#lap sitting

Not enough seats so reader sits on Bucky’s lap. Then, the ride gets bumpy, and it’s too much for Bucky to handle. Reader tries to tease him, but gets teased right back

officer horny reporting for duty!

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You board last because Sam had to show you something stupid on his tablet, and now the quinjet’s transport shuttle is fully loaded with agents and gear.

Which is why you turn around, hands on your hips, staring down the aisle.

“There are no seats.”

A few agents pretend not to hear you. Sam points to the already-filled bench and shrugs. Natasha looks mildly entertained. And Bucky… oh, Bucky has that look on his face.

characters included — i. midoriya, k. bakugou, e. kirishima (maybe making a pt two with more)

ship: clark kent x f! reader (established relationship)

cw: mild intimacy, snowed-in isolation, mentions of warmth-body heat, soft domestic fluff

wc: 2.9k

an: hello loves, i am sooo sooo sorry about the day 6 delay, i started to feel really under the weather with a terrible sore throat and i feel better today so i will be posting day six and day seven today! we do not skip days! happy kinkmas day six!

now playing: the christmas song (chestnuts roasting on an open fire) by nat king cole

the snow starts hours before you and clark even leave the city, fat slow flakes tumbling down like someone shook the sky awake before it was ready to shine. metropolis is already dusted white by the time he helps you into the passenger seat, big warm hands lingering at your hips the way they always do. a gentle touch that says he loves you, that he’s here, that he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else in the universe. his breath fogs the cold air, but his skin… never chills.

the moment he settles into the driver’s seat, his palm finds your thigh like it’s second nature. warm. steady. comforting. exactly the way you’ve always loved him. you glance over at him, watching the way his lashes catch flakes when he blinks. he looks so human and also not at the same time — all soft flannel and messy curls, but with that underlying steadiness that only someone carved from something stronger than steel could carry. he squeezes your thigh gently, thumb stroking slow circles that make your pulse skip.

"don’t worry, honey." he murmurs, voice low and warm. "i’ll get us there safe." the farther you drive into the mountains, the worse the storm becomes. the flakes aren’t flakes anymore. they’re curtains of white, swallowing the world whole. the road narrows into a tunnel of snow-covered trees, and still, clark’s hand never leaves your thigh. he keeps you grounded with each slow, comforting stroke. he’s focused, gaze sharp even behind his glasses, but soft around the edges because you’re here.

you turn your head and catch him staring, cheeks flushed a faint pink. "don’t give me that look." he mutters, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. "what look?" you tease. "the one that says you want me to kiss you right now..." he says, breath hitching. "i swear, sweetheart, i’ll pull over and kiss you senseless."

you smile, leaning back against the cold window just a little. "maybe i want that."his hand tightens on your thigh. "don’t tempt me." he whispers. and for a second, you genuinely think he will stop the car just to kiss you breathless in the middle of a blizzard.

when the cabin finally appears through the storm, it looks half-swallowed by snow — roof blanketed, porch buried, icicles hanging like teeth. you barely get your seatbelt off before clark is out of the truck, moving with that effortless grace he never seems to notice.

he opens your door, hands warm on your waist as he lifts you out like you’re weightless. you squeak in surprise and cling to his shoulders. "clark—!" you squealed, loudly. "the snow is up to your knees, honey." he says gently. "no way i’m letting you wade through that." you pretend to protest, but truthfully? you love it. you always have.

he carries you through the freezing wind, shielding you with his body, his face tucked close to yours. "you’re freezing." he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. "let’s get you warm." inside the cabin, the air is cold but the space feels instantly cozier with clark behind you.

he lights the fireplace with effortless movement — splitting logs like they’re nothing and arranging them neatly before the flames catch. you curl onto the couch with a blanket while he crouches beside the fire, the glow painting him gold. there’s something about him like this, quiet, strong, soft that makes your heart squeeze.

he turns toward you, smile softening his features. "come here, honey." he says, patting his thigh, you go without hesitation. the instant you settle on his lap, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close until your body melts into his. the warmth from him is unreal, intense but not uncomfortable like sinking into a living hearth.

his lips brush your cheek once, then again, then a soft lingering third kiss that makes your breath catch. you fall asleep like that, wrapped in his heat, his arms, his scent.

you wake to silence. no humming heater, no lights, no fire. only the wind outside and the soft rhythm of clark’s breathing beneath you. his hand is on your back, warm and steady. "power’s out, sweetheart." he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. "but i’ve got you." you shiver, more from the sudden cold than fear. clark notices instantly, lifting the blanket and pulling it around both of you before tugging you closer into his chest.

