#maybe a bit of hair wax/gel? but that’s totally fine

[togament]

imagine napping with ume thoughhh 😮‍💨 you know for a fact he’d cuddle. the man cannot and WOULD NOT fall asleep without having your limbs touching, feeling your warmth against his skin. can’t convince me otherwise.

if he could, he’d have his entire face shoved in the space below your neck, nose and mouth included. but he has to breathe, y’know? so he likes sleeping on your pillow. you gotta share.

when he wakes up before you, he peppers super gentle kisses along your face. sorry, pal. he absolutely cannot help it. if he had a tail, he’d be wagging it as soon as he saw your adorable sleeping face. (kisses would substitute the imaginary tail)

when you wake up before him, good luck. the man sleeps like a rock. at least you could stare at his pretty sleeping face for a few minutes, I guess? or you could pepper soft kisses on his face too if you wanna try waking him up.

a billion soft kisses to wake ume up just so you could see him wake up with a huge smile on his face? WORTH IT.

[intubatedangel]

The Doctor and his Patient Nurse - Intermission 1

The lock clicked open quietly, then the door swung open silently on high quality hinges. The led lights came on, then dimmed as the dial was turned down low. They stepped into the spacious apartment, taking off their coats and hanging them in a closet by the door. It was something they’d done so many times that it was almost ritual.

 Anna smiled as she looked around. She’d stayed here so many times over the last 6 months it was almost a second home to her. Without even considering it, she started towards the couch that sat in front of the 50-inch wall mounted tv. But a gentle yet firm hand landed on her shoulder. She looked back at Carl. He seemed to have become nervous, almost hesitant, in the 20 minutes since their conversation on the stair case.

 “Come on.” He murmured, leading her towards the bedroom. She followed, as she had many times before, but he’d always been much more confident. It was as if he was a virgin school boy, filled with anxiety at the prospect of his first time. She noticed the keys still in his hand, normally he would have hung them up beside the door. She no longer knew what to think.

 The bedroom was much like the rest of the apartment. Spacious, with a chest of drawers, one of which had already become hers and a walk-in wardrobe. There was plenty of room to move around the bed.

 Carl paused, breathing deeply. “Is everything ok?” Anna asked him, stepping around to look at his face. He looked down at her, and she could see the heat rising in his cheeks.

 He seemed to take a moment, struggling to come to a decision, like he had on the staircase, but it seemed so much more difficult, as if there was no going back from what he was about to do. He reached down and took her hand, playing his thumb across her knuckles. He looked into her eyes. He was scared. Terrified. Whatever was going on in his head, it was deeply personal.

 Anna reached up and pulled him closer, craning her neck back to kiss him softly on the lips. His eyes closed as he savoured the kiss, as if it might be the last time. Anna began to feel anxious herself. She’d never seen Carl like this. When they first met, he’d struck her as the cool and confident emergency doctor, it had even grated her initially. But then she’d found the gentle and tender part of him that lived behind the façade. As their relationship evolved, she’d discovered a solid core of strength, a man who took honour and loyalty seriously. Caring about his team wasn’t an act, but an integral part of him. Now she wondered if there was something even deeper than that.

 Slowly his eyes opened again. He seemed to finally make the decision, much as he had on the stair case. His voice was thicker as he met her gaze once more. “Take a nice relaxing shower. I’ll get set up.” He gently pushed her towards the bathroom.

 She stopped at her drawer to grab some underwear, glancing back to see Carl enter the walk-in wardrobe, then slipped into the en-suite bathroom. She turned on the shower, striping away her scrubs as the water warmed up. She tried to figure out what he meant by getting ‘set up’. She thought she hear the jangling of keys from the far side of the bedroom. A wave of tiredness slammed into her, her exertions and her worries stacking together to create a weight that threatened to drag her to the floor.

 Lethargically, she stepped into the tub and under the stream of pleasantly hot water. Her legs tired, she ended up sinking into the tub, sitting on the bottom as the stream cascaded over her. Her head drooped, letting the water run down her back and shoulders. It was relaxing, she could feel her heart slowing as the ache in her muscles eased. She leaned back, exposing her front to the shower. She almost nodded off, but as water trickled into her mouth and run down toward her lungs, she coughed herself awake.

 She leaned forward again, rubbing the water from her eyes, then stood up carefully in the tub. She quickly washed her hair, not bothering with conditioner. The she lathered up a sponge with soap and began to wash her body, concentrating on those regions most susceptible to sweat first. Having kept them smoothly waxed made to job quicker. Once her whole body was covered in the sweet-smelling lather, she let the shower wash it from her, taking the sweat and dirt with it.

 She didn’t know how long she spent under the embrace of the shower but figured that Carl had finished his ‘set up’, whatever it may be. She turned off the stream, dashing water from her soft skin, now a soft pink, then stepped out of the tub. One of her favourite things about Carl’s place was his towels. They were huge beach towels but felt as soft as a cloud. She took one from the heated rail, wrapping it around herself. It felt decadently comfortable, a big hug from the fluffiest dog you could imagine.

 She enjoyed it for a moment, then dried herself off. She’d draped her underwear on the towel rail, and a bath robe hung from each side. She pulled on the simplistic, practically under garments, feeling a degree of pleasure as the warmth encased her private areas. The bath robe was even better than the towel. Just as soft, and given they’d been sized for Carl, the hooded robe enveloped her. She could have happily curled up on the tiled floor and slept, but she didn’t want to worry Carl, or keep him waiting. She took a deep breath and eased open the door.

 Carl was sat on a small stool by the side of the bed. She recognised it from the walk-in wardrobe. She also recognised what was sat on the bedside table next to him. A monitor. A patient monitor, with a 5-lead cable curled up next to it. Anna took a sharp breath in as she realised that was what he meant by getting set up.

Carl looked up at the noise, he was chewing on his lip, but a nervous smile flickered across his face anyway. He nodded to the bed, with pillows already arranged into a more upright position, and grabbed the ecg cable. “I told you we would see if anything was obviously wrong.”

 Anna just stood there, her tired mind suddenly trying to start its engines and catch up. The thoughts crashed into one another. Why does he have a monitor? Well he is a Doctor, maybe it’s for research, or practice. But where did he get it from? It’s not the style we have at Memorial, so he probably didn’t steal it. The rational parts of her brain argued. Besides, there is that scary heart thing to consider, how about we just calm down and let him make sure we aren’t going to drop dead. Well fine, but a professional patient monitor is not something you would usually find in an apartment. A doctor’s apartment. Kinky Anna, rising from wherever she had been buried it during the day’s events, suddenly decided to add her voice to the pile up. GUYS! HE’S GOING TO GIVE US AN ECG!!

 “Anna?” She flinched slightly as she noticed he had come over to her. “Still with me?” Carl asked, his smile gone, replaced by the concern pasted across his face.

 “Yeah…” Her voice whispered out. She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Yeah, just tired and I wasn’t expecting…” She waved at the ecg.

 Carl turned away, his shoulders seeming to stiffen a little. “Well, you seemed so worried. I figured, I had this, so why not see. Put you at ease.” He sat down, slumping slightly. He genuinely looked like a first timer who had just embarrassed himself. He wasn’t, Anna had 6 months of memories to attest to that. “I guess it seems a bit weird. If you don’t want to, I can…”

 “No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Anna blurted out before she could think. She walked around the bed and sat down in front of him. “It was a surprise. Not necessarily an unwelcome one.”

 Carl perked up at that, his head cocked slightly to one side. Anna felt even more confused, tiredness starting to press on her again, so she made the decision to just roll with it. She settled herself on the bed, sinking into the pile of pillows. Her hands fumbled at the knot of the bathrobe, she started forward to get a better look, when Carl pressed her back with a firm hand.

 “Just relax. I’ve got it.” The nervousness had left his voice. In fact, it had taken on the same tone he used in the hospital. A calm, measured tone. Caring and compassionate, but with a sense of granite hard authority. “We want a clear reading, so just relax.”

 His dexterous hands slipped the knot in a mere moment, and he pulled the front of the robe to either side, exposing Anna’s mostly bare chest. He turned to grab the dangling cable. Skintact electrodes were already attached to the ends of each wire. Anna closed her eyes, trying to force her heart to relax. Yes, she’d had dreams about something like this. But she didn’t want to let on that she had a kink directly related to what she did for a job, especially to someone who worked with her.

