#sleepy joe let this happen

[thelasagnaaquatic]

Just handed a homeless man a check for $13,706.49 so he could buy a house off Temu. The only requirement is he has to let me come over and smoke weed and host melee tournaments and have sex with prostitutes anytime I want. He got hit by a car on his way to cash my check to buy 268 cartons of Newports. I smoked 53,000 cigarettes in his honor.

[jupitersammich]

Fragile

Joe Goldberg x Reader

Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Blood, injury, obsessive behavior, light swearing

Wordcount: ~1.2k ish

┊͙✧˖*°࿐ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧˖*°࿐ ┊͙

Joe hadn’t answered your last text.

The man is scarily fast with his responses, never leaving your messages unanswered for long. You’ve always thrived off the constant back and forth, but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling casual. It became a dependency. On him.

You climb the stairs to his apartment, a growing pit hollowing out your stomach. Every step feels heavier, your mind conjuring the worst: Did he lose his phone? Did something happen? Did someone do something?

You try to reason with yourself. You’re not overbearing. Not crazy. Just checking in, just ca—

You stop.

The door is slightly ajar.

That’s when you see it.

Him.

On the floor.

There’s blood smeared across his face, leaking from his nose and staining the floor beside him. His beautiful face is bruised and swollen, blackened and bloodied, freshly done.

You rush to him, dropping to your knees.

“Oh my god, Joe”

Your hands hover, unsure where to touch, afraid even your fingertips might hurt him. “Baby… hey. I’m here. I’m right here.” Your voice is shaking. So are you.

He groans softly, trying to wake. His eyelids flutter open and the second he hears you, something shifts.

Relief floods his face.

Even like this, he reaches for you.

His hands tremble, weak fingers brushing your arms, as if to calm you down. As if, in all this pain, you are what he’s worried about. Of course he is. He always is.

Your heart aches, splitting in your chest as you gently hold his hand and press a kiss to his temple.

He exhales shakily, a faint, sleepy smile twitching at the corners of his split lip.

┊͙✧˖*°࿐ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧˖*°࿐ ┊͙

You guide him slowly, carefully, ignoring your own trembling as you clean him up in the bathroom. His grip never leaves your waist, holding onto your side like he’ll float away if he lets go. Like you’re the only thing keeping him here.

The cut on his lip is deep. His ribs might be bruised. He insists he’s fine - insists on not going to the hospital.

“For Paco,” he whispers.

“Can’t risk it. Not now.”

All you can muster up is a shaky nod, eyes welling at the sight of him like this. You don’t fight him. You can’t. Not when he looks at you like that.

Like you’re the only person left in the world who matters. His own heart hurts for putting you in distress, gently rubbing circles on the skin of your waist as an attempt to comfort you, if he had more strength he’d be kissing you all over.

He hates that he loves this. He’s always prided himself on being your protector, the one at your service, now being on the receiving end is making his heart pound against his chest.

He’s perched on the edge of the bathtub, clinging to you like he needs your touch to stay conscious. When you finish tending to the last wound, he lets his forehead fall gently against your stomach, seeking more of you.

Your fingers instinctively caress the back of his head, his arms circle your waist, holding you like something fragile, something sacred.

And for once… he doesn’t say a word. But you know.

You feel it in the way his body melts into yours, the way his breath slows down as you thread your fingers through his hair.

He needs you.

He always has.

You help him to his feet, letting him lean into you completely. Every step toward his bedroom is slow, heavy. he’s not just injured, he’s exhausted.

The way he clings to you…It’s not just because he’s weak. It’s because he needs you.

You lower him onto the bed with care, brushing his messy curls from his forehead. He winces as his back hits the mattress, but his eyes stay on you, never once drifting away.

“You’re staying,” he murmurs. It’s not a question. It’s a plea. Your chest tightens. “Of course I’m staying.” Pressing a careful kiss on his wounded lips

He exhales, the tension bleeding out of him like he’d been holding his breath until you said it.

You help him out of his shirt, putting it in his laundry basket to deal with the blood later. He watches your every move like he can’t believe you’re real. Like you’re a dream he’s terrified of waking up from.

You take off your jeans and slide in beside him, curling close as you gently pull the blanket over both of you. His arm immediately loops around your waist, drawing you in until your head is on his chest.

His heartbeat is fast at first - fluttering, anxious.

But as your fingers trace soft shapes over his ribs, it slows. Calms.

“You saved me,” he whispers into your hair. You don’t answer, you just hold him tighter.

“I knew you would. I knew you’d come.”

He says it like he counted on it. Like he knew no matter what happened, you’d show up for him. Because you always do.

His lips brush your temple. Barely there. Gentle. Worshipful.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You think he’s already asleep, but then his fingers press slightly into your side, just enough to keep you close.

“You don’t have to say it back. I just… I need you to know.”

You look up at him. Bruised, bloodied, and still so heartbreakingly beautiful.

“I love you too,” you whisper. Fingers now tracing the untainted skin on his face.

His heart skips, this is the moment he’s been working towards for months. For you to love him. To be his entirely.

His hand slides to the side of your neck, gently pulling you into a slow and loving kiss. His pain dulls as he gets lost in you. The knowledge you love him an opium he’s already addicted to.

He pulls back, gently caressing your cheek with an intense gaze that makes you melt and kissing your nose and forehead, making you giggle even in the most heavy situation.

He’s found what he’s been looking for.

In You.

This is my first ever fic, apologises if it’s not the best. Feedback is appreciated and thank you for reading!!

[starsinthesky5]

i feel like the minute joe sees yail reader with a baby he gets the biggest baby fever

(hello yes blurb pls)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

it happened at his mom’s house, of all places.

they were in the backyard, the summer heat melting into a soft evening warmth, the scent of freshly cut grass mixing with something delicious baking in the kitchen. his older brother had come over with his wife and their baby—the baby that had already wrapped the entire burrow family around her tiny, soft fingers.

and now, she was holding her.

joe was supposed to be helping his mom bring out drinks, but the second he turned and saw her—his girl, standing barefoot in the grass, cradling his niece like she was made for it—he forgot everything else. the way she swayed gently, humming a song under her breath, her fingers brushing over the baby’s chubby cheeks…it did something to him.

she looked up at him then, eyes filled with wonder and amusement. “you’re staring,”.

joe smirked, but it was lazy, dazed. he leaned against the patio railing, tipping his drink toward her. “hard not to when you look that good,”.

she laughed, adjusting the baby against her chest. “flirting with me in front of your family? shameless,”.

he shrugged, taking a slow sip, eyes never leaving her. “just calling it like i see it. you and a baby? kind of the hottest thing i’ve ever seen,”.

her cheeks flushed, and she rolled her eyes, but he caught the way she held the baby a little closer, like maybe, just maybe, the thought had crossed her mind, too.

“you’re getting ideas,” she teased.

joe’s smirk deepened, but then, his voice dropped, lower, rougher, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “and if i am?”.

she swallowed. hard. because she knew exactly what he was thinking.

it was easy to imagine—too easy. her, holding a baby with his curls, his eyes, that sleepy, soft smile she loved. joe, tugging her into his lap, murmuring something sweet against her skin while their little one dozed against her chest, safe and warm between them.

one day.

when the noise of the world faded, when the cameras and microphones were no longer a constant shadow, when football and music weren’t the center of their universe. when it was just them, tucked away in a quiet life they built together, filled with slow mornings and even slower evenings.

a little family of their own.

more perfect than anything else could ever be.

her heart pounded, and joe must have sensed it because he stepped closer, hands brushing against her waist. “not now,” he murmured, voice laced with something serious but still teasing. “we’re young. got plenty of time,”.

she exhaled, finally breaking into a smile. “good, because i’m not popping out a baby just so you can have your full-time girl dad era yet,”.

joe groaned dramatically, head tipping back. “you’d look so good pregnant, though,”.

she gasped, smacking his arm. “joseph!”

he just laughed, kissing her temple as he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “one day, baby. but for now, let me just enjoy the view,”.

[trippiexlove]

Echoes of Us -Prologue

Main Master List

Story Master List

August 1999 - Escambia High School

The first time Amani Wilson collided with Joshua Fatu, it was literal. Freshman year, a Tuesday morning, first day of freshman year. She was running late for homeroom, textbooks clutched to her chest, when he rounded the corner of the main hallway like a human locomotive. 

Bam! 

Books scattered, papers fluttered, and Amani landed on her backside with an undignified thump.

"Oh, damn! You aight?" A deep voice, laced with a hint of a southern accent, boomed above her. She looked up, rubbing her head, to find a tall, broad-shouldered boy with a mischievous grin and eyes the color of milk chocolate. He knelt, gathering her scattered geometry notes. "My bad, I won't looking where I was going."

Amani blinked, a blush creeping up her neck. Even covered in sweat from football practice, he smelled faintly of fresh laundry and something musky, undeniably male. "I-I'm fine," she stammered, taking the offered hand to pull herself up. His grip was firm, warm. "I wasn't either."

He chuckled, a rumbling sound that made her stomach flutter. "I'm Josh, by the way."

"Amani."

From that clumsy collision, something unexpectedly graceful bloomed. Their first date was a Friday night at the local cinema, seeing some forgettable teen comedy. Amani remembered more of the nervous laughter that bubbled between them, the accidental brush of hands reaching for popcorn. Later, walking her home under the sleepy glow of streetlights, he stopped on her porch. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. He leaned in slowly, his eyes soft, and his lips, surprisingly gentle, met hers. It was awkward, sweet, and utterly perfect – her very first kiss.

Soon, Fridays became football nights. Amani, bundled in school colors, screamed herself hoarse from the bleachers, watching Josh, number 92, tear across the field. He was a force of nature, powerful and driven. She'd wait by the fence after games, a small smile on his face as he spotted her in the crowd, sweat-slicked hair curling around his temples. He'd sling an arm around her, pulling her close, and in those moments, with the roar of the crowd fading and the crisp autumn air around them, she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

July 2001 - Pensacola Beach

The summer before junior year melted around them like warm caramel. Days bled into lazy afternoons at the beach, the sun baking the sand, the ocean a cool balm. Amani, Tameka, Shawna, Josh, Jon, Joe, and the rest of their crew would spend hours splashing, laughing, forgetting about impending responsibilities. One afternoon, Amani drifted a little further out, the waves tugging playfully at her ankles. Josh followed, wading through the knee-deep water until he was beside her.

"Careful, Mani," he teased, flicking water at her. "Don't want you getting pulled out to sea."

She splashed him back, giggling. "Like you'd let that happen, Fatu."

He grinned, the afternoon sun glinting off his wet hair. He didn't reply, just wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her effortlessly until her feet dangled. She shrieked, half in surprise, half in delight, as he spun her slowly in the gentle current, his eyes fixed on hers, a silent promise in their depths. The world felt boundless and safe in his arms.

April 2003 

Senior year prom. The air thrummed with youthful energy, flashing lights bouncing off sequined dresses and slicked-back hair. Amani, resplendent in emerald green, leaned into Josh on the dance floor, his hand warm at the small of her back. Then, the opening notes of "Dilemma" by Nelly and Kelly Rowland filled the gymnasium.

I love you, and I need you...

Amani's voice, a soft whisper, joined Kelly's. Josh looked down at her, his lips curving into a smile. She gazed up at him, singing directly to him, every word laced with the raw, untamed emotion of a girl deeply, irrevocably in love. He pulled her tighter, swaying to the beat, a silent understanding passing between them. That night, the promises they'd whispered under the covers felt carved in stone. Futures were discussed, dreams of children, of a life built together, were painted in vivid colors.

June 2003

But those colors faded, then blurred, then shattered into a thousand pieces.

The argument happened weeks after graduation, the harsh summer light streaming through her bedroom window, unforgiving. NYU was a world away from the University of West Alabama. New York City versus rural Alabama. Her dreams of becoming an HR Director, his and Jon's relentless pursuit of NFL glory. The distance felt like a canyon they couldn't cross.

"Mani, it's not fair," Josh pleaded, his voice thick with unspoken emotion, hands running through his close-cropped hair. "Long distance? We're talking about four years. Four years of us being miles apart, trying to make phone calls work, seeing each other twice a semester if we're lucky."

Amani felt tears sting her eyes. "So what? We just... give up? After everything? After what we said?"

"It's not giving up," he insisted, though his voice cracked. "It's being realistic. We're going to different worlds. We need to focus on what's next. On our careers. On college."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. They held each other, bodies trembling, the silent agreement hanging between them. The promise of forever, of children, of a life built only with each other, unraveled in the face of logic and impending independence. With aching hearts and tear-streaked faces, they agreed to break up. To go their separate ways. To start over.

To erase us.

2003 con't... 

The weeks that followed were a blur of numb preparation for college. Packing boxes, saying bittersweet goodbyes to friends, trying to reconcile the gaping hole in her chest with the excitement of a new beginning. She tried to focus on NYU, on the future, on anything but the absence of Josh.

Then came the morning she missed her period.

And the next.

And the next.

The pink line stared back at her from the plastic stick, mocking her.

Amani sat on her bathroom floor, the world tilting precariously on its axis. Pregnant. She was pregnant. With Josh's baby. The boy she'd just broken up with, the boy who was moving hundreds of miles away, the boy who was her first love and first everything. She was heading to NYU in a few weeks, a scholarship waiting, a future laid out.

She didn't know what to do.

Her first call was to Tameka, then Shawna. They were at her house within twenty minutes, faces pale, eyes wide as Amani, still in shock, shoved the test into their hands.

"I don't know what to do!" Amani whispered, pacing a frantic path across her small living room. "How am I going to go to college? How am I going to take care of a baby? I can barely take care of myself!"

Tameka sat beside her on the bed, pulling her into a hug. "Mani, breathe. We'll figure this out."

Shawna, ever the practical one, chewed on her lip. "Mani, are you going to tell Josh?"

Amani stopped, turning to stare at her friends, her mind racing. Tell Josh? The boy whose heart she'd just broken, who was already focused on his own new path? The boy she was supposed to be erasing from her future? The thought felt impossible, another burden on an already collapsing world. She just shook her head, tears finally escaping and running down her face.

"No," she choked out, the word feeling like a betrayal and a desperate self-preservation all at once. "No. I can't."

The secret, heavy and suffocating, settled in her chest, a phantom weight that would follow her for years to come.

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[icallhimjoey]

Prompt idea either for your current fic or a random one shot! Soft!Joey was VERY much not so soft Joey in your dream and you wake up in a STATE about it. Now real Joey needs to rectify his dream world bad behaviour. Angsty Smutty fluffy whatever you think is best.

Love your work!

me: save this for something longer also me: no the girlies need it right now Wordcount: 1.5K

---

Boy Of My Dreams

“Come here, baby.” 

Joe was there.

Right there where you'd left him, holding the covers open for you when he heard you turn off the lights in the bathroom. 

“I’m fine. Was just a dream.” you immediately said, curling back onto your spot, close to him, but your back turned.   

Joe’s eyes were still closed as his hands roamed until fingers trailed up your back to hold onto your neck. To feel some kind of closeness, the laziest way of comforting his girl after a nightmare.  

“Talk later?” 

But his question went unanswered. No confirmation, no dismissal, because either one didn’t feel right. You let the words float and hoped they would float away, real far, hoped they’d make real distance as you both fell back asleep.