"c’mere." he murmurs, voice deep and comforting. "let me warm you." his arms tighten around you, heat radiating through your clothes. every part of him hums with warmth, chest, arms, even his fingers tracing lazy shapes on your spine. you lean up, brushing your nose against his cheek. "you’re so warm…" he smiles. "you say that like it’s a bad thing."

you laugh softly. "it’s my favorite thing about you." he feigns offense. "just your favorite?" his voice dips teasingly low. "one of many..." you whisper. he kisses you then. slow. warm. deep enough that you feel it all the way to your toes.

the wind slams against the cabin, shaking the walls. clark tucks you closer instantly, palms smoothing up and down your arms, your sides, your thighs, gentle, comforting strokes meant to ease the tension building inside you. you tip your head up again, and he kisses you once. then twice. then again, softer, slower, like he can’t stop.

he cups your cheek, thumb grazing your lower lip. your breath hitches, and his eyes darken slightly, warmth blooming through you like the fire that used to burn in the hearth. "i love you." he whispers, voice barely audible over the storm. you press a kiss to his jaw. "i love you too."

he rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in like he needs you to survive. his hands roam your thighs again, slow and reverent, like he’s cataloging every inch of you by touch alone. "you’re warm." you whisper. "i’m trying to be." he murmurs. "i want you to be cozy."

"you always keep me warm." you say softly and he smiles into your hair. “i always will.”

the storm worsens, snow piling against the windows so high it nearly blocks the view entirely. you curl tighter against him, head tucked beneath his chin, his arms around you like an unbreakable cocoon. he shifts you into his lap again, holding you sideways so he can wrap both arms around your waist and pull you impossibly close.

his lips find your jaw first, then your cheek, then your lips. slow. sweet. lingering. you giggle softly when his nose brushes your ear. "that tickles…" your eyes squinted as you smile. "good." he murmurs, grinning into your hair. his hand drifts to your thigh again. always your thigh, squeezing gently, thumb tracing circles that make your skin feel hot under his touch.

"i could stay like this forever." he whispers against your neck. "me too." you breathe and you mean it.

you wake to soft, pale light filtering through frost-covered windows. you’re sprawled across clark’s chest, his arms around you like someone might try to take you away in the night. he stirs slowly, eyes blinking open, and the first thing he does is press a kiss to your nose. "morning, honey." he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and you melt instantly. "hi…"

his hand finds your thigh again, like it’s instinct. kneading gently, thumb tracing slow lines that send warmth through you. you snuggle closer, tracing lazy shapes on his chest. "still snowing?" he hums, "mmhm." he hums. "we’re stuck here until it lets up." but he says it like it’s the best thing that could ever happen.

he brews coffee over the fire, shirtless, because he insists you take the blanket 'keep warm, honey, please.' and you can’t tear your eyes away from him. his muscles flex easily with every movement, but his face is soft, sleepy, beautiful.

he carries both mugs to the table and pulls your chair close enough that his knee brushes yours. then, predictably, his hand slides onto your thigh again, rubbing slow, affectionate circles.

"clark!" you laugh, teasing, "you’re obsessed." grinning as you take your mug. "yeah..."vhe shrugs shyly. "i really am." he kisses your forehead, cheeks warm with embarrassment and love.

the whole morning is slow, gentle, the kind of peaceful intimacy that makes your chest ache. you curl beneath blankets together on the couch, legs tangled, his fingers drawing patterns on your skin. he hums softly, some old kansas lullaby. the vibration rumbling through his chest where your cheek rests.

