on your lip as you stood up in front of Chris. You reached down and picked up your glass of wine, taking a long sip before you started to unbutton your silk shirt. He watched as you slowly opened your blouse, exposing your breasts to him as you peered into his blue eyes.

"You'd do that for me, sweet boy?" You cooed, brushing your thumb against his cheek while you tilted your head down at him and held eye-contact. "I'd do anything to please you," he whispered, tipping his chin up at you. "Be a good boy and get on your knees for me," you said in a soft and sweet but domineering manner. He nodded before he dropped to his knees in front of you.

He curled his fingers into your waistband and slowly stripped your bottoms off of you. You stepped out of them, one leg at a time, Chris' eyes fixed on the treasure between your thighs. Chris bent your knee and slung your leg over his shoulder, so you could rest your foot on the edge of the couch while he nestled into your warmth. His tongue gently flickered over your clit, sending a lovely sensation through you.

Despite having just finished, the act of eating your pussy had him all worked up and needy again, his hand slithering below his waist as it found its way into his the waistband of his boxers. He wrapped his fingers around his shaft and started pumping back and forth. He clamped his lips down on your sensitive bud, moaning against it.

"Good boy," you whimpered, running your digits through his hair and brushing it out of his pretty face. He was so gentle and tender, taking his time with his licks, but they were perfectly sensual and effective nonetheless. You gasped as he suckled on your most delicate nerve-endings, and the sound of him hungrily lapping up your wetness filled the room.

You let go, allowing yourself to be swept up in the delightful feeling his tongue brought you as it expertly prodded around your glistening folds. "That's it, baby. You're doing such a good job," you commended him. You smiled down at him, whimpering and licking your lips.

"Ma'am, you taste so sweet," Chris softly replied right before taking his hand out of his pants and placing his middle finger at your entrance. "I'm gonna make you feel so good," he smirked up at you, sinking his digit into your hole.

He noted how tight you felt wrapped around just one finger. He couldn't keep himself from fantasizing about how your pussy would feel encasing his cock.

He went back to delicately licking your clit while he worked his curled finger into your heat, pulling it almost all the way out and pushing it back in again. You loved the way it felt, but it left your core aching for more.

"Chris.. I need something else from you, sweetie," you responded, looking down lovingly at the obvious bulge in his jeans. "What do you need from me?" He sweetly asked, resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh and peering up at you, eager to serve you in any way he could.

You loved his subordinate nature, his obedient tone, and his enthusiasm about doing anything for you that you wanted him to. "Let me ride you, sweet boy," you requested, playing with his hair. "Oh, yes, ma'am. I thought you'd never ask," he softly whined, hypnotizing you with his desperate eyes.

You unhooked your leg from the boy's shoulder, and when he stood up, you placed your pointer finger on his chest and lightly pushed him back. He bent to your will, allowing your gentle shove to subdue him onto your sofa. He sunk into the furniture and pulled his dick out of his waistband once more, presenting it to you in all its glory. It was still incredibly hard.

You straddled him, sticking your breasts in his face, and he eagerly took one of your nipples into his mouth. You grabbed onto his cock, holding it in place, so you could lower yourself onto it. You gasped as you enveloped the tip, and you let out a delighted sigh as you sat all the way down on it. Chris moaned against your breast, relishing in the sensation of having your heat wrapped around him.

He placed his hands on your waist so he could feel every intricacy in the way you rolled your hips forward, grinding on him as you rode him. You slid up and down on his rod with ease, becoming increasingly wet. "You're so big," you complimented him, feeling the way his dimensions filled you snugly, and he blushed at your praise.

You reached between your legs and started drawing tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves while you maintained your stamina. "Ma'am, this is the best tip I've ever received," Chris whimpered, breathlessly. "I'd have to say the same," you smirked down at him. A few subtle whimpers escaped the boy's lips as you sped up your pace.

Chris' eyes started to roll back, but you gently tugged onto his ear, and whispered, "Look at me while you cum, sweet boy." He weakly nodded at you, his expression drenched in sheer lust and his facial features making it apparent to you how good you were making him feel.

"I'm so lucky I got you as my pizza delivery boy," you moaned, looking into his eyes. "Respectfully, ma'am, I think I'm the lucky one," he whimpered, furrowing his brow and digging into your sides with his fingertips.

"You've been such a good boy. Why don't you cum for me, sweetie?" You cooed, recognizing how close he was and how badly he needed this. "Inside?" He politely clarified. "Yes, Chris. Fill me up," you responded, nodding at him. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, letting all his muscles relax as his orgasm washed over him like a rising tide.

His climax ebbed and flowed through him. His cock twitched inside of you, pumping you full of his seed until it started leaking down his length and making a mess on his jeans. He was incredibly sensitive, but he waited patiently until your orgasm followed shortly after.

"Oh, Chris," you called out in a sultry moan as you clenched around him, finishing onto his rod and adding to the mess of fluids that were leaking onto his lap. The pace of your fingers on your clit slowed down as well as the movement of your hips until you finally came to a halt. You smiled down at Chris, pulling him into one more intense kiss and overwhelming his tastebuds with notes of red wine.

You climbed off of him, and started to slip back into your clothes. He admired your body one last time as you covered back up, taking a few moments to recover from the powerful sensation. His chest rose and fell as his breathing began to regulate itself, and he tucked himself back into his jeans, pulling his zipper closed, buttoning them back up, and buckling his belt.

You reached into your wallet again, pulling out $150, the amount Chris told you he would've made had he worked the rest of his shift, and you tucked it into his pocket. "Ma'am. Do you think I'm some kind of hooker or something? I can't accept money for sex," he smiled at you, pulling his work shirt back on over his head.

"You were on the job. I'm only paying you for your valuable time. We just so happened to have sex," you shrugged, winking at him while you did up the buttons on your silky pajama top. He shook his head, ready to decline your money offer.

"Come on, if you had trouble making rent this month because I got greedy and wouldn't let you leave, I'd feel just awful," you seductively said, tilting his chin up with your finger. "Even if you just spend it on weed," you winked at him. He chuckled and rolled his eyes in response.

"I can't wait to leave you a good review. Let everyone in town know how filling the Italian sausage is."

🍕 click for part two

taglist: @bsturnzmtt @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @zariyam @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @new2024cats4life @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1 @chrislova @stellarsturns @lelesturniolo @sturniolodoll @ilovemattsturn @blahbel668

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x Diner waitress! reader Casual 'relationship', idiots in love, mentions of a shitty ex and a shitty family, fingering, reckless driving. WC:3.2K

A/N: Okay so this was originally supposed to be a part of a potential AU that never panned out. Basically all you need to know is that a disgruntled Steve works for his dad, the crooked CEO in town and everyone is wary of the Harrington's. Except for you.

2.34AM.

You tuck your uniform into your locker, all too relieved to retire the robin's egg blue polyester and starchy white apron for the day. In its stead you pull on a dress. A midnight dark thing that hugged your hips and tended to skim up your thighs no matter how much you discreetly tugged it back down. Not at all suited for the temperature outside.

Doing your best with the little magnetic mirror that stuck to the inside of your locker, you peer into the rectangle bordered by cheap purple plastic, too small to reflect both your face and hair entirely.

Having spent almost a year working at Frank's 24/7 Dine In, you'd gotten used to doing your hair like this after work, angling your head in the tiny mirror every which way to fix your hair in sections. Retouching any makeup that had waned during your shift was a much easier task, thankfully.

You didn't wear much, just enough to help with drawing in more tips. The other waitresses had told you it would help on your first day, adding that some light flirting could serve you well too.

They were right.

From then on you carried a few new essentials with you to work, making sure to curl your lashes before you bat them sweetly at customers you knew to be harmless and applied some light lipstick to draw their eye whenever you laughed at their jokes and called them 'sugar'.

But tonight you didn't reach for your usual shade of lipstick, leaving it sitting inside your locker, untouched since the start of your shift. Instead, you swiped on some of that new lipstick you'd bought the other day, a deeper, prettier tone that suited the late hour.

You liked how it enhanced your natural lip color and the way it smelled faintly of vanilla, the same scent that clung to your hair after serving the diner's signature freshly baked vanilla bean cherry pie all day.

Plucking the tube off the display case yesterday, you could feel his breath puffing against your ear all over again as you unscrewed the stopper, the sweet aroma reminding you of his nose in your hair as he relentlessly rut into you from behind.

Fuck, y' smell nice.

It looked just as good on you now as it had when you applied it in your own mirror at home and under better lighting. The new makeup was a marginal change but a noticeable one still.

Too noticeable, you realized and your smile fell.

A few seconds of staring at your reflection and you wipe the lipstick away upon further thought, feeling a little silly that you'd bought the tube in the first place. The feeling only worsened as you stared at the smudged lipstick on the back of your hand, belly swirling when you remembered the other item you had zipped up inside your purse.

He's not your boyfriend. Get a grip.

The dress was one you had long before this all started and so was the sweet daisy perfume you spritzed onto the base of your neck. Your hair had remained the same too, afraid that if you were to change its style or color then you'd have to admit to yourself that you'd done it for him.

You go to close your locker shut, a margin of space remaining before you pause and pull it open again, looking resolute in your reflection.

Taking your place at the counter for the next couple of hours is poor, sweet Maggie, too drowsy to notice you approaching at first. Your dress is hidden under your overcoat but had she been more alert to notice the fresh layer of lipstick you'd reapplied, she would have rounded the corner with her usual chipper energy, gently nudging an elbow into your side before asking you, "so who's the guy?".

The sound of your footsteps eventually jolts her up but you've already got a hand on the front door, directing a friendly wave at her which she returns along with a yawn in your direction.

Steve's parked just beyond the bend, out of sight of the diner so that your coworkers can't see whose car you sometimes get into at the end of a shift. Although, you can rest a little easy knowing that most of them are too busy just trying to stay awake.

The engine kicks on when he sees you approach through the rear view mirror. Hips swaying, hair bouncing with every step, it was enough to make him smirk, letting out a soft, low whistle while you strutted over.

You watch the hand he has draped out the open window snake back inside, a cigarette butt flicked out into the dark a moment later followed by one last billowing exhale of smoke into the chill night air. Walking past the dying orange glint fizzing into ash on the wet grass, you find the passenger side door already unlocked for you.

Your little arrangement is going on five months now, letting him drive you home after your late shift at the diner. Often, he was the only one who came in around that time. He'd eye you discreetly over a cup of coffee when the other waitresses weren't looking, lighting up a cigarette your boss knew better than to tell him to put out. Then he'd leave and wait nearby for you to clock out.

This wasn't a relationship. Just something the two of you fell into to drive the numbness away. At least that's what it was in your case. Ever since your ex skipped town with the money you saved, you were left with no other choice but to work several shitty jobs to put yourself through the rest college. And sometimes that meant that you needed some kind of a release to work through all the stress that came with your many responsibilities. That's where Steve came in.

But when it came to him you could only guess what weighed on his mind although truthfully, you preferred not to find out. The rumors surrounding his family, particularly his father, were enough to make you keep your head down and out of the older Harrington's sight.

You know that getting involved with his son might be one of the riskier things you've done in your life but knowing how little Julian Harrington seemed to care about what his son did outside of managing his father's unscrupulous dealings was a relief. Even if it did make something deep in your chest crack to know how little affection Steve must have received in his life. How could he with a father who viewed everything and everyone in dollar signs and a mother who held more martini's in her jeweled, pristinely manicured hands than she ever held her own son.

Buckling in, it starts sooner than usual.

Your face quickly warms when his hand makes its way on to your knee. It excited you at first, considering it a precursor of sorts for what was to come but you grow to question it only five minutes later. You watch out of the window when instead of slowing down, he passes the dirt road leading to the isolated clearing he always parked at for an hour or more before taking you home.

"Can't stop today. They need me back in twenty", Steve explains before you have a chance to ask. Yet his hand still doesn't leave you. Instead, it slips higher up your thigh, dipping under your dress to rub at damp cotton, still showing no indication that he might stop after all.

"But you're driving..." you feel a little stupid pointing out the obvious, opening yourself up to the opportunity for him to tease you like he sometimes did. Only Steve doesn't resort to it, a silent desperation pumping in his veins, eyes pulling away from the road to drop between your legs.

"Need to feel you" he tells you. Begs you, it almost sounds like, pulling your panties and urging you to lift your hips so he could ease them down your thighs.

Whenever he gets like this you're never made privy to the specifics of what caused his mood, only that it had to do with his work and you knew better than to ask him more about that.

Your seatbelt pulls tight against your chest but as soon as you've managed to get your panties over your shoes and off, you leave them discarded and turned inside out on the footwell for Steve to discover later.

Consider it a present, you thought to yourself, feeling somewhat sorry and like you owed him for whatever's troubling his mind today.

One hand on the steering wheel and the other on you, he pulls your right leg over the console, grip tight on your thigh as he guides you into settling your ankle between his legs, close to his knee.

"Fuck, I can smell you...been waiting all day for this".

You don't reply, remaining silent because the sound of him enjoying you is much more exciting.

To be honest, you're not even sure if he knows that he's doing it.

Steve hums while tracing your wet slit, collecting as much slippery slick on to the pads of his fingertips. Then a soft growl winds its way up his throat while spreading you open to slot his middle finger between your folds, groaning but he doesn't slip it in. Not yet.

You can hear him even with the sound of the running car when his fingertips travel up to find your clit waiting for him just how he likes, all puffy and swollen and most of all, neglected. He rubs at it quickly and not entirely carefully with messy circles that have you sucking in a gasp, shuddering when a bolt of pleasure pulls your back into a pretty arch that has you pushing your chest out too.

The movement has him flicking his eyes to you again. Glancing at the way your seatbelt strains between your tits, looking at it so intensely like he might want to undo the restraint and press his face there instead.

It's easy to lose yourself when he touches you like this.

Almost as if you might lose your balance and slip off some unseen ledge, you clutch at Steve's arm over his jacket, a plush mahogany brown leather that probably cost more than what you made in a month. Sometimes you'd roll your eyes at all the expensive clothes, more than a little tempted to rip at them with your nails or teeth just because you could. Today it feels more like a necessity, so you dig your nails in and anchor yourself to him when you feel your hips begin to twitch.

"Y' know, I parked outside and watched you through the glass before I came in", he drawls, eyes flicking away from the wet, deserted street again and to his wet hand between your legs.

"Saw you watching the door, just waiting for me to walk in...you looked so lonely...rubbing your thighs together like you couldn't help it...poor pretty girl getting all worked up over me, huh?"

You guessed a while back that he liked to be needed.

And having felt the tacky buildup on slick himself, you can't deny having ruined your underwear over him even if you wanted to, all of that wetness just from waiting for that bell to chime and see him walk through those doors.