 She felt each foam electrode, the wet gel of the sensor slightly cooler, as Carl gently placed each of the five electrodes. One on each shoulder, one on either side of her slim and toned stomach, and one just beneath her bra, nestling under her right breast. She supressed a slight shiver. Not the time! She mentally shouted at her kinky side.

 “Sorry, forgot to turn the heating up.” Carl said softly, arranging the leads to a point near her shoulder before folding the bathrobe back over her chest. She opened her eyes to look at him, but he was switching on the monitor. He’d turned the screen away from her and silenced the beeping. “Think of somewhere relaxing, OK. A beach or a nice warm bath. Forget the monitor. Forget I’m here. Just tell me when you feel totally relaxed.”

 Anna closed her eyes. She pictured a beach, just like Carl had suggested. Golden sand, beautiful blue sky and crystal-clear water. She ignored the kinky monkey that was howling to be let out. “Ok.” She whispered, when she felt totally relaxed. Carl didn’t respond. Minutes seemed to pass in near silence. All she could hear was her own breathing.

 “Damn…” Carl had breathed the word, it was barely even a whisper. Anna’s eyes snapped open, icy cold fear flooding her veins. He was transfixed by the monitor, an unreadable look in his eyes.

 “What is it?” She asked quietly, the fear creeping into her voice. Carl seemed to jump slightly as he realised she was there.

 “It’s beautiful.” His eyes wideneing as his mouth overtook his brain. He turned to her. “I mean…” The virgin school boy had abruptly returned. “It’s fine. Seriously.” He cleared his throat, and Doctor Carl was back. “QT interval is slightly prolonged, but still well within normal bounds. That’s easily explainable, given the day you’ve had. Other than that, your heart is perfect..ly fine.” Anna almost missed the little stumble, but Carl carried on before she could think about it. “A stress test or event monitoring would maybe be needed to be 100% certain. But from what I’m seeing, your heart is great. I don’t think you have anything to be worried about.”

 Anna let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. A flush of relief coursed through her, tense muscles relaxing into the soft bed. Carl said something, but she hadn’t been paying attention “Huh?”

 “Do you want to see?” He asked again.

 Anna laid there, immobilised by the question. The internal war restarted with a vengeance. No. What if he can tell we’re into it? We can’t risk it. He’ll think we’re a freak. Better to just say no, pretend it never happened. While the rational voices were arguing, Kinky Anna, who wanted nothing more than to be lying on a trauma bed, took the controls. She huskily breathed out a single word. “Yes.”

 Carl gave that odd cocked head look again, but there was a lighter note to it, almost like hope. He reached up and grabbed the handle on top of the monitor, slowly turning it around. It was a painfully slow second as the monitor turned, the LCD hard to see until it was facing her.

 And there it was. Her heart, or it’s electrical activity at least, bouncing gently across the screen. A perfect waveform, P, Q, R, S and T, all present and correct, even if T did lag behind by a few milliseconds. She watched as the monitor traced the beat, visualising what her little life pump was doing underneath her ribs. “Holy shit.” She breathed, transfixed much like Carl had been.

 Kinky Anna had escaped her cage and was now running the asylum. She could picture herself on that trauma table, Carl’s hands pressing on her chest between defib pads and ecg electrodes. A tube down her throat, with a bag filling her lungs. The rough squiggle of v-fib on the monitor. She saw her heart skip on the monitor, felt the thunderclap of the compensatory beat. Heard the alarmed beep from the monitor as it registered the PVC. And she didn’t care. Her hand drifted towards her panties. And then Carl shattered the daydream.

 “You’re into it too.” His voice was almost choked, like an actor receiving an Oscar they didn’t expect.

 Anna gasped as reality slammed back. She realised she’d shown the most personal part of herself. The part of herself that she had barely even acknowledged. The part of herself that she had buried time and again. It was revealed. Thousands of voices shouted in her head, screaming alarm bells. Some wanted to run. Some wanted to just die right there and then. Then one voice rose above them all, like King Kong bellowing from atop the Empire State Building. TOO! HE SAID TOO!

 Anna was trembling as she tore her eyes away from the monitor to look at Carl. The sandy haired doctor was grinning from ear to ear. She couldn’t speak. Her mouth was moving, but no words were coming to her mind. After a few seconds of embarrassing slack-jawedness, she simply nodded an affirmative.

 Carl seemed to transform, the clenching tension that had infused him since their conversation on the staircase disappeared. In it’s place he became energised. “I never thought I’d find anyone else, not a real person. Not someone I can be myself with, both the professional and the other side.” He was practically buzzing with excitement. “I was so scared. I knew I might blow it, show myself and scare you off. But you were so scared. The Love of My Life, terrified. I couldn’t just palm you off on some random doctor, make you wait days for an appointment. Not when I had everything I needed to…”

 He was silenced as Anna’s lips crashed into his. It was a breathless, chaotic, sensual, lustful, gentle kiss. Like nothing either of them had ever shared with someone before. A kiss that joined two completely bared souls, open and accepting with nothing left to hide. And then, with heavy breathing on both sides, and the frantic beeping of the monitor as it registered a rapid heart rate, they parted, gazing into each other’s eyes.

 “I love you too.” Anna whispered, the monitor going quiet as her heart settled. Carl smiled. A boyish grin. Not the dazzling yet cultivated smile he often used as part of his Doctor McDreamy repertoire. A real, honest, boyish grin that dazzled her more than the manufactured smile ever could. The monitor confirmed the effect of that grin, beeping again as Anna’s heart raced and skipped for that smile.

 Carl stood, taking Anna’s hand and helping her up from the bed. “There’s something you should see.” He started to move, abruptly stopping to grab the monitor, it’s built in battery allowing it to continue showing the amazing pattern of Anna’s heart. He took her hand in his spare one, letting the ecg wires trail across in front of him, then led her toward the walk-in wardrobe.

 She’d been inside it before, a spare set of her own scrubs was hanging at one end of the rail that ran along the left wall. Racks for shoes sat beneath a mirror at the far end. Drawers lined the right-hand wall, coming half way up, creating an integrated dressing table between the back wall and the cupboard nearest the door. It was the cupboard that Carl stopped at. Anna had never seen it open, hadn’t even tried it just out of curiosity. She hadn’t even noticed the keyhole, though it stood out clearly with the key still in there.

 Carl took a deep breath, setting the monitor on the table where they could both see it at a glance, then pulled on the handle of the cupboard. He stepped back out of the way, letting Anna see inside.

 The cupboard had three shelves, over a large space. It was the kind of cupboard you would use to store your luggage and other items for vacations. Stuff you wouldn’t need on a daily or even monthly basis. Carl’s cupboard was not filled with luggage and holiday clothes.

 It was like a store cupboard from the Resus Ward. Beneath the shelves, was a real crash cart, she could see the slight outline of dust that matched the monitor perfectly. A solid CPR back board leaned against the wall.

The three shelves were packed. Ambu-bags, still in sterile packaging took up half of one, surrounded by boxes, which on closer inspection were various types of ecg electrode. A pair of Zoll AED’s sat on another, one clearly marked training, along with various types of pads. She could see basic Stat-Pads, alongside the distinctive Z-pad. There was even a pair of hard black paddles, with tubes of gel and packets of gel pads.

 The third shelve was cluttered with airway supplies. ET tubes, guedal airways and laryngeal masks were roughly stacked beside a laryngoscope case, along with rolls of tape and every kind of tube holder she had seen. Hanging from hooks on the wall were a few stethoscopes and ECG cables with various numbers of leads.

 Even Kinky Anna was struck dumb by the sight of all her fantasies in one simple cupboard. The monitor was bleeping again. She waved at it dismissively, Carl understanding and hitting the silence button, even though he kept one eye upon the screen, watching Anna’s heart race.

 She spent over a minute taking it all in. It was perfect. Truly and totally perfect. Part of her wanted to grab everything and play with it now. “Where did you get all of this?” She asked, not taking her eyes off the stockpile of her dreams.