"you’re cozy." you whisper. he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. "that’s my job." you doze again in his arms, the storm still raging outside but feeling like nothing compared to his warmth.

when you wake, he’s already watching you, eyes soft, fingertips brushing your cheek like he’s memorizing you all over again. "you always do that." you tease gently. he leans into your palm when you cup his jaw. "i can’t help it. you’re my favorite thing to look at."

your heart stutters, warmth blooming everywhere. you kiss him again-slow, deep, full of everything you feel and he kisses back like morning might never come again. you stay like that for hours, simply wrapped in warmth, wrapped in love. wrapped in clark.

warmer than any fire and safer than any shelter. a home made of arms and kisses and snowstorm quiet. and he holds you like he never wants to let go.

the storm outside has quieted into a gentle, constant fall. the kind that blankets the whole world in white and makes everything feel farther away, softer, easier. the cabin’s lights are still out, but the fire clark restarted glows warmly behind you both. you’re wrapped in one of his sweaters, sleeves covering your hands, legs tucked across his lap as he sits back against the couch cushions.

he’s been tracing slow circles on your thigh for the past ten minutes, absentminded and tender, but every time his fingertips slide higher, your breath hitches just a little. he hears it every time, of course he does and every time, he smiles against your temple. "you warm enough?" he murmurs, voice low, gentle, like he’s afraid the snow might hear him.

you nod, leaning into him, but he still shifts closer, big arms wrapping around your waist like you’re something he needs to keep safely tucked against him. his palm spreads over your thigh again. bigger, firmer, warmer than it has any right to be and your breath stutters in the way he loves. you whisper, "you’re doing it on purpose."

he laughs softly, brushing his nose against your cheek, lips ghosting the corner of your mouth. " i don’t do anything on purpose." he lies, sweet and unconvincing, "except love you." you melt fully, helplessly-and he feels it, because his hold tightens as if he’s catching you.

there’s a quiet moment where it’s just his breath against your skin and your heartbeat trying to keep up with his impossible warmth. then he tilts your chin up with two fingers, eyes soft even in the dim glow of the fire. "come here." he whispers, like he hasn’t spent the entire day with his mouth on you already.

the first kiss is slow, sweet, patient. the kind of kiss that feels like a promise he’s been holding onto since the moment the snow started falling. he kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding up your thigh, the other cupping the back of your neck like he’s trying to keep you close enough to melt completely.

your fingers curl into his sweater. his tongue brushes yours, soft and warm, and he swallows the little sound you make against his lips. he pulls back only for a breath, foreheads touching, his hand still gripping your thigh like it’s instinct. "you have no idea how much i love keeping you warm." he whispers, voice roughened by how hard he’s trying to stay soft for you. "snowstorm or not, you’re always mine to hold."

your lips part, but he kisses you again before you can answer—slow, hungry, but still gentle in that clark kent way, like he’s never once taken you for granted. when he finally pulls back, you’re in his lap, straddling him, sweater slipping off one shoulder. he tucks it back into place with a tenderness that shouldn’t make your heart race as much as his mouth does.

"the storm’s not letting up." you say, breathless. "good." he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your jaw. "means i get more time with you." you smile, resting your forehead against his. "so what do we do now?" he squeezes your thigh—slow, deliberate, possessive in the softest way. "we do what we’ve been doing all day." he whispers against your lips.

"i keep you warm. i kiss you until you forget how cold it is outside. and you stay right here with me."

･ﾟ: * 🍓 :*･ﾟ 🎮 ･ﾟ: * 🍓 :*･ﾟ 🍓 :*･ﾟ 🎮 ･ﾟ: * 🍓 :*･ﾟ 🎮

⊹ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : when jimin refuses to pause his game for afternoon cuddles, you take matters into your own hands. one bold move onto his lap and a shared strawberry lollipop are all it takes to completely shatter his focus. his high score takes a hit, but neither of you mind the sweet distraction.

⊹ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : gamer! park jimin x reader (established relationship)

⊹ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : soft smut / heavy fluff, established relationship

⊹ 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 : gamer bf, needy reader, praise, distractions

▷ 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬 ─── ──🍓─ ─── ─── ──🍓─ ─── ─ ───🍓

​

The computer tower hummed softly while Jimin aggressively clicked away at his keyboard.

​Outside it was overcast, but his desk area was lit up by pink LED strip lights. An empty bowl of spicy Buldak ramen and a glass of melted ice water sat on the edge of the white desk.