Steve pulls his fingers away from your cunt and you begin to whine from the loss until you see him taste you, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment before he's focusing on the road again, spit slick fingers finding their way back to your pussy.

Your head's pushed back against the headrest, hips inching forward to meet his digits.

"Put them in", you tell him, maybe a little too demanding because it earns you a slap right on your clit, quick and firm. You yelp and he scoff's playfully, hand cupping your cunt to feel you twitch from the brief impact.

"Please", you add this time, soft and sweet ."Feels so empty".

Steve wants to take it slow. He really wants to savor you but time's ticking tonight as he quickly glances at the flashy silver Rolex wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he'll get to treat you right next time so for now he begins to sink his fingers inside you, his middle and ring fingers smoothing along your walls.

Steve's eyes keep darting from the road and then to you, lips parting when he sees you bucking your hips into his fingers till they start to turn all creamy with you, riding his hand.

"That's it, keep going", he encourages you, curling his fingers enough to press them against that spot that made you gush and squirt during one of your previous hook ups.

"Wanted your cock tonight, Steve", you whined, circling your hips in a nice, fluid motion, working with the way his fingers are dragging inside you.

"Got all dressed up for you and everything..."

His eyes are on the road still as he takes a right but he can practically hear the way your lips have pushed out into a pout.

"I know", he coos. While he might not have made any mention of it, seeing you strutting towards his car in that dress had him fighting off a hard on.

"Make it up to me? please?"

Later, when you're sober and no longer drunk on lust you'll remember back on this as one of those moments where the walls you put up for your own safety crumbled down, too tangled in your building ecstasy to think straight.

He's not your boyfriend. Get a grip.

And yet something makes him set his eyes back on you.

"I promise", uttered softly in a barely there whisper.

It's the first time he's agreed to make any kind of commitment to you outside of hooking up after hours that you have to quickly bite your lip to stop a smile breaking out on your face.

Hearing him say it only makes you careen towards your orgasm much faster, too busy grinding your clit with renewed vigor into the heel of his palm to stop and analyze your own feelings and what they might mean.

"That's it. Don't stop".

You do as he says, hooking your heel in the crook of his Steve's knee when it happens, pleasure erupting deep inside you and spilling out of your pores because it's much too hard to contain.

Steve's BMW skids to a halt at the intersection by your place, no other cars in sight due to the late hour. You've got your eyes squeezed shut but you can still make out the flashing yellow traffic lights colored auburn through your eyelids, putting your whole body into grinding grinding grinding your clit against his palm.

The ache in his wrist is starting to turn hot and his bones click uncomfortably in his arm but he'd sooner let them fracture than pull his hand away while you wring out every little drop of pleasure you can out of his fingers.

You're a sight divine as he watches on. Sweat shines on your neck like a chain of the finest pearls, thighs soft and tight around Steve's hand like velvet, vanilla softly wafting in the air while your body shudders and quivers as you begin to come down from your climax.

Eventually your hips stop rolling, chest heaving while you reach between your legs to gently pull Steve's soaked fingers out from inside you when he makes no move to do it himself, your cheeks blazing at the lewd sound of a wet squelch as his fingers leave you.

That too he has no problem licking clean and all you can do is watch and gather yourself, try not to work yourself up again while he sucks you off his fingers.

He's hard. You can see it swelling under his jeans but when you make a move to place your own hand on him he gently takes hold of it and places it back on your lap.

"'s no time", he tells you and you frown. It just didn't feel fair to leave him that way even if he did insist. And it just didn't feel fair to be denied the chance to pleasure him like he did you. Especially given how much you wanted to.

It's silent during the few minutes it takes for him to pull up to your apartment building, all of Hawkins asleep and you wonder how you could possibly rest too after what's happened in Steve's car.

There wasn't usually all that much said when it came time to step out of his car. No proper goodbye. No confirmed promise of when the next time will be. All you could do was wait for your phone to chime with a message from him or wait until he turns up at the diner again.

But this time he surprises you.

Undoing your seatbelt for you, the warmth of Steve's had on your cheek feels too soothing to give up before stepping out into the cold, even if a little strange too. Neither of you are used to this side of him. Hell, neither of you thought he had such a side to him at all.

And you're too entranced to question it, when he pulls you close, his lips connecting with yours.

It isn't like you've never shared a kiss before. It's just that they only usually happened leading up to sex or during sex but tonight, he leaves you with something tender and new.

Pulling back, you see his lips tinted very lightly with your lipstick.

" 's pretty" he mumbles, thumb pulling at your bottom lip, unaware that you've left some of it on him too.

You beam, thinking back on how you almost didn't wear it. Thinking that he wouldn't acknowledge it or care.

You wipe it off his lips with your thumb before any of his business associates have a chance to see it and ask any questions.

And that's when you remember the other reason you were hoping for Steve to take your usual detour tonight. Stepping out on unsteady legs, you fit your hand into your purse, clutching the spare key in your pocket tight before pulling it out and taking a moment to prepare yourself.

"I have the night off tomorrow", you drop the key into the passenger seat through the window, watching it glint under the moonlight.

"If you want...", you trail. No amount of preparation could have readied you for this, you realize.

"I'll be up" you say instead, turning on your heel so you can rush inside before Steve can utter so much as a single word.

---

Waiting for the hours to pass the next day feels near unbearable, nervously pacing around your apartment and distracting yourself with chores when it starts to turn dark.

He's not your boyfriend. Get a grip. Once again makes a home in your head despite how unwelcome it is there. And when 11PM turns to 12AM to 1AM to 2AM again you blink back the sting of new tears, ready to unclad yourself from the lingerie you had on underneath your clothes and wash away the perfume and the make up and-

The front door handle begins to jiggle just then, the distinct sound of a key slipping into the lock follows and you're already smiling before he pulls the door open, flowers in hand.

[hellothereobiwankenobi]

yellow ribbon on the door | chapter one

⟢ summary: Tommy invites the widowed wife of his old Army sergeant to Sarah’s 14th birthday party. Over the past few months, she has slowly become a regular fixture in the lives of the Miller family. And Joel hates it.

⟢ pairing: joel miller x afab!reader (femme but not descriptive as to actual features)

⟢ wc: 1.8k

⟢ warnings: no outbreak au, flower shop au, idiots in love, small age gap, joel is 35 and reader is 29 about to be 30, war widow, operation desert storm mentioned, reader is a single mother to ellie, joel is in love with the reader but because he’s such a dumb fuck when it comes to love he thinks the feelings he has for her must be hate, eventual smut, no beta reader we die like men

⟢ authors notes: this story is inspired by “sunlight & sawdust” by @pandapetals. i started reading the first chapter of their work and it planted a seed (no pun intended) for my own story. so, hope that’s cool.

ꕥ navigation │ next ꕥ

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Joel pulls a glass beer bottle from the ice-filled cooler. He pops the bottle cap off and takes a long swig. Sarah’s fourteenth birthday party was underway, and his home and backyard were filled to the brim with family, friends, and neighbors. Joel adored his daughter, but standing in front of a hot grill in late July was hardly his idea of a good time.

The heat was starting to get to him. Standing in front of the grill under the blazing Texas sun was already enough, but the way his pulse increased every time he heard your voice. That was making this summer day unbearable.

Your laugh carries across the backyard and directly to Joel’s ears. He watched you sitting perched on the arm of the grey Adirondack chair Tommy was currently occupying. Your head thrown back, eyes closed, a toothy smile plastered on your face. Tommy was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, as he recounted a story about his time in the army. Probably the one where he gets up in the middle of the night to take a leak only to find a spider the size of a dinner plate leaping out of the latrine. Always a crowd pleaser. A small group had joined the two of you on the deck, standing in a semicircle, captivated by Tommy’s words. He always had that ability. A magnetic way of speech that could keep a room full of people wrapped around his little finger.

Tommy leans back into the chair and goes for another sip of his beer only to realize it was empty when two small drops touched his lips. “Guess this one's done for,” he chuckles to himself. He moves to stand up from his sitting position, but you're on your feet in a second “Let me get it for you.”

The corners of Tommy’s mouth curl into an easy smile “Always so good to me, Sugar.” You roll your eyes, but let out a soft giggle. Joel had only met you twice before this, but both times he noticed you were always doting on Tommy. Refilling his drinks, laughing at his jokes, giving him unprompted compliments. Big doe eyes filled with stars as you hung on every word he spoke.

Could you be any more fucking obvious Joel thought to himself. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but seeing you treat his brother like the only man on earth drove him crazy.

You make your way across the yard toward the row of beverage coolers. He feels his body temperature rising again. He decides to do the mature thing and act like he didn’t see you coming.

You stop in front of him before looking up, trying to meet his eyes “Umm, mind if I-” you nod down toward the cooler sitting behind him.

Joel awkwardly shuffles over, giving you more than enough space to complete your task. You bend at the waist, a white and yellow floral sundress riding up and exposing the back of your thighs. He stays facing forward, but he can’t help himself when his eyes travel down the soft curve of your body. Moving discreetly from your round ass, along your legs, all the way down to your exposed manicured toes peeking out from tan, strappy sandals. He’s convinced you know exactly what you're doing positioned like that.

Again, fucking obvious.

You grab the cooler’s lid with one hand, and search for Tommy’s drink of choice with the other. You pluck the red and silver beer can from the ice before closing the lid and returning to a standing position. Joel swiftly adverts his gaze back to the group surrounding his brother.

“Thanks for the invite by the way” You turn to look up at Joel, trying to offer a show of peace. It had been made very clear that he did not like you.

Over the past several months, Tommy has brought you to one family dinner and the Annual Miller Brothers Super Bowl Party. Both times Joel had been frigid toward you, like being in the same room as you was some sort of inconvenience.

When Tommy told you he had a brother, you expected a mirror image of him. Just a slightly older version. Someone who shared his charm, who was quick with a joke, and always craving to be the center of attention. During your first interactions with Joel, you realized the only thing they had in common was a family likeness. Joel shared Tommy’s brown eyes, naturally tanned skin, soft curls, but lacked the same magnetic personality. For you, speaking with Joel was like speaking to a brick wall. A brick wall that hated you for some unknown reason.

Joel doesn’t bother looking in your direction to speak. With an uncaring tone, he reminds you “Tommy invited ya”

“Right,” you let out a sigh, defeated. You couldn’t figure out what you did to make Joel dislike you so much. When Tommy would bring you around, you learned to steer clear of the elder Miller brother.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a bright flash of yellow and orange coming from the barbeque. “Umm, Joel.” you point in the direction of the grill. Joel’s eyes finally move from their fixed position and look in the direction you're pointing.

“Shit-” is all he says before running to the grill, flames rising from the coals.

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

Joel pulls the glass sliding door connecting the backyard to the house open with one hand. The other balances a tray of the last darkened hamburgers and hotdogs from the grill into the kitchen. You were standing at the kitchen counter, preparing two meals on paper plates. One with a hamburger stacked with lettuce, onion, and pickles. The second plate holds a single hot dog, a small pile of potato chips, and a few blackberries from the fruit tray you brought for the party. He places the tray on the counter beside you before grabbing a plate for himself. Joel comes to stand at the counter, keeping a sizable gap between the two of you. He grabs some chips and store-bought potato salad and places them on his plate.

“That for Tommy?” Joel asks without thinking, gesturing to one of the two plates in front of you.

You glance up at Joel and flash him a small grin “Tommy is a big boy. If he wants something to eat, he knows where to find it.”

Joel felt a new type of heat creeping up the back of his neck. You let the silence hang in the air for just a moment, allowing yourself to enjoy the flustered look on his face. “It’s for Ellie.”

Of course, Ellie. Your daughter. He had seen her earlier running in the backyard with the other younger children. Sarah was spending her birthday party keeping them occupied by blowing bubbles and letting the kids chase them down. That didn’t surprise Joel though. Sarah could always be found keeping the kids busy during family functions. Joel was more than content with the situation of just him and Sarah, but a part of him always wanted to give her a younger sibling or two. Tommy was a pain in the ass even on the best of days, but he couldn’t imagine what it would be like without him.

Joel finally snaps out of his thoughts and finishes fixing his plate. He exits the kitchen and sees you struggling to open the sliding door with your elbow. Your hands are full with a plate in each one, forcing you to get creative with the door.

Joel stands behind you, reaching around your body to pull the door open with his free hand. You look over your shoulder to see him standing close behind you. Closer than he’s ever been before.

Before you can put too much thought into it, you step out onto the deck and move to find your daughter.

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

The afternoon sun had finally started to shift behind Joel’s two-story home, flooding the back deck in shade. Joel sits with Tommy in the Adirondack chairs, eating in comfortable silence. He watches as you sit in the grass with Ellie. Joel can’t help but notice the way the sun caresses your exposed shoulders and chest. Its golden rays making your skin glow.

You try to scold her for eating too fast but it’s clear it has no effect on her. Her hot dog is gone in three bites, followed by a whole handful of the blackberries, and then three chips at a time. She asks you a question Joel can’t hear from this distance and shows you her empty plate. You let out a defeated sigh and nod your head. You take the paper plate from Ellie, and she bolts across the grassy yard to rejoin the other children.

“Must be hard,” Tommy finally breaks the silence. Joel looks at his brother, eyebrows pinched together.

“Doin’ it alone,” Tommy continues, “figured you’d understand. Thought y’all could bond over that.”

Joel remembered Tommy mentioning you were a single mom but he always tried to tune out most of the other information Tommy offers about you.

“Good thing she has you around.” Joel remarks plainly. Trying his best push down the bitter feelings he has associated with their relationship.

You stand up, flattening out your skirt and brushing away any loose pieces of grass. You throw away the paper plates and make your way to the two brothers. After climbing the steps to the deck, you return to your spot on the arm of Tommy’s chair.

“Still havin’ a good time?” Tommy asks you, “Despite Joel’s embarrassin’ barbeque skills.”

Joel rolls his eyes with a grunt, wishing Tommy would just let it go. Next time he could stand in front of the hot grill in one-hundred-degree weather.

You let out a soft giggle “I don’t mind my meat a little well-done.”

“Well-done is generous” Tommy laughs, giving his brother’s arm a shove. “Think Joel forgot you’re supposed to cook with the coals. Not feed ‘em to your guests.”

You want to laugh, but the look on Joel’s face cautions that thought away. You decide to change the subject “Tommy, I actually wanted to ask you for a favor.”

Tommy looks up at you with a soft smile, “Anythin’, Sugar.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes “I was hoping you could come by the shop sometime this week. The A/C unit in the walk-in cooler is still leaking. I called the repair guy, but it’s going to be at least two hundred dollars for him to just come and take a look at it. And then who knows how much for him to fix it.”