Occasionally, you’d have a nightmare that would continue the story of a nightmare you’d had years earlier. A dream you couldn’t even remember, hadn’t consciously thought of since that one morning after you’d woken up from it, but somehow it still managed to store itself away inside your brain. Somewhere deep down, a place you couldn’t reach by yourself, just... lingering there for you to revisit in your sleep eventually.

It happened very rarely, but the second you’d wake up, you’d realise, fuck, this was that same fucking nightmare you had had ages ago.

When you hadn’t even known Joe yet.

Hadn’t even known of his existence, let alone would have known the lines of his face like the back of your hand.

The plush of his lips.

The scruff of his cheeks.

His chin.

The way your mind would hallucinate awful things in your sleep that would feel so vivid and so real was absolutely terrifying, but the addition of Joe’s face made everything so much worse.

Your unconscious mind could play tricks on you.

You knew this.

But in your sleepy haze, the feelings were real. The emotions right there.

And that man who’d scared you years ago in this same nightmare now wore a face that you recognised.

Logically you knew it was an addition.

Something new that hadn’t been there before.

There was no way you’d also dreamt about Joe all those other times - every person in a dream was someone you needed to have seen before, you knew.

But still.

The hand that held onto your neck was of little comfort, and you knew it was silly, but your body still flinched and moved away from the man in your bed because he didn’t feel safe right now.

You hoped Joe wouldn’t react to the quick pull away from him. To the little shimmy you did to duck into your pillow a bit more. But you felt how he raised his head off of his own, likely to see through a squinty eye if you were okay.

“I’ll have forgotten in the morning.” you quickly reassured with a whisper into the dark, and Joe decided he was too tired to get into anything right now anyway. He’d leave it to rest and hoped that you were right. That the next bit of sleep would make you forget about any horrors.

Except it didn’t.

It took you long to fall back asleep, and when you eventually did, you slipped right back into the same awful narrative.

It was why, not that long after you’d woken up that first time, you shook Joe awake. Leant over him, sort of sweaty, big wet eyes close to his face because, you just... you needed to check.

Had to see for yourself.

To see if his eyes were normal.

Joe roused awake, confused and definitely not as alert as you were.

“What?” Joe croaked, a little freaked out by the way you frowned in panic as you searched his eyes. He saw how yours flicked between his left and right.

Normal.

Joe’s eyes were their normal big brown beautiful kind soft ones. Bit tired. Definitely confused. But not the evil pitch black giant orbs you’d just dreamt of. You immediately relaxed and fell back onto your pillow, sighing with relief. This was definitely one of the weirdest most disturbing ways to be woken up before six o’clock.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked, voice still just as hoarse, as he turned his head to look at you stare up at the ceiling.

Why were you panting?

“Nothing. I... don’t worry, your eyes are normal.”

Just a dream. It was just a dream. Your nervous system just had to catch up to it.

“My eyes?” Joe was so confused. What the fuck were you talking about?

“You were...” you started, but shook your head instead of finishing the sentence. It was of no use explaining. Just a silly dream. “Never mind. Just...” you looked at the ceiling and even though it was dark, the rubbing of your eyes made you see spots for a second.

Joe watched as you gathered your thoughts for a second, and worry etched deeper into his features.

“Hey,” he whispered, concern thick in his voice, a hand reaching over that placed itself on your forehead. “I was what? What did I do?”

You then turned your head to look at him, moving Joe’s hand into your hair, and you immediately felt guilty. Joe looked far too bothered for your liking.

“Scary.” you admitted, scooting over closer to him. “But you’re not scary now. Was just a dream.”

For a second, that made Joe relax a little. You weren’t talking about him him, you were talking about whatever weird version of him you’d just dreamt about. One without normal eyes, apparently.

Joe accepted you into his arms as you cuddled up to him, finding his sleep warm body to curl yourself around, seeking closeness this time around, because Joe’s eyes were normal and comforting.

He was glad it had just been a dream.

But then, Joe’s thoughts caught up, and actually, Joe didn’t like that.

Joe didn’t like that at all.

Didn’t like how you dismissed a nightmare like it hadn’t affected you when it so very clearly had.

Didn’t like how hugging you tight also meant that he could feel how fast your heart was beating.

Didn’t like how, real or not, you’d been scared of him. Had felt real fear because of him.

He’d been the boy of your nightmare, and that was not okay.

“You had a nightmare about me?” Joe almost sounded hurt, voice small and soft. Like it was his fault that you were breathing the way you were right now. Like he had personally done you a great disservice.

Which wasn’t true, obviously.

It hadn’t actually been him.

“It wasn’t you.” you comforted, pressing your face into Joe’s neck, reminding yourself just as much as you tried convincing him.

“Hm?”

“Just looked like you.”

But that didn’t make it better. Not to Joe, anyway.

The way that you went from trying for a little distance before, to suddenly hiding yourself away into his skin didn’t sit right with him either.

“You okay?” he whispered, a hand trailing up your back as he asked it, ending at your neck where he held onto it like he’d done before.

“Mhm,” you confirmed, and took a big deep breath to hopefully slow your heartbeat down a little. “Need to calm down.”

“Do you want to talk about it? What did I do to you?” Joe didn’t wait for an answer to the first question. Just wanted to know how severe his crimes had been. How big his apology needed to be. How much he needed to comfort you.

But like before, when he’d suggested to talk later, you let the questions sit where they sat, and didn’t provide them with an answer at all. Instead, you just burrowed deeper. Pressed your nose into his skin a little harder. Hitched your leg over his thighs a little higher. Squeezed yourself around his middle a bit more.

Joe decided his crimes had been very severe. Maybe even life sentence sort of stuff. He tightened his arms around your frame, the hand on your neck letting its fingers slide into your hair a little.

“I’m sorry.” Joe murmured against your forehead.

That made your eyes water.

You didn’t want to talk.

That was okay.

Just needed comforting.

“You’re okay,” Joe whispered into your hair, answering his own earlier question. He placed a little kiss there too, eyes closed, determined to make you drift off back to sleep, and it made you whine.

“You’re safe,”you deserved more sleep, but nightmareless this time. No scary eyes.

“I’m here.” Joe squeezed tigther as he felt you relax. From the way you started matching your breathing to his, he knew it was working.

You could have a nice dream about him.

He could be the boy of your dreams. Good, postive, sweet ones.

“No one’s gonna hurt you. Go back to sleep. You’re safe. I’m here.”

The hand that held onto your neck was actually very comforting now, and your body fully relaxed into the man in your bed because; he was right.

No one was going to hurt you.

You were safe.

Joe was there.

---

The Taglisted

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add yourself

[hellcat1980]

Don't (Shameless Big Bang Round 13)

Excerpt:

Mickey wakes up quickly after hearing his phone go off. Seeing it is a message from Ian, he decides to call him. 

“Hey,” Mickey says in a raspy, just-woke-up voice. 

“Hey,” Ian replies. “I took a reset dose.”

Mickey sits up and rubs his thumb on his nose. He knows what Ian is doing, and he wants to tell him to come home. “How you feeling?”

Ian shrugs, taking a drag off the cigarette. “Shaky. I thought about the ‘remember when’ game we were playing last night, and I remembered something.”

Mickey sits back, intrigued. “What is that?”

Ian runs his hand through his hair and begins. “You.”

Mickey shakes his head trying to clear the sleepiness. “Me? You remembered me?”

Ian looks up to the sky. It is harder to get this out in words. “When my world goes dark, when everything is jumbled, you can fix it. You make me all better.”

Mickey grips his phone tight and swears he is ready to break, but he has to stay strong. There is too much to work through, and he will be damned if once again he says things are okay when they are not. “I know baby, I want to have you come home so I can run my fingers through your hair and help you through this. But what happens the next time you make a big decision? Why do I get the aftermath but not the beginning of the decision?”

Ian shakes his head. “But, maybe for just a little while? I said I would start talking. We can get past this Mick; we always do.” 

“Yeah, like always, I can bend and let you have your way. Fuck me and what I think, as long as your world is okay,” Mickey says with some malice cut into it.

Ian’s shoulders sag; this is not going as planned. Last night space sounded great, but in the light of day, it was the last thing Ian needs. He needs the stability Mickey offers and yet he can only blame himself that Mickey can’t give it. “It is not even like that. I saw an opportunity and took it. Jo said that they only review so many cases a year, and if I didn’t act on it now, I would have had to wait longer.”

Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose. “Joe again huh? Who the fuck is Joe, and why does their opinion matter all of a sudden? How the fuck did you even meet this Joe anyway?”

Ian huffs. He’s always a jealous asshole. “I met them running in the park. They were wearing an EMS shirt, and we stopped for water at the same spot. We started talking. I mentioned I missed it. They remembered my court case and told me about the program. It was completely in public and nothing wrong was done.”

Mickey stares up at the ceiling and lights a cigarette. “Listen to what you just said. Listen to the words… You talked all this over with some stranger. You didn’t even give me the chance to be supportive; you took away my ability to be involved with this. Once again, a big FU to me when it came to our lives.” 

“This again? Mickey, would you have even listened to me? Would you understand why this means so much to me? Or would you once again get caught up in the change that was gonna have to happen for this to work?” Ian asks, putting out his cigarette and lighting another. Great. Now he is chain smoking.

“We will never know, will we, Gallagher? You took that opportunity away from me. I gotta go, we are getting nowhere again. I have to go make arrangements for Iggy to work with me. Have a good night.” Mickey hangs up without allowing Ian a chance to respond. 

Ian sits in shock. Did he really do that? Did he blow up his own marriage? He jumps as the back door opens and Fiona comes out with a fresh Gatorade. She sits down on the porch and lays her head on Ian’s shoulder. 

“Wanna talk about it?” she asks. 

Ian lays his head on top of hers. “I think I fucked up.” 

Moving slightly, she reaches for the cigarette, and as she exhales, she begins to speak. “I knew years ago he would set a match to everything you were working for.”

Ian tries to cut her off, but she shakes her head. “Let me finish, please.”

Ian signals with his hand for her to continue. 

She nods. “Then I watched you two figure it out in prison and get married, which again I wish I could have been there for. But you have made it almost two years married; however, you still did this without talking to him. You rented the apartment without talking to him. You have to ask yourself why. Why do you keep doing these things without trusting him?”

Ian looks at her, confused. “I trust Mickey; I trust him with my life.” 

“But you do not trust him with decisions, Sweetface. I hate to cut this short but I got an emergency at home, so I am leaving tonight. I came out to say goodbye,” she says as she stands up. 

Ian gets up and gives her a hug. “Thanks for leaving with something to think about. Have a safe flight home,” Ian says as Lip comes out with her suitcase and tells him he is going to drop her at the airport. They’ll have pizza and movies when he gets back.

______________________________________________________________

Posting DAY for @shamelessbigbang !!!! Thank you again @sam-loves-seb for beta-ing and editing this! @darlingian for the art work!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63686257

[lyrenminth]

have a request for a joe burrow fic can u do one where the reader has surgery and joe takes care of her in the hospital

Partnership

The pain started during the night. At the beginning you thought they were cramps, no big deal until the pain got worse and worse. You tried not to wake up Joe, who was peacefully sleeping next to you. You went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet and you saw blood like you were in your period. You changed your underwear for a pad, but you were bleeding a lot, and you couldn't stand up from the pain. You started gasping for air, and cried silently.

Something was wrong.

Joe knocked the door and open it. "Babe, what's wrong?" He asked, when he saw you crying, sitting on the toilet his face changed from sleepy to alarmed in matter of seconds. "What's happen? Are you having cramps?" he got closer.

"I'm bleeding a lot, and I'm having a-a lot of pain" you cried "I can't stand up and I'm feeling dizzy"

"I'm calling an ambulance" he went back to the room, looking for his phone. When you started feeling wet your legs you realized it was blood. "Joe!" You called him, weakly.

After a couple of minutes, you were on his arms, he was carrying you outside the bedroom and laid you on the floor. You closed your eyes, sleepy. "Baby, hey, it's not time to sleep, baby" you felt a hand touch your face. His voice sounded distant but you could hear the worry and anxiety. "Hey, honey please, wake up, the ambulance it's closer but I need you to stay up, okay?"

You nodded, opening your eyes only to look at his blue eyes. Joe seemed like an angel coming for you. But he was frowning and talking to the phone.

You wanted to stay awake but he was getting blurred, and the world was so slow. "Baby, don't sleep, don't do this to me" fear, Joe was scared.

***

You woke up with the beeping sound of some device. You looked around, confused. Your eyes stopped on Joe, sleeping on the couch. He looked so peaceful and handsome as always. When you tried to incorporate, a pain in your lower abdomen made you flinch. You hissed and laid back again.

Joe woke up, and stood up, rubbing his eyes. "Are you up" he stated. "What happened?" you asked. "You were losing a lot of blood" he took your hand and squeeze slightly "Damn, I thought...I thought you wouldn't-" he shook his head, keeping the thought away "You scared me,bad" he kissed your forehead and looked for any sign of discomfort.

"Sorry, I don't know what happened" you apologize. "The doc said something about your left ovary" he explained a little embarrassed he couldn't provide more info. "Let me call a nurse"

Minutes later a doctor and a nurse entered the room.

"Oh, Mrs Burrow. How are you feeling now?" The doctor said, she was friendly.

"Better" you replied.

"Yes, we have to do a emergency surgery for your left ovary. You had an enormous cyst that exploded" she explained "you lost blood but we could bring you back"

Your breathe shakily. The nurse checked your pressure, while the doctor explained the process and your recovery.

"No lifting heavy things, and you need to rest. We're going to have you here for the day but tomorrow you can go to your house" she looked at Joe "I'm sure you are in good hands, he was so worried about you"

You looked at Joe but he was serious. Did you really scared him? There was a turmoil of emotions inside you.

Once you were alone, he was still holding your hand. You touch his hand, playing with his fingers. "Are you ok?" he had bags under his eyes, and looked a little bit messy.

"Yes, I'm tired. I was calling your parents and everyone to let them know the situation" he replied. "So don't worry about that, you need to rest"

Joe was with you until the last minute you left to the hospital. He helped you to get into the car, bought the medicine the doctor gave you and healthy food your dinner. "I need to take a bath, I feel sticky" you confessed, he snorted but help you to undress. He was so gently with you, you almost cry. When he tried to get into the shower, you stopped him. "Baby, I think I'm alright" you said, giving him a kiss.

"Are you sure?" he asked, but he was holding your elbows like you were leaving forever.

"Yes, I-I can do this"

"Just yell my name if you need something"

Once the shower was over, he looked for your clothes and help you to dress again. "Do you want me to braid your hair?" It was one of his hidden talents. When you taught him, he learned fast and actually like to braid your hair. "I find it relaxing" he explained.

You nodded and sat on a chair, and his hands caressing your hair relaxed you so much you were falling asleep.

"Joe" you mumbled, "Mmm?"

"Did I scared you?" silence, he never stopped moving his hand though "Yes"

"I'm sorry"

"Don't apologize. You didn't know"

"Joe, the doctor told me she had to removed my left ovary" you starting saying, finding the courage to continue "it's going to be difficult for me to get pregnant"

"That's ok, you are here right now. That's what matters"

" I know you wanted a family"

"Yes, but I want my wife to be healthy too"

"Thank you" you cried. His reassurance was relieving. When he finished braiding your hair, he brought you a soft dinner, and while you ate he took a shower.

