#thank you so much for this dri

[flowercrowngods]

you said soft things so have this little thing very loosely based on how my first birthday after I moved away from home to live hours away from my family my brother got me a flower delivery thing each month for half a year. So for six months I had the same guy deliver flowers to me, it wasn’t anything but like… it could be, I can make it steddie (it’s 3:30 am and I wrote this in my notes so sorry for any mistakes)

So, Steve who moved kind of far away for college and is living in a shitty student apartment and hasn’t decorated it a lot and Robin thinks he needs something nice to look at every day and something to remind him he has people that loves him when he convinces himself that they’ve forgotten about him now that he’s away. So she gets him a flower delivery once a month with notes saying encouraging messages or bad jokes, sometimes a tiny update. It helps him, he’s not doing badly or anything and actually enjoys studying but he misses his friends.

Then we have Eddie who’s the flower delivery guy, it’s his side job, or it’s his main job and then he also gets payed to play some gigs sometimes. Either way, he delivers flowers. Mostly it’s to old people from their grandchildren, for birthdays, and from someone’s partner, often a partner that has fucked up (he also hand writes the messages that come in with the order and he’s had to write some very pleading apology ones in his time)

He has a monthly order to the same guy, the same gorgeous guy who last time opened the door looking so soft with glasses sliding down his nose and hair all messy and holding a cup of half drunk coffee and gave him such a warm smile he almost proposed to this stranger on the spot.

Every month he’s both so excited to deliver his flowers and also dreads it because he’s 99% sure this guys girlfriend sends them, that they’re long distance and she gets him flowers every month with little notes that he has to write, this month it was ‘I scraped up my whole leg climbing up the tree outside my window sneaking back into my room, I don’t know how you used to do that all the time.’ So like, obviously high school sweethearts if he used to sneak into her room.

So, it’s great because he gets to see this guy who’s stupidly pretty and always gets this wondrous look on his face like he’s still in awe about the flowers months in and that’s honestly the highlight of Eddie’s day. But, it’s awful because he also has to hand him flowers from someone else knowing he’s just some insignificant middle man.

Steve at this point gets more excited about the guy who delivers the flowers than the flowers, he loves them and all but this guy who comes every month and with a dimpled smile hands them over is taking over his brain. He doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable by asking him out though, like he’s doing his job and it feels inappropriate.

He complains to Robin who time after time tells him to just ask the guy out, if he says no it may be a little awkward but it’s a tiny interaction once a month it’s fine. Steve knows she’s right but still doesn’t, is afraid to break the spell of their monthly exchange. Robin grows tired of his pining though and the next time she places an order she makes the note ‘the guy who gets the flowers wants to ask the delivery guy out but keeps chickening out so I’m doing it for him: Delivery guy with bangs and ‘the prettiest brown eyes’ will you go out with Steve?’

Eddie reads that message of the order, has to write that message out with wide confused eyes and hope rising in his chest. When Steve opens his door he shoves the flowers at him and blurts out “I thought you were dating Robin”

Steve gives him a confused look, which yeah of course he does, so Eddie takes a breath and tells him to read the note. The confusion on Steve’s face slowly fades and is replaces with red cheeks and a sheepish smile.

He clears his throat and glances up at Eddie. “She’s my best friend,” he tells him, “may or may not get to keep that title depending on how this goes.”

Eddie is feeling too many things to say more than a breathy, “yes.” At Steve’s raised eyebrow though he clarifies.

“Yes I’ll go out with you.” Then a sudden horrifying thought hits him, “if you actually want that and your friend isn’t joking or got it wrong or-“

“Does 8 o’clock tonight work for you?”

Eddie nods and Steve’s smile gets wider with each frantic jerk of his chin.

“It’s a date then.”

and then on their first date, eddie gets flowers for the first time. doesn’t have to deliver them, doesn’t have to give them away, no, these ones are his to keep, and he allows himself to take a deep breath for the first time, getting to enjoy the way they smell, the way he always watched people do. never once taking his eyes off steve, who watches with a smile. 🥹

[maiios]

What do the iterators do in their freetime? do they have any hobbies, like drawing or singing? -star anon!!

part (1/2) - suns & moon

yes! they have multiple hobbies they enjoy to pass the time :]

[softquietsteadylove]

Ohhh Gil, after being rescued by Thena 2 days ago, has nightmares wich she learns when she decided to stay for one night because it was storming outside. She has trouble waking him up but then she comforts him and learns about the story behind his claustrophobia.

For the wildfire one please

"No! No, help! Please, someone--anyone!"

Thena jolted awake. She was used to doing so when she was out in the wild, but she was at Gil's. It was storming outside in a decidedly angry way. She had radioed it into the towers and made her way to the cabin so as not to roast her ass with lightning (again).

"No! No!!"

Gil was in his bed, absolutely thrashing. The sheets look like they had taken on the fight with him and lost. He was covered in sweat. And he really sounded truly scared for his life.

He sounded like he had when he got locked in the cellar.

"Please!"

Thena threw herself off the recliner in front of the fire and rushed over to him. His pleas for help really did sound visceral and terrified. She all but slid on her knees to the bedside. "Gil!"

"I can't-!" he was full on screaming, and that was when he wasn't gasping for breath or panting from trying to scream with no air in his lungs. He was clawing at the t-shirt sticking to his skin.

"Gil, wake up!" she barked, shaking him by the chest. Those muscles were heavy, but she knew that from when he had latched onto her, hugging for dear life. She shook harder, digging her nails into his chest. "Gil!"

"Please, please, someone help!" he gasped. He was hyperventilating in his sleep now.

This wasn't good. He would cut off his own air at this rate. Thena shook him more roughly, pressing down on his heart. "Gil, come on! Wake up, just breathe! It's me!"

He flinched as she pressed harder. It wasn't gentle, but she was going to wake him from his nightmare no matter the cost. She winced, "sorry, big fella."

Gil shot up in bed as her palm connected with his cheek. He took deep, gasping breaths, his hand over where she had tried to claw her way through to his heart. "Wh-Wh-Wha-"

"Hey, it's me, just breathe," she whispered, putting her hands on his cheeks and forcing him to look her in the eye. The sky was quite light from the furious storm happening outside, not to mention the occasional lightning bringing a glow to the room every few minutes.

Her thumb traced over his cheek. She did feel bad for having to slap him like that.

"Th-Thena?" Gil gasped, gulping in between breaths. His throat was dry and rough from all his screaming. "What's-?"

She sighed heavily. He really scared her with that episode. She patted his cheek again before reaching for his canteen. "It's okay, just take a second, right?"

He nodded, accepting it from her and gulping the water down greedily. He tipped it up to get the last of it.

"Hey," she frowned, pulling it away from him to prevent him from waterboarding himself. "Not so fast or you'll hurl it up again."

He let her take it from him at least, slumping against the headboard. "Sorry, I must have scared the shit of you."

He sure did. But she settled back as well, sitting on one foot with the other dangling off his bed. "What was that?"

He scratched at his neck uncomfortably. "Never had a nightmare before?"

But she didn't take his little joke lying down, nor did she think he would expect her to. "Gil."