 He stepped close behind her, stooping slightly to wrap an arm around her waist. “Most of it is out of date. Consigned to training only bins. You volunteer to run a course you can take as much as you need with no problems, there’s always plenty left. Other things are broken.” He indicated the hard paddles. “Some of them are samples.” His arm shifted to the airway shelf. “When the supplier reps want to get into your pants, they’ll give you a whole case for free. And before you ask, no, never.” He waved at the stethoscopes. “Those were mostly gifts.” Anna nodded, noticing one of them was a novelty version with a ‘sexy nurse’ on the bell. “That came from the refurb at an old job.” He was pointing at the crash cart. “And some I bought myself.” He nodded at the monitor, a flashing light indicating that Anna’s heart rate was still over 100. “That’s real though” He pointed to the non-training AED. “Fully working. In case someone in the building needs it.

 “So, nothing illegal?” She asked, looking up at him. She wasn’t really bothered, but police knocking on the door would certainly put a downer on any future activities.

 Carl shrugged his shoulders, his face wincing slightly. He reached down to the crash cart, pulling open a drawer labelled drugs. It wasn’t full, only a few cases, but most of the major code blue drugs were represented along with some local anaesthetic. Nothing that was overtly dangerous though. “I guess, technically. I wanted to be prepared. In case things went too far.” He was pointing to the Epi and other code drugs. “And that was for if I ever found someone who wanted to play with them.” He pointed between the local anaesthetic and the airway supplies.

 She nodded. “Ok then. At least if I do drop dead you can get me back.” She said, before planting another kiss on his lips.

 They broke apart, the monitor no longer flashing. Anna felt slightly giddy, like a kid in a candy shop. But she caught sight of the clock on the far wall. It was past 10 pm already and they were back in for another 12-hour shift at 8AM. She sighed, leaning into Carl, his strong arms wrapping around her. “I wish we could play with it all right now.” She murmured. She felt Carl’s chest swell as he took a breath to reply. “But.” She cut in, leaning back, twisting her nose. “I think you need a shower.”

 He laughed, a deep rumble that reverberated around the wardrobe. He tried to pull her back in, but she squirmed away, giggling. “Fine. As the lady commands, though I may need to be bribed.” He leaned forward, pursing his lips.

 Anna pecked them, fighting to keep the grin from her face. “Damn right.” She whispered.

 “Tomorrow night though, you’re under the Doctor’s orders.” He said retreating towards the door, his eyebrows wiggling as he saw the words hit home on the monitor. And then he was gone from view. Anna sagged against the dressing table, pinching herself. She wasn’t dreaming. Her face split into a grin. She wondered if she would ever sleep at her own apartment again.

 She heard the bathroom door close. She looked in the cupboard again, marvelling for a moment, then reached out to the stethoscopes. There was only one choice really. She draped the steth around her neck, a ‘sexy nurse’ settling over her left breast. She picked up the monitor, returning to the bedroom.

 Once the monitor was back on mains power, she re-arranged the pillows to a sleeping formation. Then she shrugged out of the dressing gown, draping it over the stool, casting her bra off to join it, and settled onto the bed, lying on her side. She watched the trace bouncing across the screen, her own heart, beating steadily and healthily. Without the fear of getting caught and admittedly too tired for a fantasy, the regular spikes became soothing.

 She inserted the earpieces, holding the cool bell of the stethoscope between her hand for a few moments. She saw the monitor rate increase as she brought the bell down to her chest. This, she had done before. Each lub-dub of her heart was a perfect beat, slowing steadily as the initial thrill faded. It was like a child’s favourite lullaby, luring her to sleep, with a soft whoosh whenever she breathed.  She moved it from point to point, holding it on her ribs, or pressing it up against her breasts. hearing the slight differences from each part of her chest.

 Each thump in her ears matched the trace on the monitor, a soothing rhythm that slowly mesmerised her. Soon the tendrils of sleep began to wrap around her. She didn’t try to fight the feeling anymore, her eyelids drooping as she drifted away into the sweet embrace of sleep.

 She barely even noticed when Carl left the bathroom, not seeing the soft loving smile on his face. She only smelled the sweet spicy scent of his shower gel as he nestled in behind her. He softly eased the steth out from under her head, taking the bell as his arm folded around her. A smile of her own crossed her lips as he moved it around, listening to her heart in all the same places. Her eyes slid shut, the imprint of her heart on the screen lingering in her mind as she slipped into a contented sleep.

***

Hope you all enjoy this as much I enjoyed writing it.

Now, I could use your help. I’ve got plenty of scenrios in mind for our pair of resus-love-birds to tackle, but can’t decide on which one to do next. So, I figured I’d put it to a poll. The options are:

A: A ferry accident on the cold river.

B: A body dump at the hospital.

C: A hit and run car accident.

I’ll give it about 12 hours, to strike while the iron is hot and keep providing you all reading material.

Also, any suggestions for names of this whole series would be appreciated. Everything I can think of sounds cheesy or a rip off of an existing tv show.

***

Collected link for Barista’s Bad Heart:

https://intubatedangel.tumblr.com/post/183863814312/baristas-bad-heart-collected-links

[01010010-posts]

— watering my feelings for you.

requests: omg... flower shop au.... sending ur rk a new flower for his desk every week... sending him big beautiful arrangements on special occaisions... yes

Hello sweetie💕 I absolutely ADORE your writing 💕💕💕 it's so innocent?? And precious?? Like you! Like thank you for always brightening up my dash with your amazing self! If it's alright I had a little request? The boys with a super gentle s/o who looooves plants? Like they love to garden and talks to their sprouts, encouraging them to grow. Maybe the boys can help analyze the soil so they grow happier? If not it's okay!! Have a lovely day darling ✨💕

hello this was supposed to come out yesterday but i realized that maybe at 4:20am you should go to bed instead well at least re-reading it today doesn’t make it as bad as i thought these asks were so soft

Connor:

• he just wanted some flowers to put on Hank’s table as celebration after a big case • he didn’t expect you at all • not one manual about humans prepared him for this • is it– is it the arrangement? is it that? • no it’s def you, only you • gosh you’re even more beautiful than the way you organized the flowers • what,,,, what should he do,,,, • of fucking course he’s going to panic and stutter • he just wanted to ask for your number • yet he managed to make a fool of himself and sadly go home with the bouquet in hand • he still doesn’t know but he perfectly succeeded in his attempt at wooing you • and now he’s sitting on a chair, ruffling his own hair at the embarrassing moment replaying in his head • he believes that, by now, you’re vivaciously gossiping about ‘how freaky that android was this morning’ with your colleagues and boy does his heart shrinks • but in the end he can’t help returning to your shop after a week • he’s lucky he doesn’t need rest bc he surely wouldn’t have been able to sleep the whole time • yes he doesn’t actually need more flowers but • are you– are you blushing?? what?? even if he was a complete mess the other day?? • rA9 maybe?? he still has a chance?? maybe?? • fucking please write your number on the business card it’s painful to watch u 2 dorks 

RK900:

• why would he needs flowers? • he doesn’t • but, despite this, he’s here, faking window shopping • ‘faking’ as ‘it’s obvious I’m in love with the part-timer but I’m an awkward boy and I don’t know how to approach humans so I’m trying to look at flowers’ • why does this has to be so complicated • “may i help you?” • no no no no you can’t please ahh go away • “no” • and,,,, he exits the shop like this never happened • i’m not gonna lie you’re a bit taken aback, not only by him being so handsome but also you’ve never heard such a firm ‘no’ in your life • too bad you can’t see his face so blue because you just talked to him • but he doesn’t give up • after an hour he’s back at the shop • honestly you both know the situation is weird at this point • “actually, I think you might help me” • “oh! perfect! were you searching for something in particular or?” • “yes. I was.” • “.... okay. any examples?” • “I’m in need of bouquet for a date and I was wondering what were your favourites flowers” 

RK800-60:

• he is an habitué • you don’t know how or why he always shows during weekends • he just does • most of the time he buys flowers or tiny cacti • his room is full of them, he really doesn’t know where to put the next ones, please help him, he has already gifted half of his collection to all the people he knows and either he gets to know more people or you understand that he’s trying to flirt with you • so you think he’s really passionate about plants • and god are you happy!! • finally someone nice that you can talk about plants for days on end! • well he doesn’t dislike them but his hardware might explode if you keed feeding him info about gardening • fortunately a co-worker asks him out and he’s like,,,, “what no, of course I like [name]” • and fucking months mutual pining melts down like wax • he’s so glad he can stop buying plants he was going to water them with his tears • WHAT DO YOU MEAN you’re mad about the plants yes he took care of them don’t worry • LISTEN it was a necessary move no you don’t understand he made it for you ok • YES HE WATERED THEM EVERY DAY DON’T WORRY BABY THEY’RE FINE • what,,,, why do you want them back,,,, why should they stay at your apartment along with this things– • OH • you meant that • he’s totally fine with that 