“Course I can.” Tommy leans back leisurely, “I got a couple jobs scheduled, but I’m sure I can squeeze my favorite girl in somewhere.”

With that, Joel makes his leave. He had enough of the two of you and your little flirtatious games.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

⟢ more authors notes: so i have not written fanfic in maybe a decade. ive only recently rediscovered my love for it. posting this makes me nervous but i just really loved this idea and had to run with it.

as of right now, the rating is teen. explicit will eventually happen, but not for a few chapters. but miss girl, once we get to the smut… it’s gonna be nasty and i honestly can’t wait.

also, i will say this now. ive only watched the tv show, never played the game. so idk if tommy calling reader “sugar” is based on canon. i just read it in a fic once and i thought it was so freaking adorable and really tracks with pre-outbreak tommy.

[tobesolnelyx]

my friend, im begging you, imagine me on my knees begging you for a part two of we can’t be friends (wait for your love). that was so sweet and delicate in a way that spoke to me. pleaseeeeee 😭🥺😔

— love, i’ll wait for your love || shauna shipman x fem!reader 🌀 (wilderness). part 2 - part 1

a/n: honestly, exploration of this dynamic and relationship brings me so much joy (no matter how does that sound lmao…)

summary: no matter how much shauna doesn’t like that, you work like a goddamn magnet for her. she just can’t help it. hurt/comfort. fluff.

warnings: standard yellowjackets warnings

word count: about 1.1k

Shauna had never truly considered that something serious might happen to you. Sure, life in the wilderness was no gentle affair—it came with brutal temperatures, relentless hunger, and trauma so thick it clung to your bones. Most of you had lost weight. A lot of it. You still had panic attacks. It was bad, but it could have been so much worse. And no matter how cruel it sounded—you'd found a kind of peace in it. Maybe it was the routine. Maybe the hope of rescue had flickered out so thoroughly that, shamefully, you'd grown used to the way things were.

Used to the grime that wouldn't scrub off no matter how hard you tried. Used to the summer sweat that clung to your skin and never seemed to leave. Used to sleeping under threadbare blankets in your hut.

But you'd never gotten used to the emptiness of it. To the absence. The lack of her. No Shauna voice, no gentle hands—untouched by blood once—and no trace of that soft smile. That emptiness gnawed at the corners of your mind. Not even the comfort of routine could dull it.

Sometimes your eyes would meet hers across the camp. She never looked away first. So you did. Every time. As if the moment stretched too long, she'd suddenly leap across the camp, knife in hand, and slit your throat.

You caught yourself watching her often—searching for something, anything, that proved she hadn't changed so completely. That maybe, if you tried hard enough, if you reached far enough, she wouldn't be so full of rage all the time.

But it got harder. Especially when the words clung to your throat like thorns, and your feet turned to stone the moment you convinced yourself to follow her.

And then one day, something shifted.

Melissa appeared.

And it didn't take a genius to see Shauna wasn't in love. You were certain she didn't even like her. You knew when Shauna liked someone. You'd seen it—that strange widening of her brown eyes, that softening in her gaze like she was seeing you for the very first time. She never looked at Melissa that way. Not once. So you didn't let yourself believe there was anything... real.

The next crisis came quickly. Not as brutal, not as jarring, but it stayed. It stayed while you tried to bury the memories of so many other things that had happened.

But the cave expedition unsettled everyone.

At one point, you were with the others. And then, in a blink, the torchlight vanished behind a bend and a hand caught yours in the dark. You knew that hand like your own. You clung to it instinctively.

Maybe it was just a hallucination. Later, you weren't so sure.

You didn't know how long you'd been unconscious, only that when you woke, you were somewhere completely different. The dark was suffocating. Water dripped somewhere near, and you were lying in it, soaked to your thighs. Your breathing was shallow, and the pain in your lungs was sharp enough to make you wonder if you could keep doing it—keep breathing.

Eventually, you got to your feet. Shivering. Terrified. But determined—because if you didn't find a way out, you'd die down there.

You had no idea where to go. Your legs trembled violently.

And then you heard her.

Shauna. Calling your name. Loud, though distant.

And you knew. Knew she'd gone completely feral. You weren't anywhere nearby.

She didn't care. She wasn't going to let the fucking wilderness take one more thing. One more person.

"Please!" Her voice cracked through the dark, tinged with something you hadn't heard in a long time. Desperation. Maybe even fear. Panic. "Say something!"

Shauna was looking for you.

So you screamed. As loud as your ravaged lungs allowed. The sound startled even you—it had been so long since you'd spoken at all.

"Shauna?!"

Her footsteps faltered, echoing through the cavern. Then they picked up again. Louder. Faster. You could almost hear the urgency, feel her sprinting blindly through the dark toward you.

"Don't move!" she called. Sharp. Breathless. But threaded with relief.

As if you could move. You grip the wall, focusing only on breathing, and listened for the rhythm of her footsteps.

"Talk to me, please—!" she screamed again, the words raw, tearing the silence. "I'll find you, just..."

She didn't finish. Probably didn't believe it herself. You shouted again, weaker now. But it was enough. Her steps quickened, turned frantic—and then, from behind a bend, came the light.

She nearly ran you over.

The torch clattered to the ground with a dull thud, forgotten. And then her arms were around you. You held her back, automatically, like muscle memory. She panted into your shoulder, her hands searching your body, needing to feel you, to be sure you were real. Not a trick of the mind. Not a cruel hallucination.

One hand tangled in your hair. The other locked tight around your waist, holding you like she'd never let go again.

You barely registered the others when they arrived. The torches lit up the cave again, filling it with breath and voices—but no one dared to approach. No one interrupted whatever was happening between you and Shauna.

You let out a long breath, resting your chin on her shoulder, and hugged her back just as fiercely.

She didn't speak. But she didn't need to. You knew. She had never stopped caring.

And in that moment, that strange aching weight that had haunted you for so long began to lift.

"I've got you," she whispered, barely more than breath. But you heard it. And that was enough.

That night, without a word, Shauna brought her things to your hut.

You'd just been drifting off when she came in, gave the place a slow once-over, and then—apparently satisfied—dropped her sheets to the floor.

She left again, only to return with the rest of things. Her journal. Her knife. Both landed with a soft thump beside your belongings. She quietly unrolled her bedding next to yours, careful to keep a respectful distance.

You watched her the whole time, not saying a word. This time, afraid you might scare her off.

But you would've been lying if you said you were surprised. Deep down, you'd always known—Shauna would find her way back to you.

"Still getting panic attacks?"

You flinched. Her voice was soft—softer than you remembered. Like she was afraid one wrong word would break you open again. Like that time she told you to fuck off.

You nodded. And she said nothing else. Just lay down beside you.

A silence followed. Cradled by the faint crackle of the fire outside.

Then her hand found yours beneath the blankets.

"I'll be here when you wake up."

[damnfeelings09]

A.N: special thanks to the lovely @xobunni0 I love how you write my boy and futuristic lovers is a masterpiece. This one is inspired in the song E.T as well as on your work, thank you darling! I suggest you all go to her blog if you haven't already.

Also, you will find OC name here (like in other pov's of mine) but this is still an xreader ff, it's just that I dont quite like putting y/n or _____ :( sorry *Also (this is the last one I promise) english is not my first lenguage so there could be some grammar errors and so, sorry in advance!

E.T - Shadow's version

“You're so hypnotizing Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel?”

190605. You entered the code, and the door made a metallic sound before opening, revealing a second door that required voice access.

“Special Agent Dr. Moon,” you said confidently. The door opened for you. You walked into the GUN facility; floor -16 was cold and dark, the lights flickering on as you made your way to room 296. You scanned your ID and waited a few seconds before turning the handle. There, in front of you, was the hedgehog you loved so much. The ultimate lifeform was lying on the cot, tossing a ball and hitting the ceiling over and over again. His ears twitched, catching the unmistakable sound of your heels.

“Back so soon?” he said, sitting up. “Careful, doc, they’ll think you’ve lost your mind.”

“And do we care?” you smiled, standing just a few inches away from the large polycarbonate cristal like wall that separated you. You quickly raised your hand and rested it against the wall. Shadow didn’t waste any time, using his speed to reach your side in one second, placing his hand against yours.

“Your touch, magnetizing Feels like I am floating Leaves my body glowing”

You didn’t really know when or how it had happened. You had been working in GUN's medical wing for five years, initially as a field medic, until, after two years, you were promoted to Head of Medical Staff. Later, you decided to focus on Mobian medicine—not because you had much to work with, but when the opportunity arose to learn more about this fascinating species, you couldn’t refuse. At first, it was just a few check-ups for Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles, a few tests for speed and strength, samples of their fur and blood, studying their anatomy and physiology. While it wasn’t all that different from humans, it wasn’t exactly the same either. They healed faster, could endure higher levels of pain and temperatures—something that would kill an average human would only cause temporary damage to a Mobian. Furthermore, human diseases didn’t affect them, but that didn’t mean their diseases couldn’t cause a worldwide pandemic.

Eight months ago, Commander Hillsprung had tasked you with analyzing a different specimen. Something that wasn’t entirely Mobian, but also wasn’t human. In fact, no one was sure what it was—the Project Shadow, as everyone called it. At first, the project was falling apart. Despite Shadow volunteering, he didn’t agree with the tests they were putting him through. Five different people had tried to study him—scientists, physicists, even veterinarians—but he wouldn’t let anyone get close enough. He’d remove the equipment, refuse to give samples. They didn’t know what else to do. Just when it seemed like the research would fail, that’s when you appeared.

“They say, be afraid You're not like the others”

Shadow looked at you attentively. You hadn't approached him like the others, nor did you look at him the same way they did. Although he could sense the uncertainty, there was something else… curiosity, perhaps admiration? He wasn't sure, but he knew you were different. The fascination you felt for him was written all over your face, like a big, glowing sign. This allowed Shadow to lower his guard, just a little.

You spoke to him and recognized him for what he was—an equal. Over time, Shadow grew accustomed to your presence. You would arrive early, much earlier than the other agents, and have a brief conversation where you'd tell him about the findings you'd made about him. Shadow always listened with interest to everything you said, enjoying the fruit you had kindly brought him. He could hear the enthusiasm and excitement in your voice, loved the smile that appeared when you made a new discovery, and noticed how you furrowed your brow when the tests didn’t turn out as expected.

"It will work," Shadow would tell you as he followed you across the room from his side of the glass.

"And what if it doesn’t? I’ve failed the last three attempts. The component isn’t stable enough; I can’t reach your DNA. My samples are running out."

"There’s more where that came from," he remarked, shrugging in a nonchalant tone.

"I don’t want to puncture you with the needle again. Your skin heals in less than a minute, the wound has to be large enough to get a good sample, plus... I don’t like hurting you," you said, meeting his gaze.

"You’re the only one here who cares about me. I only trust you to do this. Besides, this will help me know where I come from, what I am, who I am."

When you heard him say that, something inside you broke. Shadow was alone, lost, and trusted you to help him learn everything he could about himself. Instinctively, you took his hand, intertwining your fingers through the small window where they passed his food.

"I promise I will."

“Boy, you're an alien Your touch, so foreign It's supernatural Extraterrestrial”

After that, Shadow had become dependent on you, and you on him. At first, you controlled it well, one or two stolen glances, shared smiles, the brush of your hands when you examined him, staying late to see him again, pretending you had forgotten an instrument in his room just to open the door and sit by his side, shoulder to shoulder, all to be close to him. That worked, until a speed test at the HRW training center (used to me High Range Weapons center) of GUN. A stupid agent launched rockets toward Shadow, boasting that if he truly was the ultimate lifeform, it wouldn’t be anything for him. Six heat-seeking rockets pursued Shadow across the platform as you shouted at the agent while trying to stop the missiles with the computer. "Let it go," said Commander Hillsprung. "But... but sir, Shad... Project Shadow is not ready yet, the tests are still incomplete in the lab, it’s too risky considering the new rings are inhibiting his powers even more." "If I didn’t know you, Agent, I’d think you were concerned about the... alien." You paled at his accusations. No one, especially Commander Hillsprung, could know that you were fraternizing with Shadow. "They wouldn’t understand," you thought. "N-no, sir, not at all. I just think about what’s best for the research," you said, controlling your breathing as calmly as possible. "Then let the test proceed. It’s time for the ultimate weapon to show us what it’s made of."

You couldn’t do anything but watch as Shadow jumped and ran, dodging the missiles. Yes, he was the most powerful being on the planet, heck… he was the most powerful being in the galaxy as far as you knew, but knowing that he couldn’t use all of his powers to save himself made your insides twist with dread. Shadow dodged four of the missiles with the grace and ease of a gazelle. He was fast, strong, precise. Every hit he delivered destroyed the missile without leaving a scratch. When only two missiles remained to be destroyed, Shadow stopped, standing still in the middle of the platform. A small smirk appeared on his face as he thought, "Is this all they’ve got? Pathetic." Both missiles were heading toward him, but just before they hit, Shadow leapt so high, leaving the missiles below him as they exploded into each other. You celebrated Shadow’s victory, while the high-ranking officials watched in stunned silence at what had happened. The agent who had launched the missiles had his jaw clenched so tightly that you’d swear his teeth were going to break. He was upset, no, he was furious. He was tired of that lab rat taking all the attention.

“You're so supersonic Wanna feel your powers Stun me with your laser “

You quickly made your way to the training center entrance, running towards Shadow while cheering him on for the excellent job he had done, your heart racing with excitement, overjoyed with happiness, as you extended your arms toward him. He met halfway, smiling, happy with what you had both achieved together.

“Your kiss is cosmic Every move is magic”

You enjoyed the moment so much, the warmth of your arms, that you didn’t notice when a seventh missile was launched directly at you. With no time to get both of you out of there, and without his Chaos Control to teleport, he decided to save you. It didn’t matter what would happen to him, Shadow only knew you had to be safe. He threw you a few meters away from him, your body hitting the hard ground and your head slamming against the wall. Your vision was blurry, and the ringing in your ears made it impossible to recognize anything around you. Someone grabbed your arm, shaking it, and in the distance, you heard your name, but couldn’t understand anything else. More agents ran to the left of the training room, and a stretcher passed in front of you. The next thing happened like a flash. The stretcher carried something black on it, cables and tubes surrounding a thin, small body, agents in lab coats running behind the stretcher. That’s when you reacted to what had happened. Shadow had been hit by the missile’s explosion directly in an attempt to save your life. As best as you could, you got up and ran after the stretcher, stumbling along the way. Your colleagues tried to stop you, but there was no force in the world that could separate you from Shadow.