​You stood a few paces back, leaning against the doorframe, wrapped in nothing but an oversized, fuzzy cardigan that hung off one of your shoulders and a pair of matching cotton shorts. You were bored. Unbearably, agonizingly bored.

​For the past three hours, you had been trying to read, trying to scroll through your phone, trying to nap, but your mind kept drifting to the boy sitting in the ergonomic gaming chair.

​Jimin was completely lost to his own world. From behind, you had a perfect view of his broad shoulders, swathed in his favorite heavy, oversized black hoodie. Because the hood was dropped back, his hair was on full display. A gorgeous, bleached-blonde mane that caught the pink neon light, the soft strands slightly mussed from where his headset usually rested.

​Your eyes tracked downward to the back of his neck, where the silver chain of a necklace caught the light. It was a custom piece you’d given him for his birthday. A delicate silver link chain with your name finely engraved on a small bar hanging right at his collarbone. He never took it off. Not to sleep, not to shower, and certainly not to play.

​A tiny, silver circle earring dangled from his left lobe, catching the rhythmic, frantic pulses of the monitor screens as he shifted his head.

​"Jimin-ah," you whined softly, the sound catching in your throat as a wave of neediness hit you.

​He didn't hear you. His fingers were flying across the keyboard, his right hand gripping his mouse. A frustrated grumble slipped through his chest as a sharp beep echoed from his speakers. He was in the middle of a high-stakes ranked match.

​You pouted, your bottom lip rolling out as you slipped your hand into your cardigan pocket. Your fingers brushed against the smooth wrapper of a candy you’d picked up earlier. You pulled it out: a translucent, bright red, heart-shaped strawberry lollipop. Stamped cleanly into the center of the hard candy were the words, KISS ME.

​A slow, mischievous smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. If he wouldn’t come to bed willingly, you would just have to make staying at his desk impossible.

​You padded across the floor barefoot, your steps entirely silent. When you reached the back of his chair, you didn't hesitate. You leaned down, draping your front over his back, burying your face directly into the crook of his neck, right where his pulse point beat steady and warm.

​Jimin flinched slightly at the sudden warmth, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. His character on screen was currently dodging a barrage of enemy fire.

​"Ah, love, not right now," he murmured, his eyes glued to the screen. "Just ten more minutes, okay? The match is almost over. I'm close to a new high score."

​You nuzzled his jawline, inhaling deeply. He tasted faintly like the spicy ramen he consumed earlier.

​"Ten minutes is too long," you mumbled as your lips brushing the edge of his jaw. "I'm lonely. I'm cold. And I want you."

"Alright, alright." ​Jimin breathed, his thumbs twitching as he executed a flawless combo on his keyboard. "Just let me finish this round. Go lie down, I'll be right there."

​Instead of obeying, you took a step to the side. You lifted your leg and swung it over his lap.

​Jimin’s eyes widened slightly, a sudden hitch in his breathing rattling his chest as your weight settled directly onto his thighs. Because his hoodie was so oversized, you were essentially swallowed by his lap, your cardigan pooling around your hips.

​"Whoa—sweetheart," he gasped, his hands freezing for a split second before his gamer instincts kicked in and he forced his left hand back onto the WASD keys. But his posture had changed entirely. His thighs were rock-hard beneath you, tensing instantly as your core pressed down against his lap.

​"Look at me," you whispered, reaching out to cup his jaw. Your thumb brushed against his plump lips, which were slightly reddened and swollen from the spicy noodles he’d eaten.

​"I can't...love, I'm gonna die, I'm literally at the boss," he pleaded, his head tilting frantically to the left to try and see past your head.

​"Let it die," you said, pulling the wrapper off the strawberry lollipop with a sharp crinkle.

You popped the heart-shaped candy into your mouth, swirling it around your tongue for a few seconds until your mouth was entirely coated in the sugary glaze. Then, you took it out, holding the little plastic stick between your fingers, propping the candy right against Jimin’s lips. The words KISS ME were glossy and wet, glowing under his pink neon lights.