Bonus — Connor / RK900 / RK800-60:

• as someone who doesn’t particularly like parties you’re truly glad that one of the perks of your job as a florist is going to the place, do your thing, setting the flowers in pretty positions and going back home to read a book or watch some tv  • the sole con, really, is when the broad guy that usually drives the truck for big events dumps you at the last minute • i mean fuck? since it’s a DPD gathering there should be at least a strong police officer helping you unloading the ornaments, right? • by all means; no • it’s too early, not even one guest has arrived yet • so you’re there, kinda struggling with your plastic green boots in the mud, heaps of heavy plants on your hands • until you hear “I told you we were early!” “stop complaining, of course we came early, not only is bad etiquette to arrive late but I also couldn’t bear the sight of you putting more hair gel” • it’s a soft bicker in the distance, and you’re so focused on the hilarious interaction that you don’t notice an android getting near you, a wide smile “do you need any help with that?” • he’s,,,, fucking cute help • but halfway through opening your mouth two other heads pop next to his, all slightly similar • three cuties in a row now,,,, it’s your lucky day heck • and since they’re so robust they all help you with placing things!! • gosh is this a dream? can you like, hire them or something? • “thanks a bunch, without you it would’ve taken me hours!” • “don’t worry, we were glad to assist with the preparations!” • “speak for yourself, Connor, I want to be paid!” • “what, c’mon 60, we don’t actually need money” • “though I agree with him, we do require some sort of payment for the work done” • “RK900, love, please, can’t we just do something without expecting anything in return?” • “no no, it’s alright, you did contribute so it’s natural of me to pay you– but if money is not what you want, well, i can offer some flowers, perhaps?” • do androids even like flowers? • “a date!” 60 chirps behind a nodding RK900 “yes, that might be appropriate” • what,,,, what does this mean • a date?? really?? beautiful boys asking you on a date??? wait,,,, which one of those three • you stifle a nervous laugh “so three dates? like taking turns? shame i can’t date all of you at once, huh” • welp would you look at their faces! okay you said something strange but it was a joke no need to be so– • “as a matter of fact, we meant that” Connor tries, tentatively, blushing a little at the thought • “that what” you really don’t get it do u moron • “a date with the three of us. at once” RK900 is fucking serious • what have you gotten yourself into • the date it’s nice, tho, you take them to a botanical garden and gosh do you have fun • you gift them 3 cute ass different tiny plants and they all put it on their desk • they also take from you the habit of talking to flowers, which is pretty heartwarming to be fair • no they don’t feel stupid in the slightest you said it makes the sprouts grow stronger and happier so they will do it they want you to be proud of them • Connor and 60 don’t tell you but they have a compilation of videos about RK900 watering and saying cute things to the pot as if it were you • wholesome androids tbh • please insist on making them wash their hands and mouth because you never know when they could get the sudden urge to verify that is it indeed topsoil • you only forgive them because they tell you what’s the best soil around judging by the chemical composition 

[concussed-to-pieces]

Kitten; Part Ten

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Jon Moxley[Dean Ambrose]/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Happy Thirst Party Saturday everyone! Tagging our finest, @tox-moxley, @hardcorewwetrash, @oraclegazes, @actualamyautopsy and @iwannadiehere. Enjoy!

The worry started setting in about a week before Valentine's Day. She never wore pants to bed. Shit, she hardly ever wore anything to bed and now all of a sudden she was wearing more clothes than a nervous bride. To say he was confused would be an understatement.

��Kitten? Y’ gettin’ sick again or somethin’?” He asked finally after the third night of this new…interest in long sleeves and sleeping pants and the whole ‘not being naked beside him’ thing. Which wasn’t that big of an issue, really it wasn’t. They were both adults and if she wanted to wear clothes to bed that was definitely her right. It was just…it was a deviation from the norm and that was always a little scary for him.

She didn’t necessarily look guilty, but she sure as shit was cagey about the subject. “I’ve been kind of chilly.”

That was it. That was all he got. And hell, he wanted to press the matter, but at the same time he didn’t want to be that guy. So he just shut his mouth, accepted his good morning kiss (that he was still pretty sure he didn’t deserve) and headed in to work as usual. He was a good boyfriend and refrained from asking the questions that might make her upset.

Simple Mox, good Mox.

...

Callihan of all people was the one to suggest he ‘tidy up’ for Valentine's Day, wiggling his eyebrows at Moxley in a way that made Jon want to wallop him. “Chicks ain’t into body hair anymore, man. Ya’ chest is literally revolting. I would know.” Callihan gestured at his own hairless torso. “Keep a little bit of the trail, sure. Give ‘er somethin’ to follow. But get rid of that fuckin’ pelt. Trust me. She’ll be all over ya’.”

“The last time I trusted ya’ fuckin’ scrawny ass I got beaned in the back of my fuckin’ skull with a steel chair.” Mox snorted with laughter, unable to keep it in when Sami looked let down. “Fuckin’ douche, tryin’ to kill me and shit.”

“I didn’t know the chick had a boyfriend, man. Will ya’ let it go?” Sami groaned. “I said I was sorry an’ everythin’.”

Mox rubbed a hand thoughtfully over the stubble that plagued his face daily. “I don’t think she cares, Callihan. I mean, I’ll take it under…advisory or whatever th’ fuck, but I’m pretty sure she don’t care?” Mox's voice rose at the end of its own accord, turning his previously firm statement into a question. A doubt, starting to worm its way in. “Why would she care?”

“Hey I’m jus’ sayin’, man. It never hurts to at least look like ya’ makin’ an effort.” Sami pointed out.

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Shit.” He said finally. “I always look like a damn hobo next t’ her, man. D’ya think that would help?”

Callihan shrugged. “Special occasion, ain’t it?”

…

This was a goddamn terrible idea. Shit, he didn't even know if she wanted this or not. He didn't really want to ask, either. How much of a fucking jackass would he look like if he just walked up to her, opened his mouth and said something like, “hey babe, sugarplum, apple of my eye, you ever thought about me not looking like a stray dog for once?” The wild idea of him pulling off being a dashing son of a bitch haunted him, especially while looking like that guy from the cover of that book he definitely wasn't supposed to know she had stashed in her nightstand.

She was still wearing the damn pants to bed. Shit, she wasn't even letting him put his hands in said pants anymore, usually rolling over or catching his hands and kissing his knuckles in that way that made him melt.

Finally, early in the morning on the fourteenth, after Callihan daring him for half the damn night in between fights and at least seven shots of Jack Daniels lining his empty stomach, Mox sacked the fuck up and walked into the twenty-four hour Walgreens down the street from the CZ. He'd mopped himself off a little so he wasn't a total bloody mess, just an emotional mess. He didn't know when this had turned into such a big fucking deal (but he was relatively certain it was Callihan's fault), or when he had decided that this was obviously a great idea and it was definitely what Kitten wanted and he really needed to just go through with this before he lost what little nerve he had.

So he strode in, made his way to the shaving aisle, glanced over numerous wax kits with terrifying-looking pictures, grabbed a tube of some cream that promised 'pain-free results!' and stormed the cashier like he was on the beaches of fucking Normandy. I am the man who is going to make my girlfriend happy on Valentine's Day and nothing on this planet is stopping me.

In hindsight, maybe applying the shit once he had sobered up would have gone better. Or maybe applying it after his chest had healed from the fights. Or maybe just not slathering the shit on while finishing the bottle with Sami and then falling asleep next to the sink in the CZ bathroom. He only conked out for about forty-five minutes or so, but according to the tube that was forty minutes too long. The burning sensation was what woke him and Mox flew into a drunken panic, flailing and damn near knocking himself out on the underside of the sink before he managed to stumble to his feet.

He remembered thinking oh God no, just staring at his reddened, irritated chest coated with now-flaking cream in the mirror for a few wavering seconds before tearing at his jeans and making a mad dash for the showers. He'd wash it off. It'd be fine. This was definitely not going to ruin everything and he was still a good boyfriend.