“This is transcendental On another level Boy, you're my lucky star”

Regaining your vision, you approached the medical room where they had Shadow. His jet-black fur, once as bright as the night sky, was now covered in dirt and bloodstains. He wore a mask covering his mouth and nose, his breathing was labored, and his heartbeat irregular. “An arrhythmia” you thought. The panic and fear of losing him overtook you, but this was not the time to run off and cry; Shadow needed you. "10mg of adenosine," you requested from the nurse beside you as you searched for the IV in his arm. "Dr. Moon, you should..." she tried to persuade you. "10mg of adenosine, NOW, or we're going to lose him." After administering the medication, you noticed his heart rate normalized to 250 bpm, something normal considering his condition and the fact that we were talking about a supersonic hedgehog. "I want everyone out of the room." "But, boss..." "Didn't you hear what I said? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" The entire medical team exited the room. You quickly approached Shadow, took the device you always carried with you, and lowered the power of the inhibitor rings. Shadow needed to recover fast, damn it, you needed him to recover fast, and he wouldn't be able to achieve that if he was at 10% of his power.

“I wanna walk on your wavelength

And be there when you vibrate For you, I'll risk it all, all”

"You'll be fine," you said as you wiped his muzzle, removing the dirt and blood that you found along the way. Your hand rested on Shadow's cheek, it was warm, which was a good sign, right? You positioned yourself on his right side on the stretcher, counting each breath, each heartbeat. Shadow made a sound, a tiny whimper that you wouldn't have been able to hear if you weren't just inches away from his face. You quickly removed the mask from his snout, and he slowly opened his eyes, focusing his sight as if searching for something, until he saw you by his side. "Mo-mo...on?" he said, followed by a small whimper. "I'm here," you said, leaning in and bringing your forehead to his. Shadow sighed, gently stroking your cheek, relieved to see that you were alright. "You saved me," you whispered for both of you, your warm breath meeting Shadow's mouth.

“Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me Infect me with your lovin' Fill me with your poison Take me, ta-ta-take me Wanna be your victim Ready for abduction”

You both opened your eyes at the same time, the fire making itself present in the crimson orbs of Shadow, without thinking, without planning, you succumbed to what your heart longed for and kissed him. A deep, needed, desired kiss. Your tongues dancing together a dangerous waltz, small bites on your lower lip, courtesy of his sharp canines created the perfect mix between pain and satisfaction. Your hands stroking his quills, careful not to prick you, although at this point it was the least of your worries. The monitor that Shadow was connecting to shooting at 1000 lpm while taking you by the waist sitting you in his lap. Fuck, how much he wanted this, how much he needed this. It had been a while since the looks and smiles were no longer enough for him. Shadow had dreamed of this moment more than he would admit, spending his moments fantasizing about what it would be like to taste those pink lips, what flavor they had, if they were as smooth as he imagined.

They were not, it was even better than what he imagined.

You separated ‘cause the lack of air, with your breathing agitated, choppy, just before you pulled away, Shadow took you by surprise, giving a caress, licking your cheek, causing you to blush instantly, not because you disliked, but because he had seemed so... tender.

 Shadow’s heart rate normalized again, settling on the stretcher as a reddish blush painted his muzzle. The dim light, the rise and fall of your chest, the strands of hair falling over your face, your lips red from the make out session that had just occurred.

“A goddess” thought the hedgehog. You reached out for his hand, fingers entwined, no one said a thing, it wasn’t necessary. What you felt for each other was more than enough.

“Boy, you're an alien Your touch, so foreign It's supernatural Extraterrestrial”

[thediormulan]

Pick-a-Card: What Is My Most Magnetic Aura Becoming?

You don’t chase timelines—you breathe them into existence. Your aura is becoming too sacred to shrink. This is your origin story in motion.

PILE ONE:“Boardroom Venus”

My softness doesn’t need permission. It signs the checks now.

Angel… you’re no longer in the phase of seeking recognition. Recognition now seeks you. Your aura is cloaked in a new kind of wealth—one that can’t be liquidated, priced, or performed. You’re walking through this season like a vault in heels: sealed, elegant, and dangerous to anyone who assumed access without value.The crown you wear now isn’t loud—it’s learned.

You’ve stopped explaining your intuition. You’ve stopped lowering your tone in rooms where the ceilings were never built for you anyway. And spirit is saying: that silence? That slow blink? That pause before you answer? That’s your new brand of thunder.

You don’t raise your voice—you shift the temperature of the room.The ancestors show you seated at the head of a roundtable of spirits. Not because you’re loud—but because you’ve stopped shrinking. They’re watching you with obsidian eyes, nodding in suits of shadow and stardust.They say: She doesn’t walk into spaces. She consecrates them.

Channeling the Cards

– Queen of Pentacles (Upright) – You are the embodiment of sacred structure. You no longer chase the bag—you are the infrastructure. You bless the bag and tithe it back to your lineage. This isn’t hustle. This is divine estate energy.

– The Hierophant (Reversed) – You’re overthrowing inherited systems. The rules you were raised with? You’ve outgrown them. Tradition without truth is just imprisonment in pearls.

– Eight of Cups (Upright) – You walked away from something “good enough.” That wasn’t a loss—it was clearing space for the throne to fit.

– Empress of Power – Your name is being whispered in powerful rooms. Matriarchs, curators, CEOs—your aura speaks long before you do.

– Solar Plexus Oracle – “My No is a Spell” – You’re no longer collapsing boundaries to soothe fragile egos. Your refusals are sacred. And they’re working.

You’re this pile if…

• You’ve been withdrawing from shallow spaces—they don’t deserve your presence.

• You crave silence, structure, and sacred self-respect.

• You’ve said aloud: “I’m tired of proving softness is strength.”

• You’ve been gravitating toward neutral tones, browns, and creams—luxury without noise.

• You feel a matriarchal spirit watching you like: “There she go… finally walking like the throne she is.”

Body Confirmations

• A tight solar plexus—it’s your power seat anchoring

• Goosebumps when setting boundaries or speaking up

• Heavy shoulders, but your spine’s straighter now

• Dreams of thrones, roundtables, or women in silk and stone

Divine Whisper from Spirit

You are the answer to a boardroom prayer. But you won’t be just a guest—you’ll found a new table entirely. One that drips in gold, seats legacy, and speaks fluent goddess. You are no longer applying for positions—you are the position others align to.Don’t rush the reveal. Divine timing is wrapping your next offer in velvet and high regard.

Spiritual Embodiment Practice

• Before any major decision, mirror gaze and declare:

“My decisions bless seven generations forward.”

• Light a white candle in a tea cup. Whisper your desires. Let the wax carry your blueprint to the cosmic council.

Confirmation Clues

• Silver or beige briefcases

• Expensive perfume commercials

• Classic brownstone buildings

• Sudden posture shifts when speaking your truth

Your Aura Now Whispers:

“My discernment is my seduction. I don’t sell my softness—I wield it.”

This is your “watched from afar” season. People don’t ask how you do it. They just start rearranging their energy when you enter.

PILE TWO: “Architect of Cosmic Blueprints”

While they’re manifesting, I’m blueprinting dimensions.

Cards Pulled (Upright unless noted):

• The Magician – You are the cosmic conduit. What you speak, becomes.

• Two of Wands (Reversed) – You’re not waiting at the crossroads anymore. You are the road.

• Ten of Pentacles – Legacy is being carved through your daily choices. Quietly. Potently.

• The High Priestess of Geometry – Galactic Oracle – Sacred codes are being downloaded through your hands. You are blueprinting the unseen.

• Mercury in Virgo – “It’s in the Details” – Strategy is your spellwork. You’re refining the foundation.

• Throat Chakra Oracle: “My voice builds temples” – You’re speaking structures into existence. Your truth echoes into eternity.

The Message:

You’re not in a creation phase. You’re in a consecration phase. Every idea you’ve been sitting on is a relic from a higher realm, waiting for you to give it scaffolding. You are not manifesting—you are engineering frequency. You’re this pile if you’ve been feeling like God with a clipboard. Precision. Intention. Anointing.

This season, your aura hums with blueprint codes—radiant, intentional, grounded in design and dripping with ancient vision. People don’t know how to describe your power. They just feel the need to get their life together after being around you. That’s spiritual architecture.

The Magician confirms your voice is spellcasting without effort. Your body is a temple where ideas incarnate. You may feel pulled to rebrand, redesign, or strip away clutter. Trust it. The Ten of Pentacles whispers that you’re not just creating for now—you’re laying bricks that your grandchildren’s grandchildren will study.Your ancestors are the original masons. They whisper: “She remembered. She’s building what we couldn’t.”

You are this pile if…

• You’ve been editing your captions like scripture.

• You light candles before opening Canva.

• You see numbers, shapes, or patterns and feel chills in your hands.

• You’re building a business, brand, or body of work that feels like prophecy in pixels.

Spiritual Embodiment Ritual:

• Write out your dream project with a pencil.

• Fold it three times and place it under your pillow.

• For 3 nights, ask Spirit: “What’s the next right brick?”

• Wake and write. Even if it’s nonsense. One sentence may be divine blueprint.

Channeled Body Clues:

• Sudden desire to clean, organize, delete or archive things

• Your dreams becoming more symbolic or mathematical

• Tingling in hands, fingers, or the back of your head

• A strange peace while everyone else seems in a panic

Divine Whisper:

“You’re not here to go viral. You’re here to go vertical. Every vision you’re grounding is a stairway. Build slow, build divine.”

Symbol: Unfolded blueprint glowing with ancestral runes

Channeled Song: “Blue Dream” – Jhené Aiko x Alex Isley (Live Session)

Confirmation Letters: M, V, L, D

Angel Numbers: 555, 919, 744

Magnetic Emotion of This Pile: Visionary stillness

Your Aura Now Whispers:

“Creation is my communion. I don’t copy trends—I blueprint prophecy.”

PILE THREE: “The Roundtable Queen ”

“She doesn’t raise her voice. She raises the standard.”

Cards Pulled (Upright unless noted):

• The Fool (Reversed) – You’ve stepped into a new beginning, but it’s not a naive leap. You’ve moved past the fears and into boldness.

• King of Swords – Your mind is now your greatest weapon. Clarity and logic guide you, but this time, they serve your highest truth.

• Queen of Wands (Reversed) – Unapologetically magnifying your personal power. You’re less about pleasing others and more about asserting your space.

• The Emperor – You’ve claimed your throne. It’s no longer a metaphor—it’s the energy you carry, and the world feels it.

• The High Priestess – Galactic Oracle – You’re embodying the deep knowing that can no longer be silenced. Secrets, intuition, wisdom—it all pours through you.

• Throat Chakra Oracle: “My Voice is the Revolution” – Your words are now cosmic activations. You speak with purpose.

The Message:

You’re not waiting to be invited to the table—you’re the one laying the first stone. Your aura is no longer one of seeking acceptance; you’re in full command, claiming your space. Not only are you a disruptor—you’ve become the embodiment of the truth you once feared to voice. It no longer comes from asking—it comes from being.

The King of Swords shows you holding the power of clear, decisive communication. You speak with authority, but it’s grounded in truth, not ego. You’ve risen beyond past insecurities and into intellectual and spiritual sovereignty.

The Fool (Reversed) tells me you’re aware of your new beginnings but also no longer naively entering unknown territory. You know exactly what you’re walking into, and you’re doing it with full conviction.

The Emperor confirms the energy you’re embodying: leadership. Authority. Sovereignty. The world is beginning to feel the weight of your presence—your thoughts are being aligned with action, and your words are being respected as law.

Your voice is now your weapon, and with the High Priestess, your intuition is a secret weapon that guides your every move. You’re not just being heard—you’re being revered, as every word that leaves your mouth carries ancient knowledge.

You are this pile if…

• You’ve stopped asking for permission and started claiming the world.

• You’ve recently stepped into a leadership role—whether that be in your career, friendships, or personal life.

• You no longer shrink for others—every space you enter, you own.

• You’ve recognized that the world needs your unapologetic voice.

• Your truth is now sacred. You are no longer afraid to speak up, even if it scares you.

• You’ve learned to let go of the fear of being “too much.”

Spiritual Embodiment Practice:

• Stand tall in front of a mirror and repeat: “I am worthy of taking up all the space I need.”

• In a room of quiet, find your most confident posture. Speak a word of your truth aloud, feeling the power ripple through you.

• Light a black candle and meditate on what needs to be released in order for you to speak without fear.

Channeled Body Clues:

• A tightening feeling in your throat or chest (truth rising).

• A sense of calm before big moments. You’re learning to pause and speak when it’s necessary—not when it’s expected.

• Sudden bursts of clarity followed by periods of stillness.

• The urge to write or record, as if your thoughts have transformed into sacred text.

• A desire to express through more creative or assertive methods, like writing, music, or speaking.

Divine Whisper:

“The world doesn’t need your permission to hear you—it needs your permission to be changed by you. You’re not here to be palatable. You’re here to be undeniable.”

Magnetic Emotion: Liberated audacity. Not everyone will agree with you. But everyone will remember you.

Your Aura Now Whispers:

“I am not here to be palatable. I am here to be undeniable.”

Expect interviews, panels, and platforms—these invitations are coming not because you begged, but because you became the source.

Confirmation Letters: K, S, B, H

Angel Numbers: 311, 707, 3333

Symbol: Red velvet chair lit by a spotlight

Magnetic Emotion: Liberated audacity

Your Aura Now Whispers:

“I am not here to be palatable. I am here to be undeniable.”

PILE FOUR — Worshipped by the Wind

“You can’t touch what’s carried by divinity.”

Your aura is no longer skin-deep—it’s sky-bound.

You are in your etheric soft power era. There is a wind around you now, ancient and alive, spiraling through the unseen and weaving opulence into every breath you take. You don’t arrive—you ripple. You don’t announce—you enchant. This is the era of being felt before being seen. You are no longer proving your worth through noise—you are remembered through frequency.You are the kind of rare that hushes rooms without needing to speak.

Channeling the Cards:

1. The Crowned Weaver (Upright)

You are becoming a living prayer. Your hands are pulling threads from past lives, dreams, and ancestral wisdom—and stitching them into this moment. You’re not just healing—you’re redesigning the energetic DNA of your entire lineage. This isn’t “healing work”—this is goldwork. And you do it in silence. In softness. In sovereignty.

2. Four of Shells (Upright)

You’ve pulled away from people, invitations, and plans—not out of fear, but to recalibrate your frequency. Spirit says your stillness is an energetic boundary. Your “no” is a temple bell. Let this pause stretch—it’s sacred. You’re not hiding. You’re hovering.