Joe always took care of you when he could. As you did with him. You were a couple.

A team.

Thank you for this request. I have a similar fanfiction written about Joe too, but it's shorter. You can check it on the masterlist!

[pankowcrumbs]

Sleepy X Kit Connor (requested)

MasterList

The living room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the flickering glow of the television as the movie played on. It was one of those quiet evenings where no one felt like doing much, so we’d all gathered at Kit’s place for a low-key film night. A few bowls of popcorn sat on the coffee table, mostly empty now, their contents long devoured.

Kit, Joe, Will, and I were crammed onto the oversized couch, which, although technically big enough for all of us, was proving to be a logistical nightmare in terms of personal space. Somehow, in the haze of the movie and the sheer cosiness of it all, we’d drifted into lazy, half-sleepy positions.

Joe was squished against one arm of the couch, his head tilted onto my shoulder, his eyes half-closed but still stubbornly fixed on the screen. Will was wedged between me and Kit, his legs stretched out and thrown haphazardly across mine, like he had no concept of boundaries. Kit, on the other end, was the only one who still looked semi-composed, his elbow propped on the armrest and a faint, amused smile playing on his lips.

The movie reached a dramatic crescendo—music swelling, characters shouting—and that was when it happened.

We all shifted at the same time, each of us trying to readjust for comfort without disrupting the others. Joe moved his head, causing me to lean back slightly, which in turn made Will slide forward. It was a chain reaction of chaos, and before any of us could stop it, the three of us tumbled off the couch in one swift, ungraceful motion.

“Ahhh!” Joe yelped, landing first with a soft thud.

“Ow!” I cried as I followed, somehow managing to elbow Will in the ribs on the way down.

“Why is it always me?!” Will groaned, sprawled across the carpet with Joe on one side and me on the other.

For a second, there was stunned silence as we all tried to process what had just happened. Then, out of nowhere, Joe burst out laughing. It was infectious—within seconds, Will and I were in hysterics, the three of us tangled together on the floor, laughing so hard it felt like we couldn’t breathe.

Kit, still perched serenely on the couch like some kind of amused monarch surveying the chaos below, leaned forward to peer down at us. His hazel eyes sparkled with confusion and mild exasperation.

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the three of us, “is why I prefer the floor.”

That only made us laugh harder. Joe clutched his stomach, tears streaming down his face as he gasped, “Kit! You could’ve at least tried to catch one of us!”

Kit raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, sure. Let me just grow an extra arm or two so I can save you lot from your own clumsiness.”

“It wasn’t our fault!” Will said dramatically, propping himself up on one elbow and waving his free hand for emphasis. “It was the couch’s fault. That thing’s a death trap!”

“Yeah, totally,” I managed to choke out between giggles, wiping at my eyes. “Blame the furniture!”

Kit snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back again. “Right. Because the couch somehow made you all forget how to sit still.”

Joe, still sprawled out beside me, gave Kit a mock-offended look. “You’re supposed to be on our side!”

“I am,” Kit replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I just prefer my side to be up here, not down there in that mess.”

Will groaned, flopping back onto the carpet with a dramatic sigh. “I’m never trusting a couch again. Next time, I’m taking the floor from the start.”

“Good luck convincing Kit to share it,” I teased, nudging Will lightly with my foot.

Kit smirked, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You’d be surprised how comfortable it is down there. No one jostling you, no chance of falling... it’s peaceful, really.”

Joe rolled his eyes, finally sitting up and attempting to straighten his hair, which now stuck out in every direction. “Alright, Mr. Floor Enthusiast, we get it. But for the record, we wouldn’t have fallen if you’d been sitting here with us.”

Kit just shrugged, unbothered. “I’ll take that as proof I made the right choice.”

Will groaned again, this time more for comedic effect than anything else. “Next time, we’re bringing beanbags. Or just a bigger couch.”

“Or maybe we just stack the three of you like a human pyramid,” Kit suggested, his grin widening.

I laughed, shaking my head as I pushed myself to my feet, brushing imaginary dust off my clothes. “Oh, sure. Because that sounds much safer.”

Joe stood up next, wincing slightly as he stretched. “I think I bruised something. Probably my pride.”

Will stayed on the floor for a moment longer, his arms spread out like he was contemplating taking a nap right there. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “this carpet’s actually not bad. Kind of cosy.”

Kit chuckled, swinging his legs off the couch and standing up. “You’re welcome to it. I’ll just finish the movie in peace while you lot recover.”

“Recover?” Joe said, giving Kit an incredulous look. “We fell, like, two feet. We’re fine.”

“Speak for yourself,” Will muttered, though the playful glint in his eye gave him away.

I shook my head, smiling as I moved to grab one of the remaining bowls of popcorn from the coffee table. “Alright, are we watching the rest of this or what?”

Kit looked at the TV, where the movie had been paused mid-scene. “You mean after that absolutely seamless bit of physical comedy? Yeah, I think we owe it to ourselves to finish it.”

Joe and Will exchanged a glance, then shrugged in unison. “Fine,” Joe said, flopping back onto the couch—this time with a bit more caution.

Will reluctantly joined him, though he kept a wary eye on the edge of the couch like it might betray him again at any moment. I sat back down on Kit’s other side, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of space we’d finally achieved.

As the movie started up again, Kit leaned over slightly, his voice low so only I could hear. “You alright?”

I looked at him, surprised by the question. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just making sure. That fall was pretty dramatic.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh, please. I’ve survived worse.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back again and turning his attention to the screen. But there was a softness in his expression that lingered, even as he pretended to focus on the movie.

And despite the chaos of the evening—and the soreness I knew I’d feel tomorrow—I couldn’t help but feel like this was exactly where I was meant to be.

[storiesofsvu]

Down Bad Ch 3

Joe Velasco x fem!reader with a hint of Terry Bruno Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, smut, mentions of threesomes, oral, sexuality discussions and exploration, minor kink exploration/discussion. I think that's it? lol. hopefully the next chapter comes quicker cause i'm obsessed with this story! 6.5k

Behind you, Joe stirred, the arm he had thrown around your waist tightening briefly before it fell slack and he nuzzled closer into the crook of your neck. His naked body pressed against you, warmth flowing into your skin, combating the slight breeze coming from the cracked open window. Even without opening your eyes you could tell by the level of brightness that it was late morning, the air smelling like fresh rain, lingering drips hitting the fire escape sending pings through the air. You let out a quiet groan, stretching your limbs the best you could without waking Joe, your hand darting out to poke your phone screen.

A weather alert for rain, a notification from Spotify about new music from an artist you’d never heard of and a text from Terry from nearly four hours ago. Judging by the fact that it was eleven o’ four, he’d sent it while getting ready for work.

‘You two enjoy yourselves today. Keep me posted ;)’

A puff of air resembling a laugh left your lips and you tossed the device back onto the nightstand, squeezing at Joe’s arm. His body tensed around you again and you heard a small grumble coming from the back of his throat, one that made you chuckle.

“Oh c’mon sleepy head, you never wake up this late.”

“Late night.” He grunted in reply, his lips brushing against your bare shoulder and you nearly snorted.

“Please. You had me out of that bar by eight fifteen and you were the first to fall asleep. No T.V. binge, no massage, no white noise, just out like a light.”

“Hmm.” He pulled on your hip, rolling you onto your back and you rolled your head to see his still half buried in your pillows, his brow furrowed as he rubbed at his eyes, “you didn’t turn anything on after I passed out?” He asked with a yawn and you shook your head, reaching for one of the water bottles.

“Nope. Did you wake up at all?”

“Thanks.” He took the bottle, pushing upwards to take a generous gulp before passing it back to you with a shake of his head, “no.”

“When’s the last time that happened?”

Joe pursed his lips, his hand running up and down your side as he thought, “’m not even sure. Years.” His hand trailed up your arm until he was cupping your face, pulling you in for a kiss. “Guess I can thank you for that.”

You chuckled against his lips, “pretty sure it was more than just my doing.”

With a grin he rolled onto you, lips moving against yours, “I’d say you played a pretty big part.”

“I guess I can accept that.”

“How about I say thank you in the best way I can?” He pulled back just enough, a brow raised at you and you laughed, yanking him down for another kiss, one that your tongue quickly slid into his mouth.

“Pretty boy…I can already feel your hard on.”

“So that’s a yes?” He asked, his lips already making marks on your neck.

“You’re insatiable.” You groaned, your hands sliding into his hair as one of his hands slid between your legs. A chuckle escaping his lips when he found you just as ready as he was.

*

Two rounds --a lengthy nap after Joe had sufficiently worn you out-- and two long, luxurious showers later (Joe would always rave about how much better your water pressure was than his) and the two of you were starving. Rather than put any more effort into the day, you headed down a couple of blocks to find somewhere to grab what some would call a late lunch and others would call an early dinner.

The two of you ended up at Alfie’s Kitchen and Craft Beer Bar on the corner of ninth and West 53rd, beers for both of you, a burger for Joe and a flatbread for you. The predicted rain wasn’t scheduled to hit until later that evening so you’d opted to take advantage of the sun while you could, perched at a table in the corner of the patio. Not only was it best to appreciate the weather, warm breeze blowing through your air dried hair while you ate, it was also perfect for people watching.

Some would think your love of people watching came from the two of you being cops, that it was a grown instinct, always keeping an eye out for trouble makers or things that could go wrong. While that may have been partially true, the instinct was pretty natural, especially in a city like New York. There was always something going on, sometimes it was something to turn a blind eye to while others it turned out to brighten your day or curve the path you were on. Those little curves could easily change what plan you had for the day, week or month. Joe noticing Terry over your shoulder the previous night was a perfect example of a greatly beneficial curve, what would have been a night of the two of you quickly disappearing alone turned into a smattering of very naughty thoughts that were still floating around in your brain.

As you picked up your beer your eyes drifted across the table, settling on the dark mark peeking out from under Joe’s collar, you were always pretty careful to not leave any super visible ones, knowing that Fin or Grace would tease him relentlessly. (and Grace would without a doubt pester him until she found out who gave it to him.) Not to mention it wasn’t even that bad, it could easily be played off as a sports bruise, the same could definitely not be said about the forming mark on your inner thigh. It was so bad you were certain Joe had left fucking teeth marks indented into your skin. Maybe next time you would return the favour, part of you was pretty sure he’d actually like that, his fingers tracing the mark as his mind wandered back to the dirty things he’d begged you to do when you were leaving it. That would definitely give Grace something to taunt him about. Your brow furrowed at the thought, watching as his throat bobbed when he swallowed, not sensing you watching him at all.

“Have you told Grace?”

“Hmm?” He pulled his gaze away from the street to you.

“Grace,” you asked again with a small laugh, “does she know we’re fucking?”

“She’s got a pretty good idea.” The corner of his mouth twitched up into a grin, “said she could tell I got laid on that conference trip. Took her a while to put it together, thought I was just in a better mood ‘cause of the change of scenery, not that I was still getting laid..” He took a swig of his beer, “why? Do you not want her knowing?”

“No, I don’t care.” You waved it off, “she’s a friend and she knows when to keep her mouth shut. Besides, I know all about her and Tamin from homicide.”

Joe’s eyes widened for a flash, “you do?”

“Yeah,” it was your turn to smirk, “I was in the academy with her, we’ve kept in touch.”

He nodded, fiddling with one of his fries, “have… you and Grace ever…”

“God no.” You laughed, “she’s way too much of a brat for me. A little bit is fine but with her? You’re talking spreader bar, flogger, probably a ball gag ‘cause she never shuts—”

“Okay, okay!” He waved his hands to regain your attention and stop you in your tracks, “that’s enough!”

“You asked.”

“Not for hypothetical details.” He groaned, “she’s like my sister. I don’t need to know anything.”

“She knows about your sex life though.” You pointed out, picking up the last piece of your flatbread.

“She’s a little fiend, you know how she gets. Things don’t get into specific details but we chat.”

“Does she know Terry’s been involved?”

“I’ve never brought it up.” He shrugged, “figured if you wanted her to know you were getting double teamed, you could tell her.”

You laughed, shaking your head at the glint in his eyes, “thanks.”

“She did see the two of you leave the bar together a few weeks ago, when I was on nightshift. Said the two of you were all over each other while waiting for the Uber, I got an unbelievably detailed account of the night. Flirting, buying drinks, Terry’s usual tactic of pool, you pretending you had no idea how to play despite absolutely obliterating Grace two days earlier.” He chuckled and you puffed a laugh out, “she asked if I was jealous.”

“And?” You raised a brow at him as you picked up your beer.

“I said I was a good boy and knew how to share my playthings.”

His wording had your lips curving up into a grin, “you certainly are a good boy, aren’t you?”

Joe’s cheek’s flushed and he immediately busied himself with his drink in an attempt to hide it. You shook your head at him, taking another sip of your beer, briefly saying a thank you to the server when they cleared your plates and asked if you wanted another round. With a glance in Joe’s direction you took the initiative, ordering another two beers and a round of green tea shots for the both of you.

“As long as Grace doesn’t come for me like a fucking guard dog thinking that I’m two timing you or hurting your feelings.”

“Nah,” he laughed, slightly thankful for the redirection, “I told her those kind of details. She knows all three of us talked after that and set down some boundaries and that it’s all casual. She definitely knows we’re not dating, probably thinks its all one on one sessions.” He paused, thanking the server for the new round and taking the time to clink his shot glass with yours before sinking back the liquor. “Though I think she was kind of trying to push me and you dating, maybe just knows that you’re good people and we click…”

Your absorption of his words trailed off, though he continued talking as he watched your gaze land on a very cute girl who’d just crossed to your side of the street. He watched the way you sat back in your chair, your elbow draping over the back of it as your lips formed a smirk. You’d caught the eye of the other girl long before she’d reached the sidewalk alongside the patio, the two of you eyeing each other until she was past, your head following her path and she glanced over her shoulder, a giggle on her lips before she turned back to her friend.

“Fucking hell.” Joe laughed,

“What?” You asked, turning back to him and picking up your beer, “I was listening.”

“Sure you were.”

“Grace thinks we’d work well together, wants you dating someone who’s good for you and knows more about your past rather than you having to go through all your onion layers with someone new who might not react well.” You stated blankly and Joe huffed a laugh, amazed that you’d comprehended anything he’d said, “I can eye fuck a hot girl and still actively listen to you pretty boy.”

He hummed over the rim of his glass, eyes flicking past you to the girl who was now at the end of the block and he caught himself fidgeting, thumb brushing against his ring finger. “How’d you know?”

“Well for starters girls usually appreciate other girls complimenting or checking them out, it’s not as leery and creepy as when dude’s do it. Second, she has an undercut, and third, she came out of the queer bookstore across the street and has a pan flag pin on her bag.”

“Not what I meant, but thanks for the analysis.” He chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

“What then?”

“How did you know that you weren’t straight.”

You shrugged, “I was obsessed with Jessica Rabbit and Poison Ivy as a kid, kinda thought it was just cause they were cool. Then we had family movie night, I was like, twelve or thirteen, we watched Matilda, you seen it?” You looked his way and he shook his head, making a mental note to add it to the watchlist, “instantly fell in love with Miss Honey. And like, we’re not talking, ‘oh she’s so sweet’ it’s more like, ‘oh… oh… I want her to take care of me, but I also want her to take care of me. Ya know?”

“I guess.” He shrugged, “you didn’t like, think you were totally gay?”