Just his name from her lips made him get the sad puppy eyes on again. The big guy had absolutely no ability to hide his feelings at all. He sagged. "I'm sorry I woke you up like this."

"Gil," she prompted him again, even moving closer. The bed really was a mess. "I've never seen you like that before."

He nodded, accepting that this conversation was happening, no matter what. "I don't get them as often as I used to. It happened probably ten years ago, now."

She furrowed her brows; he knew what scars she had from work--everyone did. But she had no idea he had anything that had sparked his intense claustrophobia.

"I was on search and rescue, and cave duty, as luck would have it," he started slowly, still trying to smile through it and deliver the story lightly. His hands were picking at his blanket pulled over his lap again. "We got everyone out, but when I was checking to make sure we got to the back of it, there was a tremor. The front of it caved in. I wasn't crushed, but it was worse--it took them a week to dig me out."

A week trapped in a cave could drive the best of them insane, no matter what training they had. Thena shivered at the thought.

"They tried to communicate with me. I was able to make small fires if I really needed the warmth. But the dark, the dripping of the water in there, not knowing when - or if - I would get out of there..."

Thena bit her lip, trying to think of what to say. Gil cleared his throat, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes again. Just the story was enough to have him in tears again. And she could see why.

"I was always kind of nervous about enclosed spaces, but since then," he shook his head, "I just can't. That, uh, that's actually why I moved here to the cabin."

That was why he didn't live at the station? She had always assumed it was simply a byproduct of his strength and ability to do both search and rescue and active duty fire fighting.

"I couldn't live at the station anymore," he admitted quietly. "There are so few windows, the rooms are so small and dark-"

"I know," she interjected, rushing to keep him from going on about something that so clearly pained him. She even reached over and put her hand over his in her haste. "It's okay, Gil."

He laughed faintly, sniffling up the last of his tears. "Real cool, huh?--a firefighter who can't be indoors for too long?"

She shook her head. It wasn't nearly the embarrassment he thought it was. The fact that he had come back to it after an event like that was exemplary. Something like that would have most of their own applying for retirement, if not an extended leave of absence. "I was a firefighter who couldn't go into fire."

Gil's jaw bobbed in his hurry to denounce the shit she was talking about herself.

But she smiled, tucking her stray leg up on the bed as well. "The rumours were half true--I did have a hard loss after a search and rescue gone wrong. I lost a family--even the kids."

"Thena-"

She pressed on; if she didn't get it out now, she never would. "I was separated from everyone, trying to read the wind in the middle of a dry lightning storm. I read it wrong and...this whole family just got...swallowed up--right in front of me. I tried to go in and get them but it happened too fast. They were already gone."

She shivered again. It was no wonder she had failed her psych eval after that--she would still fail it today, she was quite sure.

"We've all had losses," he assured her, also touching her hand in solidarity. "They're all hard. No one could blame you for needing time after that."

She shook her head, swiping her tears away before they could fall. If anything, Gil was stronger than her not just for going back to work in a way she couldn't, but for allowing himself the weakness to cry over it. "I tried, but...I chose perimeter duty. I let the rumors run wild because it was easier than explaining the truth--that I didn't know if I could ever go into a live one every again."

Gil reached and, to her horror, she wondered if he would wipe away some tears that had escaped her. But he caught the last of the trail of one, and then pushed her bangs away from falling over her forehead. She made a face. He chuckled, "you're tougher than you think you are."

"I am tough," she countered.

"You are," he agreed, smiling more like himself. "And you're even tougher than that, because you could have walked away completely."

She eyed him. She had never told anyone the complete story of her exile--not even her boys knew the whole story. No one needed to know, as far as she was concerned. "You didn't."

He shrugged, "I did, in a way. But you also stayed--because you had to, right? Because thinking of leaving the fight all together just isn't right to you, is it? Because you wanted to do what you could, even if it was doing daily routes and telling campers to put out fires. Because that still helps."

That sounded like some touchy-feely-bullshit if she ever heard it. But it didn't feel as condescending as it did from her old Chief, or as pitying as it did from her second hand when she had left the unit to him. Because Gil was so genuine with everything he did and said.

"So, we both have our shit," he shrugged. How did this become him cheering her up? "So what?"

She laughed faintly. He had heard her scream herself out of a horrific nightmare or two in their time together. He had never asked, and she had always been thankful for it. Now, she had returned the favour, so that was that.

"We're both tougher than that, right?"

She tilted her head. She had to admit, she didn't mind Gil knowing the truth of her story. He wasn't the type to whisper, and he had been nothing but sweet to her since they met, even when she was just a white wolf passing through his backyard silently. "Right."

Lightning lit the sides of their faces again, drawing their eyes to the window. Before the thunder followed, she frowned. He rubbed his cheek, "you don't pull punches, huh?"

The thunder rattled the window, but she didn't jump from the sound of it. She smiled, "shaking you wasn't doing the trick."

"Thank you."

She blinked, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "For slapping you?"

"For waking me up, no matter what," he clarified with another pat on her shoulder. "I appreciate it. And, y'know, if you want me to return the favour, I will."

She wasn't sure about that. But she nodded, accepting the kindness for what it was. She patted the hand of his on her shoulder. "Can we go back to sleep now?"

"Sure," he sighed heavily, going back to watching the storm. "If you think you can."

He had a point. They were exhausted, but they were also wide awake after all the excitement, and the heart-to-heart. She sighed. "We should try, at least."

"Yeah, guess you're right."

She looked at the big guy again, catching the sad, lonely puppy eye routine. He looked so pitiful sitting in his own bed. She rolled her eyes, so he would know she was being reluctant about it. "We can sit up for a bit--just a little!"

"If you're okay with it." He couldn't have sounded more excited about it.

She glared at him as she crawled over to the inside of the bed, slipping into the spot where she had spent plenty of time (without him also in the bed). "We are not making a habit of this."

"'Course not," he volunteered, just happy to have a little company. He even shimmied closer to the edge of the bed, to allow her more space to be comfortable.

Thena settled down and closed her eyes. Unfortunately, the bed really was quite comfortable, and it was terribly hard to resist letting its plush warmth lull her into sleep again. "Big softie."

"Yeah, that's me," he lamented with a big grin on his face. He also settled in again, propped up with his pillow and keeping his ankles crossed. He looked up at the ceiling. "Thanks, Thena."

"Hm," she tried to make it sound disgruntled (so he wouldn't think they were going to get all cuddly like this again). Her feet just barely brushed his sweatpants as she bent her knees.

"I'm glad you were here."

She was too. She knew those nightmares, that feeling of drowning in your own mind. She wouldn't wish it on anyone, and she had certainly experienced enough of them in the cold, quiet of camping alone.

Gil settled in and closed his eyes, lying on his back and with his upper half propped up in not that comfortable a way. He even had his arms crossed for personal space reasons. But he looked deeply happy.

Thena closed her eyes, resolving not to peek at him anymore. She frowned, listening to the sheets swishing, "my feet are cold."

That was the only reason she was pressing them up against his at the base of the bed, letting him know that she was right there.

"Sure."

[ask-the-invincible-crew]

Gunther's a very generous guy during Valentine's Day! :D

[nelyoslegalteam]

I don’t know murdoc but I still want to know!! hit us with #7: what do they smell like?

black tea. bergamot. lavender. vanilla. maybe just a little bit of orange blossom.