3. The Moon Priestess (Reversed)

You’ve been conditioned to see softness as weakness—but your softness now spits thunder. You are learning to protect your inner sanctum without guilt. Not everyone gets access to your phases, your wax, your wane. Let them wonder. Let them misread you. You’re not here to be decoded—you’re here to be divine.

4. Nine of Petals (Upright)

Luxury is not a goal for you—it’s your baseline. You’re attracting rituals of richness, spaces of stillness, and beauty that asks for no applause. Expect your reality to reflect the softness you’ve sewn. Gold robes. Sweet oils. Invitations that feel like altars.

5. The Divine Feminine Seal (Upright)

There is a mark on your aura now—cosmic royalty. You’ve crossed a threshold of self-devotion that cannot be reversed. You do not compete. You magnetize. And the world is adjusting its rhythm to match your still, sovereign beat.

Whispers from Spirit:

You were never meant to perform power—you were meant to pulse with it. Your allure isn’t about allure—it’s about alignment. People are magnetized to you now not because you try—but because you don’t chase. Your glow is not commercial. It’s celestial.

Expect:

• Invitations to luxurious events that feel strangely fated

• Recognition in private rooms you didn’t know you were being watched from

• Opportunities to lead from stillness, not spectacle

Body Confirmations:

• A tingling in your lower spine: root chakra renewal

• Sleepiness after making empowered decisions

• Craving silence, silk, incense, and water

• Dreams of floating, flying, or ancient wind goddesses touching your hair

Magnetic Emotion:

Reverent detachment. That holy hush that follows someone who no longer explains her glow.

Your Aura Now Whispers:

“I am not a performance. I am a presence.”

“I no longer labor for light—I am light in leisure.”

“I am not resisting the wind. I am the wind.”

Confirmation Clues:

You’ll start to notice…

• Gold-threaded embroidery or fashion accents

• Wind chimes in random places

• Receiving gifts you didn’t ask for, but deeply needed

• The scent of rose, amber, or sandalwood arriving with no source

Final Transmission from the Divine:

You are now in your low-frequency high-value era. You are not loud. You are legendary. The wind doesn’t ask permission—it just moves. So do you. The invitations that are arriving? They are not random. They are responses to the frequency you’ve cultivated in private.

This pile is for the one who knows: divinity doesn’t need to be explained—it needs to be felt.

Comment if this pile hovered around your soul.

Reblog for blessings. Bookmark for remembrance.

Your softness is sacred, your silence is scripted in gold.

And baby? You’re already the wind.

If this reading moved through you like a hush of something sacred—don’t keep it to yourself. Reblog it as a ritual. Tag your softness-seeking soul sisters. Whisper it to the winds of your timeline. And when the stillness gets loud again, come back to this space and remember: You are not building an empire. You are the empire—healed, whole, and slow-blooming.

Channeled by Dior Harris.

Stay infinite. Stay divine.

À bient��t, mon ange.

[etherfabric]

Why things will be easy now

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

more PACs

Pile 1

Queen of Swords, The Emperor

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Things will be easy now because you learned what works for you, and are confident to ditch the rest. Your intuition is razor sharp and wielding it is second nature to you now. Other's opinions don't sway you anymore. You know everyone has their own path, and them doing thing A has no influence on your thing B. You are a master now with drawing boundaries with others as well within your own thoughts - you know which ones are from your true, authentic, eternal, beautiful self, and which one are just silly downward spiraling habits you can opt out anytime. Those doubts are like fluffy clouds on a breezy summer day - superficial, fleeting, never able to stop the sun from reaching you. You know where to put your energy and your focus, and feel the results instantly. How come mood is now so easy? And the best part - it doesn't actually feel new. You remember how this was always at your disposal. How you just forgot about it. But it was always there. Memories of past successes are cut and dry proof of all the blessings to come. It feels powerful, it feels true, it feels good - it feels you. Like actually you.

Pile 2

The World, Page of Pentacles

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Things will be easy now because the minute somethings stops feeling satisfying, another perfect thing will pop up. Talking about divine orchestration, and this is your symphony. You enjoy every step of the journey - the idea, the initiation, the progress, the habit, the finish. You marvel at the infinite combinations of those currents through your perception, and the world is your oyster now. So many prospects that hold reliable promises! It's all up to you. Things that used to be dull and monotonous suddenly bring a sparkle to your eye again. Food tastes rich, water refreshes you with every sip, your body is a miracle you have access to every living second. The physical plane got its magic back. With the eyes of the eternal child, you feel abundant beyond limits. I get the feeling specifically of having beautiful interactions with nature, with an emphasis on animals. Spotting a rare bird, petting a cat, a butterfly landing right next to you. Serendipitous timing with weather - sun right when you want it, rain right when it adds to the athmosphere, a breeze caressing your back as encouragement on a stroll towards something exciting. Beautiful sunsets, stargazing, moonlight moments. You have everything you could ever want, and then some. This is what life is about, and it's so easy. And you know how to stay in it.

Pile 3

3 of Cups, 2 of Wands

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Things will be easy now because it finally clicked: You remembered how freaking likeable you are. Social interactions that used to confuse you now suddenly make sense - people are intimidated and nervous around you! They really want you to like them, and they can't fathom how you don't see that. Well, those times are over now. A calm and confident warmth emenates from within you now, and what used to be a source of anxiety and stress is now a constant uplift in your life - the people you meet, how they look at you, the words they say, just their body language from across the street are all surefire signs you can read like a children's book. They reflect what has finally once againrevealed itself to you: You are beautiful, impressive, radiant, capable, deserving, magical. This makes time by yourself like a serene island of recuperation and contemplation. Your dreams and plans with people are just as easily achievable as opening the door to your room. Mundane, easy, self explanatory, a given. Not ever a focus of your worries. Why worry about the doorknob? Why worry about things that are certain? Why worry about just the right people entering your life at just the right moment, with just the right circumstances, right words, right gifts, right intentions? That's right. As easy as the inhale and exhale. As sure as the next breath. Welcome to the truth.

Pile 4

5 of Cups, The Hierophant

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Things will be easy now because you know you don't have to fake anything to get what you want. Feel sad? Cry. You are still God's favorite and your blessings are on their way. The more authentic you are, the faster they will come. You have found comfort in what others would falsely read as "bad signs". There are no bad signs when you are set on the right path. There are only different stations all with their own rhythm, themes and energies. All parts of you are necessary and welcome. Your joy, your fear, your sadness, your frustrations - they are no longer being pushed away, but embraced. That's how they power your manifestations. The more you, the merrier. You can suddenly feel the beautiful relief and cleanse your tears bring, the empowering holy fire within your rage as it propels you forward towards what you deserve, the soothing hum of your tiredness replenishing every cell. No more thwarted sense of self that breaks you - you are perfect and sacred as you are. The less pressure, the more rewards are coming your way. Life flows through you, you are an expression of the divine, and carry yourself accordingly through all phases of life. You will suddenly see texts and teachings reflecting exactly that. You will feel validated in a way you never felt before, but it will feel just like home. Your true home of eternal love and possibilities.

[woantohae]

Touch me || Gong Yoo x reader.

WARNING: This one shot contains explicit language and sex scenes. I suggest discretion.

After dinner, (Y/N) and Gong Yoo were washing the dishes, while she washed, he dried. It was constant teamwork, a routine they did every time they finished eating.

It was a warm night, the temperature rising with each passing day. This summer promised to be hot, so there was no desire to do much during the day, other than taking a shower in the morning and before going to sleep. They were immersed in a comfortable silence, but it hid more desire than they imagined. Gong Yoo couldn't stop looking at his girlfriend. He thought she was worthy of admiration long before they started the relationship, when he met her for the first time he thought she was the most captivating and sweet woman who had ever crossed his path.

It wasn't until he exchanged words with her that he promised to win her over, despite the age difference. Gong Yoo was in love.

The same thing happened with (Y/N). She pretended not to look at him much the first time she saw him at work. His presence was magnetic, impossible to resist. He was the first man with whom she truly felt what love is.

She knew that her parents were not entirely in agreement with the relationship, although the time she introduced them to them the evening passed with laughter and promises to have dinner together again. However, nothing could interfere with what she felt.

"The pasta was delicious" She mentions, after soaking the last remaining dish, to pass it to her boyfriend.

The black-haired man raises an eyebrow and smiles sideways. "Yeah?" he receives the plate and dries it. He sets it aside along with the cloth, while he watches the girl dry her hands in the air and then wipe them on the cloth.

She nods and smiles softly.

"I'm grateful that in this relationship there is at least one of us who knows how to properly cook," she lets out a laugh. "I can make it up to you with a dessert I made. It's not much, but I must say it turned out good."

As she speaks, the man positions himself behind her. Heat radiates from their bodies at the closeness. Gong Yoo listens attentively to what his girlfriend says, while hugging her waist.

"It's a chocolate dessert. It's not much but i tried" she laughs shyly. Gong Yoo laughs into her neck. But that doesn't stop the kisses he plants on her skin. (Y/N) snuggles against his body and closes her eyes.

"Mhm... that sounds delicious. Especially if you made it, sweetie." He slides his hands down her waist to her thighs. (Y/N) feels shivers all over the caressed area, causing her heart to race.

"But I want another type of dessert...." he says.

Gong Yoo ventures his hands along the edges of (Y/N)'s dress and pulls it up while kissing her neck.

She sighs and feels his hands move up the fabric until he holds it against her stomach. "What would that kind of dessert be?" (Y/N) asks.

"You..." he says in a moan.

She moans and takes his hands to leave them on her breasts and begin to massage them. She stretches her neck to kiss him and feels how Gong Yoo reciprocates with strength and unleashed passion.

He kisses her while he puts his hand under the neckline of her dress, caressing her nipples. She brings her butt as close as she can to his hard area.

"Baby...." she says between her lips. She slides her free hand until it touches his pelvis over his pants.

He's hard as a rock.

Gong Yoo moans shamelessly. Then, he takes the initiative and lowers his rough hand to her intimate area, caressing it with a mixture of desperation and passion. He puts aside her panties and starts touching her.

"My princess is wet from just one touch of mine" he laughs lightly and puts his tongue in her mouth. She reciprocates, while continuing to hold Gong Yoo's hand against her tit and the other holding him in her area where she needs him most.

To her disappointment, Gong Yoo stops his movements and turns her around, grabbing her by her thighs and connecting their lips again. This time, he walks with her in his arms to the room.

Passion consumes them, in such a way that they never separate their lips, not even when Gong Yoo lays her down on the bed. He lies on top of her, intertwining his hand with hers and putting his hand next to her face. (Y/N)'s hair is a mess on the soft mattress. She feels the air brush against her breasts, because her boyfriend made sure that the top of her dress fell to the level of her ribs.

Gong Yoo runs his hands over her body, clutching her skin in remarkable desperation. The girl moans, with a sound that has become a habit for them in the minutes they have been discovering their bodies. An act that has become intimate and almost routine for both of them.

"You're amazing," Gong Yoo whispers against her lips. She barely smiles, she's so focused that the man's hands won't leave her body.

(Y/N) pushes him with her body as best she can and turns him, leaving him underneath her. Gong Yoo smiles amused and lets her take charge of the situation. As she settles into his lap, he sits up and removes his own shirt in seconds. The girl admires him and smiles. (Y/N) starts to take off her dress, but is stopped by his hands. She frowns slightly and he just proceeds to caress her cheek tenderly.

"I want you to keep the dress on," he explains. "It's my favorite of yours."

She leaves it on and feels him pull down his pants and boxers. His manhood becomes erect to the level of his stomach. Gong Yoo raises the edges of her dress again, sliding his rough and cold hands over the girl's butt, squeezing her cheeks, to which she flinches a little and lets out a small laugh. Gong Yoo raises an eyebrow, amused at the reaction. He squeezes it again and she clings to him, hugging him to her chest. Gong Yoo laughs and quickly pulls down her panties, not wanting to keep her waiting more.

They are both desperate for each other. Gong Yoo throws the girl's underwear aside and prepares her with his long fingers. She lets out a whimper. She needs him.

"Please" she begs "I need you so bad"

Gong Yoo nods as his lips consume hers again. While kissing her, Gong Yoo unexpectedly introduces his manhood into her body. She moans surprised, but delighted. (Y/N) moves guided by his strong hands on her waist. It is a circular and slow movement at first, so slow that it hurts. Gong Yoo grunts and takes care of brushing off the girl's hair that falls over her breasts and then sucks one urgently. She stretches her chest to give him more access, tugging at the man's black hair as she feels the attention he gives to her chest.

The sound of their bodies colliding with each other and the bed moving is the only thing that can be heard. Now the rhythm changes and that's when Gong Yoo turns her over, now he wants to take care of the situation.

"Oh god. Does it feel good, love?" he moves faster. She doesn't utter a word, so immersed in the ecstasy of the moment. She can only barely nod her head. However, she tries to murmur something to him.

"What's that?" He whispers in her ear "Come on, baby. Tell me and I'll give you everything."

"Please... touch my tits" she asks in a whimper. He looks at her and brushes away the hair that falls from her forehead as he continues to pound into her. Gong Yoo kisses her forehead. "My poor angel. She wants me to play with her tits. Let me take care of them" He lowers his head and envelops her tit with his mouth, sucking desperately. With one hand she presses his head against her chest, while with the other she hugs his butt so that he reaches the depths of her being with the thrusts he gives her.

(Y/N) feels close. The burning is pleasant but unbearable any longer. Gong Yoo feels her squeezing him with her folds. He is about to explode for her.

The climax is about to reach them both.

"Does my baby want to cum?" He lifts his head from her tits and slides his hand to her clit, encouraging the rhythm. She nods frantically. "Please... I want to cum".

Gong Yoo thrust her with his fingers and his penis, without stopping. He wants to collapse with her.

A warmth appears in her stomach, but quickly replaced by the sensation of having him so deep inside her. The man removes his fingers from inside her and intertwines his hands with hers, and she can feel how wet they are. He guides their joined hands until they are positioned on her stomach, feeling him inside of her. Gong Yoo smiles flirtatiously and looks into her brown eyes. "Oh, look at that. Do you feel me? Do you like feeling me inside you?" he asks.

"I love it baby" she nods "Cum inside me please" she pleads.

Gong Yoo moans at her whimpers and plead and that's what it takes to explode his cum inside her. He grunts and after a few seconds she comes, without any shame.

He lets his head fall onto her chest and she breathes as she strokes his black hair. Her dress is messy and she feels hot just having it on. "You're amazing, sweetie," he whispers into her skin. (Y/N) smiles with her eyes closed trying to catch her breath

"We should replace our morning runs with this cardio, don't you think?" Gong Yoo offers. She laughs and looks at him amused. "It doesn't sound like a bad idea." He laughs.

