#and you just need to sit down with a tub of ice cream

[tojisteddy]

Private Chef!reader x John Price

and his family loves you. And I mean truly, deeply, loves every fiber of your being.

You’ve been with the family since the two youngest were born. Preparing meals for dinners after football & ballet practice and John and Ellie (his wife) work or when Ellie couldn’t stomach anything but zucchini and chicken when she had the last two. Snacks for tutoring sessions and play dates, family get togethers, tailgates and set aside meals for when the oldest (Maverick, wannabe bad ass) sneaks back in the home after a party at his friends. Providing warm and well thought out home cooked meals at their best and worst days, meals that could make them feel comfort that no one else could provide.

You were a second (or third, after the nanny) mother to the kids. No one could live without you.

And that goes for when John and Ellie were divorcing— you were smack dab in the middle of it.

Was that your expectation? God no.

When John broke the news to you and the nanny, both of you were looking for new jobs entirely. But John, the father who was trying to hold everything together, needed you two more than ever. So with a glance to each other, and the idea of a stable job guiding you, you both stayed.

Ellie, a good woman and mother at heart, but she didn’t want full custody of the kids. She’s pay her child support if she had to, see the kids on the weekends— she was a woman who gave up everything to be the mother John wanted for their kids while he was off in god knows where. It couldn’t last forever, not when she had aspirations to be a top lawyer, it required the same (if not more) sacrifices John made when he left on numerous occasions. She’d be starting her career from where she left off.

It was her dream, and John let her go.

Even if it meant having to separate.

You’d thought it’d be a clean and cut divorce, till Ellie started trying to bribe you. Random gifts and over complimenting, explaining how she could pay you more than John could.

Did you like the free gifts to all expenses paid spa days and the increase in vacation time? Maybe the bribery was working.

Up until it was Ava’s birthday, the second oldest, middle child to the core. 14 and trying.

It was a day of horrifics, the beginning of the day called for terrible weather so people canceled, but the weather was just fine. John tried to call the guests again but to no avail, which led you with shit ton of over prepped food, the whole house loud with 4 other rambunctious kids, and poor Ava ran off.

You were the only one who ran after her.

You and Ava— the girl was your baby. She saw you as a cool big sister, a friend, mentor— the mom she wish she could have. But she wouldn’t say it aloud. She loved her mom, but you were the one person who was always there for her. You knelt down to sit beside her under the large oak tree that stood in their yard, grabbing her hand gently before giving it a squeeze.

“I know what could make you feel better,” you say in a sing song voice, resting your chin on her shoulder.

She sniffs, shaking her head, “Nothing could make anything better! Everyone sucks, the universe hates me.”

“I say, screw the food, screw everyone. Screw the dumb party. We’ll do something better, I’ll make your favorite just like you wanted from the beginning but John made you change. I’ll call a couple of my friends, and we’ll dance to ABBA and Stevie Wonder all night, eat ice cream out the tub. Even do karaoke like you wanted, my friends got a killer machine with all the theatrics.”

She wiped her tears with back of her hands, scuffing.

You wiggle your shoulders into hers, “Come ooon~” you try one more time, falling over her which makes her groan into a giggle. “It’s gonna be fun Ava, just one dance! One little taste of bolognese. Just a little.”

She looks over at you, those big blue eyes shining, just like John’s do, “Just a little.” She mumbles.

And the night went off without a hitch, full of Ava’s favorite, dancing, singing, laughter and mocktails the kids loved to drink. John even danced stupidly like the old man he was, trying to show off his “moves.” He was a goof.

And it makes you think, that’s what you became a personal chef for, the fulfillment. The warm and comfort only you could bring to a family- to this one specifically. Despite the ups and downs. It made you feel full to the brim.

John comes up to you in the kitchen only after he notices you aren’t there. He’s been keeping you in view all night, getting lost in your laughter, your smile, your kindness- everything. This feeling, all the sparks that are suddenly going off, are new. It’s all something he hasn’t felt in years. And he takes your in from the door for a moment, lets his eyes fly all over you in your messy jeans and tight top as you clean up the mess from- well- everything. You’re gorgeous, even though you’re a little tired from the long day. He meets you at the farm house sink, shyly speaks, ears red, falling into step with you, rinsing the dishes that piled up too high. “I can’t thank you enough. For today. For helping Ava and then the party and being here. Even bringing out your own friends. It means a lot to us— to me.”

You give him a smile and a shrug, “You’ve been trying your hardest John, I know. This is just,” you sigh, content, “something I knew I could handle. I don’t mind helping. Plus, you would’ve managed just fine. You’re a good father John.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“You would’ve.”

“I wouldn’t have, not without you [+].” And there’s such sincerity in his deep voice, in his ocean blue eyes, you don’t even have to look at him to know. His hand manages to find you’re in the soapy water, squeezing it ao you can properly look at him. They’ve got you lost in him. There’s a moment, just a sliver of a moment that makes you want to crash into him, that makes your heart beat a million times faster, that makes everything pause and that it’s just you two in this kitchen, on their property— on earth.

A magnet is pulling at you two, drawing you slowly closer together.

But you hear those ever so familiar quick clicks of high heals, a call of John and your names— back to reality, that makes you duck from around John, water splashing into the floor.

“Did I miss it? Where’s the birthday girl? Where are all the kids at?” Ellie asks out of breath, surveying the space.

You gulp down your feelings, let out a breath, “Everyone canceled. We had a good time nonetheless. She’s outside, singing her heart out.”

She lets out a sigh of relief, dabbing her face to make sure her makeup is intact, setting the large gift bags in her hands on the kitchen island. Her blonde eyebrow raises as she looks between the two of you. You are flustered, looking elsewhere, John on the other hand is tight lipped, irritated.

He missed his chance, he’s been waiting ages on.

“Are you guys okay?”

You quickly nod, John gives a slow one, a fake smile to follow, biting his tongue. You both speak at the same time.

“Just fine.”

“More than okay, love.”

Ellie looks between the two of you one more time, but shrugs, “Okay then. Come back out when you’re done. Party’s not over yet!”

And she’s out the back door and to the patio, there are squeals and giggles from everyone.

Leaving you and John standing in this overly thick tension.

How the hell were you going to stay now?

a/n: I’m sorry I haven’t been as active. I haven’t been feeling myself. But I was watching a lot of private chef videos and this became the inspo. I hope you like it. This is a one shot so 😋

[tbaluver]

ʚɞ Need Some Comfort?- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader genre/ tags: comfort requested: anonnies ᯓᡣ𐭩 a/n: hihi lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i wrote this in a way that it can be taken when you're sad, upset, tired, burnt out, and how they would cheer you up i mean I HOPE it's taken that way and it can bring comfort to anybody that needs it at the moment (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ enjoy reading luvs (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Crying? He would be SO worried. He’s not giving it another thought, and he's right there beside you immediately as he pulls you into his warmth. He’ll murmur comforting words while he strokes your back, staying by your side until you take your time to find some peace.

You would find so much comfort in his hugs as he held you tight. He doesn’t mind staying in the position and comforting you until you feel better. His embrace feels safe as if he’ll never let go. Being wrapped in his arms makes everything feel like you will be okay and that things will get better.

If you’re feeling tired, burnt out, or just completely drained, Xavier will offer you to rest together with him. He’ll create the perfect environment for you to relax by closing the curtains, turning off the lights, and putting the room at the perfect temperature. As you curl up into his arms, he’ll hold you close, letting you both unwind from the weight of the world for a little while

One of the ways he’ll help you feel better is by distracting you to get your mind off things. He might make up some peaceful scenarios.

“Close your eyes and imagine you’re on a different planet, and I’m right there with you.”

Other times, he’ll suggest watching your favorite movie or show or maybe even getting into some new music to lift your spirits up and give you a little escape.

Offers you a chocolate tub of ice cream or your favorite flavor. He'll even feed it to you if you want

Zayne:

Crying? Don’t hold back. Let it all out, even if it’s an ugly cry that's full of sobs. It’s just you and him, no else around. He doesn’t ask anything right away, patiently waiting for you to open up when you're ready to talk about it. He understands at a time like this, it’s hard to talk about your feelings, so he’ll stay quiet, offering gentle reassurance with soft touches. He’ll pull your head gently to his chest, letting you pour your heart out, completely unbothered if your tears soak his shirt.

Once you cried it all out, he’ll make sure you rehydrate. Then he’ll help you apply cold compress to your eyes to ease any irritation and prevent puffiness for the next day.

Offers you some of his sweets to make you feel better.

Stressed? If you’re stressed, he’ll let you squeeze his hand as much as you want. He’ll land you a stress ball for whenever he’s not around.

Zayne would reach for your hand, guiding your other hand to rest against his chest, letting you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Focus on my voice and breathe with me.” 

If you want some quiet time, he’ll sit you down on his lap, cradling you in his arms as if you were the most delicate thing in his world. His lips press softly against the top of your head as you listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He’ll suggest a walk outside, hoping to help clear your mind with some fresh air. He’ll take your hand in his, squeezing your hand gently as you walk together

Reminds you that he’s always here for you. Even if he’s caught up in work, you can always reach out to him and text him anytime you need to vent. He’ll always make the time for you.

Rafayel:

Sit right there as he grabs a blankie, drinks, snacks, tissues and anything else you might need. He’s here for as long as you need him. He’ll wrap you in a blanket burrito so you’re nestled safely against him

Crying? The moment he sees tears streaming down your face, his expression shifts, and he rushes to your side, pulling you into a tight hug. He cups your face gently, and a jumble of frantic questions slips from his lips, but he doesn't pressure you if you can’t answer. Instead, he coos softly, cradling you close as he stays with you until you calm down.

One of the ways he knows how to cheer you up is by kneeling down in front of you, creating a little fishie out of his hands. He’ll make it swirl around you, gently tickling the tip of your nose, hoping for the tiniest hint of a smile from you.