Sami full-blown shrieked when Jon threw open the door to the showers, “Christ Mox, th' fuck did ya' do?!” He looked horrified, which only added to Jon's panic because Sami never busted out that face around him.

“It'll come off Sami, s'gonna' be okay Sami.” Jon mumbled, almost losing his footing on the slick floor. Callihan caught his arm and slammed his still-clothed ass down on the tile, ignoring Mox's protests as he turned the shower on full blast, freezing cold.

“Y' fell asleep with this shit on? I mean yeah, I done pretty much th' same thing first time I tried it. At least it's up here, right? Mine was on my fuckin' balls.” Sami's rueful grin made Mox start laughing even while he shivered under the frigid spray of the shower.

“F-F-Fuck C-Callihan, m' a f-f-fuckin' fa-failure.” He managed to say through his chattering teeth, essentially climbing his friend to stand again.

“Shut the fuck up.” Sami said bluntly, his hair now lank and dribbling cold hair gel down his face. Mox suddenly wanted to cry for some reason. He couldn't do anything right for fuck's sake and it hurt, way worse than whatever the fuck was going on with his chest. “Don't get fuckin' bitchy on me now, Mox. S' just some hair. You've had way worse'n this shit, man.” Sami continued, sounding almost like he was scolding him as he rung out his shirt.

“M' sorry man, I jus' wanted t' make her happy.” Jon scrubbed furiously at the skin on his chest, trying to avoid eye contact. Most of the paste had already dissolved under the water, taking his chest hair with it, but the redness seemed to be here to stay. Patches were bleeding here and there, and his poor nipples, Christ. Mox felt raw, like someone had exfoliated his chest with a fucking belt sander. “What th' fuck'm I gonna' do, Sami? I...we have a little thing planned tom--shit, tonight.” He realized in horror.

“Fuck that, what about tonight with Gage? Are ya'...I mean, shit man, y' look like y' got skinned.” Callihan, ever the master of tact. Mox teared up and he quickly ducked his head, staring at the floor as Sami shut off the shower.

“I j-jus' wanted t' look good f' her, m-man.” He hiccuped. “She looks like a fuckin' p-princess an' m' all d-d-dirty an' disgustin' an' ugly as shit, fuckin' ruinin' her jus' like Drake s-said--”

Sami whacked him upside the back of his head, making Mox yelp in pain. “Jonathan fuckin' Moxley, listenin' t' somethin' that comes outta' Younger's mouth? Who th' fuck are you, and what the shit did you do with my partner?”

“I dunno', man!” Jon cried, “M' hurt an' still drunk an' I'm fuckin' p-panickin', fuckin' bad dog all over th' fuckin' place, what the hell am I gonna' do Callihan?!”

“Ya' gonna' fight with a shirt on! No shit, genius! Ya' gonna' fuck ya' woman with a shirt on! No shit, kinky! She's gonna' love ya', you ain't gotta' tell her shit, an' you'll be fine!” Callihan was fucking roaring at this point, obviously still pretty hammered himself. “Ya' dick is fine, ain't it?! Chest jus' looks like ground fuckin' burger, y' waited too long an' shit! Now go to sleep, sleep off Jack and then we'll be ready t' fight. Ya' totally got this man, no worries!” The encouraging slap on the back he gave Jon almost knocked him over.

…

Fighting was fucking agony. Mox should have known from the second he stepped into the ring that Gage would take him to task.

“What's with the getup, street dog?” Nick had circled him, taking in the white t-shirt he wore. Jon's prayers that he wouldn't notice the tiny spots of fresh blood seeping through the front of it apparently went unanswered as Gage's opening move was winding up for one hell of a chop. And yeah, he'd fought hurt before. Fought really hurt before, much more hurt than this bullshit chemical abrasion across his chest. Like when Gage had whacked his arm open with a dinner plate, or when Damage had Powerbombed him on the cement beside the ring.

But the shirt just made everything worse. It rubbed and clung to his raw skin; Jon felt trapped and he wanted to fucking scream. There was a damn reason he didn't wear shirts in the ring, too easy to get grabbed or hung up on the wire or whatever the fuck else guys would do to one another. If there was one thing Mox was sure of, it was that he didn’t like it when his opponents got creative.

As he rammed his knee into Nick’s midsection Moxley found himself wondering whether anyone in the crowd was here for Valentine's Day. Like this was someone’s idea of a hot date. “Hey babe, wanna’ watch a human dog fight? Bet that’ll get your motor running.” Jon shuddered, cringing in pain when Gage landed another slashing chop across his chest. But he forced himself back up, forced himself past the next one to wrap his fists in Nick’s worn basketball jersey and hoist him high, almost tipping them both out of the ring. Gage strangled the ropes, kicking wildly and knocking Mox flat on his back.

Nick lunged on top of him and Mox could barely hazard a guess at how fucked he might have been if he hadn’t gotten his feet up in time. As such he ended up catapulting the other man over his head, and Nick slammed into the plywood on his back. Mox got up, wiping the blood from his split lip off with the hem of his shirt. The collar around his neck jingled quietly, and Jon felt some of the tension ease out of him. She’s waiting for me.

“Gage, can we speed this up?” He rasped, slumping back into his corner. “I got a cute chick dyin’ t' see me at home, man.”

…

He was lucky. He knew he was lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have a friend like Sami, lucky to have his Kitten. Jon showered, shaved and changed after the fight, stripping off the now-pinkish white shirt and putting on a fresh one beneath his button-up. Hopefully it would keep the blood from soaking through and staining his (somewhat wrinkled but very clean) dress shirt. Normally Mox was master and commander of all things Band-Aid, but there was just too much surface area for him to fix this problem efficiently. Gauze was out of the question, too bulky and obvious. She would ask, or worse she’d be fucking worried about what had happened and he’d kill any mood that might have already existed.

Jon let Sami help him fix his hair a little, Callihan clearly holding back his laughter at how slowly and carefully Mox was moving. “Ya’ like a grandma or some shit man, loosen up.”

“Can’t help it, Callihan. M’ sore. Nervous.” Jon admitted. “I mean, she’s been actin' funny. Wearin’ more clothes and stuff. I just don’t wanna’ wreck what good thing I have here by showin’ up looking like I-”

“Th’ fuck do you mean, ‘wearing more clothes’?” Sami asked, tipping his head to the side. “Is this like that shit from before where ya’ were both bein’ fuckin’ idiots when you coulda’ been idiots fuckin’?”

“No no, she still lets me hold her and shit. She’s…I mean she’s a hot sleeper, y’know? It’s just weird, all of a sudden she’s wearin’ pants t’ bed an’ long sleeves.”

Sami ‘hmm’ed softly, looking like he was thinking hard. “Shit man, I dunno’. I’m assumin’ you ain’t, y’know, asked her about why she’s doin’ it, right?” He snorted when Jon nodded. “’Course not. Ya’ prefer drivin’ y’self fuckin’ nuts.”

“It’s harder than that, Callihan.” Mox said, annoyed. “I don’t wanna’ look stupid. I already look like a fuckin’ deadbeat. If she catches on that I don’t know what I’m fuckin’ doin’ when it comes t’ her, I’m fucked. I never had t’ do any of this fuckin’ Valentine's Day crap before man.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you ain’t never whipped out a little TLC on a chick before, Mox.”

“Bein’ soft…isn’t really somethin’ that I am, Sami.” Jon mumbled. “I pretend for her, but I’m always lost n’ shit. I thought it’d get easier, fake it ‘til I make it. Everyone else before her, it’s usually been a contest t’ see how quick they can get what they want outta’ me. My mouth or my dick or my fists, whatever the fuck. An’ I went along with it because shit, I was poor an’ lonely so fuck it.”

Callihan had gone strangely quiet. His fingers fidgeted in Mox's hair. When he spoke again, his voice was a little kinder than Mox was used to. “I didn’t know, man. I always figured y' had a kinda’ normal love life, aside from the weird collar bullshit. I’m…I’m sorry ‘bout that, Mox.” After a second he punched Jon in the shoulder, that familiar grin back on his face. “Sorry I been sweet-talkin’ all them chicks into my pants, that is!”

Jon smiled gratefully at his friend. There was only so much sugary-feel-good bullshit he could take from Sami at one time. “Yeah yeah, someday you’ll find a nice girl an’ she’ll take ya’ V card an’ leave y’ heart in the dust. Don’t cry t’ me Callihan.”