“No.” You shook your head again, picking up your glass, “I knew I still liked guys, I just also liked girls. It just felt normal and right, I just didn’t know what the label was for it ‘til a few years later when I met another bi girl at college orientation.”

“No internal conflict or like… shame?” His eyes ducked to his beer, suddenly wishing it was a mixed drink instead so he could occupy himself with a straw or shaking ice cubes around.

“No. But like you said last night, it’s much more socially acceptable for girls, we start holding hands when we’re little kids and no one tells us not to. I know just as many straight girls who have made out with female friends on drunken nights out.”

“You think it’s different for guys?” He asked, risking a glance up at you and your gaze softened at the look in the green eyes looking back at you, “has Terry ever mentioned anything?”

“Terry and I haven’t really ever sat down and discussed his side of experience. He just playfully cursed me out one night after I got a guy to come home with me, apparently we’d both been chasing after him and I hadn’t realized. It just got left at that, though he was more open about it around me afterwards.” You shrugged a shoulder, “but yeah, I think it’s definitely different for guys, there’s probably more of a stigma around it, but I don’t think they deserve it in the least. And a lot more guys experiment than you would think.”

“Really?” He raised a brow at you and you nodded. “Huh.”

He took a swig of his beer, getting lost in his thoughts while you finished your drink. He could feel your gaze on him, but it wasn’t heated, wasn’t pressing, you were just observing, waiting for when he was ready to move forward. It was part of what he liked so much about you, about Bruno, things were always peaceful when he was around the two of you (even when they weren’t and you were ganging up on him like the night before). He knew neither of you were going to press him on any matter, waiting until he would come around on his own. He took another mouthful of beer, letting it swirl around in his mouth, the taste settling on his tongue before he swallowed it down, taking a breath.

“When you say experiment…” He let his voice trail off, eyes flicking up to yours so you could put two and two together.

“Depends on the guy, some people are intrigued, others are much more curious, some want hands on experience. It can be something like a kiss, a make out session for them to realize that they aren’t into it, or…that sparks something even more, some people tend to dive right into the deep end and it’s full blown sex. And that could end in a one time thing that was like checking something off a to-do list, or it could end up being how they shape their identity moving forward.”

“You think kissing’s the baby step into it?” He asked, feeling a blush taking over his cheeks again.

“Maybe.” You shrugged a shoulder, “I think the real baby step would be watching gay porn, maybe…partaking in a devil’s three way.”

Joe’s eyes caught the way the corner of your lips twitched up, the mischievous glint in your eye when you picked up your drink.

“You sayin’ what I think you are?” He asked, his pulse picking up and he suddenly wished his drink wasn’t empty.

You smiled softly at him, shifting forward in your chair, an elbow coming to rest on the table, “I’m saying that you’ve been naked in the same room as Terry on more than one occasion. And neither of you have exactly shied away from looking at the other’s cock.”

Joe swallowed; his mouth dry at the insinuation of your words, tongue tied in his mouth as he tried to think of something to say. You stalled a moment, giving him a chance before chuckling softly, draining your beer.

“In fact… I do believe there was a moment you couldn’t pull your eyes away from his dick last night. I mean, I don’t blame you, watching the way he strokes himself is rather…intoxicating… and we already knew you wanted him watching.” You leant in further across the table, “so I guess my question to you is, are you thinking about a little more experimenting? Or do you think it’s specifically Terry that you want?”

“What I think.” He finally found his voice, waving down the server for the bill, “is that I need another couple of drinks first…”

You held up your hands in surrender, chuckling softly as you relaxed back into your chair.

“More importantly, the privacy of your apartment.”

“You want me to take you home pretty boy?” You swiped the bill from him, pulling cash from your wallet, “that can definitely be arranged.”

*

When you returned to your apartment there was almost a thickness in the air, something heaving with want, heat captured between the four walls of your living room like they weren’t before. Joe could feel it throbbing through his veins, scratching at the back of his neck as he peeled off his flannel, dropping into a chair as he crossed the living room. You’d disappeared down the hallway without saying anything and he thought he could hear water running from your en-suite. Knowing you wouldn’t care, he shoved open the windows, letting the cool air breeze through the screens, the smell of rain wafting through your apartment. It wasn’t as late as it felt, storm clouds having taken over the skies, only the occasional streak of sunlight managed to make it through.

He felt the wind tickle across his skin as he moved back through your apartment, pulling open the fridge to check out what kind of stash you had going on. He found a pack of his preferred beer in a corner, no likely left from the last time he was over, grabbing one for himself before selecting a seltzer from the diverse collection in the door for you. Just as he cracked his drink you were padding back into the main space, your hair was tugged up off your neck and you’d changed into an NYPD tee, pj shorts on your lower half, always aiming for comfort, especially in the solace of your own space.

“Thanks.” You cast him a grin when he passed you the seltzer and he followed you to the couch. You let him take a few sips, watching the way his body began to sink into the couch, the alcohol working its way into his system before you nudged his thigh with your foot. “So? You think you have an answer now?”

Joe exhaled a long breath, “I think…that it’s both.” He glanced in your direction, unsurprised to find you in your usual corner perch, legs pulled up onto the couch. “I never really thought about it before… I mean, if guys talked about threesomes with only one girl, all the attention was on her, all eyes on her and definitely not the other guy.”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, watching him take a gulp of beer.

“Like, it would be weird to even look at the other guy, much less talk about it after.” His gaze redirected out the window, watching the raindrops hitting the glass, “but it doesn’t feel weird when Bruno watches. And I know he’s not just watching you.”

“You are a very pretty sight to look at.”

He chuckled softly, “I like it. I didn’t really realize it at first but I’ve been playing over our other nights, he’s not just telling you what to do, he’s fully in control and… it’s…” He trailed off, looking up at you expectantly and it was your turn to softly laugh.

“Hot?” You finished.

“Yeah.” Involuntarily his tongue swept across his lips, “remember the night he guided me on how to edge you?”

Your cheeks nearly flushed at the memory, spread out on Terry’s bed, legs on Joe’s shoulders while you begged him to fuck you. Terry had been verballing instructions from the other end of the bed at first, stroking himself, planning on finishing in your mouth. He wanted Joe to tease you, to really drag it out and the younger man didn’t have the self control, wanting to pound into you, giving you both what you wanted. Terry scolded him, shifting off the bed to stand behind him, a hand settling on Joe’s shoulder to warm up, his voice low as he instructed him to go slower, when he felt Joe’s body shift pliantly under his touch his hands moved lower, gently wrapping around his waist to guide how slow and deep his thrusts should be.

“How could I forget?” It was your turn to latch your gaze on the window, flashes of the night replaying through your brain.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about that night. I could be wrong but I think it was the first time he touched me in the bedroom.”

“Like I said, we both assumed you were straight, we weren’t gonna push anything you didn’t want.” Your arm fell across the back of the couch, your fingers threading into his hair, “and we still aren’t, you get that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” His head rocked backwards into your touch, a soft sigh leaving his lips, “and you have no idea how much I appreciate that.” He turned his face to you and your thumb brushed against his cheek, vulnerability glazing over his eyes.

“Jose..”

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, shifting your hand so he could leave a kiss in your palm. “I mean it. I wouldn’t trust anyone else but the two of you to start exploring into these new feelings.”

“You’ve gotta feel safe in situations like this, I wouldn’t have been comfortable sharing a hotel room with any other two dudes I know.”

“You’ll always be safe with us.”

“I know.” Your fingers scratched at his head again, “and that goes right back to you.” Joe hummed softly, taking a swig of his drink, “so you do want to try some things out?”

“Of course.” He nearly groaned, it already felt like his pants were getting too tight and he shifted on the couch, “I’m just not sure where to start.”

“Well…” you moved toward him, swinging a leg over his lap, hands cupping his cheeks as your lips brushed against his, “you just leave that to us, okay.” You tapped the tip of his nose with your finger before sliding off his lap, “now drink up.”

Joe watched as you moved through the room, turning on a soft playlist on your phone, flicking off the overhead lights to leave only a dim lamp in the corner. You crossed to the shelf by the window that housed your candle collection and that caught his interest.

“What’re you doing?”

“People always think about candles for light in romantic situations, but scented ones can bring back memories, associate with certain people, a place, I like to use them to set the mood in that sort of way.” You plucked the lid off one, “Christmas baking, summer rain, sitting on the beach with a pina colada.” Walking back up to him you held up the candle in your hand, “what’d you think?”

He took it from you, taking a long sniff, his eyes shutting and letting the smell infiltrate his senses and it hit him immediately, his eyes flashing open. “What the fuck?” He twisted the jar in his hand to find the name, “that smells so much like my cologne.”

“Which smells amazing.” You took the candle back from him, “and sometimes a girl’s gotta play imagination games when she’s home all alone and you’re out of town.” A smirk played across your lips and Joe’s memory flashed back to a video of you fucking yourself with a bright blue toy as you moaned his name, candle burning on your nightstand.

“What else have you got over there?” He asked, watching as you placed the candle back, picking up another one alongside a lighter.

“You’ll figure it out.” The grin was still on your lips as you lit it, placing it down on the coffee table, “do you trust me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then close your eyes.” You instructed and he did as asked, “relax. Turn that busy brain off, let your body and your senses do the work, wake up that imagination.”

Your hand caressed the side of his face and that’s when he realized you’d washed off your perfume, he could usually catch the subtle spicy floral scent from your wrist. Before he could figure out what replaced it, he felt you move away from the couch, your footsteps fading as you entered the kitchen. Rather than try and figure out what you were up to, he did as you wanted, sinking deeper into the couch, the tension in his shoulders easing. The slow, steady beat of the music drummed through his ears, moving into his body and he realized you certainly were good at setting a specific mood.

It was just as you came back into the living room, your movement bringing a breeze with it that the scent of the candle wafted in his direction. He inhaled deeply, letting it wash over his senses, there was a hint of something similar to leather, maybe some amber with a spice he couldn’t quite identify yet. But the overwhelming theme was there, if had to bottle a scent to remind him of Terry, this was the one.

“Eyes still closed,” your voice came out low from in front of him, “glad to know you remember how to follow instructions.”

“What’s next?”

“Picture Terry.”

“Mmhm…” His eyebrows scrunched as he listened to your voice, slowly forming a setting and picture in his mind.

“Imagine the two of you together. You guys have had a good night, fun, playful, relaxed. Probably out at the game, had a few drinks but weren’t ready to call it a night you head back to an apartment for another round or two. He’s got that little grin on his face, that dark gleam in his eyes he gets when he’s feeling feisty, the one I just know you like so much.”

A small grunt of acknowledgement came from Joe and you smiled, stepping toward the couch, your hands bracing on his shoulders, gripping a little tighter than you normal would as you slid into his lap.

“You’ve got to pretend everything you’re feeling is him.” You settled over his hips, hands dragging down his torso slowly, “I know there’s differences..” your lips began kissing across his jaw, “his hands are bigger… rougher…” your gripped his sides harder and felt him inhale sharply as your mouth began to descend along the column of his neck. “You’ll feel his scruff scraping across your skin,” your teeth grazed him, “and fair warning,” you giggled softly, “he bites harder than I do.”

Joe let out a low groan when your teeth sunk into the crook of his neck and his body tensed underneath you, his hands automatically coming to rest on your waist. Fingers wound into the fabric, bunching it in his hands and when he noticed how much of it there was he realized it wasn’t yours, rather one Terry had left at your apartment. The scent of the other man lingered on it and Joe felt his cock start to harden in his pants. He bit back a moan when your tongue swept over his neck and you pinched at his sides.

“Keep your eyes closed pretty boy. Let your senses take over, now tell me… what else?”

“Smells like him.” He mumbled, “cologne… soap maybe?”

“Mmm.” Your fingers wrapped around his jaw, pulling his mouth to yours and you kissed him roughly.

When your tongue surged into his mouth Joe couldn’t help but moan, electrified by everything surrounding him, if it wasn’t for the softness of your hands, the curve of your breasts pressed against him he would’ve sworn your fantasy play was reality. His hands twitched around your waist when you pulled away from the kiss, his lips quickly forming a pout.

“And?”

“Tastes like his scotch,” he was certain you must’ve had a bottle stashed away for whenever Terry was here after a long day, “maybe he stepped out of the bar earlier to have a smoke.”

“Good boy.” You purred, your hands sliding down his body and swiftly undoing his belt before they disappeared into his pants, palming him through his briefs. “now… picture Terry. How does that sound?” Your fingers squeezed around him and Joe moaned.

“Fuckin’ fantastic.” When he inhaled again the fantasy heightened, he could nearly see Bruno in the room, feel his weight against his body.

“Good.” Leaning in you left a kiss then a bite on his neck before slinking to your knees, pulling his pants down as you went. “If my suspicions are right, he wants this too and he’s gonna have zero complaints sucking your cock.” Your hands spread his thighs wide as you settled between them, slicking your hand with spit before pumping his dick, “I want you imagining it’s his mouth wrapped around you, alright pretty boy?”

“Yeah.” He sighed.

“Yes, what?” Your hand squeezed around him and Joe’s head dropped back against the couch.

He could still taste the scotch on his tongue, sucking the taste deeper into his mouth. He pictured Terry sitting across from the bed last night, how fixated on each other the two men were while he stroked himself. He imagined you sitting back, nodding to Terry to take over while you started to toy with yourself on the other side of the bed. Terry’s cock grin on his lips as he sauntered toward the bed to suck the other man off.

“Yes sir.”

“Good boy.”

Your praise made his cock throb in your hand, a drop of pre-cum dripping out the head right as your lips wrapped around it, tongue swiping it away.

Joe let out a low swear, doing his best not to jolt his hips off the couch, letting you take control as he began to pant. He had no idea how you’d done it, how you’d managed to set everything up so perfectly and so quickly, your words and instructions together with the other senses painted such an incredibly clear picture. He could feel your nails digging into his thighs as your mouth worked his cock but it was as if you were off to the side, holding him down while Terry did whatever he wanted. He couldn’t help it, hands wrapping around the back of your head, guiding you up and down his cock, a string of swears leaving his lips as his body began to tense. Pleasure was soaring through him higher and higher in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.

He moaned, this one louder than the last, his cock twitching in your mouth and you doubled your efforts, hands cupping his balls, cheeks hollowing around him. Your tongue traced the veins of his cock, muffled whines and groans coming from your throat. You picked up the pace, bobbing up and down faster until you sunk his cock into the back of your throat and held it there, letting him inch further, deeper than before.

“Shit.” He grunted, “fuck, gonna…oh god..” His thighs clenched around you as the tension in his gut hardened, sparks flying through his body, “gon’ make me come.”

Your hands squeezed tightly around his thighs as if telling him it was okay to do so and he let out a whine, his hips rocking up off the couch. The image of Terry, naked and on his knees in front of him resurfaced back into his imagination and Joe couldn’t help himself, swearing loudly and his cock pulsed intensely and before he knew it he was coming. Long, thick ropes of cum, shooting into your throat, his dick twitching with each burst, harder than he’d experienced before. He eyes were squeezed shut, seeing spots and he could feel your lips still wrapped around him, sucking every drip that you could, your tongue darting out, stroking along his shaft to lick him clean. Your mouth stayed on him until he was starting to soften, finally catching his breath again, coming back to the real world. Your hands smoothed up and down his thighs as you let him drop from your mouth and when he cracked open his eyes he found you looking up at him expectantly. Rather than the sassy smirk normally splayed across your lips there was a soft smile, a brow raised in interest instead of daring.