He moves away from her body and she already misses him. Gong Yoo takes care of tenderly removing her dress and giving her a smile before removing it completely from her body. She lets him do it. Gong Yoo gets up from the bed, looking at her shamelessly, scanning every corner of her skin with his gaze. (Y/N) watches him from the bed, feeling the sweat run down her body. Gong Yoo disappears through the bathroom of the room and she tries to tidy her hair in that time, leaning on the wall of the bed. Then he returns with a small wet towel in his hands, while she shamelessly observes his entire magnificent body.

Gong Yoo sits on the bed next to her and taps her thigh twice for her to open her legs. (Y/N) spreads her legs and he cleans up the remains of both of them, caressing her thighs in the process. She licks her lips, especially when Gong Yoo lowers his head and kisses her thighs lovingly, up her stomach to her tits and then to her mouth. She reciprocates, running her hands over his neck. They separate and rest their foreheads on each other's. "I love you" Gong Yoo says. She smiles tenderly, feeling her heart rejoice with joy upon hearing those words that she has heard so many times before come from his lips.

"I love you too" Gong Yoo smiles and hugs her to himself, allowing them both to lie down. She turning her back on him and he imprisoning her, wrapping his arm around her body and placing his hand on her tit in a soft gesture.

"Now rest" he says "Tomorrow we must implement this new exercise so we don't have to get up so early"

She laughs.

"Ok"

And with that, they both lie down until they close their eyes. Anxious for the morning to come.

[nasa]

Tiny BurstCube's Tremendous Travelogue

Meet BurstCube! This shoebox-sized satellite is designed to study the most powerful explosions in the cosmos, called gamma-ray bursts. It detects gamma rays, the highest-energy form of light.

BurstCube may be small, but it had a huge journey to get to space.

First, BurstCube was designed and built at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland. Here you can see Julie Cox, an early career engineer, working on BurstCube’s gamma-ray detecting instrument in the Small Satellite Lab at Goddard.

BurstCube is a type of spacecraft called a CubeSat. These tiny missions give early career engineers and scientists the chance to learn about mission development — as well as do cool science!

Then, after assembling the spacecraft, the BurstCube team took it on the road to conduct a bunch of tests to determine how it will operate in space. Here you can see another early career engineer, Kate Gasaway, working on BurstCube at NASA’s Wallops Flight Facility in Virginia.

She and other members of the team used a special facility there to map BurstCube’s magnetic field. This will help them know where the instrument is pointing when it’s in space.

The next stop was back at Goddard, where the team put BurstCube in a vacuum chamber. You can see engineers Franklin Robinson, Elliot Schwartz, and Colton Cohill lowering the lid here. They changed the temperature inside so it was very hot and then very cold. This mimics the conditions BurstCube will experience in space as it orbits in and out of sunlight.

Then, up on a Goddard rooftop, the team — including early career engineer Justin Clavette — tested BurstCube’s GPS. This so-called open-sky test helps ensure the team can locate the satellite once it’s in orbit.

The next big step in BurstCube’s journey was a flight to Houston! The team packed it up in a special case and took it to the airport. Of course, BurstCube got the window seat!

Once in Texas, the BurstCube team joined their partners at Nanoracks (part of Voyager Space) to get their tiny spacecraft ready for launch. They loaded the satellite into a rectangular frame called a deployer, along with another small satellite called SNoOPI (Signals of Opportunity P-band Investigation). The deployer is used to push spacecraft into orbit from the International Space Station.

From Houston, BurstCube traveled to Cape Canaveral Space Force Station in Florida, where it launched on SpaceX’s 30th commercial resupply servicing mission on March 21, 2024. BurstCube traveled to the station along with some other small satellites, science experiments, as well as a supply of fresh fruit and coffee for the astronauts.

A few days later, the mission docked at the space station, and the astronauts aboard began unloading all the supplies, including BurstCube!

And finally, on April 18, 2024, BurstCube was released into orbit. The team will spend a month getting the satellite ready to search the skies for gamma-ray bursts. Then finally, after a long journey, this tiny satellite can embark on its big mission!

BurstCube wouldn’t be the spacecraft it is today without the input of many early career engineers and scientists. Are you interested in learning more about how you can participate in a mission like this one? There are opportunities for students in middle and high school as well as college!

Keep up on BurstCube’s journey with NASA Universe on X and Facebook. And make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin��pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

[ihavenointerestinreallife]

Okay hear me out.. Vampire! George Weasley x reader smut 🤭

oh em gee.

vampire!george weasley x reader, 18+ mdni, graphic depictions of blood and blood sucking, thigh riding, this is pretty TAME so let me know if you want me to match your freak better <3

without the cast of lumos the hallways of hogwarts were dark, brooding and almost unfamiliar. it was certainly no place for a student out of bed and wandering the halls against their better judgment.

moonlight gave just enough light to filter through the old and smudgy windows of the school. if you hadn’t walked these hallways at any time other than the day you wouldn’t know it like the back of your hand, but having a boyfriend with a rule breaking passion called for sleepless nights, doing anything but what you should be.

george leaned against the doorframe of your common room, his eyes gleaming with something more than just mischief. it was a predatory look, an energy he also exuded, but it wasn’t frightening. it was intoxicating.

“couldn’t sleep?” his voice was low and laced with something that made the walls feel thick. it was hotter suddenly, as if he had cast a wordless incantation to spike the temperature.

you swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the looming figure in front of you. during the day he was just georgie, half the duo that gave your patience a run for its money, a twin that joked, laughed, teased and prodded. but at night he became practically a different person; dark, irresistible.

“not now,” you say, quiet, too quiet and you know george can hear the quickening pace of your heartbeat.

he took a step closer and against your better judgement you don’t move. it were as though you were magnets and you just couldn’t stop pulling him towards you.

“you look like you need help with that,” he whispers in such a playful manner you almost miss the way he flashes a grin exposing long, thick fangs that would be enough to send a muggle child into a frenzy.

but you weren’t afraid, you never were.

he stood even closer in front of you before you could blink, fingers rubbing your arm, their temperature so cold yet making your skin burn at their touch. george always thought himself so sly with his movements, goading you to give in with his ministrations.

it was impossible to notice the darkening shade his eyes had turned, but you knew him like you knew magic- the simplicities, the complexities, and how to make it work. you could recall almost every fact about george weasley that you could your first year charms book.

and he knew you, too. “you’re trembling,” he whispered, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, having now bent over to reach your height. in his tone you could make out a few things: he was tired, likely from a long afternoon of quidditch practice; he was needy, because you couldn’t help but notice the way he didn’t take his eyes off you all day; and he was hungry, because george was always hungry, and you were his favorite meal.

“georgie,” you whined, “if you want a bite, just ask nicely.” you reached up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear, a small smile gracing your face to hide the growing anticipation of how it would feel for his fangs to sink into your flesh. “and besides, even if i said no, i could be persuaded.”

he let out a small noise at your words which were intended to tease him, choosing now to let his lips graze your jaw and causing heat to pool in your belly.

“just a taste,” he practically begged, whimpered even, desperate to coax you into just a taste that he knew you’d give him anyway. george’s voice was velvet and sin on feeding nights, and there were no cards he was not willing to play. “you trust me, right?”

if you weren’t so in love, you wouldn’t have practically thrust your waiting neck into his face, a silent invitation to bite.

but he needed to work you up, get your blood flowing; he said it gave it an extra kick, but you knew he was just taking the opportunity to turn you into a complete mess. finally his lips met your skin, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the tender flesh, occasionally scraping the skin to test the waters and hear the sounds you could produce for him.

and then he sank his teeth in your neck without a word, because that was how george weasley worked. he knew he never needed to ask, that you’d practically let him do anything, but at times the least he could do for you is be a gentleman and beg for your blood.

you’d been one of his blood bags for a year or so, but each time felt like the first. the sensation of your blood being drank was dizzying, intoxicating, and it tethered you to him in a way that felt irreversible. while the muggles had their rings and vows, you had puncture marks on your neck that would stay forever.

it took an incredible amount of strength for him to pull up, lapping up any pooling blood around the wound and causing you to let out a small noise of appreciation. the heat in your body also found solace in the bucking of your hips against his thigh, proportioned in between your legs to lock you in place against the wall.

he grabbed your hips and purposefully moved them up and down his thigh, a silent reward for letting him feed yet a silent beg to do it again. you moaned as your head hit the back of the wall, allowing him to stand up straight again and capture your lips in a kiss that tasted of metallic and straight, unadulterated lust.

without a word george grabbed your jaw and turned your neck to face the other side, his eyes examining the fresh canvas for any sign of a prominent artery, all the while using his free hand to encourage you to get yourself off on his leg. he leaned in and took a smell of your skin now glistening with sweat, and sometimes he swore if he could bottle your smell he’d have his own personal brand of amortentia.

“use me sweet girl,” he moaned as your fingers brushed the prominent bulge in his trousers, a clear sign that he wanted you in the way you wanted him, almost as if it were a mutually beneficial situation.

“the first time i knew i loved you was when you came with my teeth in your neck,” he recalled with a simple sigh as if you were a married couple celebrating your anniversary. “do you think you can do it again?”

a particular sharp thrust evoked a vocal response, with your head thrashing up and down and your teeth biting your lip so hard it might draw blood- maybe that was the end goal, if only to have him kiss you.

again, george said nothing as he sunk his teeth to the opposite side of your neck than the first time, pleasure and pain crashing over you in equal measure. your skin was buzzing and you never felt so alive despite the blood being drank straight from your body. your ears began to ring and your vision darken, but you were too encouraged to satisfy him, remind him of the first time he supposedly knew he loved you.

the fact that a small whine of enjoyment from his throat caused you to be thrown into an orgasm just solidified the idea that you were one in each other; being so far from a peak only to reach it in a moments notice due to the way he ate you like it was his last supper, drank you like you were a lake in a desert.

kindred spirits, he’d say, and if you weren’t gushing all over his leg you’d probably remember the day he first said it.

[megalony]

Force Of Nature

I know it's taken me a while to finally get an imagine for Tommy Kinard finished, but here it is and I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Tommy Kinard Masterlist

Summary: While (Y/n) is on shift with her team, lightning strikes and her team, including her partner Tommy, try to save her.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Go get 'em cowgirl."

(Y/n) let her hands curl around the ladder as she glanced over her shoulder at her big brother, sending a smile his way when she felt him give a sharp tug on the rope around her waist to make sure she was secured.

He reached his foot out and clicked the lock off the winch so the rope would extend.

Buck kept his hands on the ladder and stayed arched forwards, keeping his eyes on his sister as she slowly ascended up the ladder. The plan was for (Y/n) to climb onto the balcony, evacuate the fifth floor and Eddie and Bobby would go in through the lobby and make sure everyone got out. While Chimney and Hen were working with the hose, Buck was operating the winch and standing by in case he had to follow up the ladder too.

It was hard to see anything through the thick downpour. The rain was so heavy that (Y/n) couldn't see the ladder in front of her with the torrential downpour that made her helmet jutter on her head and drop the rain down onto the tip of her nose.

Her lips were drenched, her lashes were fighting off the rain and every inch of her skin was starting to shake from the low temperature.

"Bloody rain," She muttered to herself as she reached the end of the ladder and took a quick glance around.

(Y/n) tilted her head over the side of the ladder and let herself look over the edge.

She found Bobby rather easily despite being high up near the fifth floor and she smiled. He had been a father to her and Buck since they first joined the team. Bobby was hanging back, waiting to guide everybody out and they needed Hen and Chimney to put some of the fire out first before they went in. (Y/n) nodded when she saw Bobby give her a thumbs up, the silent go ahead she needed so she could proceed into the building.

But her body tremored and she slumped forward and hunkered down when a horrid noise tore through the sky. Her eyes lifted and her head snapped up towards the sky but all she could see were thousands of white droplets raining down from the heavens. The sky was a misty blue mixed with swirls of black like a canvas with only a few swirls of clouds to be seen through the rain.

"Was that lightning?" (Y/n) curled her fingers around her radio and leaned her head down, unable to hide the shake in her voice.

If that was lightning they needed to be careful or pull back. The truck was a magnet for lightning and electricity, they had already been down to the beach yesterday when lightning struck the sand. They didn't need it getting closer to this scene and causing problems.

(Y/n) didn't do well with thunder and lightning. not after a bad storm when she and Buck were little and a strike hit the telephone pole right outside their house.

Even now, being all grown up and being a firefighter, when the sky rumbled with thunder and flashes of lightning struck the sky, (Y/n) cowered down. She couldn't concentrate in this weather and she could never sleep when the weather was like this. It was why Tommy loved the thunderous weather, he knew his girlfriend would tuck herself into his broad frame and hide away against him.

"You good?" Buck gripped his radio and raised a brow, keeping his eyes on his sister curiously.

"I don't kn-"

Lightning broke through the clouds, an act that had most passers-by in awe, but had the 118 rooted to the spot with dread.

Buck heard her scream. It was the howl of a banshee that tore through his heart and set off an explosion in his chest.

His eyes snapped closed and a mimicking sound left his own lips when sparks flew from the ladder and seemed to set the truck alight. He couldn't keep hold of the ladder and the force sent him backwards until he was falling through the air. All the air burst out of his lungs when his back hit the ground and the jolt it sent through his system made him shake on the floor.

Something snapped. He heard the sound vibrate through his ears as he gasped and clawed for each breath. The sound was hollow but loud enough to make Buck yelp; could that have been his spine snapping in two?

His eyes couldn't focus when he managed to open them and his arm bound around his chest as he rolled onto his left side with a guttural groan. His knees felt weak and his back burned when he tried to sit himself up and take a look around. But it wasn't his spine that had broken, and that made relief shoot through his system.

He would live to fight another day.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He choked, shaking the static from his ears and the tension from his head that was clouding over.

He grabbed the back of his neck and tilted his head round to click his neck into place and he used what little energy he had left to push himself onto trembling legs. Safe to say Buck had never fallen off one of the trucks before, that was a new one to add to his list.

But once he lifted his head and took a look around through the blasting rain, his body went rigid. He could feel his blood draining down to his feet as if he were an hourglass. His jaw slackened and his pupils took over his pasty blue orbs that couldn't look anywhere else but up into the dark night sky.

He didn't realise he was making a noise until his lungs became starved of oxygen and he suddenly felt lightheaded.

He was screaming.

His hand reached out and he gave Eddie a rough shove towards the truck, pointing and gasping for him to grab the winch. His twin sister was hurt. The girl Bobby thought of as his daughter was hanging in mid-air, lifeless.

The buckle clip was the only thing stopping (Y/n) from plummeting through the air and crashing down on the concrete below. It suspended her in the air, four stories high above them like an omen of death. Her legs and arms dangled limp and lifeless at her sides and when Buck looked close enough, he could see them swaying in the breeze. Her head was snapped back enough that it looked like her neck had been broken.