“Take my fuckin’--how dare y’ fuckin’-” Callihan sputtered with rage. “Insinuatin’ that I ain’t--the balls on you, Moxley!” He finally managed to say, tossing Jon his hoodie. He then grabbed him in a headlock and gave him a vicious noogie, thoroughly ruining any work he had put in to the other man’s hair. “Y’ lucky we’re friends, you fuckin’ cocksucker.”

...

The bus ride over to the stop near her apartment gave Jon ample time to worry and half-crush the bouquet of orange roses he’d picked up. They were out of red ones, go figure, and the orange ones were the least ragged-looking in the group. So orange it was. He wished for a second that he knew what orange roses meant in that flower language bull, before deciding that it was probably better that he didn’t know. I hope she likes them, shit.

Keeping the roses safe until he got to the apartment was priority number one. He ended up cramming them under his hoodie so they would stay a decent temperature while he made the slow, slippery walk from the bus stop to the apartment building. It had been raining most of the day and now everything was covered in a sheen of ice. Mox breathed a sigh of relief when he finally got in out of the elements, carefully knocking the ice and slush off his boots then heading down the hall.

Upon opening the apartment door, he was confused for a second at the lack of lights on. Was he too late? Too early? Shit, did he get the wrong day? His panic was short-lived however, once he caught sight of the candles flickering in the living room. Oh. Why the fuck didn’t he think of that?! Nothing was more romantic than fucking candles. Christ, he was awful at this.

Jon struggled out of his hoodie and boots, clutched the flowers a little tighter. He had to swallow a few times before he could speak. “Kitten? Y’ home?” He rasped.

“In here, Jon.”

Of course she was in the bedroom. Stupid, stupid! Jon half-wished he was still drunk, at least to give his body a fucking reason to be so slow and clumsy. He didn’t want to open the bedroom door. He didn’t want to be the one to ruin the little daydream life he had, the one where everything was okay and he wasn’t fucked up and helpless when it came to this romance bullcrap. So much for looking like the guy on the cover of that book that I’m not supposed to know about, he thought wryly.

He had to fight the urge to knock before he pushed the door, hearing the latch click softly as it gave way. He felt almost like he was a stranger, like this was the first time he'd ever come home. Maybe even like the first time he'd seen her laid out on the bed, as if she was a beautiful surprise just for his greedy body to devour, for his stupid, weak fucking heart to latch onto.

There were a few more candles placed here and there in the room, but it was the sight of her that caught him. She was on her back, arched in a way that his brain quietly informed him was probably pretty uncomfortable but did absolute wonders for his dick, wearing a little see-through number that Jon had never seen before. His mouth went bone fucking dry. “Ki...”

“I've been waiting for you, Jon.” She murmured, and God damn, if she didn't sound every inch the sultry fucking vixen. “Missed you. Happy Valentine's Day.”

“H-Happy...I g-got. These.” Jon forced the words out, extending the bouquet. “F-For you.” She rolled over onto her hands and knees (that was a wince, that was definitely a wince, what the hell?), accepting his flowers with a happy noise that shot through his body. “Kitten, y' look fuckin'...wow. Christ.” Jon said softly, hoping that the fucking reverence he felt was properly vocalized. “You're so fuckin' pretty, I...” He wasn't sure what happened inside him. It was like something broke, shattered into a million pieces. The next thing he knew he had lurched toward her, hands shaking as he pressed her back to the bed and drew them over bare skin that seemed so hot, fever hot and smooth, smooth like silk.

Kitten squirmed and whimpered under his touch. Normally that would have lit Jon up like a firework, but something about her reaction seemed...wrong. Too sharp, like she was in pain. “Kitten, y' alright?” He asked cautiously. Did something happen to her? Is there a bad reason she's been wearing all those clothes? His stomach twisted in fear. Did I hurt her somehow? Does she not feel safe around me anymore? “Sound a little iffy.” Don't you dare fucking start bawling, Moxley.

“I-I just missed you.” The hesitation, the fucking hesitation in her voice hit him like a punch to the gut. Jon really wanted to cry.

He sat back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair and sucking in a breath. “Kitten, if y' don't wanna' do this anymore, all you have to do is say it. I...you ain't been lettin' me do much lately, an' that's fine, but draggin' this shit out hurts me. I love you, Kitten, but if y' don't wanna' do somethin', if you don't want me around anymore, ya' gotta' let me know.”

Kitten's fists clenched at her sides. She grabbed a pillow and covered her face with it, screaming into the thing with a vengeance. Mox watched, wide-eyed in confusion. She finally seemed to be finished, chucking the pillow at the wall. Her face was wet with tears, but she didn't look sad, she looked fucking livid. Jon swallowed hard, unsure of what he had gotten himself into. “Kitten...?”

“J-Jon, I got...I got f-fucking waxed. And it hurt. My skin is apparently really sensitive. I'm all...I'm all red and everything from the waist down feels like it's on fire but I just wanted this t-to be good so I figured I could suck it up because it's our first Valentine's D-Day.” She made an infuriated sound. “I hate this! Why can't one thing go right?!” Jon was helpless to stop his raspy laugh, quickly holding up a hand to deflect the pillow aimed at his face. “This isn't funny, Jon! I spent most of today with a fucking ice pack between my thighs just trying to bring down the swelling!” She snapped.

“Kitten, m' so sorry. I ain't laughin' at you. But y' gonna' laugh at me when you see what I did to myself like a fuckin' doofus.” Jon struggled to unbutton his dress shirt, nervous giggles still escaping his mouth. “Oh my God, you ain't even gonna' fuckin' believe this, Kitten.”

“What's those spots on your...Mox are you bleeding? Did you fight today?”

“Jus' wait.” Jon hauled his undershirt over his head, tossing it to land on the abandoned pillow.

Kitten's anger appeared to evaporate, her hand reaching out shakily to touch the raw skin of his chest. “Jesus Christ, Jon, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“Y' gonna' fuckin' cry laughin', Kitten. I...I did this. Callihan told me that girls don't like...they don't like hairy guys. S-So I got some stuff that y' rub on an' it eats th' hair. I figured I'd surprise ya'. I fell asleep with it on though.” Jon was startled when Kitten seemed more upset than amused, the tears streaming down her face. “I was so worried about tryin' t' hide this shit from you, an' it turns out y' pretty much in the same fuckin' boat. God I'm a fuckin' idiot, Kitten. M' so sorry. I ruined Valentine's Day.”

“I think we both did, Jon. I mean, I spent the whole week not shaving so this wouldn't happen, and it still did!” Kitten huffed. “I didn't want to gross you out, that's why I started wearing clothes to bed. I felt like a fucking hairball, it was revolting but I wanted it to be a surprise and everything I read said that I should have at least a week's worth of growth and...and now I look like one of those hairless cats, all pink and pissed-off.”

“Oh my God, Kitten, I don't give a flyin' fuck whether ya' shave seven days a week or seven days a year, or if ya' got more fuzz than a fuckin' Wookie. I just missed the shit outta' touchin' you. How fuckin' dumb are we?” Jon snorted. Kitten laughed through her tears after a minute, cupping his face and kissing him. “M' so sorry, Kitten, fuckin' Christ I'm sorry. Let's get y' outta' that tight little number an' into somethin' of mine, okay? Nice n' loose.” He offered.

Her legs were almost scorching to the touch. Jon was thankful for the dim candlelight of the room as he carefully helped her peel off her clothes. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to see the full extent of her damage. Couldn't trust himself to keep from bawling his eyes out. He definitely didn't want her to see the full extent of his damage, especially the undignified, patchy remains of his happy trail. More like happy fucking hopscotch.

She finally seemed comfortable, curled up on his side of the bed in a loose, hole-filled shirt and nothing else. Jon made sure that all the candles in the living room were extinguished and then slowly trekked back to the bedroom, pleased to find that she'd dragged her laptop up onto the bed and was scrolling through it looking for something to watch. Jon didn't even mind when she picked a mushy romance flick, too preoccupied with how she essentially laid her tits on top of his arm and kept making little noises in the back of her throat whenever he would play with them.

He nodded off with her head in his lap, his fingers stroking through her hair gently while she mumbled something about a, “do-over...”

“I wish you'd just asked me.”

