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requested! thank you. content: fluff, aftercare, gentle touch, sleepy joe, domestic intimacy

the bathroom door clicks open and the first thing you notice is the steam.

the second thing is joe standing there in nothing but an oversized hoodie and damp hair, curls darker from the water, ends dripping onto the fabric. his skin is still pink from the heat of the shower, shoulders relaxed in a way they weren’t before. he looks… boneless. in the best way.

“hi,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want to break the moment.

“hi,” you smile. “feel better?”

he nods once, slow. then, softer: “yeah. can you… help me?”

you don’t even have to ask how. he sits on the edge of the bed between your legs, automatically leaning back into you the second you lift the towel. his shoulders sink the moment your fingers touch his hair, careful, gentle, squeezing out the excess water.

you work slowly. deliberately. like you’re soothing something fragile.

joe exhales, long and deep, head tipping back against your chest.

“that okay?” you murmur.

“mmh,” he hums. “perfect. don’t stop.”

your fingers comb through his curls, towel scrunching softly, then your hands take over—scratching lightly at his scalp, nails barely there. his eyes flutter shut immediately.

he melts. like fully melts. his spine relaxes, weight settling into you, arms dropping loose at his sides. his head lolls just a little, trusting you completely to hold him up.

“you always do this so gentle,” he murmurs, voice sleepy already. “feels like my brain turns off.”

you smile to yourself, press a kiss to his temple. “good. you need rest.”

“need you,” he corrects softly.

your chest tightens in that warm, quiet way.

he reaches back blindly until his hand finds your thigh, fingers curling there like an anchor. thumb rubs absent little circles, slow and affectionate, not even trying to be anything else.

you finish drying his hair but keep your hands there, fingers threading through curls, massaging gently. joe sighs again, deeper this time, shoulders rising and falling against you.

minutes pass.

he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. just breathes with you, heavy and calm, like the world finally got quiet enough for him.

eventually, his head slips to the side, cheek pressing against you. you feel the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing evening out.

“joe?” you whisper.

no answer.

he’s gone. fast asleep.

you laugh under your breath, adjust the hoodie around his shoulders, wrap your arms around him properly this time. he instinctively leans closer, body curling into yours like it’s muscle memory.

his hand tightens on your thigh.

you rest your chin on his head, breathing him in — clean skin, soft soap, comfort. this is your favorite version of him.

not on stage. not performing. not loud. just joe. tired. safe. held.

and you stay like that, letting him sleep, knowing he’ll wake up later and mumble something embarrassed and sweet like “did i fall asleep on you again?”

With a vow to destroy the abomination she had created if it was the last thing she ever did, television host Oprah Winfrey has spent weeks on a ship pursuing Dr. Phil through the Arctic, sources reported Tuesday.

Sailors aboard the vessel confirmed that while Winfrey appeared ill and exhausted from continuous exposure to the harsh tundra, she nonetheless spent hour upon hour peering through a brass spyglass and scanning the desolate landscape for any sign of the grotesque TV personality and formerly licensed therapist. Despite the heavy winds and raging sea, the 71-year-old media entrepreneur reportedly urged the ship’s captain to press northward.

the crowd boos

from the back, two voices rise above the crowd, "no, she's right"

On the official WhiteHouse.gov website.

Not a campaign page.

Not an RNC graphic.

The government’s actual website.

They’re listing reporters by name.

They’re accusing news outlets of “offenses.”

They’re stamping “EXPOSED” over every independent newsroom.

They built a leaderboard for “repeat offenders.”

Like journalism is some sort of crime and sport.

This is not “messaging.”

This is not “spin.”

This is state-run media targeting,

and we have never seen anything like it in the United States.

Ever.

They’re calling Mark Kelly’s PSA “follow the law” sedition.

They’re calling journalists who report it criminals.

They’re building narrative infrastructure for repressing dissent

All while a former TV host is being accused of unlawful killings.

You don’t put reporters on a government enemies list unless you’re planning to do something with the list.

This is authoritarian architecture.

it's YA drama. it's futuristic sci-fi. it's deeply political. it's medieval fantasy. it's gritty post-apocalyptic survival. AI tries to take over the world. there's time travel. there's reincarnation. there's aliens.

it says "humans are a plague" but also "maybe the real victory was the friends we made along the way". it says "humanity inevitably errs on the side of violence of destruction" but also "my humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together".

it's a dumpster fire. it's a work of art.