​"Eat it with me," you begged. You leaned closer, grinding your hips forward just a fraction of an inch—a slight nudge against his hardening length through the fabric of his sweatpants and your shorts.

​Jimin inhaled sharply. ​His right hand completely abandoned the mouse. The sound of his character taking a fatal hit on screen echoed through the speakers, followed by a dramatic, digital GAME OVER. His high score was completely shattered, wiped out in a single second.

Jimin’s warm hand flew to the back of your waist, his fingers digging into your hip to pull you against him. His other hand snatched the plastic stick of the lollipop from your fingers, tossing it onto the desk where it landed with a soft click against his keyboard.

​He didn't need the candy. He wanted the flavor directly from the source.

​Jimin leaned forward, slamming his mouth against yours. ​He kissed you like he was starving, his plump lips sliding against yours, sealing the gap completely so that every drop of strawberry spit was shared between you. You whimpered, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers burying deep into those soft, bleached-blonde roots, holding him close as your head tilted back.

​"So needy," Jimin breathed against your mouth, breaking the kiss. "You couldn't even give me five minutes, hm? Look at what you did to my game, doll."

​"I needed you," you pouted, and rubbed your nose against his, your breathing just as wrecked as his.

​Jimin’s eyes softened, as he looked down at your flushed face. "I know, love. I'm sorry. You're so cute, you know that? Coming over here and demanding what’s yours."

​The praise sent a delicious shiver straight down your pussy. You whined, shifting your weight on his lap again, your crotch sliding right over the huge length of him.

​"Ah—don't move like that unless you want these clothes off right now," he warned.

​"Maybe I do," you whispered defiantly, though you trembled against him.

​Jimin let out a breathless, husky laugh. He reached over to the desk, his fingers blindly searching until they found the heart-shaped lollipop. He picked it up, slipping it into his own mouth for a few seconds, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked the strawberry candy, coating his lips and tongue in another layer of sugar.

​When he pulled it out, his lips were slick, glistening under the pink LED lights.

​"Open up, love," he commanded softly.

​You parted your lips automatically, and Jimin gently slid the heart-shaped candy into your mouth, letting you taste the warmth of his mouth attached to the sugar. But before you could even settle it on your tongue, he leaned in and kissed you again, his tongue pushing past the candy to tangle with yours once more.

​It was clumsy, chaotic, and incredibly wet. The hard edges of the heart-shaped lollipop pressed between your tongues, melting down from the heat of the friction as Jimin devoured your mouth. He used his tongue to slide the candy to the side of your cheek, freeing up the center of your mouth so he could suck your tongue deep into his throat.

​"Mm, you taste so sweet," Jimin whispered against your skin as he dragged his mouth down from your lips, burying his face into the side of your neck. "So fucking sweet, love."

​You gripped the shoulders of his black hoodie, your nails digging into the thick fabric as he left a trail of wet, sucking kisses up to your jawline. The silver chain around his neck pressed cold against your collarbone, a sharp, grounding contrast to the absolute fire consuming the rest of your body.

​"Jimin-ah... please.".

​He pulled back, his blonde hair falling messy over his eyes as he looked up at you. He looked completely wrecked by you, his cheeks flushed pink, his lips dark red and slick with spit and gloss.

​"Please what, sweetheart?" he murmured, his fingers sliding under the waistband of your cotton shorts, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of your hip bone. "Tell me exactly what you need."

​"You. Inside the bed. Now," you breathed, your voice breaking slightly.

​Jimin’s eyes darkened further, a satisfied, wicked smirk stretching across his plump lips. He reached up, took the half-melted lollipop from your mouth one last time, and tossed it carelessly into the empty ramen bowl on the desk. He didn't need it anymore.

​"Good girl," he praised, making your core twitch with a desperate ache. He gripped your thighs tightly lifting your weight with him as he stood up straight from the gaming chair.

​You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face into his neck as he carried you the short distance to the bed, completely abandoning the glowing computer screen and the ruined high score behind him.

​The game was over, but Jimin had already won everything he wanted.

🍓🍓🍓🍓

Unease

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Rating: General (Fluff, Public Cuddling, Inner Circle Reaction)

Summary: You are too tired to care about the "no public affection" rule. Surprisingly, Azriel doesn't mind either.