... it's london fog. murdoc smells like london fog to me. specifically london fog made with lavender earl grey. i imagine he wouldn't use perfumes or scented oils or anything like that on himself - that's far too much sensory input - but he creates and blends brews of tea. so i imagine he smells like his craft, as one tends to do.

it helps not only that he likes the smell of tea, but that he always has tea on him, or at least in arm's reach. tea is comforting to him. tea scents are comforting, good sensory input. and you never know when you might need to brew up a nice, warm cup for someone who needs it.

so yeah lmao boy's got tea leaves in his pockets. at least he smells good kjdhfdskjsm.

and thank you so much for indulging me!!! since you've said you don't know him - murdoc is my hobbit bard player character in @potatoobsessed999's tolkienverse d&d campaign, the mirkwood campaign!! i've uh. talked about him quite a bit, if you want to check this out. or this. or this. x3

[daddy-long-legssss]

me after three days of in-person meetings and team-building activities.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

⚠️ - If this oc came with a warning sign, what would it be? ☔ - How does this oc feel about rain? -> for lucius

🦷 - Would this oc ever bite someone? 💛 - Are they ‘good with children’, or more awkward? -> for an oc of your choice!

hello!! thanks for asking!! referencing this post:

⚠️ - If this oc came with a warning sign, what would it be? (lucius)

"CAUTION: CLEVER DUMBASS" in the biggest, brightest, UV-flecked letters out there (fine print: "this individual WILL do inadvisable shit at the drop of a birdkid off a cliff, no you will not have time to blink, yes he can safely fall that far, no that's not the only thing that will surprise you, proceed with caution")

☔ - How does this oc feel about rain? (lucius)

he loves non-compulsory rain, by which i mean he likes to Enjoy and Appreciate Storms, but he does NOT (!!) appreciate being required to Do Things in it. he likes to curl up with a book and tea when it's real bad out there, and he has been known to enjoy the occasional rainy run on his own terms, but he WILL make Very Bad Decisions if someone oasis demands that he Participate In Activities In Rain.

🦷 - Would this oc ever bite someone? (dealer's choice)

jorge has and would (although not lately). driscoll, my beloved monster child to whom i am returning next month, has one (1) close call, and feels bad about it for the rest of their very long life. (jury's still out on whether or not FarFuture!Driscoll bites marshall or crimson, although i'm currently leaning toward nah--biting your fellow semi-eldritch horrors is the recourse of those who can't do Weirder Shit although we could do Weird Biting, i spose.)

💛 - Are they ‘good with children’, or awkward? (dealer's choice)

jorge is good with kids! driscoll actually is, too, although they sometimes feel awkward around them (because driscoll can't always tell how old a kid is and/or how much they can handle, and dealing with Tiny Humans and their Huge Feelings during Active Misplacement Events with a side of Monster Activity is. fraught.).

thanks again for asking!!

[simcardiac-arrested]

hey, i understand if you don't have the energy/motivation, and i don't want to force you. but i think you should consider exercising a little! even if its just 30 seconds. you might find that moving around actually makes you feel better than not moving! i personally get exercise in by (sometimes) pacing around when i'm deep in thought; maybe taking a walk outside and/or listening to a nice audiobook could work for you? (sorry if im making you uncomfortable! and feel free to call out bad behavior

i don’t think this is a weird or bad thing to say at all. thank you so much for this ask. like actually

[magistralucis]

@love-and-pigeons​!

.

[ID: A black cat stepping into an open pizza box. Right onto the pizza.]

[artcalledpourbrush]

That Mace Bitch

Chai, please!!!!

[hauntingblue]

This volume is called ace's introduction. Nothing more to say.

"You hire comedians here?" He is so funny....

Who's gonna tell him..... He literally will never get a break

Ace being so proud of Luffy not accepting to join and being a little shit... Also right here is where I got ROBBED of my acesan content.... Also he does fight whitebeard... In marineford... GOD!!!!!

GOOOD TAKE ME INSTEAD!!!! TAKE MEEEE!!!! AAAAHHHHHHHH

You cannot see me but I am on the floor on my knees and I am crying and sobbing and hitting my chest asking the gods to spare him

[tumble-tv]

ICE raids are happening.

Any immigrants, no matter how long you have been a citizen of the USA, is at risk of being deported either out of the country as a whole or into what are basically concentration camps. Raids starting in Chicago, Illinois. and spreading to other major cities with high POC and Hispanic populations. The US Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) have started raiding homes and families in California.

There are no "protected locations" as of January 21, 2025. Hospitals, schools, and churches are all at risk of being raided, where before these places were deemed safe and off limits to raids.

When it comes to spotting an ICE agent, look for these:

Weirdly neat/well kept hair (shaved heads, side parts, military burs for men; low buns, high ponytails, close cropped bobs for women)

Oversized jacket (long and bulky outerwear makes it easier to hide tools/equipment without being suspicious)

Both hands in pockets

Many undercover agents/cops buy cheap plain clothes off the racks so they aren’t seen in their own clothes. This can make their outfit seem awkward

Sweatshirts with the hood up

Sports apparel (warm up jacket, sweats, etc) with non-sports clothes (jeans, cargo shorts)

Cargo pants/shorts (usually full of items like their badge, flashlight, taser, pepper spray, backup handcuffs, zip ties)

Military or hiking style boots, sometimes chunky sneakers (extra points if none of it matches anything in their outfit)

Outline of a gun in their pants/shirt (easy to see when bending, leaning, or raising arms) (NO NOT SAY ANYTHING)

Overly friendly

Overly inquisitive

“How old are you” and “what do you know about this happening” are both red flags, along with generally odd and personal questions

Don’t fit in

Mismatched pairs in public spaces (usually cops do these things in pairs. They don’t talk to each other or acknowledge each other much, if at all)

DO NOT SAY ANYTHING UNTIL YOU ARE 100% SURE

YOUR BEST BET IS NOT TO SAY ANYTHING UNTIL THE SUSPECT STARTS ACTING OFF AND GETTING PUSHY

COPS ARE NOT OBLIGATED TO TELL YOU THAT THEY ARE UNDERCOVER

COPS CAN AND WILL LIE TO YOU

SCREAM “LA MIGRA” AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS

For protesting:

N95 masks

Respirator/gas mask if you have access to one

Water water water water water (I hate to say it, but disposable one use bottles are best here. If it comes to it, you need to be able to drop and run.) Use for flushing wounds, flushing eyes of tear gas, and of course drinking.

Snacks! You'll be doing a lot of walking and/or running and need to keep that energy up. Trail mix, dried fruit, nuts, granola bars, crackers, jerky/meat sticks, fruit snacks, candy, etc. Think of it like packing your lunchbox for a field trip.

Eyedrops (teargas is a bitch)

Goggles (I bring my old snowboarding goggles)

If you are wearing a t-shirt or have exposed skin, put on fake/temporary tattoos. If you are brought into something and they say you were there, showing a picture of you with the tattoos, show them where that tattoo would be and how there’s nothing there. How would you get rid of a giant flower on your forearm in 2 days anyways?