"Oh God! Get her- get her down- Bobby she isn't moving!"

Words rambled past Buck's lips as his boots clunked and splashed through the rain that splashed up as high as his shoulders.

He stood directly beneath the ladder, arms stretched high as if he were reaching out for the heavens. He needed his sister. He needed to get her down. She had gone limp; they needed to help her. He wished he could jump up and yank her down himself. Eddie wasn't lowering her quick enough; it felt like hours were passing in the space of seconds as (Y/n) came down slower than a feather from the sky.

"Hen we need a gurney! Chimney back up the ambulance let's go." Bobby shouted out orders as he waved his hands for them to hurry. They were now in the golden time zone and if they didn't move fast enough, they could lose (Y/n).

"Faster!"

As soon as (Y/n) started to sway and jutter as the red rope lowered her down, Buck pushed up on his toes and stretched his arms high up into the rain to reach for her. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades and his other hand cupped the back of her thigh as Hen pushed a gurney directly beneath her.

"Unhook her."

Buck took (Y/n)'s weight when Bobby unclipped the buckle and he laid (Y/n) down and slid his hands from beneath her.

He couldn't comprehend how much his limbs were shaking until Bobby's rough hand clapped down on his shoulder, silently pleading with him to stop. He didn't have to do everything. Hen was a medic, she would take care of (Y/n).

A silent look passed between them all before Hen ripped her gloves off and quickly tore open the florescent jacket (Y/n) was wearing. She snatched a pair of scissors from the medic bag on the end of the gurney and quickly zipped them up the centre of (Y/n)'s shirt which was now sodden through with rain.

She parted the shirt, letting it drape over each of (Y/n)'s unmoving shoulders, exposing her blue bra to their eyes which caused Bobby to look up at the back of the ambulance instead and Buck adverted his gaze to his sister's feet.

That wasn't a sight he should be partial to. He shouldn't be able to see his sister's exposed chest like this. He shouldn't be seeing his sister laid out, motionless on a gurney. Buck didn't want to see any of his family in peril like this. He hated it.

Buck dared to reach his hand out and give (Y/n)'s knee a squeeze, but his body quaked when something dawned on him. She wasn't moving.

No shivers, no spasms, no goosebumps or hairs standing up on end. Nothing.

And when he managed to drag his eyes back to his sister's chest- a sight that made him feel like a child peeking around a bathroom door- he noticed bubbling streaks of crimson slithering up her right arm, over her shoulder and spreading across her chest like a wildfire.

"(Y/n)… (Y/n), please," A choked moan left Buck's lips when he watched Hen press her fingers against his sister's neck.

Her grave expression crushed the hope hiding inside of Buck. There wasn't a pulse. That made their job so much harder. They were going to have to work to get her back, but what if she didn't come back from this? What was Buck going to do without his sister? His twin? His other half?

What was he going to tell Tommy?

"I don't have a pulse." Hen's words sent Buck's shoulders quaking and if Bobby hadn't of reached of for him in time, he would have fallen on the gurney along with his twin.

He clutched at Bobby's arm that wrapped around his chest as a low moan gurgled at the back of his throat. He watched Chimney appear at the end of the gurney but when his friend rattled through the medic bag and handed the defibrilator pads to Hen, Evan acted fast. He slapped them out of Chimney's hands and gave him the roughest shove he could manage, almost knocking him into the back of the ambulance.

"S-she's soaked! You'll execute her!"

Did they not know what would happen to someone given electricity when wet? Did they not know how the electric chair execution used to work?

(Y/n) was covered in rain from head to toe and their suits weren't water proof. Now her clothes had been ripped apart, she was getting consumed with water. Lightning had already shocked her heart once but if they tried to do it again when she was wet, they would be executing her with no chance of revival.

"So we go back to basic. Hen, bag her. Chim get the engine fired up. Move before we lose her." Eddie's voice cut through the air and he pushed his way to the gurney and in one swoop, he stood up on the metal frame and interlocked his hands.

The longer they left (Y/n)'s heart untouched and motionless, the less chance they had of getting it restarted again.

He started pushing down on her chest, trying hard to control his breathing while Hen got an air bag situated over (Y/n)'s mouth and nose. And Chimney disappeared to get into the front of the ambulance. They had to get going to the hospital.

"This is Captain Nash, we have a firefighter down. Repeat, firefighter Buckley is down, struck by lightning. No vital signs yet. Requesting medic team on standby at Mercy hospital, we are on our way."

Bobby ran his hand up and down Evan's back and ushered him into the back of the ambulance. There was no time to stop and ask questions, they needed to move. One of the others could deal with the truck and get it out the way, the team needed to get to the hospital and none of them were going to leave (Y/n).

Hen and Bobby got the gurney in the back of the ambulance and Buck clambered in and deadlocked both hands around his sister's lifeless palm. But all of them froze when each of their radios shook with the sound of a new, frantic voice through the frequency.

"Who got hurt?"

Oh no.

Eddie snapped his head to the right, locking eyes with Buck as the pair of them shivered and his upper lip curled in panic.

Bobby had gone onto a higher frequency, he had tried to get through to anyone on the radio station. Dispatch, another team who could come here and cover them, the frequency for the hospital to alert them, he needed anyone and everyone to know what was happening. He needed preparations in place for when they reached the hospital so that doctors could sort (Y/n) out immediately.

His frequency got through to the 227. More specifically, through to Tommy.

They had unintentionally told him what had happened through the radio. If they'd of had the time and the thought, they would have called him. Bobby would have gotten through to him to explain, or Evan would have called and sobbed through the phone, trying to explain what had happened.

"Tommy-"

"Was it Evan or (Y/n)? Who was it?!"

"(Y/n)."

Buck slammed his frame into the wall of the ambulance, reduced to a shaking mess when Tommy's gut-wrenching scream tore through the radio.

He'd never heard Tommy scream like that. He'd never really heard Tommy make any kind of scream or disgruntled noise like that before. He'd never been around him in a dire emergency or a situation that hit home for Tommy. The elder firefighter was always the epitomy of calm and collected, Tommy didn't get rattled easily.

Not unless it concerned (Y/n). She had quickly become his world when he got friendly with the 118 and subsequently started dating her.

Buck lowered his eyes down to the gurney and reached out to curl both his trembling hands around his sister's limp hand. Her skin felt like rubber against his touch, taut and cold and lifeless and it made him choke. He pulled her hand to press his lips against the back of her knuckles and his blurry vision zoomed in on her eyes.

He couldn't look anywhere else.

Her shirt was ripped open, exposing her chest which wasn't a sight Buck wanted to see and he truly didn't want to watch his best friend press down on his sister's chest so hard it looked like he was going to crack through her ribs. And Buck couldn't look at (Y/n)'s face. Not when she wasn't moving, breathing, twitching or even opening her eyes.

Hen silently leaned over and found some towels and flannels from a drawer. She started to wipe the cloths over (Y/n)'s chest in frantic motions to clear up as much of the water as possible. CPR wasn't going to be enough. Her heart had been shocked, she would need another shock to get it going again and soon.

She clipped a monitor onto (Y/n)'s finger and grabbed the smooth plastic stickers, placing both in the correct positions over (Y/n)'s chest before she patted Eddie's shoulder.

"Stand clear."

Eddie let go of (Y/n)'s chest and took a step back while Buck dropped her head and braced his hands on his knees. He pressed his back up against the wall and closed his eyes.

Both men winced and a horrified sound left Buck's lips when the shock ignited through (Y/n)'s chest and arched her back up from the stretcher before she flopped back down; lifeless.

"I don't wanna risk over-exerting her heart. Starting compressions until we get to the hospital." Eddie braced one hand on the roof and the other on the stretched before he swung his leg over and climbed up. His knees clamped down into (Y/n)'s damp legs and he sank back onto her thighs with a grimace. He felt oddly intimate with her right now and it didn't feel right, but he couldn't keep doing compressions leaning over the gurney like that.

It was at the wrong angle and there was limited space in the ambulance with Hen, Bobby and Buck all squashed in the back with them like this.

They couldn't risk shocking her heart more than necessary or else it would give out completely. She had already endured a violent shock that had likely affected her heart, lungs and probably her liver too. More shocks would only crucify her heart and ensure she was dead.

Buck didn't feel the ambulance rolling to a stop until the back doors swung wide open and he tilted his head to look out as if he didn't believe they were really here.

Buck stood back, letting Bobby and Chimney carefully lower the gurney down to the floor. Once it was safely on the ground, Buck reached over and snatched his sister's hand again, pulling her limp arm until it was pinned into his chest. He let the tears flow down his face and the sobs bundle up in his chest as they all burst into the emergency room.

As soon as they were inside, Eddie held his hand out to get them to stop. He clenched his hands down on the gurney beside (Y/n)'s shoulders and climbed over the side to jump back down to his feet.

"Go again. Everybody stand clear."

On Eddie's word, Hen set the defibrilator up again and everyone held their breaths and watched the jolt rush through (Y/n)'s chest.

No one knew who made a sound when her heartbeat suddenly came back.

"What have we got?"

"(Y/n) Buckley, struck by lightning. No pulse for three minutes, seventeen seconds but she's had CPR on route and pulse is back."

Buck felt like his legs were going to give way on him again when the nurses took over the air bag since (Y/n) wasn't breathing on her own yet. But he could feel himself stumbling back into Bobby when the front doors opened and thunderous boots that demanded attention stormed in.

"Where is she?!"

Tommy looked like a force of nature. Broad shoulders hunched up and taut. Jacket hanging off them loosely, covered in soot and smoke and God knows what else. Hair askew in all directions. Face smeared with dirt with a few streaks that showed where he had tried to wipe himself clean. And his jaw was dropped so low it was almost scraping along the floor.

His team had dropped him off here once they heard the commotion coming through the radio.

None of them had seen Tommy go down so hard and fast. His knees hit the floor, his fist clenched around the radio so tightly it broke and he screamed like a fatally wounded animal.

The team had to heave him up to his feet and drag his shell-shocked body into the truck on the promise that they would speed him down to the hospital so he could find out what was going on.

His wild, rabid eyes locked on the stretcher that was about to be wheeled away from him and he suddenly lost the ability to breathe.

There she was. There was his girl. The twin who had captured his heart. Laid out, shirt cut in half and hanging off her shoulders. Her entire body soaked head to toe from the rain. Defibrilator stickers glued to her chest, an oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose. Her body lifeless and unmoving, not even a twitch. Her chest wasn't rising and falling on it's own, she wasn't breathing, the air bag was doing that for her. The only thing working was her heart.

What were they going to do? How were they going to take care of his partner? What did someone do for a lightning strike? Did people usually survive this kind of thing- had this ever happened before?

"Let me see her." There was something demanding in Tommy's voice, but it didn't sway anyone, not like it normally did.

He had different voices. He could charm the pants off of anyone with just a few simple words. He could sweet-talk whoever he needed to in order to get his own way, it was a skill he had learned to perfect over the years. And when his guttural, demanding voice came into play, no one dared mess with him. But no one was listening to him today.

A jolt ran through his body and he almost fell when he tried to push off on the wrong foot in a feeble attempt to reach the gurney that was already aiming for the lift at the end of the hall.

"No! No-"

"Tommy stop."

"Tommy- hey, hey. It's okay, they'll take care of her." Bobby's voice wasn't as comforting as if should have been. Neither was his touch when he blocked Tommy's path towards (Y/n).

Chimney wrapped both arms over Tommy's biceps, effectively pinning Tommy's arms behind his back and allowing Chimney to have a form of reign over him. He held his friend back with great difficulty, writhing and straining to keep his footing to stop Tommy from interfering where he really shouldn't.

And with Bobby stood in front of him with a hand on his chest, Tommy started to slow. He stopped shaking his body from left to right, he took to concentrating on each heaving breath that passed his lips and stopped scraping his boots against the floor.

They understood. All of them did. She was Buck's sister which meant she was a sister to Chimney. Hen and Eddie loved her dearly, they thought of her as their own family and Bobby thought of her as a daughter. They understood Tommy's desperation, but they couldn't let himself get kicked out of the hospital or pinned down by security for trying to follow where he couldn't go.

He would be able to see her soon, they all would. But for now, Tommy had to make do with the team to console and wait with him.

Tears began to pour down Tommy's face in contest with the storm raging outside and his head hung down like his neck had been broken. His pointed chin tucked into his chest and his wet lips parted to let out a silent cry.

He couldn't lose her.

***

A sigh burned past Chimney's lips when he glanced around the hospital room. His arms folded over his chest and he looked between the two men who had been hidden away in here for almost three days in a row.

At least Buck looked somewhat comfortable. He was laid out in the cot bed on the left side of the room. It was a bit too small for his large frame, but he had curled his knees up to his stomach and his head was almost hanging off the side of the tiny frame. It didn't look at all comfortable, but it didn't need to be.

Neither Buck nor Tommy were going to be sleeping very much, they had barely gotten four hours of sleep between them as it was. The bed had been put there when both of them refused to go home. It was so they could try and catch some sleep properly rather than cramped up in the chairs.

Whereas right now, Tommy was hunched over in one of the uncomfortable blue chairs. His knees were rammed up against the bedframe, his elbows were pushing down on his knees and his hands were clasped together propping up his chin.

"Hey, you know, I can keep vigil by her side if you want to take a break. Go get a drink or a shower or a change of clothes?" Chimney kept his voice calm and quiet, trying not to break through the atmosphere in the room. It was oddly calm in here, considering the circumstances.

"No, thanks. I'm good."

Tommy didn't bother to look up as he spoke, his eyes stayed firmly locked on his girlfriend even though the sight of her was forever burned into his memory.

Laid there, motionless. Wires and tubes sticking out from beneath her hospital gown. Breathing tube forcefully strapped to her mouth. Eyes closed tight. Machines doing everything that her body was simply refusing to do on its own.

"You need to look after yourself, Tommy. When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't remember." He wasn't sure what day it was. He didn't know if he had been sitting here all night, all day or for a whole week. All Tommy knew was that if he left and something happened, he would never forgive himself. This was his partner laid here, the one person in his life who meant something to him. He wasn't leaving her side until she woke up and told him to go.

"You know she won't be happy when she wakes up and sees the state you two are in. She'll go mad." There was a playful edge to Chimney's words as he walked further into the room and planted himself down on the very edge of the bed.

Normally if he tried to jibe and joke, Tommy would crack a smile. He would look up and grin or roll his eyes or just tilt his head down in that manner of his and look down the ridge of his nose at Chimney. His one-sided smirk always shone through. But not today.