Another way he’ll make you feel better is by blowing bubbles on you in a comforting way as if it could chase away the physical or mental pain. Although it might not erase everything, it just ends up making you laugh, and that’s a little closer to his goal

Don’t feel like talking about it at the moment? Rafayel would never pressure you to. He’ll stay beside you, his forehead resting against yours as his arm wraps around you. He knows that words are hard to find, so he encourages you not to bottle up your feelings. If you’re not ready to share it with him yet, he suggests writing it all down and placing it together in a drift bottle, letting those heavy thoughts float away.

Sylus:

He’s attentive to your feelings and can always tell when something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide anything from him. If anything isn't going your way lately, you can come to him anytime. You can be yourself and let it all out, cry as much as you need to.

Crying? He’d let you curl up in his lap or lean against him, gently intertwining your hand in his as he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb. His other hand gently glides over your back. He’ll rest his chin on your head while you sob into his chest, whispering soft reassurances. If you’re on his lip, he’ll massage your scalp and gently caress your hair until you calm down.

One of the ways he’ll cheer you up is by humming a familiar tune, and if that doesn’t do the trick, he’ll offer to sing some of his special karaoke songs to you. Surely, that will crack a smile on your face.

Feeling tense? He’s got plenty of essential oils that are great for relaxation. Just tell him where, and without hesitation, he’ll gather the right oil for you. Whether it’s calming or soothing scent, he’ll work with so much care to help you unwind.

Don’t feel like talking about it at the moment? That’s alright. You can stay curled up on top of him, his arm wrapped around your waist, as you listen to the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat. His other hand gently brushes through your hair. However, he would suggest letting it all out eventually, not because he wants you to feel pressured but because he believes holding it all in only makes things heavier. You’ll feel much lighter when you release it.

Caleb:

Don’t even bother trying to hide it with Caleb. He can already tell something’s wrong just by the look on your face and from your body language. He knows you too well to ignore the sad expression on your face.

Crying? He’s already beside you with tissues ready the moment he sees tears. He’ll gently cup your face, wiping them away with his thumb. He looks at you with such sympathetic eyes, never judgmental.

"You look like you could use a hug right now. Come here, Caleb's got you."

Caleb’s like your big bear plushie, his arms are wide open as he pulls you into a comforting hug, making everything you were stressing about disappear.

One of the ways he’ll cheer you up is by offering you a ride in the sky. Sometimes, a change in perspective can really help get your mind off things. As the world shrinks beneath you, your worries can fade into the distance, giving you the peace you need

Not in the mood to talk? Caleb would quietly welcome you with open arms, letting you wrap yourself around him however you need. Your legs would drape over his waist, your arms circling him. His strong arms hold you close as you settle into the crook of his neck.

Offers to make you a delicious warm home cooked meal or even a snack that he can whip up in the kitchen. If you don’t feel like eating, how about telling him what’s on your mind? If you’re not up for it, then that’s more than alright. He doesn’t want to pressure you to tell him anything. However, he will remind you that you are never alone and don’t have to carry all the weight yourself

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist , Pg.2

[dandelionwishh]

Domestic Sorcery

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Pregnant!Reader

Description: 3am cravings hit hard. Gojo handles them harder.

Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy fluff, domestic daddy Gojo, baby talk.

Enjoy!

The clock reads 3:07 AM when you nudge Gojo awake. He groans, rolling onto his stomach, messy white hair splaying across the pillow.

“Satoru,” you whisper.

“Nooo,” he whines, voice muffled by the sheets. “Gojo is unavailable at the moment. Please try again later.”

You huff, poking his side. “Toru, I need ice cream.”

At that, he peeks one sleepy eye open. “Mmm, we have ice cream in the freezer.”

“Not that one.” You pout. “I want the caramel swirl from that one shop.”

He blinks. “Babe… that shop is in Paris.”

You give him the saddest, most dramatic frown imaginable, complete with wide eyes and a slight quiver of your lip. “But our baby wants it.”

Gojo groans, throwing the blanket over his head — but he’s already sitting up. “This is emotional manipulation,” he mutters, rubbing his face before rolling out of bed.

You grin. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, slipping on his blindfold and shoes, “This better be the best damn ice cream you’ve ever had.”

He grabs his hoodie and steps outside. In a blink, his technique flashes — and he’s gone.

About an hour later, he returns, dropping onto the bed next to you with a triumphant grin. “Alright, my love, my queen, my glowing goddess of pregnancy, behold!”

He pulls out a perfectly sealed tub of caramel swirl ice cream.

You gasp. “You actually found it?”

Gojo stretches, yawning. “I checked Paris and checked a place in Italy, then made a quick stop in Belgium. Had to make sure I got the best caramel swirl.”

You giggle, taking the tub from him. “You’re insane.”

“You knew that when you married me.” He flops dramatically onto your lap, eyes fluttering closed. “Now eat, so I can pass out.”

You take one bite and let out a satisfied hum. “Mmm… okay, this was worth it.”

Gojo cracks one eye open, watching you happily eat. His exhaustion melts into a soft smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It was.”

The next night, you nudge him awake again.

“Satoru.”

He groans, burying his face in his pillow, “Sweetheart…I literally bent space-time for you yesterday. Let a man rest.”

You run your fingers through his hair. “I just want some eggs with peanut butter on top.”

Silence.

Slowly, Gojo turns to look at you, staring like you’re the most confusing puzzle he’s ever encountered.

“You — you what?”

You pout, eyes wide and dramatic.

“Eggs with peanut butter. Extra messy. My poor, swollen feet can’t handle standing in the kitchen that long… help me, daddy.”

He blinks. Then, after a long pause, he mutters, “I should’ve stayed in Italy.”

Later that night…

Gojo lies sprawled across the bed, an open jar of peanut butter in one hand and a plate of scrambled eggs in the other. He stares at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him.

You’re already half asleep, curled up beside him, while he mutters softly to the swell of your belly.

“Listen, baby bean. We need to talk. Man to… fetus.”

He sighs, dramatically tapping a forkful of eggs against the peanut butter jar.

“I just wanna know. Why? Why the eggs and the peanut butter? Separately, sure. Weird but doable. But together?” He pauses, squinting at your stomach like it might give him answers. “Are you trying to test the limits of my love? Because spoiler alert…we’re already there.”

He takes a bite of the concoction and shudders. “Oh my god. It’s like sweet-salty betrayal. Why do you hate me? I brought you ice cream from three countries. I bent space-time. I might’ve tripped a few magical security alarms. And this is how you repay me?”

He leans in closer, whispering conspiratorially. “I’m just saying… if you’re trying to send a message from the womb, blink twice or kick once for ‘dad, chill.’”

A small kick bumps beneath his hand.

He freezes. Then grins like the idiot he is.

“Oh. Okay. Fair. That one’s on me.”

Still chuckling softly, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly, thumb tracing slow circles over your skin.

The room settles into a quiet hum, and then your voice drifts out, drowsy and warm. “Thank you, ‘Toru…”

A sleepy breath. “You’re a really good daddy, y’know…”

Satoru pauses, the grin tugging at his lips gentler now.

“Yeah?” he whispers, brushing his thumb over the curve of your belly. “You think so?”

You hum, already drifting back to sleep. “Mhm… even if you complain the whole time.”

He laughs under his breath. “Gotta keep my reputation intact.”

And his hand never leaves your belly. Not even after you’ve both fallen asleep.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #30

Dani Phantom wasn’t exactly trying to join a government-sanctioned group of reformed (read: questionably reformed) assassins, mercenaries, and general menaces to society, but in her defense, she didn’t know what a Thunderbolt was. She thought they were just a bunch of really cool weirdos with snappy outfits who didn’t mind that she phased through walls sometimes or accidentally vaporized a training drone.

It started when Dani, on the run from some GIW idiots, phased through several realities and crash-landed in the middle of a Thunderbolts operation — specifically, right between Bucky Barnes (grumpy, armed, tired) and Yelena Belova (chaotic, armed, also tired but hiding it better).

“Is that a child?” Yelena asked, peering over Bucky’s shoulder like he was a slightly inconvenient lamp.

Bucky, gun still raised, frowned. “That’s a floating child.”

“I can see that, Captain Obvious,” Yelena snapped, flipping her knife casually in her hand. “Why is she floating like—”

Before she could finish that thought, Dani spun midair and zapped the rogue Hydra agents sneaking up behind them with a giant neon green energy blast. The agents went flying into a brick wall like someone had yeeted them across a football field.

“…Okay,” Yelena said brightly. “I like her. She can stay.”

“I—what?” Bucky sputtered, lowering his gun slightly. “She’s a kid, Yelena.”

“And she vaporized five men without blinking,” Yelena pointed out, beaming like a proud aunt. “I say we keep her. She’s Thunderbolt material. Very murder-y. Very spunky.”

“She’s like ten.”

“Exactly. She’s moldable. We can teach her the good stuff early,” Yelena insisted, already imagining Dani learning to throw knives and argue over which snacks were superior.

Meanwhile, Dani floated down to their level, blinking wide green eyes. “Are you guys… superheroes?” she asked hopefully.

Yelena immediately lied through her teeth. “Yes. Very professional. Very respected. No felonies.”

Bucky choked on absolutely nothing.

Thus began Dani’s unofficial, highly illegal induction into the Thunderbolts.

Nobody officially signed paperwork. Dani just started showing up. She helped steal Hydra files. She broke into a SHIELD safehouse for snacks. She haunted a couple of corrupt senators for laughs. The team decided if the government didn’t want her around, they should have given them actual HR training.

The real problem started when Bucky and Yelena decided they were both, separately, her legal guardian.

“You are not responsible enough to raise a kid,” Bucky said one evening, arms crossed while Dani hovered upside down from the ceiling chewing bubblegum she definitely stole from somewhere.