Wigs fall under the same category as tattoos. The person they're claiming to be you has a blonde bob and you have green hair past your shoulders.It also makes it possible to go with a completely different color without the use of hair dye. This means if they try to arrest you later and try to prove it was you by taking your hair and testing for dye, it won't come back the way they hope. (Thank you @violetrosepetals for this addition!)

Hide your hair. I tuck my hair into my beanie since it’s short. If you have longer hair, try to do the same or tuck it into your shirt. Balaclavas are also a good choice, as they cover both your face and hair.

Power bank

Chargers

Helmet. Any is fine, my personal choice is a skating helmet since they’re rounder and can take more damage, but tactical is also good

Hand sanitizer

Gloves with hard knuckles (tactical gloves). These pack a good punch even if you don't have the correct form. Don't have those? Wrist guards for roller skating/skateboarding work kinda like that too. More of a slapping motion, but still hurt like a bitch. Extra points if they're all scuffed up from use and falls.

Bandanas. Somebody might need one for their face or hair, maybe you need to get dirt off somebody’s face, maybe somebody got injured. They’re great for anything and everything.

Cash (try to stick to cash, your card can be tracked)

Medications if you take them. If you get arrested or happen to somehow be away for longer than expected after the protest, it’s always good to have emergency meds

FIRST AID ALL THE FIRST AID (Tourniquet, Quikclot, chest seal, trauma shears, gauze, bandages, duct tape, and all the usual stuff you’d have in there)

Good shoes. Boots and sneakers are your best choices. Not heels, not platforms, not sandals. Good boots or shoes that won't come off your feet too easily when you run. Steel toed shoes are a great option. Your toes won't be squashed, but also it'll hurt someone a lot more if you start kicking.

Spare socks. Trust me. You can use them to stop bleeding if it comes to it, but also you can put rocks in there and boom weapon. Also if the socks you're wearing get wet.

As much covering clothing as you can handle. Plain jeans, plain hoodie, plain t-shirt, keep yourself as anonymous as possible. Black and baggy is best.

Photocopy of your ID, not your real one.

Sunscreen!

Make sure your clothes have pockets, even if you have a bag. You want everything to be easily accessible.

Do not wear contact lenses. If tear gas is used, that will make everything so much worse. Wear your glasses or go blind. If you have overly unique or identifiable frames, goggles are your friend here. Get some goggles that will fit over your frames, preferably ones that are tinted.

If you use mobility aids, cover defining features. Logos, brand names, colors, stickers, all of it. Take some old plain t-shirt and tie it around your wheelchair’s backrest. Wrap your wheelchair frame in cling wrap, then duct tape, or plain black self adhering medical tape. Cover stickers on your cane or crutches the same way. Electric chair? You have a little more work, but you can do it. Wrap it up. Same idea. Walker? Same thing. Cover. It. All.

If you are bringing a bag, make sure that bag is as plain as possible. No pins. No patches. No keychains. Except maybe a pride flag so people know which team you're playing on.

Scarf or keffiyeh if you have one. They have many uses!

Write a reliable phone number (of someone who is not at the protest with you) on your body. On the off chance you get arrested, that is your emergency contact.

Pocket knife.

Pepper spray/mace/bear spray

if you get tear gassed, shake around first before using water. Most tear gas is more of a powder and water has a high likelihood of just spreading it around. (Thank you @actually-a-bread-loaf for this addition!)

Tennis rackets also work wonderfully for chucking tear gas canisters back at those throwing them. Anybody asks, you're going out to play tennis with friends later. Baseball bats also work! (Thank you @azul-nova-24 for this addition!)

Anything you can throw. Soup for my family.

IF YOU CAN, LEAVE YOUR PHONE AT HOME

IF YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT WITH YOU, TURN OFF LOCATION SERVICES ON ALL APPS AND TURN OFF BIOMETRICS (FACE ID AND FINGERPRINT) SO YOU CAN ONLY UNLOCK YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR PASSWORD

COPS CAN FORCE YOU TO OPEN YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR FINGERPRINT OR FACE ID

MAKE SURE SOMEBODY KNOWS GENERALLY WHERE YOU ARE

If you see a potential or active raid, take pictures and note the time and location. Post online if you can, as well.

You have the right to remain silent. State that you wish to remain silent. Avoid giving information about anybody's immigration status. You have the right to refuse to sign anything before speaking to an attorney. You have the right to refuse searches of your car, your home, and yourself. Schools do not collect a child's immigration status.

I do not want to scare anybody, but this is what life is right now. That man does not care how long you have been a citizen of this country. If you are not a white, cisgender, heterosexual, Christian male, you are seen as less than by men in power. You are not less than. You are a threat to them, and they are scared. Keep it that way.

Even if you're not currently protesting, it's good to know this just in case. Things are happening very quickly, and there is a very high chance of it changing very quickly within the next four years.

Here's the link to my post on what to bring in terms of first aid.

If you cannot attend protests, that’s fine. Do what’s best for you. Even just reposting information helps.

This is an updated version of this post,

Updated January 27, 2025.

[maiios]

your rw dried au looks so neat! i love the character designs :D how's the little 'wet mouse' themself doing in the more arid environment? does riv have any problems with drying out?

"Ruffles has had no concerning effects regarding the searing weather, especially since we have been residing in my fallen superstructure. It still has copious amounts of water in the rooms underground, as it would be harder for the weather to evaporate the water down there, so they should be fine!"

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 4 | masterlist

-

There’s nothing else to do but pretend it didn’t happen. 

In the morning, you’re surprised to wake up and find him in the bed next to you, still covered in old sweat and dried cum. You suppose even in your sleep you’d unconsciously expected him to avoid the incident altogether—wake up extra early to shower while leaving you alone in the bed, giving you a modicum of privacy to digest the situation and its repercussions on your own.

He does no such thing.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John rumbles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Feeling alright?”

Dangling precariously over the edge of oblivion. Some kind of abyss. The kind that says you might not like what’s down here, girlie, but still you sit by the edge and kick your feet. 

“Yeah,” you croak, and Lord, your voice is hoarse. Scratchy and rough, like it’s been dragged over sandpaper. 

“Good.” He lets his hand rest on the curve of your cheek for a second before pulling it away. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll shower after.”

The bed groans under his weight when he sits up, throwing his legs over the side before rising to his feet. You quickly avert your eyes at the sight of his naked backside, hairy there as well. A bear all over. Even his yawn reminds you of one. And the way that he stretches his arms overhead and every bone in his upper body cricks and cracks, the sounds of age manifold. 

You scrub yourself with shaky hands in the shower, gnawing at your bottom lip when you spread your puffy folds to find his cum still slightly tacky inside of you. Very bad. Scooping as much out as you can with your fingers, watching it run down the drain. Very bad indeed. 

John has breakfast on the table when you come downstairs and it seems, somehow, uncouth to just tell him you want to go home. So instead you force yourself to sit and eat, glad that he at least agrees that it isn’t the time for conversation. 

At the door, he sees you off with a hug, watching you from the door until you reverse out of his driveway and drive off, waving as you leave. 

“This is really bad,” you whisper to yourself on the drive home. “Really, really bad.”