“Fuck.” He muttered, a small laugh following as he ran a hand over his face.

“Fun?” You asked, slowly standing in front of him.

“Didn’t realize imagination was that powerful.” He admitted, his hands winding around your waist as you settled into his lap again.

“It’s a magical thing.” You murmured, kissing him gently, “how do you think you’d feel about the real thing?”

“Good.” His hands rubbed up and down your back, sneaking under the stolen shirt. His eyes found yours, a curious look in them, “would you be there?”

“Of course.” You cupped his cheeks again, “whatever our pretty boy wants, he gets.” A smirk took over your lips, “well, to an extent of course. Terry can be a bit of an ass, but you already knew that. We start small, go at your speed, need you begging before we think about moving on.” Joe groaned, his hands gripping your waist tighter as you continued, “what do you want?”

“I wanna know what it’s like,” his eyes fluttered shut when your hands started threading into his hair. “To be controlled totally, told what to do and when to do it.”

“Is that it?” You asked and he shook his head.

“So much more.” He managed to catch your lips in a kiss, “I want him to touch me, want to know what his mouth actually feels like, what it feels like to be fucked… like that.”

“I think we can definitely work with that.” You nipped at his lower lip, a grin breaking out on your face and Joe nearly growled.

“Good.”

A second later and you were letting out a yelp as Joe flipped you onto your back, pinning you onto the couch, his hips already grinding down against yours. You let out a loud laugh, your hands pressing against his chest,

“Babe, no.”

“But…” he froze above you, an expression similar to a confused puppy on his face, “I came…”

“And I’m still fuckin sore from this morning.” You laughed, pulling him to you for a quick kiss, “trust me Jose, you’ve done plenty and I certainly don’t feel under-satisfied.”

“Okay.” It was with near reluctance that he sat back, scooping his pants up from the floor and tugging them back on before looking back at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You laughed again, “besides, you’ve got to work in the morning. You’re welcome to stay if you want, but I’m not gonna be bummed or anything if you leave.”

He groaned, standing up from the couch and stretching his body out with a sigh, “I should go. I need clean clothes or Grace’ll know I haven’t been home yet and grill me until she figures out every single fucking detail.”

“You need to start leaving some spare clothes here.” You suggested, getting up from the couch and gathering the empty containers, tossing them into the recycle as you followed him to the door.

Joe slipped back into his flannel, shoving his shoes back on before he turned back to you, a hand curling around the back of your neck as his eyes searched yours, “you sure you’re okay if I go?”

“Absolutely.” You returned the sentiment from earlier, twisting to leave a kiss in his palm and he smiled, “g’night.”

He leaned in, leaving a soft kiss against your lips, “night baby.” His thumb brushed over your skin, lingering for a bit and you saw the flash of worry move through his eyes, “and, uh…” His hand dropped, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey…” your hand pressed against his chest gently, grounding him, “this stays between us, I know. The only person I’ll mention anything to is Terry. Scouts honour.”

“No dirty details? Please. I don’t want him to get weirded out or think I’m some creep.”

“Cross my heart.” You made the motion over his, pressing a kiss to his chest, “I’ll just let him know we want to move things forward in the future, no specific timeline, just that you’re into it and want to explore some uncharted territory.”

“Thank you.” He picked up your hand, lips brushing over your knuckles.

“Drive safe.”

With one last kiss to your cheek, Joe was gone from your apartment and you locked the door behind him, letting out a soft sigh of satisfaction as you moved through the space. You put away the minuscule amount of clean dishes in the drying rack, turned off the lights in the kitchen and moved into the living room. You closed and latched the windows, casting one more glance through the space before a flash of light caught your eye and you realized it was your phone, screen lighting up with Terry’s name.

“Hey.” You answered, “what’s up?”

“It’s late, hadn’t heard a peep from you, got worried.”

You chuckled, “more like you were bored and a little jealous.” You flicked off the light, padding down the hallway toward the bedroom, “and I couldn’t call, my mouth was full.”

“Oh really?” There was a smile in his voice you could hear.

“Yup.”

“And?”

“My intuition was right. Progress was made.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about a case sweetheart. How about you actually tell me?”

“How about take out and drinks tomorrow? We’re both off.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Yours. And you’re buying, moneybags.”

He chuckled into the phone, “sure. But you could always come over now, I could show you how many more times I can make you come.”

“I’m getting in the shower.”

“Wish I was there. You gonna think about me while you’re naked and wet?”

“Goodnight Terrance.”

____________

@kmc1989 @bulletproof-love-replies @silversprings-mp3 @rosaliedepp @irishavengersassemble @spaghettificationandpretzels @bowdre @dreadfulxives18 @bubbleswrld @gatefleet @amelia-song-pond @witches-unruly-heart @fandom-princess-forevermore @cycat4077 @xoxabs88xox @alwaysachorusgirl @baubeautyandthegeek @plaidbooks @thatesqcrush @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @wandas-wife @katieslotherford @momlifebehard @dondivajade @misscharlielulu @alexxavicry @legit9thlunaticwarrior @daffodil-heart @onmykneesformarvel @silversprings-mp3

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Kinktober 2024 masterlist~

my official collection of all things Kinktober for this year! requests will be open from now until October 24th, which is one week before Halloween. prompt list and other info can be found at the bottom

posts will be happening every other day or so starting October 1st and days will be added as more requests are sent in. if you want to be tagged in anything please don't hesitate to let me know <3

Day 1: grinding with Jennifer Check x fem reader

Day 2: Monica Geller pegging a male reader

Day 3: John Bender with a gn reader who has a hand kink

Day 4: River Song, Missy/Gomez! Master, and Clara Oswald having a slightly tipsy, sexually explorative sleepover with a fem reader

Day 5: praise kink with the Fourteenth Doctor x gn reader

Day 6: feedism (feeding kink) with Greg House x male reader

Day 7: Gale Weathers pulling a male reader's hair

Day 8: Eleventh Doctor and River Song worshiping and giving all their attention to a gn reader

Day 9: Jennifer Check being straddled by a fem reader

Day 10: James Wilson x transmasc reader having semi-public sex that involves edging/overstimulation

Day 11: handsy makeout session with Clara Oswald x fem reader

Day 12: sex pollen with Steve Harrington x transmasc reader

Day 13: body worship, nipple play, and begging with Anthony Bridgerton x transmasc reader

Day 14: make-up sex, blood play and restraints with Joe Goldberg x fem reader

Day 15: marking kink, praise kink, and oral fixation/face-sitting with Jason Dean x afab reader

Day 16: Gale Weathers corrupting a gn reader

Day 17: Damon Salvatore fingering and praising a transmasc reader

Day 18: Eddie Munson giving oral to a transmasc reader

Day 19: Joe Goldberg x fem reader against the wall sex and praise kink

Day 20: Monica Geller overstimulating and praising a male reader

Day 21: James Wilson x male reader having morning/sleepy sex

Day 22: the Torchwood Five having an orgy with a gn reader

Day 23: threesome with Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and a submissive male reader (including: breeding, frotting, overstimulation, and nipple play)

Day 24: Dhawan! Master gifting a gn reader a special necklace that acts like a vibrator

Day 25: Missy/Gomez! Master using handcuffs and hypnosis on a gn reader

Day 26: James Wilson and Greg House having a threesome with a male intern

Day 27: blood play and knife play with Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x fem reader

Kinktober 2024 info post/prompt list

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 JOE - "highest of highs, lowest of lows" (2/2)

Joe x Reader 6.1k words hurt/comfort A continuation of this post. Being part of Joe's gang has its ups and downs, chaos being the closest thing you have to a stable routine, every single day full of adventures. Your friends pulled you from the rubble and into the light, you've been with them through thick and thin─and yet, as the years pass, it all grows stale. Repetitive, even. Tiring. A new era approaches. You're not strong enough to hold on and withstand the whirlwind of change, and neither is he. Even so, your faith in the dream Joe has given to all of Haight Street never wavers. You'll find a way out, together. But only if he's willing to move on.

ffffffffffffuck ai scrapers fuck that guy we must thrive and keep creating forever!!! joe undivorce is real now!!!! even if i have to lock my posts for registered users, we must thrive!!!!!! and have fun!!!!! forever!!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I'd like to thank everyone in the R99 RP server and the academy for being there during the struggle of joe undivorce, this part went thru 5 or 4 different drafts. at some point it was meant to start with joe out in the rain playing i wanna know what love is on a boombox outside your window but i had to cut stuff so this part wouldnt be 10k words for no reason

Finally, Joe undivorce, sleepy time joe part 2....! as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!

That fight weeks ago left a massive rift between the two of you, one that he was certain would simply go away with enough time and space, nothing new. 

You'd eventually come crawling back, letting him back into your life with a not-so-playful smack to the head and a smile attempting to break through your angry façade, no one could stay angry forever after all, it's a matter of waiting. And Joe had no problem standing his ground until the end of time, unyielding to change and yet ready to welcome everyone back under his wing. This is the cycle he's used to; this is how he used to argue with his father, his mother and, later on, with Paulina. Whenever he had a tense conversation with Pioneer or Mercuria about the state of their community and the struggle to maintain their promises. Hell, it even happened with Becket and Hollick whenever their playful banter and bickering turned a little too honest, a little too resentful and raw with the stress of routine.

This, Joe reluctantly admits in his mind, is how he deals with everything─when push comes to shove, he burns and burns until the world around him is reduced to ashes, telling himself that he did what he had to for the greater good. There is simply no other way out, and if there were, he would've tried already. This is how things must be, the shitty hand they were all dealt with. And after that? He brushes it off, returning to that dreadful routine of friendly smiles and casual teasing, waiting for the barren land to heal in silence until someone extends an olive branch, a peace offering, a hug or pat on the back to signal the beginning of yet another cycle. He's always been the victor in these one-sided fights one way or another.

But tonight marks the seventh day of Joe's convoluted plan to beg for your forgiveness.

On the first day, he thought he could simply drop by your apartment and sort everything out, face to face, and restore the status quo before dinner─one of your neighbours threw a bucket of cold water at him after he spent an entire hour ringing your doorbell. On the second day, he made sure to call you every fifteen minutes from the restaurant, from the phonebooth across your house, from Hollick's apartment, from any available phone─the only time you picked up is when Joe intercepted the pizza delivery guy on their way to your apartment, only to have you hang up on him the second you heard his voice. The rest of the week continued to spiral, testing his perseverance and creativity for new ways to see you. Every day, the anxiety lodged in his chest would grow bit by bit.

Years of working away at the forge have made his hands as steady as death and yet, at the aftermath of each and every fight when all he can do is accept the silent treatment, Joe realizes that his heart is much too strong to ignore; impulse after impulse, every pump of blood becoming another series of words he will come to regret, every step takein the wrong direction entirely. It's only then that he realizes that he deserves every bitter look, every missed call and every second apart. Only then, when there is no one else to contend with but himself.

He's not so different from the metals under his care─the proud and stubborn iron, all instinct and zero intentions of bending to anyone else's will. And while he himself can keep repeating this cycle over and over, it's easy to forget that not everyone has the time, energy or patience to match his temper. Paulina was either the first one to fully break under the pressure of his presence, or the only one who had the courage to step away from the scorching fire and allow herself room to heal, to grow without him hindering her.

Just how long can keep on pushing until you make the same choice as her?

It makes him anxious just to think about the possibility of making the same mistakes, of letting you go so easily because of his own pride. He's ran out of options, and so he stands perfectly still in front of your door, arms crossed as he fights the urge to pace across the claustrophobic hallway. Have you even been eating well? It's one thing to avoid him, but to avoid the outside world altogether is too extreme, too upsetting. A small plastic bag hangs from his forearm, holding the leftovers from today's shift at Tang's; the tupperware inside is still warm with your favorite food.

Fuck it, he start pacing around. Heavy footsteps mix with the sound of crinkling plastic, the shuffle of the leather jacket hanging awkwardly off his shoulders, the cracking of the joints in his knuckles as Joe attempts to release some of the tension in his body. The muffled roar of engines outside and people passing by, and now, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder, accompanied by a nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

It's something that is difficult enough to describe to other arcanists, let alone any humans─a judgemental voice that blankets over his brain like a dense fog, a feeling across his body that he can never quite pinpoint. The arcanum he's inherited from his father, which allows him to understand the voices, desires and, to an extent, thoughts of various raw materials and metals. It's an essential ability in his line of work, and yet ...

Give it up, Romeo. Today's not your lucky night.

Your fucking doorknob has the balls to give him sass everytime he comes by.

Joe pays it no mind; it has to be an alloy of sorts, perhaps zinc. Out of all metals, they're the only chatty ones with a penchant for gossip, to criticize everything around them with a condescending clink. The steel grating of the fence outside offers no comment, seeing him time and time again standing under the rain for the chance to catch a glimpse of you through the window. The rusty copper of the stairs is always polite, even when he stumbles and falls day after day climbing to your floor in a frenzy. But this damned thing loved to look down on him, the guardian to your current sanctuary. Its message reaches him loud and clear, so easy to decypher.

Are you going to apologize to them?

Joe hesitates, "I want to."

But there is a key difference between wanting and doing. 

He wants to do whatever it takes to make everything go back to normal, to wake up knowing he'll see you joking around with Sputnik at Tang's, that you'll let him drive you around town when none of you have anything better to do than to waste your days away, together. He wants to say sorry, he wants to save the restaurant, he wants his friends to have honest jobs, he wants to stop fighting for scraps. All these things in so little time. But right now, he can't even get that damned door open to see you. He doesn't even know if you're home─much like a misbehaving dog, all Joe seeks is that familiar face to give him permission to come back home.

I want to see you. I want to see you so bad. I want to see you tonight even if it's the last thing I do. 

Perhaps this arcane communication is a two-way street, or maybe he's allowed some of his feelings to slip through and show on his face, because the condescending ringing subsides and silence settles once more. Your doorknob shows some mercy and whispers in his mind.

They're here.

There it is. His lifeline.

Joe calls out your name, banging his fists on the door. He's done this before, not in this exact building nor hallway, but with the exact same desperation in his gestures. The thought crosses his mind for a split second as he rattles the doorknob as if he could open it through will alone.

"Listen! It's been a month already, I get that you're mad at me but, shit, can we talk? You can be as angry as you want, you can scream at me and push me around, dump all the extra work and shifts on me, call me an idiot and a meathead─whatever you wanna do to get it out of your system, I'll take it. Just open the door!" When no reply comes, Joe presses his face to the cold surface of the door, trying to hear for any movement within your apartment. Nothing. "Look, I won't judge if you've been survivin' on coffee and instant ramen, but I got some real food here to fill your stomach. You don't even have to let me inside, I just, ugh, me and the guys haven't heard a peep from ya'! C'mon, they're─I'm worried sick, I gotta know you're doin' alright! I took you for granted, alright? I know that now."

The words pour out of his mouth effortlessly after keeping them down for so long, and soon Joe finds himself shaking. Not out of sadness, but a unique type of excitement─or madness─that comes with admiting defeat; to no one's surprise, this is a brand new feeling for him, never allowing any sort of vulnerability to slip to the surface. The bag slips out of his grip and falls to the floor unceremoniously as he drags both hands across his face, feeling the uncomfortable warm, rugged leather on his skin as a way to ground himself. Once he's done, Joe reels backwards a few steps, trying to control his erratic breathing. One step back, then another, and another.