The soft words eased into Jon's consciousness, into the mundane dream he was having. Was it even a dream? He didn't feel achy. He must be dreaming. But all he was doing was being cradled in her arms, one of her legs flung over his and her chest pressed tightly to his back. Jon relaxed against her. It wasn't often that he indulged himself as far as being held went, still a little uncomfortable with letting his guard down. He was the badass, he was the one who protected, and he was the one who did the spooning around here, thank you very much.

“Wish you could talk to me. I promise you won't scare me.” Kisses landed on his shoulder blade. “My poor mutt. I should have told you what I was doing. Just wanted it to be a surprise.” Fingers toyed with his collar. “Why are we so bad at this?”

She sounded sad. Jon wanted to say no, wanted to take all the blame for himself. None of this would have happened if he wasn't such a coward, if he'd only been able to speak to her, like all those normal couples did. But his tongue refused to cooperate. So it was a dream, then. Not much could keep him from talking if he so desired to shoot his mouth off. And if it was a dream...

He burrowed further into the warm cocoon of blankets, securing her arms around his waist and making her snuggle even closer. No harm in indulging a little.

…

Four days went by. Four long, tender days of her wearing as few clothes as possible (mostly his shirts), curling up against him every chance she got and fussing over his chest. Jon had never thought of himself as a man with a great deal of patience, so he considered it a personal triumph that he had lasted this long without bending his sweet, beautiful Kitten over the nearest surface and railing her until she begged for mercy for being such a God. Damn. Fucking. Tease. The best part out of the whole thing (and honestly, this was what really got him going) is that it seemed entirely unintentional. She was no more forward than normal, but her being sweet and gentle with him coupled with her pretty consistent lack of underwear or pants was fantastic.

Shit, maybe he had gone soft and, in turn, maybe he wasn't as bad at this as he thought. He certainly had never refrained from fucking someone out of fear of hurting them before her, that's for sure. He recalled with a wince a few of the marks he'd left on women past, when they would demand or urge him out past any sort of reasonable boundaries, “be rough with me, Mox!” They wanted something different from him, something that their boyfriends apparently weren't willing to give. The crazy, rabid street dog. They didn't want Jon. Not a lot of people did. Getting shoved into that dark, fighting mindset while he was fucking was always a terrifying experience because Jon was never quite sure what he might come back to.

He knew he was lucky, leaving a trail of nothing more than crisp-edged hickies and the occasional too-hard bite that made chicks squeal in pain or ecstasy.

He knew he was lucky because Kitten was still pressed to his side, fingers ghosting over the almost-healed skin of his chest. There was food in his stomach. He was warm and safe, camped out on a couch with the woman he loved. She never pushed him, never forced him past his boundaries. And yeah, he'd fucked up Valentine's Day but they'd had a pretty good Christmas, a few fun birthdays between them.

“Kitten, d'ya think we can try again?” He asked, hand rubbing over the smooth skin on her calf. She had been more and more receptive to touch as the days went on, slowly returning to some semblance of normalcy. Which was a damn good thing. “For Valentine's Day, I mean. Maybe next week or somethin'?”

She shook her head, suddenly swinging her leg over his thighs. “I was thinking maybe...” She trailed off, biting her lip.

It had been almost two weeks between the build up to the almighty V-Day and the subsequent healing time. Eleven days of not being able to stroke his Kitten, eleven days of keeping his hands to himself. But here she was now. Offering without words, straddling his thighs and shifting her hips back and forth. No panties, nothing between them but his jeans.

Jon swallowed hard. “Are you sure, Kitten?” He had to ask. God only knew how bad it could be if he didn't.

She nodded eagerly, taking his hand and pulling her shirt up (technically his shirt) so he could touch her thighs. Jon's eyes narrowed and he grabbed a handful of the shirt, dragging her in for a hungry kiss. “Lean over the couch arm.” He demanded breathlessly, thrilled when she obeyed. Easy. There she was. Spread out, waiting for him. Jon wasted no time, all but pouncing on her and quickly breaching her cunt with two fingers.

She cried out, arching her back against him and circling her hips as he curled his middle and ring fingers roughly inside her, his index coming up to tease her clit. She was already wet, already fucking soaked and so damn tight around his fingers and Jon wondered briefly how long she'd wanted him to do this but hadn't asked. The idea of her needy and achy made his dick all but crush itself against the zipper of his jeans, his brain (as usual) going into fucking overdrive and imagining her whimpering and fingering herself on the couch, wishing it was him the whole time.

He groaned and pressed his chest to her back, pinning her to the couch arm. “Jon's got you, Kitten.” He whispered in her ear. “Y' little tease, walkin' around with no panties on like you don't know what you fuckin' do to me. Makin' me hard as a fuckin' rock, makin' me wanna' bend your naughty ass over an' fuck ya' until y' can't see straight. It would be so fuckin' easy, so fuckin' easy. Just tug this shirt up a little, slide this fat fuckin' dick into you. You'd love that shit, wouldn't you?” Jon asked, spreading her pussy lips to tease his middle finger over her entrance in a mockery of penetration.

“Y-Yeah-” Kitten sounded almost frantic, her hips rocking up into his touches.

“Y' like me when I'm desperate, don't ya' Kitten?” Jon leaned back and unzipped his jeans, lazily stroking his cock and winking when she looked back at him. “Y' like it when I just say all the shit that's on my brain, instead of keepin' it in. Shit, y' might even like me bein' in charge, huh?” Kitten whimpered pitifully. “Jesus Christ Kitten, you made me so fuckin' hard, damn. Could come just from this. What would y' do if I came right now, fuckin' coated y' stomach?” Jon cupped his cock and pressed it to her slit, rubbing himself slowly back and forth across her dripping opening.

Kitten dug her fingers into the couch, moaning needily and trying to shift her hips so he would slide his cock into her.

“Mmm, someone's been a naughty fuckin' Kitten. I think y' can wait me out.” Jon murmured. He'd never gotten himself off quite like this before, but it definitely had merit. He really was too wound up, the waiting and her willingness completely ruining his endurance. Jon felt no shame though. He was  perfectly willing to go multiple rounds, if that was what it took for him to satisfy her. He pressed his forehead to the small of her back and came with a soft grunt after a few more tugs on his dick.

Kitten made a whining noise, seemingly in disbelief that he'd come so soon. “J-Jon...?”

“I toldja', y' been fuckin' naughty.” Jon panted, smirking. “Gettin' me hard all the time, rubbin' ya' tits on me like y' trying t' titfuck my whole fuckin' body. Can't tell me at least some of it wasn't intentional, Kitten. Y' must like me all riled up an' achin' t' fuck you.” The blush that spread over her body was answer enough.

“I...I like it when you take charge. I've missed you.” Kitten said quietly, her honesty surprising Jon. “God, Jon, please. Please.” Her fingers slid down her stomach to touch his dick, stroking him gently. He hadn't exactly wilted when he came and she apparently realized that, if her sharp intake of breath was anything to go by.

“Oh that's right, I'm still good t' go.” Mox grinned, softly biting her shoulder blade through the shirt. “I've been fuckin' waitin' for this, Kitten. No one an' done tonight.”

“Yes.” She sounded thrilled and it made Jon laugh.

He spread her legs open even wider, taking a moment to appreciate the effort she'd put in. “I know y' probably ain't too keen on waxin' ever again, so if y' don't mind I'm just...” Jon paused, thrusting his fingers back into her and then mercilessly hooking them over her spot. Kitten's back arched, the woman pressing her cheek to the couch arm while she moaned and writhed underneath him. “Mm, Kitten y' sound a little close t' creamin' all over my hand. Smooth little pussy tryin' so hard t' come on me.”

“Please, Jon, I--” She begged, her voice cracking as she came. “It's been awful, could tell I was making you hard but I couldn't do anything about it, wanted to fuck you so bad but I was too sore.” Kitten admitted jerkily when she could speak again, “wanted you so much, so fucking much, Jon, please.”

Her confession hit him like a sack of bricks. Even though she'd been in pain, she still wanted him. Him! Jon was a little exasperated with how quickly his eyes welled up. How fucking soft could he get, really? But for her...

Shit, for her he'd fucking melt away if she asked for it.