Despite the morning after, the night you spent together is never explicitly spoken about. It’s not a ‘thing’ you discuss by any means. No sit down conversation, no awkward allusions to it, no talking around and around the events until the exchange becomes unbearable. It simply blips out of existence as soon as you change into your old clothes and John walks you to the door, seeing you out. 

You still show up the next day, as usual. Nothing’s changed except everything, but it feels taboo to even mention that things feel different. 

The world hasn’t radically changed since you accidentally slept with John, but it certainly feels that way sometimes. In the few delicate hours after leaving his house, you were sure he’d call at any moment to tell you that your services would no longer be required—that he’d send your last check in the mail before parting ways. So sure of that, in fact, that you’d put your phone on silent for hours before mustering up the courage to check your missed calls later that evening.

Only a few texts from friends. No missed calls from your employer. 

He doesn’t fire you. He certainly doesn’t treat you any differently the next time you come to babysit. You still get paid every week—though, admittedly, the money makes you feel a little weird now after sleeping with him, but it’s not like you can just turn your nose up at making rent—and everything else in your life stays exactly the same. If you weren’t now acutely aware of the feeling of your boss coming inside you, you might even think you dreamt it up. 

Still, despite John never bringing it up or even alluding to sleeping with you, there’s still a sense that he��

The soft, affectionate thanks, hun that he gives you when you bring him a glass of water on the rare day he comes home early to work out in the garage makes you shiver. 

His need to touch increases tenfold, matched only by his proprietariness. He must feel like after what you did together, it’s nothing for him to squeeze your thighs when he tells you that you did a good job with the baby or hug you extra tight when you’re about to leave. 

If you’re extra shy around him, he doesn’t remark on it. 

You’re levelheaded enough to know that he shouldn’t be so touchy with his younger female employee—his babysitter no less—especially after what happened, but it’s not as though he treats you like sleeping with you is a given. When a week goes by and nothing happens, you almost relax. Almost. Enough to let your guard down. 

But—

You can’t stop thinking about it though. It runs through your head every hour of every day, made worse by the fact that you see him six days a week, Sundays excluded. Sundays being your one day off, which you no longer look forward to but rather dread because Sundays mean no baby, no park, and no John Price.

So, you follow his lead and pretend like it didn’t happen. 

You think it’s past you; a terrible mistake that’ll never happen again until it happens again. 

Eight o’clock at night and the blue light from the television has begun to strain your eyes. Baby sleeping upstairs—you put him down a few hours earlier without much of a peep; had to check on him a few times, but otherwise the baby monitor sitting on the end table hasn’t so much as crackled, leaving you no choice but to doze off on the couch. 

When the door opens, it startles you awake. 

“Mr. Price?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and clearing your throat.

John’s there when you twist around to peek over the back of the couch, filling out the door frame. Dishevelled after a long day’s work, his beard even more grown out than when he left earlier in the morning. A bit rougher around the edges, the day leaving its mark in the slight dark circles under his eyes and the set of his jaw, which only relaxes when he lays eyes on you. 

“Just me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, I…the baby’s been asleep for awhile, so I just thought I’d—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I know you’ve got it under control.”

“Let me just get my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair—”

He cuts you off with a wave, toeing his boots off at the same time. “No, no, no—you stay there and finish your movie. I’m gonna grab a drink and join you.”

There’s not much more you can say to that. Instead, you watch him take his bag upstairs to put away in the bedroom before you hear the sink turn on. Running water. 

You carefully avoid looking at him when John comes back downstairs, the creaking steps signalling his descent. He heads to the kitchen without stopping by the living room first. The light switches on with a click. The fridge door opens and bottles clinking together when he roots around for something to drink. 

And then you hear him make his way back to the living room. 

The unspoken pact to not bring up what happened the last time you spent any alone time together imbues you with a false sense of security. Part of you expects him to take the single recliner next to the couch, if only to put some distance between the two of you. 

Except when he comes back into the living room, he plops right down in the middle of the couch like always, close enough to you that you’re forced to scoot away, pressed up against the arm of the sofa. You shiver when he cracks open his beer and takes a swig, resting his arm on the back of the couch with the can held in a loose grip. 

“What’re we watching?” he asks, blatantly adjusting himself to get more comfortable on the couch. Even soft, the outline of his cock is visible through his trousers. 

You stare over at him nervously, unblinking. 

“Sweetheart?” John prompts when you don’t answer. 

“Oh, um…” You clear your throat again. “It’s just a Hallmark movie.”

“Cute. Well, we can keep it on. No sense changing it now.”

It’s tense for a little while. You keep your hands folded in your lap like a good girl and your eyes on the television. So you can’t stop inhaling the heady scent of tobacco and vanilla. So you can’t stop blinking your eyes, each blink heavier than the last until they spend more time shut than open. So you yawn and burrow deeper into the cushions, your head tipping back and nearly jarring you awake when you lean too far and topple over the side. 

When you lean the other way and start to doze off on his shoulder, he pulls you onto his lap. You squirm, initially resistant, but he shushes you before you can put up a fuss. 

“Just don’t want you to drool on my shirt,” he teases in a low murmur, smoothing a hand down your side and then it’s lights out for you. 

You wake to a blunt intrusion at your entrance. Half-awake and squirming, you vaguely feel him rub the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, teasing himself. The second you squirm just a little too much, he uses that little bit of movement to push the tip in. It pops in without much resistance; then the slow, methodical press inward, your walls squeezing around the thick length thrusting up into you. 

“Wha—” you whimper, keening when a big hand glides up your chest to squeeze a tit, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“S’alright, baby, it’s just me,” John murmurs, his voice right in your ear. 

You come to gradually and then all at once, aware of your back pressed to his clothed chest and your legs spread around his, your ankles hooked around his calves. Skirt rolled up and panties pushed to the side, one of his arms locked around your waist like a seatbelt to hold you in place. 

“John, I’m—we c-can’t do it again—”

“Sorry, honey,” he apologises into your neck, kissing the area he just spoke into. “Had to be inside you again. S’all I’ve been able to think about since you came on my cock the other night. Promise it’ll be easier this time, okay, baby?”

He guides you down his length until he bottoms out, slick lips kissing the base of his dick. The pressure is overwhelming; in your belly, in your throat, in your head. Heart beating a million miles a minute. Walls throbbing around his length, thicker and heavier than you remembered. 

All you can think of now is the last time he had you like this, legs spread for him and pussy dripping wet. Taking his cock all sleepy and sweaty under his giant comforter, whimpering into his neck. 

It’s not as frantic this time, no rush to the finish line. He seems to like just burying his cock in you while he plays with your breasts, pinching and plucking your nipples until they’re pebbled and sore. His hands aren’t particularly soft either, callused from years of hard labour. When you whine and try to push his hands away, he shushes you again, not paying your protests any mind. 

“Fuck, these are pretty,” John praises, staring down at your tits from over your shoulder. “No, baby, jus’ watch your show. M’gonna use your pussy for a bit, okay?”

It’s just that it’s—

When he lets go of your breast to play with your clit instead, you melt, any resistance going up in flames. The heat fans over your cheeks, your eyelids too heavy to lift, vision blurring even when you try to focus. 