Until he feels a hand resting on the small of his back, gently keeping him at bay.

"Watch it, J. You're gonna end up squishing me if─" Your voice echoes in the hallway and Joe turns as fast as his body allows it, unsure if this tired and slightly irritated voice scolding him is just a product of his imagination. But it isn't, he sees you right there, so close to him. And in the blink of an eye, you find yourself enveloped by Joe, his arms secured around your shoulders as he leans more and more of his weight over your frame as if trying to squeeze the life out of you. "Woah! Hey, hey! Joe─fuck, J, stop! I'm gonna fall over!"

The Sun could crash into the Earth and Joe would still continue to hold you. Burying his nose in your hair, you feel that tense line of his mouth finally curve into a smile─the first one since your fight─and the vibration in his throat as he laughs, amused by the way you struggle helplessly in his grip. How could he not laugh when you're patting his shoulders, pinching his back and poking at his rubs to push him away? 

"Okay, okay! I get it, whatever!" Your panic is endearing as he hoist you up effortlessly, so that your feet hover a little above the ground and you have no option but to hold on to him. "Put me down, I'm not going anywhere!"

"How do I know you're not gonna just lock me outta your apartment the second I drop you?" The tone is playful, but the question is genuine. That mocking snort of yours reminds Joe that even though he's finally caught you, there's still a long way before he can make up for that fight. And so, he curls into you once more, this time hiding his face in the crook of your neck. "Don't wanna risk it."

"Fine, do whatever you want. Like always."

For a split second, he frowns and the most immediate thought in his brain is to reply with the same amount of contempt─Fine! Maybe he will! Maybe he should just drag you over to Tang's and sit you down at the office until both of you get so tired of arguing that there'll be no other option but to forgive each other─but he doesn't. Joe catches himself. It takes a moment to swallow his pride, but his grip on you weakens and soon enough, you're back on your feet.

Unbeknownst to Joe, a shiver runs through you, instantly missing his warmth; you curse his stupid arcane skill, his stupid furnace of a body and his stupid sad eyes, tugging at your heartstrings. The cold is not the only thing creeping around─an awkward atmosphere settles as all action comes to a halt. When faced with the real deal, neither of you know what to do, nor how to begin. As a man of simplicity, Joe prepares to apologize as soon as possible, until he notices the brown paper bags settled at your feet.

You follow his line of sight and add, "I went grocery shopping. The uh," there is a small pause as you find the proper words. It's not like you owe him anything, let alone the truth. "I ran out of food. So I went and got some."

He tries to peek inside the bag, and you move the bag away with a gentle sweep of your leg, but it's too late. You know he's seen it, judging by the way Joe crosses his arms with a smug attitude that he simply cannot repress. "Instant ramen."

"Instant ramen." You repeat, internally boiling at the fact that he could read you so well despite this month of silence. It's not weird at all, considering the years you two have spent together, but it still hurts your own pride, if only a little. "What about it?"

It's almost too easy to fall back into the usual banter and the flow of conversation as if nothing happened, but Joe taps at his chin as he looks away. He was never any good at acting. "Nothin'! Nothing wrong with that, just wonderin' how you haven't gotten tired of it yet."

"You're not here to give me cooking tips, Joe." There's a defiant tone in your voice that keeps getting to him. Have you always had this effect on him? 

"... What if I am? Is that enough to let me into your apartment and make sure we're cool?" The pause between his words and your reply extends to a worrying degree, Joe feels dizzy waiting for the worst to happen. 

Instead, you offer your own olive branch.

"It's late. So you can sleep over, if you want."

You make a bee-line for the kitchen to put your groceries away, leaving him without a single word. The second he realizes he’s standing in your apartment, Joe can’t help but feel out of place; he’s been here plenty of times, he’s crashed on your sofa as many times as he’s crashed his bike, but this is the one and only time he’s felt unwelcomed. No, that isn’t right─this is the first time he’s felt … 

Like he doesn’t have the right to intrude in your life.

If he looks closely, he can spot the off-colored patch on the wall from the time Hollick punched a hole through during one of the many movie marathons you hosted, back when Paulina and Tang were still around, and everyone else had more time to waste during those lazy afternoons. A horror movie whose title he can't recall, but the memory of everyone's loud screams during a particularly scary scene plays in his head vividly. There's innocuous and superficial scratches in various places, which he recognizes as Becket's habit of fidgeting around with that butterfly knife he earned during a fight in the ring. He does this often everywhere he goes; if one were to look around the restaurant, they'd immediately find out about Becket's favorite spots just by finding these marks. There's also a few gifts from Mercuria, plants, herbs and incense to remedy whatever ails you. Joe can never remember the purpose of each and every bundle, let alone understand the intricacies of meditation and purification, yet he trusts Mercuria to look out for everyone else's health.

Soon, those bright blue eyes are drawn to a curious sight. There is a wall in your apartment full of photos, polaroids of all shapes and sizes, decorated in a myriad of ways to showcase all your adventures in Haight Street with all of the friends you've made. It's easy for him to recognize each and every face given his own connections with the community, but someone is missing. He is missing from the wall, there is an obvious empty spot where his picture with you should be. His heart sinks a little at this.

Before Joe realizes, he's already calling out your name once again. "Hey, what happened to our picture? The one that was just the two of us." 

Peeking his head through the door, he looks for you in that poor excuse of a kitchen, one he can barely fit in without knocking something over. You're holding two mugs in your hands; on the right, he sees your favorite, the one with that pattern he finds horrendous, and on the left, you're holding his favorite mug with the logo that you hate. You usher him out into the living room, silently gesturing for him to stop trying to help carry the warm drinks. 

"I took it off the wall." Joe grimaces, and you roll your eyes as you sit on the sofa, scooting over to the side to make space for him. "I didn't rip it apart or draw over your face, if that's what you're worried about." 

Oh, thank God.

"It's the only good picture we got, you gotta treasure it." The reply he receives is a noncommital hum, and he knows better than to push it.

The plush cushions cave under his weight as he sits down, making you bounce a little on your own side of the couch, shifting you a little closer to him so that your knee touches his. And while you refuse to meet his eyes, you still allow this moment of closeness. If you lose focus, if you get a little too comfortable in his presence, you know that your body will end up tangled up with his in a mess of limbs as if nothing happened, too used to the casual physical touch Joe shares with those close to him. All the hugs, all the manhandling, all the hair ruffling and playful headlocks. You bite your lip, saddened by the bittersweet tint coating all of these memories. What to say now? How to bring up the elephant in the room?

"Eugh," Joe suddenly blows a raspberry, tongue sticking out in mild disgust. He sets down the cup on the table. "Too sweet for me."

"Oh. Wait, that's mine. Sorry, must've─" You reach out to switch the drinks, but he slides it to the side just out of your reach. A shit-eating grin is plastered all over his face, a knowing grin that twists your insides into a knot. "Huh?" 

This faux pas of yours proves to be the perfect opening for his usual antics. Joe leans closer to you, tilting his head towards the mug in your hands; it's your favorite color, with a simple drawing of your favorite animal scattered about. He always loves to poke fun at you for it, calling you childish and immature to see that angry pout in your face. "That one's mine, then?" You nod and he chuckles.

"Dude, what is it?"

"It's not like you to overlook small details, y'know? Got the keenest eye in all of Haight Street. Hell, you can spot a liar from a mile away." One of his fingers traces the rim of the mug in front of him, that sweet drink made just to your liking, feeling every little chip and crevice, a well-loved mug meant for him. It's colored in bright orange with a big, bold font reading 'Too Hot for You' and a small drawing of a steaming cup of coffee. You hate this mug with a passion, and yet you've always taken care of it for him. "Guess you missed me as much as I missed you."

He should've noticed before; you had been using his mug in his absence, you covered his face in every single picture in your house, you were wearing one of his old shirts that he forgot at your place and never bothered asking for again, the faint music coming from the radio in your kitchen is playing one of his favorite stations... It puts Joe's heart at ease to know that he's been on your mind as much as you've been on his these past few weeks. You weren't packing your bags to leave everything behind, you missed him out of all people. He's always been dense, but now that he's taking his time paying attention to you and all the color you add to his life, he finds it difficult to stop himself from smiling. 

"Now, aren't you getting ahead of yourself? I wasn't the one who showed up at three in the morning half-drunk, holding up a boombox to play love songs until the neighbours called the cops, was I?"

"Those are some big words for someone who hid around the market stalls, thinking I wouldn't see their little face peek out from the apples and oranges."

"They were bananas." You correct him. "But what about you today, huh? Did you know I was here or were you just hoping that I was just to listen to that little speech?"

"If I tell you, it'll take away all the mystery."

"Joe."

"Okay, okay, fine! Your doorknob ratted ya' out."

“My fucking doorknob ?” He has to stop himself from bursting out laughing at your expression. All he can do is nod as you curse his arcanist heritage; even though it wasn’t as flashy as others’, it still came in handy to hear the voices of metals. “I hate that arcanum of yours─what’s next, my toaster?” 

Joe watches as you sink back into the sofa, groaning into your palms. With the awkward tension from before gone, there’s no need to walk on eggshells anymore; he leans backwards as well, finding a comfortable position to lay on his side. After a minute or so, you’re done with your little temper tantrum and tilt your head to meet his eyes for the first time─he smiles and rests his hand on the empty space between your bodies, atop the plush cushions with his palm open, as if asking you for something. 

"Just so you know, the little guy put up quite the fight. I don't think it likes me."

“Alright, fine. You said you wanted to make sure we’re cool, so out with it then. I’m all ears.” Your tone is not quite as light nor playful as he hoped, but not as severe either. He feels safe enough to laugh it off. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees your own hand approaching his, clenched into a fist but still nearby. 

"Where do I even start?" A strained chuckle comes out of him. There is something daunting about meeting your eyes as he delivers yet another speech─hopefully one less rushed and emotional than the one before─and so, Joe opts to look anywhere else; the curve of your lips and your jaw. His gaze moves lower to your neck and collarbone. The way your body folds and squishes as it presses against the couch, as if you were listening to a bedtime story. Your undivided attention, he decides, is daunting. He feels a tug, it's your pointer finger intertwined with his own, encouraging him, and this allows him to continue. "With ... sorry, I guess? I mean, first day I dropped by, I was ready to pick up where we left off and argue a lil' bit more before making up. Doesn't matter now, though. But ... realizing I didn't know how you were holdin' up in here was the worst. I assumed you'd be right there, face smushed against the window, makin' faces at me, cursin' me to hell and back. Maybe even hoping I'd mess up a few orders at Tang's."

Your nimble fingers mess with the cuff of his gloves as you speak, undoing the buttons and sliding the piece of fabric off. Compared to his own skin, yours is so much colder. On instinct, the moment you’re within reach, he takes a hold of your hand, if only to warm you up a little. When you scoot a little closer, his breath is caught up in his throat. "You got one thing right at least; I did cheer when I saw you drop that coffee all over that poor guy. And then ... I got mad, you kept getting all the orders wrong.

“You could’ve just dropped by for your shift.”

“You could’ve just gotten better at waiting tables.”  

“Hey, I did get better! It was a stressful week without you around, alright?” When your grip on him tightens, Joe raises your hand up to his face, if only to nuzzle his cheek alongside your skin. Once, twice. In soothing circles. This time, you’re the one staring in quiet wonder, not daring to make a noise and break the moment. Chapped lips press against your knuckles, one by one, as he holds onto you like his life depends on it.

"Don't even remember when it happened, but I was miserable in bed. Didn't feel like going out, didn't feel like doing anything at all─what's the point if the crew wasn't together? I thought about what you said, the shit I said. We were way over the line, man. That's not how I wanna talk to you guys." 

"That's how you always talked to us, J." A deep cut, you weren't holding back any punches today. "Took you long to realize, but I'm glad you got there in the end."

"Ugh. My mom raised me to be better than that. It's just ... it just comes out, no warning. The second it's out of my hands, it's as if ... Ah, hell." He draws circles on your skin with his thumb, trying to calm himself down. "It's like ... If I don't have a good grasp back at the forge, if my hand slips or trembles, if I lose focus for one second, it's over. Except it's not so bad in the forge, all I get is a little scare or a little burn, but out there? Someone else gets hurt 'cause of me. Someone goes missing c'ause of me. And that scares the crap outta me."

For once, he tilts his head to look at you with a furrowed brow. The unspoken words linger in the air─What if it was you, what if it was Mercuria, or Pioneer. Or Becket and Hollick. Or any of the orphaned kids that depend on him for a single meal a day, or the homeless that so easily get swept under the rug in a system that wants nothing to do with them? The fact that he's still insisting on being the one to carry all of Haight Street on his back is frustrating, but you choose to let him finish. It's rare enough to see Joe admit he's scared of something, even rarer to see him talk at length about what goes on behind that heroic façade.

"It's fine if you guys get angry at me, it's easier to deal with than have any of y'all elbows deep into trouble with the cops or the Chamber of Commerce. 'Cause we're all a family, yeah? Family's argue all the time, doesn't mean they care any less about each other. I mean, you still know I care a lot, right? Even after our fight?"

How can you answer that? How can you find the words to let him know that no, you don't know. You didn't know. That you don't think families should argue like this on the daily, that whatever happened that day was an unfortunate accident of built up, pent up stress, but still something that left you wondering night after night if you would ever feel the same as before, going about your day while knowing how little regard Joe had for you. Right now, you're contending with almost two decades worth of experiences that shaped Joe into the man he is today, all the things he had to learn on his own against your own life lessons and your own experience. Noticing the contrast between the two of you is fun when it's about the little things; you run cold, he runs hot. He prefers salty, you prefer sweet. You're the brains, he's the muscle. But inspecting the fundamental differences this close makes you freeze in place.

Fear seizes your heart─what if this is the reason you two never see eye to eye, what if this is what eventually breaks the bond you share? So incompatible, too alien to understand one another and find common ground.

Joe squeezes your hand. Your palm rests so nicely in his, your fingers resting in the space between his, pressing against pronounced knuckles and veins. The hands that have held you time and time again with no hesitation at all.

"C'mon, don't leave me hanging. Say something, please?" 

You know he's not lying, because you can feel the thin coat of sweat on his skin; Joe's hands get clammy when he gets nervous, but no one notices because he's usually always sweating, either from running errands or being locked in his personal sanctuary, fighting fire and brimstone. You look at him through brand new lenses, as if this were the first time you truly saw him.

"I ..." You swallow the lump formed in your throat. He's been honest, he's here to make amends. It's only fair that you meet him halfway with your own honesty. "You keep saying that you never mean the things you say when we fight, but I do. It was fucked up to bring up Polly─Paulina─but you wouldn't have listened to me if I hadn't! It's─fuck, it's ... You can't say that you care, and then turn around and say all that shit to us─to me─every time thing's go bad. Maybe you can brush it off, but I can't! I don't care if I get angry at some rich suit waltzing into the restaurant, they mean nothing to me. But you?! I don't want to be angry at you all the time. You'd rather hurt us yourself than let something or someone else do that? How is that fair for anyone?!" 