“And you are?” Yelena scoffed, tossing popcorn at Dani, who caught it in her mouth mid-flip. “You still get confused by TikTok.”

“That’s not the same as raising a kid!” Bucky barked. “She needs stability. Structure. Rules.”

“She needs to learn how to properly dismantle a car bomb in under thirty seconds,” Yelena said cheerfully. “You Americans are so boring.”

“I fought in World War II, of course I’m boring!” Bucky exploded.

“You’re ancient,” Yelena sniffed. “You probably think letting her get a tattoo is ‘dangerous.’”

“She’s a kid!” Bucky nearly screamed.

In the background, Dani giggled and skated on a conjured green energy hoverboard through the briefing room, knocking over chairs and sending a very concerned Red Guardian flying out of the way with a yell.

“This is fine,” Yelena said as Bucky watched in silent horror. “She is thriving.”

Thriving was one word for it.

Things escalated when Bucky tried to enforce an 8 PM bedtime.

“I’m literally a half-ghost,” Dani said, deadpan. “I don’t sleep.”

Bucky blinked. “What do you mean you don’t sleep? Everyone sleeps.”

Yelena, sitting smugly on the couch with a tub of ice cream, smirked. “Ha! The child sides with me. We binge-watch shows until 3 AM.”

“You’re killing her brain cells,” Bucky growled.

“Undead,” Dani corrected sweetly, phasing through the ceiling to avoid capture when Bucky tried to confiscate her ghostly hoverboard.

Meanwhile, other Thunderbolts members slowly realized there was a child among them and had no idea how to handle it.

Red Guardian tried to teach her Russian wrestling moves.

Taskmaster, after three failed attempts at babysitting, locked themselves in their room and refused to come out without bribes of coffee.

Ghost (Ava Starr) just accepted Dani as a background gremlin who occasionally made her coffee float across the room when she was too tired to move.

The real bomb dropped when Jazz Fenton stormed into the Thunderbolts’ compound.

Not walked. Stormed. Like an avenging angel armed with binders full of academic papers, parental rights lawsuits, and the righteous fury of an older sister forced to deal with supernatural nonsense since age twelve.

“What. The hell. Is going on,” Jazz asked, her voice eerily calm as she stared down Bucky, Yelena, Red Guardian, and Taskmaster at once.

Nobody moved.

Even Dani froze, halfway through trying to fit a stolen grenade into her backpack.

“You—” Jazz pointed at Bucky. “—brought my minor sister to an assassination mission.”

Bucky immediately tried to stand at attention like she was a general. “In my defense, she’s very good at it—”

“And you—” she pivoted to Yelena, who grinned unrepentantly. “—taught her how to hotwire a motorcycle!”

“Useful life skills,” Yelena said brightly.

“And you—” Jazz growled at Red Guardian, who tried to blend into the wall. “—gave her vodka!”

“It was for medicinal purposes,” Red Guardian said weakly.

Jazz took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles, and pulled out a thick legal document titled “Fenton v. Thunderbolts: Custody Hearing” that somehow already had signed pages, notarizations, and citations of obscure interdimensional child protection laws.

“I am taking her home,” Jazz said, enunciating every syllable like she wanted to bludgeon them with the concept of language.

Dani immediately wailed, “Nooooooo! Jazz! I like it here! They let me have grenades!”

“You are eleven!”

“Twelve and a half!” Dani insisted.

“I was giving her a flamethrower for her half-birthday,” Yelena said proudly.

Jazz pinched the bridge of her nose like she was resisting the urge to start swinging.

“I don’t even know how you people are still alive,” Jazz muttered.

“Luck,” Bucky offered helpfully. “Mostly luck. And sarcasm.”

“And murder,” Yelena added. “Don’t forget murder.”

Jazz turned to Dani, crouching so they were eye-level.

“Sweetie,” she said in the voice adults use when they’re seconds from committing a homicide, “you cannot just…join a government hit squad.”

“But they have matching jackets,” Dani said, voice wobbling. “And Bucky taught me how to punch people really hard without breaking my own hand!”

“She is surprisingly good at it,” Bucky muttered under his breath, rubbing his jaw where Dani had accidentally socked him two days prior during sparring.

Jazz looked up at the group, expression utterly blank.

“You realize that she’s technically a meta-human, a half-ghost, and a minor with no legal documentation in this universe, right?”

There was a pause.

Bucky blinked. “Technically…?”

Yelena shrugged. “Technicalities are boring. She lives here now.”

Jazz threw her hands in the air. “That’s not how this works! That’s not how any of this works!”

Dani, sensing weakness, clutched Jazz’s arm and put on the biggest, saddest puppy eyes she could muster.

“But Jazz…I finally have a family here…” she sniffled, lip trembling.

Bucky and Yelena, without missing a beat, immediately looked at Jazz like how dare you break her little heart you monster.

Jazz stared at them. “You are manipulating me.”

“Yes,” Yelena said brightly. “It’s working, no?”

Jazz closed her eyes, counted to ten in Esperanto, and resigned herself to the fact that apparently her life was now a living sitcom.

“I want a full academic curriculum. Supervision. No war crimes without prior approval. And absolutely, absolutely, no assassinations unless it’s self-defense and I’m there to supervise.”

Dani fist-pumped midair. “YES!”

Bucky and Yelena high-fived behind her back.

“I’m going to regret this,” Jazz muttered.

“You already regret it,” Bucky said, smirking.

And that’s how little Dani Fenton, half-ghost clone, menace of Amity Park, became the official junior Thunderbolt, the semi-official godchild of two retired assassins, and the proud holder of a laminated “Certified Baby Badass” card that Yelena made with glitter pens.

There were explosions. There were lawsuits. There were training montages.

There was Jazz drinking an entire bottle of wine while watching Dani yeet herself at Taskmaster with a battle cry of “YEET OR BE YEETED!”

There were Bucky and Yelena arguing over which martial arts Dani should master first (“Russian Sambo!” “No, Krav Maga!” “SHE’S A CHILD YOU MANIACS!”) while Dani snuck off to teach herself breakdancing instead.

There was Dani winning the team sparring competition by phasing through everyone’s attacks and slapping sticky notes labeled “LOSER” on their foreheads before they even realized what was happening.

There was Jazz realizing too late that she was now somehow not only Dani’s sister, therapist, and guardian…but also the unofficial mom of the entire Thunderbolts squad, a title she did not want but was too tired to fight.

And there was Dani — floating over the compound at sunset, arms spread wide, grinning so hard her face hurt — who realized for the first time in a long time that maybe, just maybe, being a weird half-ghost clone kid wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Especially if you had a dysfunctional murder family to back you up.

[housecow]

it’s so bad but. ruination is one of the hottest parts of feedism for me... i’ve set myself up well so far. i’ve made good decisions that’ve paid off—but i want all of that to mean nothing eventually.

does it even matter that i’m a published academic when i can’t get myself off the couch without help? unread emails from colleagues i haven’t seen in years. inquiries about a database i poured my soul into developing for grad school, unread and untouched for months because i can’t bother to reach over and pull the laptop onto my massive belly. maybe i’d figure out a way to forward them to someone else, removing any potential responsibility. why keep up with those connections when it’s so much easier to keep shoveling food into my mouth?

i can’t wait for all of my accomplishments to pale in comparison with the hundreds of pounds i’ve put on. my world will narrow—my feeder and the piles of food he supplies will be the only things that matter. his careful and strong hands, massaging the rolls and folds he so lovingly made sure were our priority. it started with a simple, “close the laptop and come sit, i got the shake ready”

one day i just won’t open it ever again. the tv remote is right there, my phone is tucked somewhere under the flab. there’s a few pizzas on the way. premade shakes are in the mini fridge next to the couch i fill up almost entirely by myself. my mind is finally blank—no one would expect i was ever more than a useless cow

the occasional trip to the fridge is the most i’d accomplish in a day, maybe even a week. my feeder figures out he can lace the shakes with thc and keep my mind numb, just like i told him i needed. no more documentaries. shitty reality tv keeps me entranced and distracted, thousands of calories devoured each hour. after work he finds me where he left me, surrounded by wrappers and working on a tub of ice cream. “babe, how many has it been?”

can i even count at that point? “i don’t know, can you get me another?” he’d pop it in the microwave first because spoons are getting hard to hold in my pudgy hands. sticky sausage fingers grasp the tub as he hands it to me and he slides onto the couch next to my massive figure.

this is the best part of the day. he rubs my belly in circles, pressing deeply into the soft and dimpled fat as i desperately gulp down the slurry of melted ice cream. he grips a roll and gives it a shake, making me groan a bit—in a good way, it freed up a bit more room. not like i would’ve stopped eating anyways. he shakes his head and tuts: “you still have room?”

i don’t say anything but i smile and lazily look at him, slow and dumb but knowing what that disapproval means. he reaches to the table and pulls the funnel mask out, slipping it over my face. “good girls can barely breathe by the time i get home.”

god, at one point in time people thought i actually had potential. i can’t wait to ruin it all

[ba9go]

texts with fwb to bf!bakugou katsuki (pt. 3)

fwb to lovers 🙂‍↕️ hurt/comfort, bkg brings u ice cream and confesses, getting together, fluff (sfw), fem!reader (bkg asks u to be his gf)

part 1 part 2

katsuki hears you giggling from inside your room as you make your way to the door. he sighs, though it's mostly in relief. even though you were being annoying and teasing him, he hasn't made you laugh in so damn long.

the doorknob twists and the door creaks open slowly. "who goes there!"

"your ice cream is already melting, but i'll blow it up in your face if you don't open the damn door."

"PLEASE DON'T DO THAT!"

katsuki lets you snatch the grocery bags from him and watches in satisfaction as you realise that he didn't just come with two tubs of ice cream, but also several bags of your favourite potato chips.

"katsuki," you cried dramatically. "you didn't have to!"

"you always sulk when i go to the damn store without buying you those damn chips," he says but crosses his arms smugly, walking past you to sit on your bed. "you better ration that shit, though. m'not buyin' you more chips this week."