“No more waitin', Kitten.” Jon rasped, blinking the tears back. “No more hidin'. I'll be careful. I promise. Won't hurt you. Good Behavior.” He felt a shudder roll through her body that had nothing to do with her orgasm. He vaguely recalled coaxing her onto the worn-out mattress he'd had at the CZ warehouse with those same words and a fervent promise of no biting.

Good Behavior, Best Behavior.

It felt like a lifetime ago that he'd been that guy, the one who'd wanted to go dark because it was usually better than being around inside his fucked-up head. A lifetime since she'd been so small and scared, willing to do anything just to feel safe for a little while. She'd hauled him out of his destructive cycle and he'd slowly given her a sense of security.

They'd come so far together.

Jon shook his head and pressed another kiss to her shoulder blade, easing his fingers out of her. “Hey, turn over, okay?” He asked softly. She had a shy expression on her face when she obliged, tugging the shirt down like it would cover her completely. He caught her hands, mouthing soft kisses on her knuckles. “No more hidin' from me, Kitten. My beautiful fuckin' princess.”

“Only if you promise to do the same.” She replied, her voice just as soft. The protest was on the tip of his tongue, he didn't hide--

But he recalled the hellish week he'd spent agonizing over something as pointless as whether she liked his body hair or not, and he finally nodded. A smile lit her face and she slid a finger through the D ring on his collar, pulling him into a kiss that was so tender it hurt. “My strong mutt.” She crooned to him when they finally parted. “I love you so much.”

Shit, he might be totally fucking broken at this point. He quickly ducked his head and began fumbling with his jeans in an effort to keep her from seeing how hard those words still hit him. She cupped his chin though, tipping his face back up so he could meet her eyes. “I'm serious, Jon. I know it's difficult for you. I don't expect one night of me tying you up to be enough to work through a lifetime. But...I'm going to keep saying it until you're okay with it.” She whispered.

He had no idea why she was being so quiet. All it did was add another layer of intimacy to the situation. Jon could handle yelling, frantic movements, demands and orders and hits that landed. When it came to the gentle stuff though, the romantic shit like they had in the movies she liked to watch, he was at a total loss. It always sat heavy in his chest and made his throat tighten, his longing quickly slapped down by the reality of who he was.

“M' sorry Kitten, I don't mean to...I jus'. It's jus' a hard thing for me to handle. M' okay.” Jon mumbled, “Bad at this shit.”

“Do you still want to, or should we stop?” She asked cautiously, searching his face. “I totally understand if you would rather just snuggle.”

Jesus Christ, Kitten, you aren't even fair. Jon shook his head, not trusting his voice as he laid his head on her chest and wrapped his arms around her. He could hear her heart rate pick up while he slowly, slowly slid his cock into her, could hear the moan she tried to bite back. Her hands cradled his head. “Who says I can't do fuckin' both, huh?” Jon challenged shakily, biting down hard on his lower lip when she whimpered. “I'll snuggle the fuck outta' ya', Kitten.”

“Mm, yes-” She sighed, stroking his hair. “God I love you. Love you so much.”

Jon couldn't answer, just gripped her as tightly as he dared. He may like to talk, but his words failed him at times like these. His body would have to do the talking for him. No candles here, no cute lingerie or bouquets of roses (though not for lack of trying on either of their parts). Just all his damn feelings, all his soft fucking bullshit feelings that he couldn't articulate so he had to resort to this, holding her close and easing their bodies together like he was never going to do this again so it had to last.

Maybe she'd get an inkling. Maybe she'd hear the 'I love you so much' that was what he meant when he clumsily said she was beautiful. Maybe she might understand he had never done this with anyone else and it was fucking terrifying and he didn't know what the fuck to do.

“Kitten, I...” Jon's voice petered out and he cursed inwardly. Dammit, fucking dammit. She just started stroking his hair and it made some of the strain leave his body. “Fuck.” He muttered, torn between comfort and being more aroused than before. She was so fucking warm around him, whole body wrapping him in an embrace that he never wanted to leave. “I missed you.” He finally said softly, voice muffled by her shirt. “Fuck, did I miss you.” He sloppily licked and nipped at one of her peaks through the shirt, hoping to distract her from how choked-up he sounded. “N-Not just this, obviously.” He cursed the tremble in his voice. “Everythin', everythin' about you. I'll try not t' hide anymore. Don't want ya' t' feel like I do.”

“God, Jon...” She was being so damn tender with him, like when he came back to her walking fucking wounded and it killed him because it meant she was worried. Her fingers buried in his hair, her hips rising to meet his own so gently, her sweet voice moaning praise as he made love to her. He found himself breathing every word that got tangled up in his stupid mouth, pulling energy from all the times he'd fucked up, broke off, never said what he wanted to. All his stupid machismo was shoved aside, like what had happened the first time he'd met Kitten.

The only thing left was that raw love ache that hurt sometimes, burned a little too bright sometimes and left him feeling defenseless. But Jon would do it for her. He would do anything for her. “Oh God, Kitten, please open your eyes.” He begged, propping himself up over her. “I gotta' tell ya' somethin'.” Please, please, before I lose my nerve.

She half-opened her eyes, her hands moving to cling to his midsection. Her breath was coming in shaky little sobs, wanton noises making their way out as he continued to fuck her slowly. “J-Jon--” She gasped, her nails digging into his skin in that way that let him know she was close.

“God, I love you!” Jon fairly exploded, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I love how y' say my fuckin' name, my real name. I love the way ya' fuckin' curl up around me, the way y' take care of me. I fuckin' love ya' happy fuckin' face an' th' kisses you give me an' the ways y' make me laugh and I hate that I had to fuckin' slog through all my hangups jus' so I can fuckin' finally gush 'bout how fuckin' great you are!” The words poured out of him, hot and messy and maybe a little more than he'd intended to share as he felt her walls tighten around his cock. “Y' my Kitten, you're th' most precious thing I fuckin' have, most importan' thing in the fuckin' world t' me an' I love you so damn much, so fuckin' much--”

She grabbed his collar and jerked him down to her face, kissing him for all he was worth. Jon cupped the back of her neck and refused to let go, the two of them locked in a race for completion while he continued to mumble against her lips, all the soft shit he'd always been too scared to say.

I love the way you make me feel, I love the way you touch me, I'm so sorry for making you wait for this, please forgive me, I love you so much, I'm so sorry he hurt you, thank you for letting me love you, thank you for trusting me...

“I love you too, Jon, I love you so much--” Her reply made his heart swell and he swallowed hard, bumping his forehead into hers and looking down at where their bodies joined.

“Come with me, Kitten. Come with me, please. M' fuckin' beggin', can't last much longer.” He pleaded urgently.

She cried out, the sound sending shivers down his spine that went straight to his dick as she came around him. Jon slowed his pace to a gentle rocking, brushing her hair back from her face while she gasped for breath. “O-Oh, Kitten...” He moaned, his own orgasm rolling over him in an all-encompassing wave that nearly made his arms give out. “Fuckin' Christ, Kitten.”

She quickly struck one-two at his arms, successfully dropping him on top of her with a startled 'oof!'. Kitten didn't seem to mind being almost-crushed though, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tight while she ran her hand through his hair and made soft noises of content. Exhaustion dragged at his body like a dead weight, but he couldn't in good conscience just doze off after saying all that stuff to her.

“Are y' alrigh', Kitten?” He asked warily, after she hadn't moved for several minutes. Her breathing had evened out, heartbeat still coming back down. She'd fallen asleep underneath him. Jon barely kept from snorting with laughter. So much for being worried about how she would take him essentially fucking his feelings into her, seemed she was handling things better than he was.

He carefully untangled her arms from around his neck, standing and twisting back and forth to work the kinks out of his spine. His whole body ached but in that warm, pleasant way. Jon looked down at her, thoroughly tousled and sound asleep without a care in the world. “Y' have th' best ideas, Kitten.” He said quietly. “Let's head t' bed.”

Her head lolled against his chest when he picked her up and her fingers sleepily traipsed across the bare skin. “Miss your fuzz.” She mumbled as Jon laid her down on their bed.

Jon hushed her, trying not to laugh while climbing under the covers and tugging her close. “It'll grow back, Kitten.” I hope.

“Mm, good.”

Jon laid there silently for a few minutes as she moved around, finally seeming to get comfortable with her face tucked into his neck. “Damn, but ya' sure do know how t' make a first impression on a guy.” He said softly.

Good Kitten.

Epilogue