He looked exhausted. Dark purple and black rings layered beneath his puffy eyes that had tinges of red in the whites and his pupils were so small Chimney could barely see them. Lines were appearing on Tommy's cheeks and his lips looked chapped and his cheeks were hollowing out. Even his neck looked smaller and croaked and different.

Tommy couldn't hold himself up properly, he was wearing himself thin by sitting here. He wasn't eating, he barely managed a drink and combined with no sleep and little movement, he was wasting away.

"I can't leave her."

If Tommy were himself, he would of made a joke. He would of said something along the lines of 'How bad do you think I look?' or 'Are you implying I smell?' or just something to quip back at Chimney and have some banter with him.

But he wasn't in the mood for that. He didn't have the will, the energy or the capacity to start a jibing conversation like that.

"If something happens, I need to be here… I need to hold her hand, to let her know she isn't alone."

"Tommy-"

"I've seen people die, Howie. Too many to count, and after a while, it becomes second nature in a way. But the one thing that sticks with me is the worry. None of them wanted to die alone, it's frightening. So if (Y/n) can feel my hand in hers, then I don't wanna let go. If anything happens, I don't want her to think no one was there."

How could he leave her now?

They couldn't go anywhere when she might die. If the worst was to happen, Tommy wanted- no, he needed to be by her side. He had to hold her hand, he had to make sure he was with her to kiss her goodbye and promise that he would never let a day go by without her in his thoughts. He would promise to watch over Buck and Maddie and the team if he managed to live a day without her.

Leaving wasn't an option when walking away meant leaving his heart behind. Tommy couldn't function if (Y/n) wasn't within his sights to reassure himself that his heart, his world, wasn't about to crumble and die.

He had witnessed people dying. He had seen it first hand during the army, and again when transporting people to hospital and they didn't make it. Tommy might not have been the person right by their side, but he had always been close to death, close enough that he could of been on first name basis with death.

And he had seen how frightened people were, they were scared enough to hold a stranger's hand because they didn't want to think of their last moments being cold and alone.

If (Y/n) wasn't going to make it through this, then Tommy needed someone to hold her hand. He knew she might be able to hear, feel and sense the people around her and he wanted her to sense his hand in hers. He wanted her to know that if she couldn't hold on any longer, then it was okay.

She could let go and he would keep hold of her hand.

He felt the urge to cry, but he didn't have anymore tears left in him to shed. He sniffed, taking in a deep breath before he doubled forward and slipped his fingers into the grooves of (Y/n)'s hand. He brought her hand up against his lips and breathed against her skin like it was the air he needed to live.

He tilted his head to the left but he couldn't look at Chimney when he realised his friend had tears rolling down his face.

"I can respect that," Chimney brushed his hand beneath his eyes, shaking his head at how deeply Tommy's words had cut to his core. "But (Y/n) wouldn't want either of you withering away like this on her behalf. She'd want you to take care of yourselves. So if I bring you both some food, you need to eat. And I'll hold her hand while you go next door and shower even if that's a ten-second in and out job. Just a little self-care, for (Y/n)'s sake. Please."

Chimney wasn't asking for the world and he wasn't asking Tommy to walk away for an hour, an afternoon, a day.

He had to think of Buck and Tommy's health and how (Y/n) wouldn't want them to be doing this to themselves. While Buck was getting some sleep which he desperately needed, Tommy could try and eat something.

He could go into the shower adjoined to this room. He could just have a quick scrub and change into the clothes Maddie had brought for them both this morning. He could maybe have a quick shave with the door open so he could hear and still see (Y/n).

As long as he did something to look after himself so he didn't waste away waiting for (Y/n) to recover. That was all he was asking.

Tommy didn't want to agree. He understood, but he really didn't want to.

But as he grazed his nose and cheek against the back of (Y/n)'s hand, he took a sharp breath. He had stubble. (Y/n) didn't like him with stubble. She loved to kiss her way up his neck and across his face to his lips right after he shaved. She wouldn't like to open her eyes and see him like this with a scruffy face and greasy, unkept hair.

He had to look a bit more alive if (Y/n) was going to wake up soon and get better. He had to do that, for her.

He pressed a soft, tender kiss to the back of her hand before he set her hand down against her thigh and dragged his fingers across his chin.

"I guess I could do with a shave."

***

"She's breathing fine without the ventilator now, all her vitals seem good. We just need to wait and see if she will come out of the coma okay."

How long would they have to wait? How long did they have before they knew if she was ever going to wake up? What would happen if she woke up and she couldn't speak or move or even remember any of them? What if she was changed, somehow, permanently, from this?

A quiet grumble left Tommy's lips and his eyes twitched behind his eyelids while he nuzzled his head further down and tried to keep his mind in a dreary state of sleep. He twitched his left arm, wondering for a second where he was and what he was doing, until the fog started to lift.

He recognised the body beneath him. His left arm was draped over (Y/n)'s waist. He could feel the wires and tubes tickling his bicep which he was trying to ignore so he could fall back into a state of sleep.

He could feel her hair tickling his nose and sticking to his lips that were pressing down against the top of her head.

He could feel his right hip tingling and pins and needles were shooting up and down his right leg from how he was laid on his side. And how he must have been laid like this for a while to send his leg numb like this, but he didn't care. He was finally sleeping, and he was attached to (Y/n), that was the only way he could manage to get some sleep no matter where he was or what he was doing.

Tommy distantly realised that his right arm was tucked above his head because he could feel his wrist bent awkwardly against the plastic frame of the bed. He tried not to care. He tried to push his face further down into (Y/n)'s hair and inhale her scent like it was morphine knocking him out.

But he couldn't shut his mind down when he felt her head twitch beneath his touch.

Why was she moving? She hadn't moved a muscle since she had been put in this room five days ago. Was it five days? Or was it six? How long had he been asleep? It didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that she was moving when previously she hadn't been at all.

"I- I can't f-feel my hand."

Once those words, those few little words that were as melodic as a lullaby, registered in Tommy's ears, he woke up immediately.

He was imagining things. He was hearing voices. He had to be. That was a voice he told himself he was never going to hear again. A voice he saved for when he closed his eyes and cried until he finally blacked out, listening to that voice in his memories.

His heart started to pound against his ribs like it was trying to bruise his chest and he could barely get his eyes into focus as he snapped his head up from the pillow and fumbled to try and move.

That was (Y/n)'s voice.

He twisted awkwardly causing his hip to click into place and his back to seize up, but he pushed through the feeling until he was sitting upright on the very edge of the bed. When her words sank into his mind, Tommy realised that while his left arm had been draped over (Y/n)'s waist, somehow, during his sleep, he had managed to tangle their fingers together.

He had been squeezing her hand in his sleep, so much so that he had left indents in the back of her hand and he could feel her pulse throbbing in her fingers.

When he looked down, tears started to blur his vision. (Y/n) was blinking up at him, squinting as her pupils narrowed and constricted to try and get a better view of him. The end of her nose crinkled and he watched her neck twist from left to right to try and get some feeling back.

But it was the way she squeezed his hand and managed to lift her arm up from the bed that had Tommy's jaw hanging low before his lips curved up into a loose smile.

He wasn't sure what sound left his lips, whether it was a cry, a yelp, a sob or some form of words. Whatever it was, Tommy didn't care.

All he cared about was releasing (Y/n)'s hand so he could cup the side of her face. His thumb etched across her jaw and his fingers pressed down on the side of her neck to feel her pulse and reassure himself that this was real and not some harrowing fabrication his broken mind was coming up with to soothe him.

He wasted no more time and swooped down to steal a kiss from her lips. The touch was brief, but it was overwhelming. He felt her chapped lips moving against his and her tongue swiping across his bottom lip. He felt her head incline into his touch and her trembling hand reach up to cup his wrist, keeping him in place as if he ever thought about letting her go or moving one inch away from her.

He felt her chest trying to push up from the bed to touch his and be close to him and it caused Tommy to lean down into her. He pushed his weight onto his hip and his elbow, allowing only a small amount of his weight to pin down on (Y/n)'s chest so he didn't crush her beneath him.

But the feeling of her chest rising and falling in tandem with his and feeling her ribs pushing against him made Tommy's heart swell.

"You're okay," He breathed the words into her mouth, barely removing his lips from hers because he just couldn't. He wanted to drown in her touch, smother her in a kiss and never come up for air again. "Oh, baby, you're awake."

He dove down to attack her lips again, unable to stop from sinking his teeth into her bottom lip. Swallowing her gasp, inhaling her limited air, crushing his nose against hers, feeling her teeth scrape his as his bruised lips wouldn't part from her.

He stole kiss after kiss after kiss and battled with himself to open his eyes, just to make sure that this wasn't a dream.

He found (Y/n)'s eyes staring up at him with the same look of wonder, the same amount of love and a lace of confusion shooting across her pupils like a star. She wasn't sure how long she had been asleep. She didn't know why she had been asleep or why her man was so frantic and panicked above her, but (Y/n) guessed something bad had happened.

But the way Tommy kissed the life from her body told her that everything was going to be okay now.

Her hand had gone numb from how tightly he had held onto her and it was the only thing (Y/n) could think of, fathom and comprehend. He had kept hold of her, guiding her back to him.

He brought her back.

[4drianaaaa]

incomplete

smut 18+, fem reader

🧸 your head pounded with the bad memories with your ex Hamzah...You couldn't stop thinking about him in ways you wished you were just able to slap the shit out of him. Obviously this was a way for you to just think of all the cons about your relationship with him just to forget about him completely.

Until you were sitting in your empty living room on a Friday night contemplating on calling your ex again to 'settle things out'. You thought as it for the better, you both see each other often more than other 'ex's' normally due to both of you being in the same working field and there was obviously very bias fans about the whole breakup and a lot of unnecessary back lash. You finally caved and called him hoping he'd be mature about your smart idea.

"hello?" the other side of the phone was awkwardly silent until you heard your name, "y/n?" his voice in a confused tone.

"Do you think you can come over? I just wanna talk about us...y'know?" you awkwardly giggled as you waited for a response back "Miss me already huh? It's been months I've hoped you changed." he teased as you rolled your eyes "Sure, be there in 20" he added as your tongue poked the inside of your cheek "aww you remember! bye bye!" you hung up as you mentally prepared your self.

You heard a loud knock at your door as you threw a hoodie on and opened the door, you stepped aside and let him get passed as you closed the door behind you "So, why am I here again?" he raised his eyebrow as he sat on the ouch of your living room "cuz' I wanna talk, I just really wanna settle things In a good way" you twirled your fingers around your hair as he nodded "Okay perfect I'll be waiting for your apology" he smirked "What!? I am one-hundred-fucking percent I deserve an apology!" you scoffed "yeah you lashing out on me for something I didn't even do deserves a apology?" he questioned as you scoffed "fine, I'm sorry" you crossed your arms

"that's all? C'mon couldn't you have at least said my name?" he laughed "Hamzah stop before I...." you thought of ways to ruin his life "before I post very embarrassing pictures about you" you furrowed your eyebrows "wow you still have pictures of me?" he smirked as you couldn't resist looking at his sly smirk he always does made you smile as well "what're you smiling at?" he licked his lips as his eyes traveled rapidly up and down your body "nothing!" you hid your face "okay, I'm so so SO sorry Hamzah please forgive me!" you said sarcastically as he laughed "see how easy that was?" he grabbed your waist as he pulled you into a sincere hug, your heart dropped as you fully felt the temperature of his body with yours. Because of not seeing him in such a long time it made you forget how good he made you feel, In various ways.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as his breath was felt onto your ear, a chill ran down to your waist where his hand was placed. "I'm sorry too y/n" he giggled as your face was flushed red, your tug around his neck lightened as you noticed how his eyes sparkled in the light as his hands stayed placed on to your waist. The "what are we?" questioned circled around your head as he put a part of hair behind your ear, your faces got closer to each other as you were both so into the moment

His lips connected to yours like a desperate magnet as your hands were now placed on the sides of his face, his hands firmly gripping on the sides of your waist as his kiss sent you in a state of euphoria. You've realized in that moment how you've never really met someone as unique as Hamzah. No one that made you feel like Hamzah makes you feel.

Your lips parted as it took you back into reality, "M'sorry, I should have asked" he murmured lowly as his hands dug into his pockets "No. It's fine" you placed his hands on top of his as he wasted no time kissing you again but this time more passionate. He felt his dick getting hard as he thought of the things you would do in your bedroom. His sloppy kissed made you groan as he smirked "Please can we go into your room y/n" he practically begged as you nodded and lead him to your cool bedroom, He was quick to swoop off his hoodie and kicking off his shoes as you did too

"god you haven't changed huh" he smirked as you were now on his lap, your panties thrown somewhere in the room as you coated his neck in hickes as his hands gripped your ass, his hands roamed up into your shirt as you shivered under his touch. You slowly began dry humping on top of his hard tent as it did miracles on your bare clit. His hands slipped off your shirt leaving you in your lacy bra, his other hand began to message your clit as you melted under his touch as you whimpered, He began unbuckling his pants as you forgot how huge he was "Can we go slow please~" you whined as you helped him take off his boxers as his throbbing cock sprung up to his belly button you looked at him as you pumped his length as his hips bucked by your touch. You slowly got on top of his as you held his hands slowly taking all of him making you moan "fuck- It's so f'good" you moaned as you felt your self already coming in seconds.

"Tell me when you can't anymore baby" he panted as you nodded, you began to ride him as his eyebrows sewed together "Jesus fucking Christ your so tight" he whimpered as he picked you up and laid you down as he began slowly thrusting into you "Hamzah!" you grabbed his arm as he slowly went deep inside you and back out "yes! fuck!" you yelled as he leaned down to your ear;

"does anyone make you feel like this baby? mh?" he groaned as skin slapped rapidly as he circled his thumb around your clit as you saw stars. His thrusts began to get quicker "c'mon spit it out y/n" he panted as you shook your head as he smirked as he pounded in and out of you circling your clit even faster "Hamzah! Fuck Fuck Fuck!" you scratched his back as you grabbed on to his curls as he groaned "Hamzah I'm so fucking close!" you moaned "Fuckk me too" he whined as his thrust slammed into you reaching your g-spot "Oh Shit!" you yelled as you felt your self come all over his cock "M'yes" he groaned as your legs shook under him as your lips fell onto each other as he planted his warm seed into you as you moaned into his mouth as he pumped his access come on your spilling cunt as you panted under him

"fuck y/n your so good baby" he whimpered as you giggled as he kissed and twirled his tounge around your hard sensitive nipples "I missed you so much y/n" he wrapped his arms around your waist as you played with his curls and wiping the sweat off his forehead "I missed you too" you smiled as you both knew you would be back together by the next day.