"what? why?" you demanded, face contorting as your smile turned into a frown. katsuki's too amused by your sudden moodswing to be annoyed. cute.

"s'not healthy. too much salt."

"i ate takeout everyday for dinner last week and it wasn't healthy either."

this gets katsuki annoyed. he glares at you. "you're the one who asked me for space. don't go complainin' 'bout food now."

"it's your fault that i needed space!"

"you said i didn't do anything! what the fuck am i catching strays for?"

"whatever," you grumbled, sitting next to katsuki with two tubs of ice cream and a spoon in each hand. "chocolate chip cookie dough or ooey gooey cookie."

"you wanted chocolate chip."

"but do you want ooey gooey cookie?"

"s'fine."

"'kay."

you hand him the tub of ice cream and you both rip open the lids.

"so," you shove a spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into your mouth. you bite down on the ice cream, and you catch katsuki wincing beside you. you ignore him, scooping another spoonful of ice cream but offering it to katsuki instead. "what'd you want to tell me?"

katsuki's silent. he scoops a spoonful of his ooey gooey cookie and finally meets your gaze as he offers you his spoon.

you could make katsuki's life easy and take the spoon from him yourself, but where's the fun in that? so you part your mouth and say "ahh".

katsuki rolls his eyes at you but brings the spoon up to your mouth and feeds you the ice cream.

"it is ooey gooey," you murmur softly. you bring the spoon up to katsuki's mouth and he glares at you before reluctantly opening his mouth.

"it has chocolate chips," he deadpans.

"don't avoid my question," you nudged your shoulder against his. you don't pull away, and katsuki lets you lean your shoulder against his. "you sounded stressed when you texted me."

"i was not stressed."

"really?"

"fine," katsuki sighed. you feel him lean down to rest his chin on top of your head. "maybe i was a little stressed."

you hum. "what was bothering you?"

katsuki closes his eyes and tilts his face downwards ever so slightly to kiss your hair. "i missed you," he admits quietly.

"i know," you whisper. "i'm sorry. i missed you too."

"why'd you ask for space?"

"i wanted more than what we already had," you said sadly. "i know you weren't using me, but it felt like i wanted you in ways you didn't want me back."

katsuki pulls back to look at you. "how do you want me?"

"in like a for-the-rest-of-my-life way."

katsuki smiles.

"i'd be more than happy to indulge you in that, darling."

katsuki presses a soft kiss to your lips.

"m'sorry for not asking this earlier, but would you be my girlfriend?"

i personally do not recommend the fwb-to-lovers route. that shit messyyyyy. also sorry i like ice cream and potato chips 😋 and i love biting my ice cream HEHE

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @yoyolovesdaiki @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @antiwhores @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy

[steddiehyperfixation]

i think you should try again

written for @steddiebingo prompt: scoops | 2k words | T |

It's the first day of summer vacation and Eddie should be overjoyed. Free. The cage that is school has been opened and he should be a bird in flight, stretching his wings and soaring weightless through the world, unladen with places to be or homework to do. But he isn’t—overjoyed or free or flying or any of it. The cage is open but he still feels just as trapped and heavy as ever, dragging himself sullenly around the trailer until even his uncle feels the need to say something about it. 

Wayne, never usually one to give unsolicited advice and who generally tends to stay out of Eddie’s business, finally looks over at him and tells him, “You gotta quit mopin’ around, Ed. This sulking ain’t doin’ anyone any good, especially not yourself. I reckon you’d feel better if you got outside, go do somethin’.” 

Well, Eddie reckons that’d probably make him feel worse actually, but he gets the part that his uncle’s not saying too, and he doesn’t want his sour mood to bring Wayne down as well. So he gets himself dressed and drags himself sullenly around town instead. 

It’s the new Starcourt Mall’s grand opening today and it’s packed to the brim with high school kids enjoying their break and graduated seniors celebrating their freedom. And it does make Eddie feel worse. He takes it out on a particularly loud, whooping jock in the food court, shoulder-checking him hard and receiving an elbow to the ribs and a “Watch it, freak!” in return. Stupid fucking town. Eddie pulls a devil face, and watching the jock and his friends recoil from him lifts his spirits only marginally. 

What does lift his spirits is wandering to get ice cream and happening across the one and only freshly graduated senior in this place who isn’t free or celebrating. Steve Harrington stands behind the counter of a Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor in a totally dorky sailor uniform complete with a hat, a sight that makes Eddie fight a smile for the first time all day. 

Eddie approaches the counter with a grin, looking Steve up and down. “You know, I was feeling like shit today, but I think this just cheered me up.” 

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I look ridiculous.”

“Nah, it’s kind of cute, actually,” Eddie says, because it is, and because he’s curious how Steve will react. 

Steve blinks, expression split between a flattered smile and skeptically raised eyebrow. “Thanks? Um.” He shakes his head as if shaking off Eddie’s comment, putting his customer service smile back on gesturing towards the selection of ice cream. “So, what can I get for you today?”  

Eddie shrugs. “What do you recommend to cure a shitty mood?” 

“Well, something chocolate usually works,” Steve answers, “but it depends on what's got you down.” 

“I didn't graduate,” Eddie says, which should be common knowledge by now. “Again. So I’m not really feeling the summer excitement like everyone else.” 

“Ah, right.” Steve nods with a slightly awkward, sympathetic smile. “Definitely chocolate then,” he decides, grabbing a scooper and flipping it in his hand as he slides over to the tubs of ice cream. “How do you feel about Rocky Road?” 

Eddie smiles a little. “It's my favorite.” 

Steve gets to scooping, quiet for a minute and then he says, “I didn't get into college.” 

“Oh.” 

“Not a single one. Not even community college. That's why I'm here. So, you know—I get it.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie appreciates the attempt at solidarity, he really does, but, “At least you graduated.” 

“Yeah…” Steve sheepishly breaks eye contact as he sprays whipped cream onto the ice cream he's scooped. “Are you gonna try again?” 

“I’m not sure yet. I have until the end of the month to decide,” Eddie says, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. 

Steve hands him a sundae with three scoops but only charges him for one, a kindness Eddie isn't quite sure how to respond to, so he doesn't—just pays and finds a booth to sit and eat at. 

He picks somewhere where he can keep Steve in his eyeline, still amused by those sailor shorts and intrigued by the odd little conversation they just had. Steve Harrington is nothing like Eddie expected, nothing like he seemed to be in high school, and the more Eddie watches him, the clearer that becomes. 

Steve’s off his game, keeps trying and failing to flirt with girls who come up to the counter. Whatever smooth charm he was once purported to have in those King Steve days of yore is nowhere in sight now and instead he seems to wear an ill-fitting mask of false confidence, blustering to some poor girl about postponing college in favor of getting real life work experience as if it was his own wise choice to scoop ice cream in a sailor outfit, but his eyes betray a look just as trapped and heavy as Eddie’s been feeling lately. Maybe there is solidarity to be found here after all. 

The girl leaves with her ice cream and Steve looks up to catch Eddie watching him, a startling, unintentional moment of direct eye contact. Steve gives a tiny smile and a small shrug—in embarrassment maybe, or just simple acknowledgement—but Eddie doesn’t see it long enough to interpret it, already looking away and snapping his attention back to the slowly melting sundae in front of him. He eats his ice cream and doesn’t look over again, allowing Steve the dignity of striking out with the next girl unwitnessed. It’s cruel to visibly revel in another’s failure, and while there are many people Eddie would love to be cruel to today, Steve isn’t one of them. 

So Eddie watches everyone else instead. As the natural curative powers of chocolate ice cream and marshmallows work their magic on his bad mood, he alleviates his bitterness further and entertains himself by imagining great, fantastical harm befalling anyone he sees whom he finds irritating. Snickering mean girls are cursed by wizards; obnoxious jocks are eaten by dragons; celebrating seniors are torn apart by hoards of goblins. 

“I think you should try again.”

Eddie blinks out of his daydream of a particularly vicious dragon to see Steve pulling up a chair, those stupid shorts riding up his thighs obscenely as he sits. Not that Eddie’s looking—he’s not (he is). He blinks again, pulls his gaze back to Steve’s face. “What?” 

“High school, graduating,” Steve says, “I think you should try again.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Eddie says with a scoff of a laugh, trying to sound light because he’s really not sure why Steve cares. “Going back for a third senior year is a bit pathetic, isn’t it?” 

“Not as pathetic as giving up,” Steve tells him. “And you never struck me as the type.” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you took that much notice of me, Harrington.” 

“Kinda hard not to when you were stomping on top of cafeteria tables every other day, Munson,” Steve points out, like duh. 

“Touché,” Eddie mutters. 

“You’ve got grit, man, is what I’m trying to say,” Steve continues. “You know—you’re bold, you’re tough, you don’t back down. You parade on top of lunch tables and rail against the stereotypes put on you, and that doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let anyone, not even himself, tell him he can’t. So what’s one more senior year? What’s one more try to finally graduate and stick it to everyone who never thought you could? If anyone can do it this time, it’s you.” 

He says all this in what Eddie can only assume to be his best ‘team captain’ voice, an expert tone of firm encouragement and optimistic passion that Eddie can vividly imagine Steve (tiny basketball shorts included) having used in locker room speeches to rally the spirits and self-confidence of his teammates before they took to the field—or court, or whatever. The Hawkins High basketball team never won much in Steve’s time, but Eddie bets they had great morale. 

“Right, yeah,” he says, attempting to remain guardedly nonchalant even as his chest glows warm with Steve’s unexpected praise. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Steve nods, smiles. “Of course.” And that could’ve been the end of it, but Steve stays seated, taps his fingers against the table, and surprises Eddie again by saying, “And, hey, um, you run that Dungeons and Dragons club at school, right? Hell-something?” 