It takes you a moment to realize that you're sitting as upright as your body allows it, driven by the tension in your muscles. Joe has let go of your hand at some point, you don't know when, but now, he reaches towards you once more. It takes you another moment to realize he's gently wiping away the hot, angry tears running down your face. Months of feelings are catching up to you now, and now that you know you're crying, it's hard to stop the broken sobs and the sniffling and the aggressive wiping, a futile attempt at trying to keep your face dry. Joe doesn't wait. He hugs you; one arm craddling your head, gently petting you, while the other supports your waist as you reluctantly find a comfortable position.

"I'm sorry, I'm a big, dumb and dense idiot, huh?" a gravelly voice reaches your ears. The way Joe attempts to stand strong for you, to continue those habits of his even as his voice trembles just as much as yours doesn't go unnoticed. 

"And stubborn," you manage to croak out in-between hiccups.

"A big, dumb, dense and stubborn idiot." He repeats softly.

"Don't you fucking dare patronize me now, J." The threatening tone in your voice is drowned out by your tears and sobs, but it still earns a solemn nod from him. This is new. "I'm serious. You have to take me and everyone else seriously, instead of running off to do it all yourself!"

"R-right. Yeah, okay. I'll─"

Your head shoots up from its hiding place safely tucked under his chin. "Promise me, J. You say you wanna do better, then start with this. The next time you feel the itch to start a fight with us over something stupid, just talk to me─hell, talk to anyone you want. Just don't go do it all on your own. Promise." 

"...One condition; you promise me you'll never run out on me like that ever again. No silent treatment, no avoiding each other for weeks. Tell me to fuck off if you have to, kick me out of the room, but don't cut me out of your life like that without a warning." Joe pauses as he searches for something in your eyes, a hint of helplessness that you've never seen before across his features. "Please."

This is a compromise both of you are willing to take. Resting your forehead against his, you close your eyes and take a deep breath to bask in a quiet moment of understanding─this is how it should be, a fight followed by a reconciliation, a catharsis, a proper ending to know take the next step on the same page. For a moment, you feel his stare and a hint of nervousness as Joe treads through unknown waters, but then he closes his eyes as well.

"Deal." You say.

"Good." Slowly, with you still in his arms, Joe leans backwards until he's laying on the lousy, creaking sofa with you secured atop of him.

His leather jacket lays forgotten on the floor, as do the two mugs by the table, cold and stale. Sirens blare outside on the streets, dealing with the aftermath of parties and bar fights, and cars keep going back and forth the road. But neither of you could care less about such details. All you can concentrate now is the pleasing and gentle movement of Joe's chest as it rises and falls with each and every breath, your head resting gently on top, hearing the tempo of his heartbeat slow down little by little. And all Joe can concentrate now is your weight on him, your full presence after weeks of solitude. Your hair tickles him here and there, and your legs move about restlessly, bumping against his own sometimes on accident, sometimes on purpose as a warning to stop taking up so much space.

"Did you do anything about the restaurant while I was gone? We still need funds." Your voice suddenly breaks up the silence, and Joe follows with a long groan. Part of you brings it up just to test the waters, to start yet another playful back and forth. It's hardly an appropriate time to ask him of any serious business, after all. You too want to bask in his company. "You didn't, did you?"

"And you say that I'm stubborn?" At this, you pinch his cheeks and pull hard enough to sting, just a little. "I did! I did, ow! Pioneer's got us covered. But if you wanna talk business, you'll have to come to work tomorrow with me, let everyone know we're back together and stronger than ever, yeah? Tonight we chill, we've earned it."

His joy is palpable and a little suffocating as he squeezes you as tightly as he can. You can feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. How can he not want to squish you until you pop? When you least expect it, Joe shifts to his side, trapping you between his frame and the backrest of the sofa. In such a reduced space, you have no option but to wrap your arms around his waist, looking up at him with feigned indignation.

"You know I have a perfectly decent bed, right? We can just sleep there."

"And let you kick me while you sleep?" Joe yawns, exhaustion catching up to him. "Nah, this is much better."

"And If I have to get up to drink or go to the bathroom?"

"Can't hear you. I'm sleepin' now. And you should too." 

You chuckle and move to kiss his chin, then his neck, feeling the bob of his Adam's apple. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his mouth turn into a fine line, resisting the urge to indulge you and keep bothering each other until the sun rises, but you're already satisfied. All that's left is closing your eyes and allow his breathing to lull you to sleep.

"Night, pipsqueak."

"Night, dummy."

[starsinthesky5]

Do joe and her ever just sit in bed and like…have one of those random deep talks 🥲 like literally about life, aliens, god knows. I gotta know what it’s like

a/n: enjoy my rambling :)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

they do. all the time. they’re the kind of couple who end up talking for hours without even realizing it—lost in each other, wrapped in the safety of soft sheets and the dim lights of their bedroom, like the world outside those four walls doesn't exist. it’s their own little bubble, warm and motionless, where time doesn’t move unless they let it. it usually begins when the day is winding down. they’re curled up together, bodies fitted like puzzle pieces, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her hip. the tv is still on, flickering softly in the background, but neither is watching it. they’re too caught up in each other; too in love with the way these quiet nights always turn into something magic.

it starts off small, almost silly. she’ll say something out of nowhere like, “do you think aliens would find us cute or annoying?” as she scrolls aimlessly through her phone. and joe, blinking sleepily but still so in tune with her, will smile against her temple and mumble, “annoying. for sure. but they’d keep you,”.

“me? why me?” she'd ask skeptically, and his response would both melt her heart and make her giggle until she couldn't breathe.

“you’d sing to them and they’d fall in love,” he'd say.

she laughs, swatting at his chest before shoving at his shoulder like he’s ridiculous. “you’re so dumb, joey,”.

“and you’re so cute,” he says, without even thinking, and it hits her in the chest like a warm wave.

sometimes, though, it turns deeper—softer. heavier in the way that makes your chest ache, but in the best way. she’ll be half-laying on top of him, draped in one of his old college t-shirts, her cheek rising and falling with his steady breaths. and she’ll whisper something like, “do you think we’ve done this before? like…in another life? found each other somewhere else?” and he’ll be quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through her hair, before saying, “i think i’d find you in every one,”.

and it’s so casual. so easy. like of course he would. like the idea of not finding her is impossible.

they talk about everything. their childhoods, the weird quirks they’ve carried into adulthood. what scared them when they were little, what still scares them now. what they think happens after we die. if fate is real. what they’d be doing if life had gone another way. joe once admitted, in that low, gravelly voice he uses only when it’s late and quiet and just them, that he always thought he’d be a high school science teacher if football didn’t work out, completely disregarding the fact that he did an internship on wall street at one point and could be a fantastic businessman. “you’d be a hot teacher,” she told him, nose scrunched, and he rolled his eyes. “you’d be the music teacher with the hoards of dramatic twelve-year-olds worshipping you,”.

“you’re just jealous,” she teased.

“i’m literally in love with you,” he replied, and god the way it rolled off his tongue. so easily, so smoothly. she couldn’t even speak after that. just buried her face into his neck, because how do you respond when someone says it like that? like it’s the most obvious thing in the world?

sometimes the talks are a little more chaotic. she’ll go off about timelines and soulmates and alternate realities with the energy of someone who had caffeine too late in the day. joe will just watch her with this stupidly soft smile, eyes all sleepy and full of awe, and say, “how do you have this much brain power at 1 am?”.

“because i had dessert. and i’m wearing your hoodie. and you’re next to me. i’m thriving, baby,”.

they’ll talk until their throats are dry and their eyes are heavy, until the world outside is completely silent and their room is filled with nothing but their voices and soft laughter. sometimes she drifts off mid-sentence, and joe will kiss her forehead, whisper “we’ll finish tomorrow,” and hold her tighter. and in the morning, she’ll wake up remembering something he said the night before—something like, “home doesn’t feel like a place anymore. it just feels like you,” and she’ll carry it with her all day like it’s precious.

the best part is, they don’t plan these talks. they just happen. like breathing. like gravity. two souls orbiting each other, drawn together by something deeper than love. they don’t need a prompt or a reason. just each other. just a boy and a girl lying in bed with the lights low, asking questions, laughing at dumb answers, getting a little lost in the wonder of “what if” and “maybe someday,”.

and it’s in those moments—those quiet, blinking-between-yawns, head-on-his-chest moments—that they fall even more in love. because loving someone isn’t always loud. sometimes, it’s a soft question at 2 am. a hand in your hair. a smile you can hear in the dark. and the kind of connection that makes you feel like no matter how big the universe is, you already found the best part of it.

[eyecandyandbraincandy-blog]

Society for the last five years (and counting)

Public health: Hey, so we're tracking this new trend of ovens possibly burning people. It seems bad, we're gonna need more data.

Scientists: On it, we're gonna learn about the oven and what causes burns.

Government: Okay, here's what they're saying about ovens and how not to get burned. Let's shut everything down until this burning passes and then we can go back to normal.

Libs: YES! You can do your part and flatten the curve so we can reduce the amount of burns!

Conservatives: I'm sticking my head in the oven. Y'all don't own me, you libtards! Even if the oven can burn you, I'm wearing this super special glove.

Scientists: That glove is for checking horse prostates. Don't do that.

Government: Actually, if you inject yourself with gasoline, you'll clean that risk of burns right out of your skin.

Scientists: Don't. Do. That.

Libs: We trust science! We care about people! They don't! Let's stay strong, people!

*months later*

Corporations: Hey, so, our profits-

Government: Say no more, fam. We got this. PUT YOUR GRANDMA IN THE OVEN FOR THE ECONOMY.

Libs: Look how callous they are! We're the good ones.

Public health: Actually, needing to be careful when operating ovens has been SO hard on the American people. You can use the ovens without mittens for a bit as a break.

*a year of rolling back measures*

Corporations: BUT MUH PROFITS

Government: Okay, y'all. This is cute, but go back to work. Tell them to go back to work. Public emergency's over.

Public health: Look, some people are gonna get burned using the oven. Mitts are cute but it's really about your personal risk tolerance. So just let those people get burned, they'll die off and we'll be good as new.

Science: Actually don't do that. Our data's clear, here's all the ways to get burned and here's how serious those consequences can be. Wear oven mitts. But we have this vaccine now and it WILL HELP. But we're not sure what the efficacy is yet. So let's be cautious until we have more data.

Public health: You hear that? Vaccines. Yummy, get them so we can be done with this!

Conservatives: God damn it, they're all tryna give us the pokey-jabby-stabby to try and convince us the earth is ROUND, to be liberal femboy sissies and get gay autistic married transes. FAUCI PLANDEMIC HOAX KILLARY CLINTON AND SLEEPY JOE. DON'T DO IT.

Libs: We trust the science! We're gonna get the jabby pokey stab and then we're done! No more mitts.

Science: Well, actually-

Libs: SEE WE'RE DONE! All vaxxed and relaxed. We trusted the science and now it's over! Back to normal! I've been DYING to do some baking. My mental health was so terrible when we couldn't use the ovens!

People following the science who don't want to get burned: Hey, I actually really liked baking too. But I can't really do it safely since there's not oven mitts anywhere and now people are just cooking with flamethrowers. That's not really safe.

Society: BUT OUR MENTAL HEALTH WAS TERRIBLE WHEN OVENGATE WAS HAPPENING AND WE WANT TO BAKE. IF YOU'RE SO FREAKED OUT THEN STOP BAKING FOREVER AND STAY HOME.

People following the science: But you just said the isolation was bad for mental heal-

Society: YEAH MY MENTAL HEALTH. MY PERSONAL RISK. MY BODY MY CHOICE I TRUSTED THE SCIENCE.

Government and corporations: Excellent.

*A few years later*

Society: New mystery burns are popping up here and there and they seem to revolve around a kitchen???? What's going on???

Government: It's nothing, shut the fuck up and go back to work. We beat the ovens.

Society: Okay!

Science: Actually, the vaccine DOES significantly reduce the likelihood that the burns will kill you, but you can still get burned, others can get burned, and you can still have long term health-

Public "health": No, yeah, it's nothing. Some people are gonna get burned. And that's bad, but also like inevitable? Make sure you wash your face before operating an oven.

Libs: It's all about personal risk tolerance. I'm not going to live in fear with oven mitts anymore! I NEED TO BAKE.

*months later*

Society: Why's everyone getting burns constantly?

Lather, rinse, repeat.

[d8nielaa]

sodapop asking you to read to him while pony is in windrixville :( he misses his brother and he can't read that well, but you have always been able to comfort him

Authors Note: yess anon omg!! Soda would actually be in a slump..thats so saddddd

Read to me?

Sodapop Curtis x fem!reader

Ponyboy had ran away. That was all that you knew. Well, thats all you could get out of Soda. It was bad, Soda had been thrown into this slump, that none of you really knew how to get him out of. He was working himself to the bone, coming back home exhausted every night. Which worried you, because Soda wasn't like that.

He was always so happy, and charming and just very golden retriever energy. So it made you wonder what happened that night, but you didn't bother to ask because you knew that making him rethink it would just make the situation worse.

He had been quiet, really only talking to Darrel, you, Ace, and Two-Bit. Yet nobody could comfort him like you. Nobody could save him, like you.

It was Monday night, about 2 days since Ponyboy had ran away. And Soda, well he wasn't doing so great. You laid in Soda and Ponyboy's bed, which was empty on the nights that you didn't stay over. You were laying in the bed, having heard the door open and slam shut.

You sat up, knowing it was Sodapop. He walked through the door, looking more tired than the night before. You smiled at him sympathetically, patting the empty space next to you. He immediately climbed onto the bed, laying on top of you with a sigh. You gently laced your hand through his greased up hair, his arms wrapping around your waist.

His head was pressed against your chest, which hurt just a little, but you didn't have the heart to tell him.

It was quiet for a moment, the two of you finding peace in the storm. Then, Sodapop glanced on the floor, something catching his interest. It was one of Ponyboy's books, specifically, "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens. You had read the book once, and fairly enjoyed it. But, you didn't think Soda would care much for it.

He moved one of his arms off your waist, grabbing the book from the floor and bringing it closer to him to read the title. He was thinking about the conversation him and Ponyboy had the night before he ran away. Tears slowly began to brim his eyes, but he held them in as he shakily brought the book closer to you, his voice soft yet so emotional.

"Can you-will you read it..for me?" He asked, bringing th book even closer to you, his eyes pleading. You immediately nodded your head, pressing a soft and comforting kiss on his forehead before taking the book from his hands, and opening to the first chapter in the book. Your arms were around him, his head still pressed against your chest as you began to read.

"My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister,—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. " (Dickens, 6)

As you continued reading, Soda slowly let the sleepiness get to him. Those two days of barley sleeping out of fear that his brother would return and he would be asleep when he got there. His eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough they fluttered shut.

He laid on top of you, his soft breathing and occasional subconscious squeezes to your hip, letting him know that he was okay. Letting him know that you both, were gonna be okay.

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Authors Note: Hiii everyone!!! So glad to be back! I got my nails done and they're so cutsie, but its hard to type on my laptop with them on 😭. PLEASE KEEP THE REQUEST COMING!!!

much love, dani 🩷

[monsterswithimagines]

Still don't know my name

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Me: I'm not going to write today! I'm taking a mental health break! Tee Hee!

Also me: *brainrots over this photo, inserts it into existing roleplay and then writes minor smut about it.*

Anyway this is highkey based on my character Anoniem/Adelaide ( @nietbelangrijx ) and @just-joe-goldberg but like. I'm not saying this 100% happened bc like. That feels kinda weird. But I exist to brainrot about creepy stalkers being creepy.