He helps you grind your hips down on him, big hands like manacles on your waist. Little undulations of your hips. Short, shallow thrusts that keep you both right on the edge, drenching his lap with your juices. When he gets bored of playing with your clit, he switches back to your breasts, pawing at them and then bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth. 

Any time you get distracted by what he’s doing, he stops, holding you down on his cock and coaxing you to focus on the television in front of you instead. 

When he jiggles your clit, you seize up, heart hammering in your throat. 

“Good girl, c’mon—jus’ like that.” John presses a hot kiss to your temple, arm tightening around your front to keep you close. Sweet talks you through your orgasm, all vaguely paternalistic and patronising in the best and worst way.  

He makes you lean forward so he can bounce you on his dick after, your hands braced on his knees to keep yourself upright. 

“Ah, ah, ah, ah—”

“Almost there, honey, jus’—fuck, perfect, yeah, tighten up like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He comes with a strangled moan, still cognizant enough to keep the volume down even if you can’t. Shuttles you down onto his cock a few more times until you’re filled to the brim with cum. 

In the aftermath, he sits you back against his sweat-matted chest and pushes his cum back into your sore cunt with his fingers when it dribbles out. Ignores your wounded little sounds like they’re just background noise. He even makes you suck his fingers to clean them up, the digits coated in your combined juices. 

“Best fuckin’ girl,” John growls, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. Your fingers twitch feebly in your lap. 

Pretending like it didn’t happen after the second time around doesn’t seem wise, but still you don’t know how to broach the subject. 

Especially since you know it’s going to happen again. 

John doesn’t say it outright, but his actions speak for themselves. An arm looped around your waist casually in line for coffee. Paying for the two of you in any situation, you having your own source of income be damned. 

“It’s my money anyway, sweetheart,” he says when you point that out. “Might as well just pay now.”

And doesn’t that just send you into a tizzy, head spinning and mouth agape. Embarrassingly so. 

Not to mention you still have this strange, sycophantic need to please him, even after everything. The complicated nature of your relationship aside, it still makes your heart flutter to hear him praise you for anything. 

That’s how you end up in his bed on a Saturday afternoon, taking a nap with him after a long day out in the sun. Two hours spent at the botanical gardens, the sun beating down on your head, lathering sunscreen on the baby’s sensitive little arms and legs, and swiping it over his cheeks. John sporting a mild sunburn near the collar of his shirt where he forgot to apply sunscreen and when you have the audacity to giggle, he pulls your baseball hat down over your eyes. 

It’s almost too easy for him to coax you into his bed, even though you’re adamant about keeping it clean. A hand firm on your back up the stairs. Already yawning when you put the baby down for a nap, so why not take one too? Ushering you into the bedroom when you say you can take the couch, but why, he presses, take the couch when you’ve already shared the bed before?

Well, because the last time—

He draws the blinds shut and climbs into bed, pulling you into his chest. 

You wake up to John plastered against your back, bare cock nudging against your cunt while he snores into your neck. You don’t remember him curling up next to you without any clothes on, but he must have taken off his pants in his sleep, now somewhere rumpled at the end of the bed. 

When you try to quietly pull away, his arms just tighten around you more, grumbling in his sleep. The sound makes you freeze, going quiet as a mouse. A few more minutes go by before you feel confident enough to try moving again, carefully trying to slide out from his hold. 

You wiggle a hand out, reaching for the other end of the bed.

The hand resting on your belly dips low, shoved between your legs and feeling you up before you can do more than gasp. The man behind you gives a short exhale, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, rising out of it like a wave now that he feels something wet under his hand.

“Oh, honey…why didn’t you tell me you needed my cock again? You’re leaking right through your panties,” John rasps, dragging your underwear down to mid-thigh. 

A big bear hand clamps over your mouth before you have a chance to protest. There’s nothing you can do to keep his knee from spreading your legs and feeding his cock into your drenched centre with his other hand. As soon as he notches the head against your entrance, it’s a smooth glide in. 

“There we go,” he pants into your neck. “Big stretch—ah, yeah, nice ‘n tight. That’s my pretty girl.”

He keeps your legs spread with a hand on the inside of your thigh. All you can do is moan behind his hand, humid breath blowing back around your face as you pant. So hot for it that you’re almost nauseous. 

You’re a bit too tight for him to fit his cock in you, so he has to work to stretch you out, bullying another inch into you with every thrust. The angle makes it tricky though; means he can’t get more than half of his cock into you. It’s hardly comfortable for you either, your leg already cramping. 

“My leg’s got a cramp,” you whine, unsure of what you want to happen. All you know is that you can’t keep this up. 

He readjusts his grip, but that just makes you hiss, wincing when that makes your leg twinge. Suddenly the world spins, the pillows going from comfortably under your head to right in your face, John manoeuvring you onto your tummy and hiking your hips up a few inches. It lets him get even deeper, the angle letting him slide right to the hilt. 

“Oh god, oh god—John, I can’t—”

“Shh—you’re alright, honey. Much better like this,” he breathes, settling on top of you. It takes him a second to get comfortable, nudging right up against a sensitive spot inside of you the whole time, so deep you can almost feel him in your throat. 

He weighs a ton on top of you, rutting between your thighs like he can’t hold himself back, his self-control snapping like brittle glass. Bristly beard chafing your neck when he buries his head to suck on the tender skin there, smothering you under his weight. Thighs trapping you in place, your memory jumping back to that time at the beach, but now there’s nothing between you. Just a thick cock pounding into you and moulding you around its shape.  

His hips slap against your ass with every thrust, the lewdest sound you’ve ever heard. 

“Gonna make sure it takes this time,” John grunts. “Wanna take care of my baby so bad? I’ll give you a couple to mind.”

That rattles you right to your core; shakes you to the foundations of who you are. You don’t know what to think, what to say—tongue tied and loose lipped all at once. You’ve let him come inside of you so many times that if it hasn’t taken already, surely it will soon. 

It slips out before you can take it back. “D-daddy, please—” 

That makes him lose his mind. Just a bit. 

“Fuck,” he snarls. “Again.”

He wedges his arm under you to curl his hand around your throat, tilting your head out. 

“Daddy—daddy—please, I wanna come—” you pant, repeating the same word until it sounds like nothing, tongue puffy in your mouth. 

His dick slips out at some point and he wrenches himself off you long enough to wrap his hand around himself and slap it against your ass a few times, cum tagging your skin. Your breath catches in your throat, whining when you clench down on nothing. One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s all the way back in, hammering the spot that makes you go cross-eyed and squeak. 

“Make daddy another baby, okay, sweetheart?” It’s not sweet. It’s not doting. It’s growled into your ear like a demand, punctuated by the way his hips snap forward, nearly sending you into the headboard. 

You’re practically an old hat at taking his cum now, squeezing up when you can feel it coming and giving him a nice little treat. He sinks his teeth into the back of your neck when he does, muffling the sound roaring out of him, and it hurts. 

He’s tender with you after though. Lavishes the line of your neck with soft kisses; murmurs sweet nothings into your ear while you cry fat tears onto the pillow. Even twists and turns so you’re no longer on your back but rather splayed across his chest again, urging you up for a deeper kiss with tongue. 