“Hellfire, yeah,” Eddie confirms, adding Steve Harrington knows what D&D is? to the ever-growing list of things that have bewildered and intrigued him about Steve today. “Why?”

“There’s a couple of kids I kind of babysit, they’re gonna be freshmen next year and they’re really into that nerd stuff—like, total geeks,” Steve says. Easy targets, he means. He shrugs. “So, you know, if you did decide to stick around another year, it’d be nice for them to have someone to look out for ‘em.”

“Ah,” Eddie says. Now this all makes a little more sense. He points his spoon at Steve. “There it is, the ulterior motive.” Steve doesn’t care about him; he hasn’t been trying to talk him into a third senior year for Eddie’s sake, but for the sake of a bunch of nerdy kids he knows. Which, actually, is still kind of sweet. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Put that accusing spoon down, Munson, there’s no ulterior motive. I meant what I said before, too. I want you to try again for you, because you really are tough and I really do think you can do it. But also because there are some kids who might need you. Both of those things can be true.”

Eddie puts his accusing spoon down and uses it to take another bite of his soupy ice cream instead. “I guess.” 

“And, who knows, maybe I want it for me too,” Steve adds flippantly, and Eddie can’t tell if he’s being serious or if this is just a cheeky hypothetical to further his point. “You know, I drive those kids around a lot, I’ll probably be picking them up from those Hellfire meetings. Maybe I want to see more of you. Maybe all three of those things can be true.” 

Hypothetical or not, Eddie can’t hold back his oddly endeared smile anymore. “Alright,” he concedes, “you’ve made your point.” 

Steve grins back. “I’ve gotta get back to work,” he says, finally standing up. He drops a hand onto Eddie’s shoulder as he passes by, a brief, lingering squeeze. “Just think about it.” 

Eddie glances at his shoulder as if half expecting the touch to have sunk into his skin and left some sort of imprint. It hadn’t, of course. He scrapes up the last of his sundae and quickly stands before Steve can get too far. “Hey, Steve?” 

Steve pauses and turns around. 

“I think you should try again too.” 

“What, with college and stuff? Yeah, I know, I’ll probably reapply next year.” 

“Well, yeah, good, that too,” Eddie says, “but I meant— I saw you strike out with that girl earlier; I think you should try again. You’ve got a lot going for you, really, and I, uh, I think a lot more people would see that if you didn’t put up some weird facade of over-the-top confidence. So- yeah, I think you should try again, but be honest, be yourself, you know, without all that bluster.”

Steve smiles, a slow, bemused sort of smile that borders on a smirk, as his head tilts and his eyes glance Eddie over. “I just did,” he says, and then he’s turning away again. “I’ll see you around, Eddie.” 

It takes a couple seconds of buffering time for Eddie to process exactly what Steve meant by that, and by then Steve’s already gone, back to work and busy. “Yeah, you will,” Eddie mutters in delayed, unnecessary response, grinning to himself as he throws away his empty sundae cup and walks out of there in far better spirits than he’d entered with. 

He still doesn’t know yet if he’ll be going back to Hawkins High for another try at senior year, but he does know that he’ll definitely be coming back here, to Scoops Ahoy, for another try at Steve Harrington.

[georgeclarkeys]

blue eyed bet pt 2 - george clarkey x reader

summary: you deal with the aftermath of finding out your boyfriend asked you out on a bet - 2.3k words

pt 1

i was struggling with this a bit, but the lovely @pretendyoucantseeme helped me brainstorm! so if you were fighting for your life waiting for this, go tell her thank you lololol. anyways this is the longest fic i have ever posted and i was mad when i wrote it so good luck!

hope y'all don't hate it!

-

Your head was pounding. After leaving George standing in the doorway of his flat, you called your best friend. She picked you up, and took you home, before letting you cry on her shoulder all night. That was four days ago.

You had been sulking in bed for four whole days. The curtains were drawn, there was an empty tub of ice cream on the nightstand, and you were under a weighted blanket. The lights were off, but the room was being illuminated by the dull light of the television. The scene in your bedroom looked like a cliche painting, depicting heartbreak in its most basic form. George had texted you. Chris had texted you. Both Arthurs had texted you. You could not bring yourself to reply to any of them, especially George, while you could still feel the ache in your chest.

A knock on your door pulled your attention away from the raunchy reality show on the TV. You made no effort to get up. Let them think I’m not home. The knock sounded again, a bit louder this time. Fuck me, you thought, rubbing your puffy eyes. You hauled yourself out of bed and threw on the nearest sweatshirt, not bothering to deal with the birds-nest situation on top of your head. The person at the door knocked again. 

“Fucking shit, I’m coming! Damn!” You yelled out, growing irritated. As your hand touched the door knob, you had a realization and paused.

“If your name is George Clarke, go away,” you spoke to the person through the door.

“My name is not George Clarke,” the unmistakable, muffled voice of Chris Dixon replied.

Cracking the door open in shock, your eyes landed on Chris. He looked tired, you could see it in his eyes and slightly disheveled hair.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned, trying to scrub the crusted tears off your cheeks with your hand. 

“(Y/N), no one has heard from you in four days. You are my friend. I needed to make sure you were at least alive, and I want to talk to you.”

You eyed him warily. He looked sincere, and there was a hint of desperation in his expression.

“Can I come in?” He asked you, gesturing slightly with his hand. 

You didn’t respond, but opened the door wider, allowing him to enter. You followed Chris to the couch, opting to sit in the chair across from him. You folded your hands in your lap and avoided looking directly into his eyes. 

“George doesn’t know I’m here,” he started, before pausing and taking a few minutes to gather his thoughts. “I wanted to explain myself, because you deserve to know what happened that night.”

You peered out the window, and focused on your breathing, “go on.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and interlocking his hands. His eyes were trained on the ground in shame, “I was not aware that you did not know about the bet. Obviously. I would like to start out by saying that you should have known a long time ago.”

He paused. You couldn’t move if you tried.

“George had noticed you early on, that night,” he continued. “He mentioned something offhand about the beautiful girl across the room, but no one really took him seriously. Arthur noticed when you started staring at George from the bar. Then, you started to leave. George was too shy to chase you down, so I offered him twenty pounds if he could get your number and ask you on a date. (Y/N) I swear on my life it was nothing malicious. We were not making fun of you, and I was not trying to be a dickhead. I was just trying to get my friend to make a move on the woman he had been sneaking glances at all night. I’m not trying to make excuses, what we did was wrong, but we all truly love and care about you. You deserved to know the truth.”

You curled into your chair, tucking your feet under you and placing your fist under your chin. You could feel Chris’s eyes on you but you kept your gaze firmly on the window. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest and your mind was racing with thoughts. 

One thought in particular emerged ahead of the others. Your lips were moving before you had a chance to consider your words.

“How is George?” You blurted out, the first words you had spoken since you sat down with Chris. 

He looked startled for a moment, but composed himself quickly. “He’s, uh, he’s not handling this very well. He misses you… wants to make things right.”

You cut your eyes back to Chris, making eye contact with him. He had given you some things to think about. “Thanks for stopping by, Chris.”

He pressed his lips together in a tight smile and rose out of his chair. You stayed put as he walked to the door, your eyes back on the window. The door squeaked as Chris opened it.

“(Y/N)?” He called, causing you to turn your head towards him, “I hope you know how sorry I am. Truly.”

You nodded as he shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in your thoughts once again.

Eventually, you lumbered back into your room. You were still trying to work through the information that Chris had given you, and pondering if it made a difference at all. Your phone lit up with a notification, grabbing your attention. It was just an email, but it reminded you of all your unread texts.

Picking up your phone, you took a deep breath and willed yourself to open the messages from George.

georgie <3 

Four days ago: 

(Y/N) I am so sorry please let me explain

I am the biggest idiot on the planet

Let me know you’re safe please

Three days ago:

(Y/N) please just tell me you made it home safe

I know you don’t want to talk to me, text Chris or Arthur or someone please I just want to know you’re safe

Two days ago:

I wouldn’t talk to me right now either. I will give you all the space you need. If you want to talk, please text me

You sighed, loudly, and brought your hand up to your mouth to chew on a fingernail. You love George, but was this something you could forgive? He had betrayed your trust in so many ways, and lied to you several times over the course of your relationship. Your mind began to wander, imagining the worst case scenarios. You needed answers: real answers. Answers that you could only get from George. Your fingers were dancing across the screen before you could talk yourself out of it.

send to georgie <3 ?

I want to talk to you. In person. Come to mine?

You pressed send and immediately set your phone face down, trying to control your nerves. He replied less than a minute later.

georgie <3 

I’ll be there in 20

Twenty minutes flew by, mainly due to your panicked cleaning and fretting over your appearance. For the second time that day, a knock sounded at your door. You took a deep breath before opening the door, but nothing could have prepared you for what you saw. 

George’s gorgeous blue eyes were dull, seemingly held up by the dark circles under them. The usually pristine, curly mullet was flat and lifeless. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept since the last time you saw him. In one of his hands he held a bouquet of pink stargazer lilies, your favorite flower. 

George ran his other hand through his hair, ruffling it, “These are for you. They're your favorite, right?” He lifted his arm, offering the bouquet of flowers to you. You blinked at him. He had brought you flowers a million times before, but this felt different, like it was more intentional. 

Your mouth twitched, not a smile but the ghost of one. “Thank you, George,” you spoke softly as you took the flowers out of his hand, “come, sit while I put these in a vase.” He nodded and made his way to the couch, ironically sitting in the exact same spot that Chris had chosen. His eyes lingered on you as you filled a vase with water and delicately placed the lilies inside. No one said a word.

You sat across from him, in the same chair that you did earlier. You were glad he brought you flowers, it gave you a minute to gather your thoughts.

“(Y/N), I-” he started, but you cut him off.

“No. I’m going first,” his eyes widened slightly but you continued. “George, I have never been as angry in my entire life than I am at you right now. I feel like you played me. You lied to me. You betrayed my trust. I’ve spent four days wondering if any of it was real at all.”