Warning: I guess this is technically a PWP? Porn without plot? Yes.

It would be so easy to touch him - wake him.

He is asleep on his couch. He is in a soft yellow sweater and white sweatpants. You don't think he is wearing underwear underneath. There is a book covering his face and if he woke now, he could not see you.

It would be so easy.

You want to.

You want to reach out and stroke - softly - the place where his sweats bulge. You want to sink to your knees next to the couch and oh no, now you're doing it.

Your hand strokes him and he shifts, but does not wake. If you are careful, you might get him all worked up while he's still asleep. The thought excites you, makes a hot flash shoot through your lower belly.

He is at your mercy, finally. You've waited so long.

He is hardening underneath your palm. It's barely any effort to tug him out of his sweatpants and his cock is warm in your hand, slightly heavy.

He moans when you stroke him, experimentally, skin on skin. He might be awake and any second the book could fall and he would see your face. Game over. Gone would be the mystery.

“Wha–?” His voice is sleepy, deeper than usual, making you feel all sorts of complicated things.

“Shhh,” you tell him. “It's just me. Keep your face covered.”

“You…”

He presses one hand to the book, keeping it in place. He is not always a good boy, but this morning he is and you reward him by swirling your tongue around the head, taking him slowly into your mouth, sucking him down as far as you can.

You have been dreaming about this. Or something like this.

One of his hands, the one not on the book, tangles in your hair and applies just the slightest amount of pressure as you bob your head. You drool and let spit drop from your mouth and you hope you are wet and warm enough. You moan around his dick and Joe, Joe, he twitches, and you love this. You want Joe to cum in your mouth almost as much as you want to say “fuck the mystery”.

You want Joe inside you. Your pussy feels too empty.

“I'm gonna–” Joe warns after no more than a minute and you swallow around him, swallow down everything you can. Some of it drips out of your mouth but that's okay, that's alright.

You cum, stifling your cry against Joe's pillow, and you are not in the living room where Joe is sleeping but on his bed, in his bedroom, tangled in his sheets with your hand down the front of your jeans, fingers wet from where they've been circling your clit.

You sit up slowly and you are panting and you feel stupid. You could have been caught.

But you couldn’t help yourself. Not when you saw Joe like that. Vulnerable. All yours.

“Fuck…” you whisper.

You came here to leave Joe a gift and you make sure to wipe your fingers on the pages. He won't know, when he reads, that you left your need for him in this book, though he might know what you did just from looking at his bed.

Good. Let him.

Next time, you think, it won't be a fantasy. If this game goes on much longer, I'll simply have to bring him a blindfold.

It's far too exciting a thought.

I'll ride him. Make him cum inside me before he even knows my name.

The thought is too much and you have to leave, now, or you might throw the mystery to the wind.

You close the window before you go. He shouldn't have left it open. Any creep could come inside and do whatever they want to him.

And they can't. They're not allowed. Joe's all yours.

[floralhuqzz]

Mine, Not Yours (Joe Goldberg x reader(fem)

authors note: this chapter contains slight sfw

MASTERLIST

(Chapter 4: A Bitter Sting of Jealousy)

⸻

I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. The way fate moves. The way the pieces fall into place.

I spent the entire drive home, pretending I wasn’t thinking about you. About your laugh. About how you’ve been playing with that damn necklace again. My mind spins, replaying every moment like a movie I can’t stop watching.

But I don’t know why I’m surprised. This was always going to happen.

You. Noticing me.

As I pull into the driveway, the house is quiet. Love, my wife, and my son are in their own world. I could slip through the back door and let the night pass without so much as a whisper.

But instead, I stand at the foot of the stairs, staring at the window.

Your window.

And there you are.

I can’t believe I didn’t notice earlier. The way the streetlights hit your apartment. How your window—your curtains—are just open enough for me to see the silhouette of your figure moving inside.

I step closer. Just a few meters away. Too close. But I don’t care. I watch you. I’m mesmerized by how you move in that space. How your form dances in the soft light, unknowing of the eyes fixed on you.

But then… you turn.

And our eyes meet.

For a second, I feel the air thin. Tighten. Like the world is holding its breath.

You don’t look away.

You don’t look scared.

You look… intrigued.

Interested.

There’s no hesitation. No rush to pull the curtain shut or retreat from the moment. You simply look at me. Eyes wide but soft. You see me, don’t you? You know I’m here. Watching. Waiting.

And just when I think you might turn away—when I think you might break the spell—you do something I wasn’t ready for.

You pull your shirt over your head.

Slowly.

Your movements precise, deliberate.

And I can’t breathe.

The soft curve of your shoulders. The exposed skin. The lace of your bra, barely hidden beneath the dim light.

Is this real?

You glance back at me.

A smile—soft, knowing, and just a little wicked.

And then, with a final look, you close the curtains.

Leaving me standing there. Breathless.

What just happened?

Was that an invitation? A challenge? Or something else entirely?

I don’t know.

But I can’t stop thinking about it.

And I can’t ignore the fact that you’ve just crossed a line. A line I wasn’t even sure existed.

The game has changed.

And now I’m all in.

⸻

A few days have passed, but I can still feel the weight of what happened. What you did. What you allowed me to see.

Every time I close my eyes, it’s there—your silhouette, your bra, that smile. It lingers, teasing me, but never fully fading.

I try to ignore it. I really do.

But you’ve left an impression, and now, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about you.

⸻

It’s a Saturday morning. I wake up next to Love—her hair spilling over the pillow, soft and innocent, like nothing’s wrong. I try to focus on her. On us. I want to be present. But my mind, as always, drifts.

Love stirs. She reaches over, her hand running down my arm. A casual touch. Her voice, soft and sleepy, fills the quiet room.

“You okay?” she asks.

I nod, giving her a quick smile. “Just tired.”

“From what?”

I force a laugh, shaking my head. “Work stuff.”

She raises an eyebrow, but the exhaustion on my face seems to satisfy her, and she pulls me closer. She kisses me, slow and warm. The same routine. The same safe, predictable rhythm.

But even as she holds me, even as I let her touch me, I feel the faintest pull in another direction.

I push it aside.

⸻

A few hours later, I find myself at the bookstore again. It’s quiet. The morning rush hasn’t yet hit, and I’m left with nothing but the scent of old paper and dust.

I’m stocking a shelf when I hear it.

The doorbell.

I don’t have to look to know who it is.

You.

I turn just in time to see you walk in, the soft click of your boots echoing in the stillness. You’re wearing a loose sweater, your hair in a messy bun, and you look casual. But there’s something about you. Something in the way you hold yourself.

You see me and smile. Not just any smile—this one is different. A little too knowing, a little too aware.

“Hey, Joe,” you say, walking over like you’ve got all the time in the world.

I try to focus. I try to stay calm. But I can feel my pulse racing.

I’m not in control anymore.

You stand next to me, glancing at the books I’ve been putting away. “I’m looking for something… darker today,” you say, your voice almost a purr. “Something that will make me think… and feel.”

I swallow, my mouth dry.

“I know just the thing,” I reply, pulling a book off the shelf. I slide it toward you. You take it, but your fingers brush mine, just for a second.

I feel it. The spark. The tension.

You feel it, too.

Your eyes lock with mine. And for a moment, everything else fades. The bookstore, the noise outside, the world.

It’s just us.

You shift closer, just a fraction. I inhale, trying to steady myself, but it’s getting harder to ignore how badly I want to step closer, to close the gap between us.

Your eyes flicker to the door. “I can’t stay long,” you say, voice softening. “I have plans later.”

I force a smile. “Plans?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” you reply, your smile faltering just for a moment. “With a friend.”

Friend.

Something shifts in me. Something dark.

And then, the bell rings again, and I hear Love’s voice.

“Joe, honey, where are you?”

I glance over my shoulder, my heart sinking. Love walks into the store, a smile on her face, oblivious to what just passed between us.

She walks straight up to me and kisses me on the cheek, like we’re just another couple on a lazy Saturday morning. But I can feel you watching.

I know you saw it.

And for a split second, I wonder if you feel anything like I do.

Maybe you didn’t mean to… but I saw it. Your eyes darken for just a fraction of a second. You look away, not entirely, but enough for me to catch it.

It’s a warning.

You’re challenging me.

You’re pushing me to the edge.

But I can’t let go. Not yet. Not when everything is still so fragile.

Love leans into me, her fingers brushing my arm. “Are we still going for dinner tonight?” she asks, oblivious to the tension thickening the air.

I nod, tearing my eyes away from you, trying to push you out of my thoughts. But it’s no use.

You’ve already marked me.

And now, we both know.

This isn’t going to end cleanly.

⸻

I watch Love leave the bookstore, the soft jingle of the doorbell barely registering in my mind. She’s gone.

But that’s not what’s burning inside me right now.

It’s you.

You, standing a few feet away, browsing through a shelf. You look so comfortable, so unaffected. But I know you’re not. Not completely.

You just said you had plans with a friend. I can’t forget the way you said it. So casual, but it lingered in the air. The slight emphasis on “friend,” like it meant more than what you were letting on.

Is it someone else? Someone I don’t know? Someone I can’t control?

I try to shake the thought. It’s ridiculous. It’s dangerous to even let it take root. But no matter how I try to force my focus back on the bookshelves, it’s there.

A knot in my stomach. A tightening in my chest.

I know what it is. It’s jealousy.

The same jealousy that always threatens to boil over. That same possessiveness that runs too deep. I hate it. I can feel the darkness trying to claw its way to the surface. I’ve been here before. I know what happens when I let it get too strong. When I let it drive me.

But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s you.

You’re the one I need to protect.

Because if something happens to you—no, when something happens to you—I won’t let it. Not again.

I’ve seen how the world chews people up. I’ve watched it tear apart the fragile things that can’t defend themselves. I won’t let that happen to you.

Not while I’m here.

My eyes flicker to the door, watching for Love’s retreating figure as she disappears into the afternoon. The seconds stretch, and the moment I feel her absence settle, I know.

I can’t let you be with someone else.

Not when I’ve just barely scratched the surface of what could be between us.

“Joe?” Your voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts, and I snap my attention back to you.

I find you standing close now, too close. But it’s not the distance that has me frozen. It’s the way you look at me.

Those eyes, wide and searching. There’s something in them. A curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your fingers nervously brushing your hair behind your ear. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

You didn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that my chest is tight and my thoughts are getting more dangerous by the second.

“I—uh—I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I was just asking if you’ve read any of the latest mystery novels. I was thinking of getting one.”

I force myself to focus on your words. To ground myself in this. In you.

“The latest ones?” I ask, swallowing the rising tension. “I haven’t, but I can recommend something if you’d like.”

You give me a soft smile, but there’s a trace of something else behind it. Something that tells me you know exactly what’s happening here.

I offer you a book, watching your fingers brush mine again. You don’t pull away.

But the air between us feels different now. The lingering electricity from before, the undeniable connection, it’s all still there—rising, building.

But then, just as I’m about to lean in, just as I’m about to break the barrier between us, you take a step back.

“Actually,” you say, your voice quieter. “I should really go. I don’t want to be late meeting my friend.”

Friend.

There’s that word again.

And it hits me like a punch to the gut. My pulse spikes. My hands go cold. And that’s when I realize.

I don’t like this.

I don’t like this at all.

You walk toward the door, but I don’t move. I just stand there, watching, feeling this gnawing sensation at the back of my throat. You pause just before the door, turning your head slightly.

“See you around, Joe,” you call out, voice light.

You don’t wait for a response.

And I’m left standing there, my breath shallow. The jealousy, the rage, the sense of protectiveness only grows stronger. I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it.

I know what happens when someone else has their hands on what’s mine.

And I won’t let that happen with you.

⸻

I’m sitting in the kitchen, pretending to read a book, pretending everything is fine, when I hear it.

It’s faint at first—just the soft sound of laughter—but it gets louder as the seconds pass. It’s coming from your window. I can’t help it. I look up.

There you are.

I see you through the crack in the blinds. Your back is to me, but I can see him. Him.

A guy. Younger than me. Probably just some stupid boy who thinks he has a chance with you. I can hear his voice now, that casual arrogance, making you laugh. My teeth grind together. I shouldn’t be looking. I know I shouldn’t, but my eyes won’t leave the window. It’s like watching a slow-motion disaster, something I can’t look away from.

What are you doing, [Y/N]?

You’re sitting close to him on your bed, and I see the way his hand rests on your shoulder. You don’t pull away. You don’t seem to mind. You laugh again, but this time it sounds different. It’s flirtatious, light.

I want to look away. I need to look away, but I can’t. I’m stuck. My body is frozen as I watch his hand slide down your arm, and I feel a sick, twisted feeling in my stomach.

Is this what it is? Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to make me jealous?

I see him lean in. My blood runs cold as I watch him kiss your neck. My neck. That was supposed to be me. That was my spot.

But it’s not. It’s him.

I clench my fists so tightly, my knuckles turning white. I can barely breathe. I feel this rage building inside me, thick and suffocating. It twists like a knot in my gut. I shouldn’t be this angry. I know it. I know it. But I don’t care.

It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to let him touch you. You’re not supposed to let him kiss you like that.

You moan.

The sound hits me like a physical blow. It’s low, breathy, and I feel my heart stutter in my chest.

I can’t stand it. I can’t watch it anymore. I don’t know what’s worse—the way my chest tightens with jealousy or the way I can’t stop myself from looking, from watching this boy run his hands all over you like he owns you.

But you don’t see me. You don’t know I’m here, hidden behind this thin layer of wood and glass, watching everything unfold.

The boy moves closer, leaning in to kiss you again, and this time I can hear it—the sound of your lips pressing together. I see your eyes close, your face flush with heat. But I don’t feel relief. I don’t feel anything but rage.

Are you enjoying this?

Is this how it was supposed to happen?

Was he always meant to be the one to kiss you, to touch you like I wanted to? I was supposed to be the one with you, making you feel things, not him. Not this kid who doesn’t know what to do with someone like you. He doesn’t deserve you.

He doesn’t deserve you.

But maybe you want him. Maybe you want him the way you’ve never wanted me. Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself, thinking there was something between us, something more than just the games you’re playing.

I feel my jaw tighten. I want to break something. I want to scream. But I don’t. I just watch. And as much as it hurts, I can’t look away.

I can’t stop myself.

It feels like a betrayal, but it’s not. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

You pull away from him for a moment. Your breath is shaky. You look at him, and he grins at you.

You smile back.

That’s it. That’s what breaks me.

It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care. But I do.

It was meant to be me.

Not him.

I’m not stupid. I know what this is. I know I’ve been living in some fantasy, thinking you and I had something more than just the stolen glances and casual encounters. But this… this is real. This is happening. And you’re choosing him.

I turn away from the window, my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t know what to do with the anger, the frustration, the desire that’s swirling inside me.

I want to feel something—anything. But all I feel is that aching emptiness. The same emptiness I’ve always felt when I’m left behind.

But I won’t be left behind. Not with you.

Not again.

I take one last look at your window, watching as the boy pulls you closer again. Your head falls back, and he kisses your neck once more. I can’t stop myself from imagining myself in his place. The way I would touch you. The way I would make you mine.

You might be with him now. But I won’t let it stay that way.

⸻