“‘Know you’re tired, sweetie, but this is for your own good,” John murmurs as he wedges a hard thigh between your legs and makes you ride it, grinding your sensitive, throbbing clit down on the muscle. “Can you come, baby? Jus’ like that—that’s good, baby—”

It hurts so good that you don’t even notice when you squirt, the emotions too big for you. It’s like being squeezed too tight, unable to catch your breath or say anything but the same word on a loop. John’s sweet about it though—wipes the sweat from your hairline and upper lip, talking you through it until you slump down on his chest, legs akimbo.   

For a bachelor, you think in a daze, he’d make a good husband.

The days grow colder and the sun sets earlier.

A while ago you thought maybe this babysitting gig would be temporary. That at some point you’d move on—maybe go back to school or apply for a more standard nine-to-five job. That’s how the trajectory of your life was supposed to go, you think. 

But the timing never seems right. Maybe you’ve grown too attached to the baby or maybe the pay is just too good to give up or maybe you’ve just become habituated to someone getting you off at least every other day. Still, it feels a bit weird to get paid for what essentially boils down to fucking a man and taking care of his baby. 

It comes up when you’re sitting out on the porch with him again, this time in his lap in the same adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around you to keep you warm. John laces his fingers through yours, thumb stroking over your finger, burning a line into the skin.

“Doesn’t it make you feel weird to pay me for…” you say, trailing off with a cocked eyebrow. Surely he must catch your drift. 

He chuckles. You wait for the joke.

Your eyes must be big as moons staring up at him. 

“Don’t think of it as a paycheck, sweetheart. That’s your allowance.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and swallow. 

“Okay,” you whisper. Then let him reel you back in for another kiss, his thumb resting over your ring finger and pressing.

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

everyone knows dr. zayne is cool as a cucumber, and it's a given for him that you're known as his wife, but when a fresh-faced new resident seemingly makes a move on you... what will he do?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, jealousy (a very jealous zayne, in fact), making out in his office, crack, fluff, hunter!reader, you and zayne have a daughter

note: inspired by that one kim min-kyu scene in business proposal :D this is actually an extension for nocturne of twilight and dawn's first light but can also be read as standalone

You hadn't seen your husband for two weeks.

There was a spring on your step when you entered Akso Hospital right after your long intercity mission. You had acquired some bruises and they weren't anything serious, so you figured you’d just have Greyson treat them. Besides, it gave you the perfect excuse to hand him some cookies as a souvenir.

And, of course, ask him to ring for Zayne to meet you once he had the time.

"Miss, do you need help?"

But a curious voice addressed you when you loitered around in the lobby, and you turned around to find a bright-faced young man with red hair and wearing doctor's coat.

"Ah, yes, I want to meet Dr. Zayne," you smiled. "Or Dr. Greyson will do."

The young doctor perked up at the names you mentioned. "Oh, are you a patient? Do you have an appointment already?"

"Hmm, no, actually I am—"

You halted mid-sentence before the words his wife slipped out, rethinking your choice. You knew of Zayne's infamous reputation in the hospital, and while almost everyone in his floor knew you, this new doctor didn't, and you thought it was best to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I already have an appointment," you nodded, plastering an thin smile. "Just tell Dr. Greyson that Y/N wants to meet him."

"Right, right, I'll page him now..." he mumbled, pulling out his pager and his phone. "I'll text him too..."

"Thank you."

"O-oh, Miss! Wait!" the young man called after you in a hurry when you turned around. "I've noticed it for a while, you have a cut on the side of your lips..."

"Ah, this..." Your fingers instinctively brushed the dried blood on your lips. You hadn’t thought the small cut was noticeable. "Yes, it’s from earlier—"

"Actually, I’m an ER resident!" he interrupted with a bright grin. "Let me treat you first!"

Caught off guard by his enthusiasm, you barely had time to react as he gently but firmly guided you towards the emergency room.

"Dr. Zayne! Dr. Zayne! Your wife is here~!"

Zayne had barely stepped into his office after a grueling surgery when Greyson barged in, all too casually, delivering the news with a grin. "She’s waiting in the lobby!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh?"

You're back? He pulled out his muted phone, checking the notifications. Sure enough, you’d sent him a message an hour ago, letting him know you’d safely landed in Linkon.

His little, snarky wife. For the past two weeks you had been away, the house had felt lonelier. Sure, his daughter—who resembled you in personality, no less—was a bundle of sunshine and adorable beyond words, but without you, there was always that subtle void in the air.

Or maybe it wasn’t the house at all? Maybe it was just him—utterly, hopelessly whipped.

"Why isn’t she coming up to my office?" he asked suddenly, noticing the odd detail.

"Hmm, yeah, and it’s weird... why did the new resident say she’s asking for me?" Greyson mused, turning toward Zayne. "Don’t you want to meet her instead? Whatever she needs me for, I’m sure you could handle it."

Zayne promptly left his office and took long strides toward the elevator. As the doors started to close, he even half-sprinted, calling out to the person inside to hold it for him.

Okay, maybe he was a little too eager, but was it really so wrong to be this excited to see his wife again when the two of you had been apart for two weeks?

...then again, you didn't need to know. You would roast him to bits should you know he missed you this much.

Zayne got off at the lobby, expecting to find you there— only to find the usual flow of hospital staff and visitors. He was about to call you when he wandered past the emergency room and turned the corner—and that’s when he got his shock of the day.

There you were. But not alone.

With a guy.

Whose hand is touching your lips.

"It must be tough being a hunter, huh?"

The red-haired resident carefully tended to your bruised arm, wrapping it in a fresh bandage as you sighed, thinking back to the mission. "Yeah, there are definitely some hard days..."

"But despite all that, you still keep yourself in shape!" he remarked, eyeing your toned arms with a hint of admiration.

You let out a sheepish laugh, remembering those pull-ups sessions with Zayne. "Haha, that's because my husband makes sure I'm getting enough exercise..."

"You're married?!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and it caught you off guard, yet he grinned afterwards. "Wow! Is he a hunter too?"

You would've never guessed, boy. This resident doctor was cute, you thought, ever so curious at everything. You could only imagine the look on his face if you told him that the Dr. Zayne was your husband.

You were about to refute it when his fingers brushed against your lips. "Oh, sorry, let me apply some ointment here first..."

His touch felt cool to your lips and you were momentarily stunned at the contact— but then a gruff cough startled you so much you almost jumped.

The towering figure of your husband behind him. Zayne's dark gaze was fixed on the man in front of you, like he could murder the poor guy with just a look.

"Z-Zayne...?" you squeaked against the ointment on your lips, and the resident quickly turned behind him in surprise, hastily greeting him, "Oh, Dr. Zayne!"

Zayne shot the poor man a single, pointed look before his gaze shifted to you, clearly unamused.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and, without sparing the resident another glance, swiftly pulled you away. The other guy was left standing there, speechless, as Zayne led you off, leaving him in the dust.

. . .

"Zayne!"

Oh, how he actually missed his name coming out from your lips.