His face crumbled at the last sentence, but he did not interrupt you.

“George, I love you. I love you so deeply that there has been a real ache in my chest for four days. That is why I am willing to hear you out. So please, say what you came to say.”

His eyes found yours; melancholic yearning was written on his face. The eyes you loved to get lost in suddenly brought about a simple wariness in your mind.

“The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you,” he choked out, voice cracking with emotion. You longed to reach out and comfort him, but the walls you had built up kept you from moving.

“I am so sorry for not telling you about the bet, (Y/N). I should have told you on our first date, but I didn’t. I chickened out. You were so amazing, and we were having such a good time. I didn’t want to ruin it. Fuck, I should have told you that day.” He ran his fingers through his hair again; he was nervous.

“I don’t know how I can make this up to you, but I will do anything. I will get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness (Y/N).”

Your heart lurched, and a few tears trickled down your cheek, “George, how can I trust you? How can I trust anything you’ve ever said to me?”

He straightens his back, locking his gorgeous blue eyes on your teary ones. “Everything was real, (Y/N). I know you. I know you and I love everything about you. I know that you take your coffee with cream and just a touch of sugar. You write in your journal every morning while you drink it. I know that you love Indian food, but you’ll only buy it from that place down the street because you found out the owners are working to pay for their daughters' schooling.” 

Your tears were flowing freely now.

“I know you love animals,” he continued, “and I would never take you to a zoo unless conservation and rehabilitation were clearly part of their mission, because I know how passionate you are about it. I know that you scrunch your nose when you concentrate, and cry when you’re nervous. Your favorite flowers are pink stargazer lilies, and you only eat tomatoes if they’re in pasta sauce. You love it when I kiss your forehead, and hold your hand in crowded places. Every time you watch a new movie you end up crying because you get attached to the characters. You have so much love in your heart for everyone around you, even people who don’t deserve it, and strangers.”

You were sobbing at this point, feeling the intense emotion in his words. He moved off the couch, falling to his knees at your feet. “May I?” He asked, gesturing at your hands. You said nothing, but nodded your head, giving him permission to grab your hands. He held them softly, like he was scared of breaking you, and resumed his monologue. 

“(Y/N), I know you and I love you. I should have told you about the bet from the start. All I know is that it played no part in the real love I have for you. It stopped being a bet for me as soon as I started talking to you. There is nothing more real than my love for you. Please, give me another chance. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

You squeezed his hands before releasing them. He looked defeated, but only for a moment as you grabbed his face and pressed your lips against his. There was no hesitation, he kissed you back immediately. The kiss was full of desperation and longing, like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally been brought back together. As your lips moved against his, you could feel the hot tears begin to slide down his face. 

You pulled back, breaking the kiss. Taking in the tear stained face of the man in front of you, still on his knees at your feet, you knew he meant every word he said. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered, cracking a half-hearted smile, “but I’ll give you another chance, George Clarke. Please don’t break my heart again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he said back with a sincere smile. For the first time in four days, the stars were shining in his gorgeous blue eyes once again.

[nymphaea-blue]

Love and Deepspace boys with a lemurian!reader.

Info : 1.2k+ word count (about 400 per part), fluff, very slight angst in Zaynes part.

Notes : We need more content about lemurians, especially now since it's mermay!

Rafayels part is here!

Zayne

He would be curious about you and how your body is different from humans because of your origin, he would study you a lot and ask frequent questions. It was a bit creepy at first but he has your best interest at hand - he just wants to be able to take care of you in case something happens, so of course he needs the knowledge to do that. He doesn’t say it but he is afraid that you will be in pain because of some lemurian sickness or something will happen to you and he wouldn’t be able to help, or worse - he would harm you further.

Zayne finally realised why you were clinging to him so much. His body temperature was oftentimes naturally cold because of his evol and since cold temperature reminded you of water which was once your home, you of course often migrated to him. He made sure to have ice cream or cold water in his apartment whenever you came during hot seasons to cool you down, though his favourite method to do that was still cuddles.

He was a little unsure of your lemurian form at first, he wouldn’t come too close or talk too much but that was just because he was stunned, you were beautiful. It was shocking to him to see a literal tail instead of your legs but he quite liked you like this, not much changed in your relationship… other than the fact that now he was much more keen to have baths with you after he understood your need for the water, and he would encourage you to change into your lemurian form more to “stretch out your tail to keep it healthy” (he just wants to admire you). He’s also just a little freaked out by your ability to breathe underwater but he gets used to it.

Zayne made sure to keep your secret hidden, he was a supportive boyfriend from the start even if he didn’t know much about you and didn’t fully understand all your quirks yet. Not many people knew about Lemuria, people thought it was just a myth but now he knew it wasn’t and he was dead set on keeping you safe. Need a checkup in the hospital? Zayne would be doing that. One of the doctors thinks your temperature is too low? No it isn’t, you just didn’t wear warm enough clothes, he would say.

Xavier

He would not know for a longer time and he would probably be oblivious to any hints about it too. Once you would tell him though, he would be supportive but it ended at that. Later on however, he would start acting all weird with you. You were sitting down with him, talking to him about what happened at work and then he suddenly gets you a glass of water even though you had a different drink. You visited him in his apartment and he now had a humidifier and a lotion that he would randomly start to apply on you. And more. When you asked him about it, it turned out that he was studying how to care for fishes and other water animals and it said they needed lots of water and a cold, humid environment, and it worked. 

Xavier would find your Lemurian form to be very pretty though you wouldn’t have many chances to show it to him, since your dates were mostly to public swimming pools and he didn’t have a big enough tub, but you did manage to show it to him once and he absolutely adored it. All the shiny scales, your eyes, he loved literally all changes of yours. You were worried he wouldn’t like them, but Xavier reads a lot of comic books so he was used to the image of fantasy creatures, though you were still the prettiest one he ever saw.

He would start to look at you a little more closely, try to see your mannerism, what you liked, what you didn’t want to touch, everything. He wanted to figure out how to make you more comfortable, since he guessed being a lemurian did come with its own challenges but he was prepared to help you navigate them. You felt bad since sometimes you had to cancel dates because you just didn’t feel like yourself but he always understood and just stayed at your place with you instead.

Xavier wouldn’t bring it up too much, it just became something natural for him at some point so he wasn’t even surprised if he would find you sitting in a bathtub for a few hours or if you would start speaking in lemurian after something scared you. He did however like to ask you about your home sometimes, since it was something very precious to you. 

Sylus

Supportive king from the start because he is a dragon! You told him once over dinner and while he was curious, he was very respectful and made sure you took everything at your own pace. He would playfully tease you about it but it was all in love, his favourite way to tease you is to ask you if you still ate seafood if they were technically your neighbors and he would start to call you something like “starfish” instead of “kitten” sometimes just to see the reaction he would get out of you.

Fascinated about your lemurian form, he took it in as if he was looking at the most expensive diamond in his collection and he touched you like it too. He was always careful, gentle, as if he was afraid to hurt you or say something wrong but he would hide it with his confident tone. His pool was big enough to contain you so you sometimes had a chance to transform, but Sylus noticed that it wasn’t really as big as it should be for you to swim around freely so he made it like 5 times bigger. And his bathtub got upgraded to a bigger one too so you would be able to bathe with him while in your lemurian form since he wanted you to feel free to always transform whenever you wanted.

Sylus adores it when you speak lemurian, it’s like the hottest thing to him. He knows many languages but this one he sadly can’t learn since it’s lost to time but it was no issue because now you get to teach him! He managed to pick up some necessary stuff for when you don’t remember words in English or for when you are feeling horrible during one of the many cycles you go through as a lemurian, things like “food”, “need water” or his favourite - “hug me”. He also loves to hear you sing, your voice is one of a true siren and he will gladly fall under your spell each time if it means he gets to hear you sing more.

Ensures that nobody knows except him that you are a lemurian, not even the twins know since as much as they are useful, they probably would make you feel swamped with questions which he didn’t want. One day someone during an auction accidentally heard you say something in lemurian to Sylus and he did not hesitate to kill that guy on the spot. Another time during an auction people were talking about lemurians, their blood especially, and some were trying to gather intel on them, but Sylus quickly shut the whole thing down, because not only he cared about you but also about the very few of your kind that were somewhere in the world.

[coupsctrl]

Hihi - a request if you have time, some tooth rotting fluff about Scoups/Reader and reader wearing his hoodies. Because mans seems to ALWAYS HAVE the comfiest fluffy hoodies that I wish I could hide in. Thank you!

hello!! thank u so much for requesting, i hope u like it! let me know what u think! <3

What's Yours Is Mine

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PAIRING(S):

Boyfriend!Seungcheol, Female!Reader

GENRE:

tooth rotting fluff, as requested :)

"You're shivering"

Those are the words you hear from your beloved boyfriend Seungcheol as you two are watching a show. His house has always been on the colder side, so even though the two of you are cuddled up on the couch, you still manage to shiver.

You look up at him, shrugging. "I'm fine."

He just frowns, poking the tip of your nose as he mumbles "Silly girl..."

You watch as he stands up and disappears into his room. After a while he comes out, holding two of his most beloved hoodies. You tilt your head,

"What's this?"

He smiles, holding both of the soft hoodies out to you. "Pick one."

"Cheol really i'm fin-"

He gently cuts you off. "If you don't pick a hoodie right now I will put it on you myself."

You bite back a laugh at his serious but amusing tone. Looking at the two very large hoodies in front of you, you try to make your decision. One of them is a navy blue hoodie, it has long drawstrings, as well as a logo in the middle of it. But the other catches your eye, it's an all black hoodie, the softness of the material looking like it's seeping into Seungcheol's hands. You've seen it on him plenty of times before, so it being one of your options, makes it impossible to deny.

"That one." you point to the black one, smiling.