​The unwritten rule between you was simple: behind closed doors, Azriel was yours, and you were his. But out here, in the sprawling sitting room of the River House, amidst the chaotic banter of the Inner Circle, there was a boundary.

​Azriel wasn’t a man of public affection. He was the Shadowsinger. He stood apart, observed, and kept his walls high. You respected that. You understood that his shadows needed space and that his stoicism was armor, not a lack of love. Usually, sitting on the opposite end of the couch or simply exchanging a knowing glance across the room was enough.

​But today had been brutal.

​Your bones felt like lead. A headache throbbed behind your temples, a dull, rhythmic reminder of the grueling training session with Cassian and hours spent poring over logistics with Amren.

​You were sitting on the plush velvet sofa, trying to listen to Feyre and Mor laugh about something happening at the studio, but the sound felt distant. Across the room, Azriel occupied his usual solitary armchair near the hearth. He had one leg crossed over the other, his face unreadable as he listened to Rhysand discuss a border patrol report. His shadows were quiet, lazily curling around the wings of the chair.

​You looked at him. Just looked.

​You missed him. It was a physical ache, sharper than the soreness in your muscles. You didn't want to talk. You didn't want to be the polite, composed partner sitting three feet away. You wanted home. And right now, home was the solid, silent warmth of the male in that armchair.

​Before your brain could remind you of the "no PDA" agreement, your body moved.

​You stood up. The room was loud—Cassian was shouting something about a bet he’d won—so no one immediately noticed you crossing the Persian rug.

​Azriel noticed, of course. His hazel eyes flicked to you the moment you shifted your weight. He watched you approach, his expression neutral, likely expecting you to ask for a drink or tell him you were heading to bed.

​You didn't speak. You reached his chair and, without a single hesitation, you sat down.

​You didn't perch on the armrest. You didn't sit at his feet. You sat directly across his lap.

​The movement was clumsy with exhaustion. You settled sideways, your hips resting on his thighs, your legs dangling over the side of his leg. It was an intrusion, a breach of his personal space that would have made anyone else lose a hand.

​Azriel went rigid.

​Beneath you, you felt every muscle in his body lock up. His shadows flared instantly, spiking in surprise, creating a sudden, dark halo around the chair. The conversation in the room cut off as if severed by a blade.

​The silence was deafening. You knew Cassian’s jaw had probably hit the floor. You knew Rhys was probably grinning like a chaotic feline.

​But you didn't care.

​You let out a long, shaky breath and collapsed against him. You dropped your head onto his shoulder, your cheek pressing against the rough, familiar texture of his leathers. Your arm draped lazily over his other shoulder, looping around the back of his neck to anchor yourself.

​You inhaled deeply.

​He smelled like mist, cold stone, and cedar. It was the cleanest, most grounding scent in the world.

​"Y/N," Azriel’s voice was a low rumble in his chest, vibrating against your ribs. It was a warning tone, tight with self-consciousness. He was painfully aware of the five other people staring at him.

​"I'm tired, Az," you mumbled against his neck, your eyes fluttering shut. "Just... let me be here for a minute."

​You felt him hesitate. His hands were hovering in the air, unsure whether to push you away to maintain his reputation or to give in. His stillness was absolute. He was a statue, terrified that moving would either encourage you or hurt you.

​Then, you felt the change.

​It started with his shadows. They stopped spiking and softened, rushing over your tired limbs like cool, heavy velvet, shielding you from the prying eyes of the others.

​Then, his body relaxed. The stone-hard tension left his thighs.

​One of his large, scarred hands came to rest tentatively on your waist. The other moved up, his fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck. He didn't push you away. He pulled you closer.

​You sighed, the sound vibrating through the silence of the room.

​Across the room, Cassian opened his mouth to make a undoubtedly crude joke.

​Azriel didn't even look up. He simply stared at the Illyrian General with a gaze so dark and lethal that Cassian snapped his mouth shut with an audible click.

​Azriel rested his chin on the top of your head. He held you there, in the middle of the room, openly claiming you, openly comforting you.

​"Sleep," he whispered, his voice for your ears alone. "I’ve got you."