"Are you done with your schedule?" you asked as he pulled you into the elevator, confusion evident in the way you tilted your head. But when he didn’t answer, you glanced down at his firm grip on your arm, suddenly realizing something. "Wait, no... are you angry?"

Sigh. It irked him so much, actually. Because, how could you, after weeks—

No, he actually knew he was being irrational. He shouldn’t overreact like this just because someone else touched you. But why is he so annoyed, still?

"Wait, why?" you kept asking, wide-eyed, as the two of you stepped out and made way towards his office. "I'm not injured! I'm fine! It's just some bruises—"

Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his office, swiftly locking the door behind him. Before you could say another word, he cornered you against the wall, and you fell silent instantly.

It had been a while since he’d seen you this way—stunned, caught off guard, and utterly silent under his gaze. He studied your face closely, watching the way your breath hitched as the tension between you both thickened.

It sparked something inside him seeing you like this, a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite explain, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

That was when he saw the blood on your lips. "Did you get punched in the face?"

"Y-Yes, but— it's nothing severe!" you defended, trying to convince him. "It's such a small cut anyway!"

He frowned. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What? Hey, I was about to ask Greyson, but—"

That got him frown even deeper, even irate. "Why Greyson? When you come home with any injuries, you come to me, not anyone else."

You let out a resigned sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. "Because I know you'll fuss over me, duh."

"I don't fuss," he retorted.

"You do," you shot back, pursing your lips. "You try to act like this cool, calm robot all the time, but you always drone on and on whenever you patch me up. You're worried, it shows."

Zayne huffed, shifting his gaze away from you as he felt his face burn. Was he that obvious? How could he not, though, when you managed to get hurt so often and yet acted so innocent about it?

Then as if inspired, you caught on immediately. Your eyes sparkled, and a mischievous smirk tugged at your lips. "Wait, just now... don't tell me... Are you jealous?"

Damn.

"Heh, Dr. Zayne, really?" Your voice was playful now, mocking him. "Whoa, how can this be?"

How had you figured him out so easily?

You continued in a sing-song voice, putting both hands on your chest, "Ah, my heart flutters! My husband is apparently—"

Enough. This time, his patience snapped.

He didn’t hesitate even for a moment. A low growl escaped him, and in one swift motion, he crashed his lips against yours, silencing you with the most effective method he could think of.

"Mmph!" You gasped in surprise, the teasing words at the end of your tongue completely forgotten. His gray eyes gleamed. Been too long, he thought, and now he was making sure you knew just how badly he craved this.

The kiss was searing as he deepened it, his tongue seeking yours with urgency. "Hngh!" You let out a feeble whine when he teased you by biting your lips.

Zayne held back a snort. One of his hand then strayed inside your hunter uniform, unclasping your bra with a flick.

"—?!" Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening, and before you could process it, he pulled away. But you were far from right in thinking it was over. The dangerous gleam in his eyes kept you tense as he swiftly removed his glasses...

...before he pulled you back towards him and claimed your lips once again.

With a swift, commanding motion, he guided you toward his desk. His papers scattered at the sudden movement, but he had you bent over it regardless, forcing your body to arch. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, while his right hand fondled your breasts, repeatedly squeezing, palming and switching between them.

"Mmm...!" You let out a strangled moan, instinctively holding onto his shoulder, feeling the way how he groped you ignited your core. "Ahh..."

Your body was tantalizing as always. Hardened and sometimes bruised from your work it may be, but to Zayne, you were still beautiful as ever.

When you gasped for air, he decided he was done with your swollen lips. His lips then trailed down to your neck, sucking hard on it, creating a squelching sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"W-what's... gotten into you...?" you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his hair, hyperaware of his hands still roaming over your nipples.

In response, he nibbled at your skin and flicked your breasts at the same time, causing you to freeze and draw a sharp, hitched breath. "Haah...!"

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curled wickedly at your reaction, and he continued to pepper your neck with series of wet sucks as if to mark you altogether. You writhed under him, whiny and sighing, relishing his hot breath on your skin.

You were utterly at his mercy, pliant and helpless in his hands. There was a deep satisfaction in knowing he was the only one who could bring you, his lawfully wedded wife, to this state—

Still, he wouldn’t allow you to be indecent in a place like this. When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, eyes dark with lust, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. "Don’t tempt me," he muttered, voice low and raspy.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. "Zayne..." you whispered, a whine broke through the heat on your flushed face.

His expression softened just enough, a flicker of tenderness cutting through the intensity. Pretty. That’s what you were, undeniably so. How he had missed out on you so long once was his greatest regret.

Carefully, he helped you sit upright, his touch gentle as he clasped your bra and began buttoning up your uniform, disheveled from his earlier ministrations.

The gentle way he touched you was a stark contrast to how it was earlier. "Is that a new way to treat busted lip?" you nudged his collar, feeling a little braver now.

"For bad wives, yeah."

"I'm not a bad wife! Just disobedient on some occasion."

Zayne's fingers brushed your face as he finished with your uniform, his dark-gray eyes steady on you. You pouted.

"You're the one who's bad," you accused with slight resentment, not missing a beat as the heat between your legs started to dissipate. "Leaving me unfinished like that."

"Hmm? Am I?" he murmured, the faintest amusement in his tone.

"You have to take responsibility tonight, you big meanie," you mumbled, your pout deepening as you avoided meeting his gaze.

Zayne snorted at the sight of you—so precious in his eyes, his thumb lightly grazing the corner of your lips in a gesture so tender it made your heart skip, before whispering in your ear:

"Well, if your voice won't wake our daughter, that is."

Epilogue

Not long after, just as you had gathered yourself and were preparing to leave the hospital to head home, a sudden knock at the door of his office startled you both.

Quickly, you moved to sit on the patient’s seat, feigning nonchalance as you braced yourself for whoever was on the other side. Zayne reached for the door, but before he could unlock it, a familiar voice called out.

"Excuse me!" the resident's voice sounded a bit hesitant but firm. "Dr. Zayne, the miss left her handbag earlier!"

Zayne let out a low, irked sigh. You glanced at him curiously, watching as he opened the door and came face-to-face with the redheaded resident.

Without a word, he extended his hand, and the resident blinked before handing over the bag.

"I-is the miss still here?" the young doctor asked, almost intimidated by his unfriendly gaze.

"Ma'am," Zayne corrected, his voice flat.

"Huh?"

"Call her ma'am. She's someone's wife."

"O-oh, and her husband is—"

"Me. I am her husband."

Your eyes widened in surprise at the matter-of-fact exchange, heat rising to your cheeks as Zayne’s words hung confidently in the air. He curtly thanked the poor resident before slamming the door shut in his face.

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "Zayne!" you gasped, staring at him as he turned back towards you, entirely unbothered.

Your husband was as cold as the snowman he often made, but somehow the way he boldly declared he was your husband was just so him that it made you so giddy.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms with a playful smile. "You’re really jealous, huh? How?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze still fixed elsewhere, most definitely trying to save his dignity.

You chuckled softly, stepping closer to him with a teasing sway. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, turning him to face you, and you winked at him mischievously.

"Well, I’m all yours. But if it makes you feel better, maybe I’ll stay away from any ER residents for a while~"

[skrunksthatwunk]

hehehe cut my hair again >:3