He returns your smile, glad you weren't going to fight on this any longer. He gently hands you the hoodie, before sitting back down in his position before. The moment you slide the hoodie on, you feel a sense of warmth. A feeling of contentment. The smell of it is so uniquely Choi Seungcheol, and you can feel yourself instinctively snuggle more and more into it as you lay back down onto his chest.

"You look good in it." He says through a smile, adjusting the neckline of it for you.

You smile, pulling the sleeves up, as they drown your hands. You feel so safe in his clothes, especially when they're 10x bigger than you. You could get used to this.

That's how it all started.

That moment was two weeks ago, and you still try and use every moment as an opportunity to wear them again. About to go on a walk? Well it's cold out, and you need a warm, comfortable hoodie to protect you. Going to bed? What's better than Seungcheol's body & hands wrapped around you as you sleep? His cozy hoodies.

You're currently making a late night snack for yourself. You thought Cheol was asleep, so you opened his closet, grabbed his hoodie and slid it on as you made your way to the kitchen. You yawn as you check the clock on the wall, it reads 1:06am. You know Seungcheol is a light sleeper, always wanting to cuddle you in his sleep, so you try and make it quick.

You slide open the freezer, grabbing a tub of Rocky Road ice cream, your favourite. Seungcheol always makes sure he's stocked up on it, almost like you live there too. You grab a spoon and dig in, getting comfortable as you sit down on the island. You do this most nights. Because of your busy schedule from your new job, and now midterms around the corner, you barely have time to eat proper meals. I mean, not saying that ice cream is a proper meal, but at least it's something.

As you're in your own thoughts, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. You immediately relax, letting out a sigh you didn't know you were holding, and drop the spoon into the tub.

"Sorry did I wake you?" You quietly ask.

He mumbles incoherently, his head rubbing against your shoulder and nuzzling it into your neck as he places a kiss there. You always feel so fuzzy inside whenever he gets clingy like this, like a little girl with her crush again.

"Mm...why are you up?" He asks, tightening his grip on your waist.

"'Was hungry. Sorry Cheol, I really tried to not wake you."

You can feel his head shaking on your neck, his breath warm and hot as he says, "You didn't baby, 'woke up on my own."

"Can you come back to bed now, pleasee?" He asks in his adorable sleepy voice.

You turn your upper body to look at him, smiling. "Just a few more bites, kay?"

You can see him nod, his eyes barely keeping open, and you swear your heart could melt on the spot. You turn your body back around, and as you're about to take another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, he speaks. "You're stealing my hoodie again."

You grin, looking down at the oversized sleeves. "It's not stealing if you don't ask for it back"

You hear a low chuckle, as he lets go of your waist. "Guess it's officially yours now."

You smile at his words. Seeming like you gave him enough torture, you stand up and place the ice cream back in the freezer. Practically the minute your hands were free, he wrapped his body around you, walking back to his room.

The two of you plop onto the bed and he immediately places his head on top of yours, rubbing your back soothingly. You whisper, a pang of guilt in your voice. "Sorry I woke you Cheol."

"Don't apologize, like I said you didn't wake me. And if it means I get to keep seeing you in my hoodies, please do this every night."

That makes you let out a small giggle, feeling the tiredness creep up to you as well.

"I love you Cheollie."

Theres a pang of silence before he speaks up,

"I love you more."

You smile, feeling overflowed with love in that moment as you finally shut your eyes for the night.

At this point, his hoodies were basically mine....and so was he.

[va1entinesg4l]

one too many bites

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: After launching his new ice cream, Charles had another flavour that was made just for you.

warning: smut!! aphrodisiac, p in v, breeding kink

A few days ago, Charles had officially launched his new ice cream brand ‘Lec’ with five different flavours. Hosting a party as well for his guests. But obviously before they got to try his ice cream, you did. His girlfriend always came first and to your surprise, Vanillove was your favourite.

You were back home from work, feeling stressed out when you notice an ice cream tub sitting on the table. Red? Charles never launched this. You furrowed your eyebrows as you called out for him, “Charles?” Suddenly you felt a pair of arms wrapped around your waist as the sound of the french accent rings through your ear. “Good evening, mon ange.”

His chest pressed against your back as he kisses the back of your neck, making you giggle quietly.

“What is that?” You gesture to the ice cream on the table and he replied with a grin, “Just a gift for my beautiful girlfriend.” You knew Charles liked spoiling you with gifts, no matter what it was.

You held the tub of ice cream up as you say in confusion, “It’s red. You never launched this.”

“That’s because i didn’t. It’s a treat just for you and i to share, mon coeur.”

“Love Potion. Really?” A giggle escaped your looks as you read out the name he gave the ice cream and he just gave you a sly smile. If only you knew.

Both of you share bites of the ice cream together, the first bite was blissful, it tasted like raspberry with a hint of vanilla, bits of chocolate inside that you seemed to enjoy. Charles was glancing at you every now and then as if he was searching for a reaction.

And with each bite you took, you felt your mind fluttering. You placed the spoon down and so did Charles when he notices the aphrodisiac starting to kick in.

“You okay, y/n?” He knew damn well what he was doing, seeing how he started rubbing your thigh slowly to tease you.

You mumbled incoherently before you ask, “What’s in the ice cream?”

“Just raspberries and choc-“

“I know but..” You trail off, your gaze staring at Charles’s lips, you felt heat starting to grow inside of you. You didn’t know what was happening but all you thought about was how you wanted Charles to bend you over and fuck you. For him to cum inside of you. And before you knew it, you moved on top of Charles, your lips on his as you start to kiss him.

He grips your ass as he rolls his hips against yours and you could feel his cock beneath his jeans. Your fingers move to his hair, running through them as you bit down on his lip hard, making him groan.

It’s been months without sex since you were both so busy with work. Every time when Charles had persuaded you for sex, you would start pushing him away with excuses like ‘I have work to get done.’ or ‘I have a meeting.’ He needed to get you distracted, away from work.

Never would he ever thought the recipe would work. A recipe he found online that could increase your sex drive, arousing you in just 10 minutes. He definitely owed his team a lot.

He then lifted you up from the couch to the table, laying you down before moving down to kiss your breasts, sucking on one of your nipples.

“More, Charles.”

The single word sent blood running to his cock and without a second, he slides his jeans down, lining his cock to your pussy before sliding in.

You let out a shaky breath at the sensation before he starts thrusting his hips against yours. The table shaking with each thrust.

Your fingers dug into his biceps when you felt his cock deeper and deeper inside of you, his hand pressed down onto your stomach as he felt himself inside of you.

“Feel that, mon ange? Feel how deep i’m inside of you?”

You nod with a whimper. You wanted him to fill you up with his cum, you wanted to see it drip down your leg as you walk. “I wanna feel you cum inside of me, Charles. Knock me up with a child.”

Charles groans at your words, cumming inside of you. You let out a cry and you arched your back, his load filling you up. His body falls on top of yours as he catches his breath. He kisses your sweaty cheek, his cock still buried inside of you. With you in his arms, you fell asleep right away from the ice cream that Charles had made for you.

He chuckled softly as you pass out in his arms, seeing how soft and angelic you were while sleeping and he looks at the tub of ice cream which was left on the coffee table by the both of you, his smile widening.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[luveline]

Bombshell reader is my queen. What would happen if she like got hold hostage or something? She’s usually so confident, I’m sure going thru that would rough her up. Would Spencer take up the more ‘active’ role and take care of her

tysm for requesting ♡ fem, 1k

Spencer doesn't know if you're aiming for him when you come out but he grabs you as soon as he can get his hands on you. You were running hard enough to wind him, breathless yourself as you gasp into his shoulder. He can't feel you right wearing the FBI vest, desperate to take it off. 

You won't let him go. 

It must've been bad inside to panic you like this. "Are you okay?" he asks, forcing you away to check you over. "Do you need medical?" He's mildly hysterical.

"No," you say, eyes closed, shaking your head until he lets you back into his arms. "I'm fine." 

"You don't sound fine–" 

"Spencer, I'm fine." 

Spencer can't remember the last time you called him Spencer. He's used to Spence, babe, baby, handsome. He's even used to your hand on his elbow to say hello without speaking. So no matter what you say, he knows you're not fine. 

Spencer leads you over to the back of an ambulance, where you glare at him. You've definitely never done that before. 

"I don't need medical–" 

"You have to get checked out." He's definitely never spoken to you like that. Terse, his hands on your arms to stop you from getting up. "Non-negotiable." 

Your eyes shine with betrayal while the EMTs check your vitals. You have a bruise like whiplash against your neck that's tender to the touch, wincing as they prod it with their white gloved fingers. You're acting peculiarly but not outside of the realm of reasonable. 

A car backfires somewhere in the street and you flinch. "Spence," you say, looking up at him through your lashes, "can we go?" 

He waits for a nod. "Yeah, we can go." 

The issue is that you can't stand. You push up, you blink, and you sit down hard again, making a small pained sound from the back of your throat that Spencer cant abide by. "What's wrong with her?" he asks.

"Adrenaline." The EMT squeezes your shoulder affectionately. "You're alright, hun. You can sit here until you feel ready." 

She and her partner take a break in the front of the ambulance and tell you to shout if you need help. Spencer hesitates for a few seconds, looking down at you with a quick assessment of behaviour. He finds the things that are wrong with you —shaking hands, painful contusion against your throat, obvious emotional distress, weak legs— and he runs through options on how he's going to help you. 

Spencer takes your hands into his, just a little smaller, less skinny, and way softer. He doesn't know whether he can truly smell your hand cream or if he knows the scent from the hundreds of times watching your routine. You take it from the pocket in your purse, squeeze the smallest bit from the tub, and rub it in slow circles around your palms. It calms you in your rare wounded moments, and Spencer imitates that now. He draws gentle circles into your skin, the tremble ever so slightly quelled. 

"Is it bad?" he asks you, transferring both of your hands into one. Freed, he trails the knuckles of his left hand parallel to your wicked bruise. 

"It hurts." Your eyes are glassy, your lips in a downturn that turns his heart. "Hurt my ego." 

"He got a cheap shot," Spencer says sympathetically, dipping forward to kiss your jaw just above the bruise. You go still. He worries it was the wrong thing to do, but you crane your head forward into his chest.

Your tired sigh is like a rake.

"It's okay. It's okay." He takes your hand again. "We'll ice it at the hotel. With arnica, it'll be gone in a week."

"I was really scared," you murmur. 

Sitting as you are in the back of the ambulance, he doesn't have to bend much to press your joined hands to his chest. Eyes shut, that close to one another, Spencer swears he can hear your rapid heart. 

"But you made it out. You're always going to make it out, because we have a great team and you're good at what you do. You're strong. Smart. And you're brave, because you got scared and you kept going anyway. You saved someone just now." 

You push him away without malice, your perfect eyebrows pinched up at the starts. "I thought maybe this time I wouldn't make it out. Not like me, huh?" 

Spencer sits next to you in the ambulance, sliding his fingers into yours with more confidence than he feels. "That's easily explainable. Do you know what working memory is?" 

Your stress melds fond. "No." 

"Working memory is one of the brain's systems necessary for thought and function. It's important for everything. And when you're under immense pressure, the strength of your working memory depletes– being in a high stakes situation like that, it's natural to choke. It doesn't mean you underperformed. It doesn't mean you let anyone down." 

"I never said I let someone down." 

"I worried you were thinking about it." 

"I was." Your glassy eyes have clarified. Spencer lets out a breath of relief as you raise your hand to his cheek, stroking it briefly with the back of your fingers. "I'm glad you think that, but I doubt Hotch will say the same thing." 

"Hotch will tell you well done and make you take mandatory leave for a week. We should regroup with the others." Spencer nudges you in the arm. "I'll write your paperwork if you tell me what to say." 

You drop your face into his shoulder. "I'm recovering from a traumatic event. Can't you do the muscle work?" 

"Y/N!" Hotch calls, a phone glued to his ear. "Well done. Nothing else tonight." You smile. "You can do the paperwork when you get back next week." 

"Ugh." 

"Told you. Well done, mandatory leave," Spencer says. 

"Excessive," you mutter into his arm. It takes you a few seconds to warm up, and when you do it's like groundhog day, sunshine filtering through the chill, "Thanks, handsome. For everything." 

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎTwo Spoons౨ৎ꣑ৎ

fem reader x clark kent thank you my darling @phantomamour for proofing <3

“You’re sure you don’t want anything?” Clark squeezed your hand, gaze flicking from the menu mounted on the wall. The two of you had made their way through a long line and were now one person away from the glass cases and tubs of colorful ice cream. You’d waited in line to humor Clark and he’d waited to humor you, likely hoping you’d change your mind. Though ice cream sounded good, you’d been trying to cut back on the amount of unhealthy foods you consumed lately.

Reaching your hand over to cover his, you shook your head. “I’ll be okay. What are you going to get?”

He grinned, nodding at the menu. “Look at the flavor of the month.” You lifted your eyes to the top, where it was written in bold blue and red letters: The Superman!

With a giggle, you reached up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “That sounds good.” You’d tease him some more about it when you got home but for now a cheeky little smile was all you could offer.

“I’ll get two spoons,” he promised before greeting the boy behind the counter, still clinging to your hand. You shook your head but it was with a smile. He always had to go and do something like this that made your heart beat a little extra.

You’d known Clark was thoughtful, kind, sweet, but of course you’d never exactly known just how much until you began spending so much time together. He gave himself so wholly to you that you worried there wasn’t anything left for himself. That was him though. He gave and gave and gave, not splitting it between his two identities but instead doubling the work. The man of steel was merely armor for the softest, biggest heart you’d ever known. And it was all yours.

You remembered moving in with him, tripping up the stairs carrying your boxes and sitting cross-legged on the floor unpacking your clothes and jamming them into the drawers he’d cleared out for you. The thrill of seeing your dresses on bony hangers next to his crisp white shirts. Letting him toss you onto the counter while he cooked that night and stealing a kiss or two between stirs. You were so utterly happy that it didn’t feel real. 

His love only swelled the longer you stayed with him and it showed in every possible way, melting from inside of him into his face. You’d sink into the couch after a long day and he’d crawl over to you, bury his face in your stomach for a moment before looking up at you with eyes sweeter than candy drops. 

Domesticity was the greatest gift you could give him- he’d made that clear. Whenever you fell into the depths of insecurity about being who you were compared to what he was he reminded you. You knew his guilt was heavy due to the responsibility he had as Superman and so you tried to ease it the best you could. 

Sometimes he’d leave in the middle of the night if he heard a call. You’d wake up in a blur and he’d tell you to go back to sleep with a kiss to your forehead. Dinners and dates had been interrupted before because someone needed him, and it only added onto his hurt over you. He’d return with apologies and grovel before he even knew if you were upset. You could never bring yourself to be.

It was partly because of this that he was so loving. Clark spoiled you beyond what was reasonable, delivering flowers and sweet little gifts to your bedside. In other actions he spoiled you in love. You were the recipient of warm kisses, cuddling, softened words that gave you butterflies. Inside you knew he’d treat you this way if he’d been born human even if his powers were his excuse.

“Sweetheart?” Clark regained your attention as he pulled you gently down the line to pay for his ice cream. 

You got a good look at what he’d ordered, smiling at the tri-primary colored concoction. “Is it good?” you asked.

“Dunno. Haven’t tried it yet,” he replied casually. 

Without thinking, you reached for the extra spoon he’d stuck in the ice cream, scooping up a bit and putting it in your mouth. It was a smaller portion than you would have expected him to get. Eyes widening, you beamed up at him. “Mm!”

“That good, huh?” Clark laughed as he swiped his card. He thanked the cashier and handed the cup of ice cream to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“I think it tastes like you would if you were an ice cream,” you said, and another laugh popped out of him much to your delight.

Clark smacked a kiss to the top of your head. “Well isn’t that funny?” He reached for his spoon and took a bite, eyebrows lifting. “Oh that is good.”

“Uh huh!” You took another bite. 

With a little half smile, he asked, “Do you want me to get you your own?”

“No, I won’t finish it,” you said, shaking your head. “I just want a few bites.”

“Alright.” He put his spoon back in the cup and started to walk again, keeping a careful hold on you as you both navigated the sidewalk. You had another bite, then another, the tangy flavor of the ice cream satisfying something deep inside you. 

The sun was setting, skyscrapers casting shadows across the pavement. Looking to the sky, your eyes grew hazy as you observed the fluffy clouds turning pink. It was a dreamy sort of evening, the low chatter of the streets a gentle lullaby. You were that happy sort of tired that came after a long day full of wonderful things. Work had been good. You’d gotten off early and wandered over to see Clark at the Daily Planet. He’d been so happy to see you that you thought he’d start levitating. Right away he asked you if you’d wanted to go to dinner this evening to which you’d enthusiastically agreed. 

Your spoon scraped the bottom of the cup and your eyes widened in horror. “Oh… I’m so sorry, you only had a few bites and I…and I…” Your lower lip started to tremble. A whole week you’d gone without eating anything sweet in a full portion and here you’d devoured your boyfriend’s ice cream like it was the last food on earth.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, ducking his head to kiss your forehead and thumb your cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I was doing so good.” You stared at the empty cup in your hand in disbelief. Lifting your eyes to Clark, your voice hitched. “I was-”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled you off to the side, rubbing your back. “Hey, nothing’s gonna happen if you have a little ice cream. It’s okay.” Removing the empty ice cream cup from your hand, he tossed it into a nearby trash can so he could wrap his arms around you. He cupped the back of your head, uncaring about what anybody thought.

You allowed yourself to be pulled into his arms, the distress that had curdled in your chest melting away. His heart was beating at its usual irregular pace and it comforted you just a little. It was all too often you had these sorts of breakdowns and he knew just how to make it all better. “Honest, I’ve been getting worried. Thought you’d gotten so sweet on the inside that you couldn’t stand eating sweet things on the outside.” That coaxed a giggle out of you and he kissed the top of your head. “You’re okay, huh? You’re okay.”

“I’m being silly,” you mumbled, and he cupped the back of your head so you’d look up at him. 

“You’re trying to keep yourself healthy is all,” he said quietly. “But it’s okay. You’re doing just fine.”

A real smile turned your lips up and you reached up to adjust the collar of his shirt. “You know, you didn’t get very much ice cream…”

He chuckled, catching your drift and repositioning his hand on your waist. Clark waited for a break in the crowd before stepping to the side and walking with you right back in the direction of the ice cream shop. “We’ll get another Superman. Two spoons.”

“I’ve already got one,” you whispered and he patted your side, a secret sort of smile on his face.

[charmercharm3r]

Dream You

BC

Masterlist

wc: 4k

Synopsis: He cheated on you— in your dreams, then took kiss it better too literally.

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, softdom!chan, light bondage, oral (m receiving), dacryphilia, pretty intensely fluffy they just rly love each other

☆ﾟ

4,000 followers! enjoy this lil idea as a thank you. i appreciate you!

You. Needed. Affection.

Just affection, and loads of it from one person in specific. Mostly because you were pretending to be mad at him and it made you miss him even more. Chan rarely makes you mad, he’s always good about communicating and listening, so the fact that you were mad at him and he didn’t even know why threw him off a little.

So there you were, sat on the couch wrapped in one of his hoodies eating straight out of the ice cream tub because you were too upset to do anything but count the seconds until he got home. You weren’t answering his texts, you picked up his call because you accidentally pressed the wrong button out of muscle memory and Chan could tell through the phone that today was just not a good day.

When he came home and found you sitting in the same spot that you were in when he called you– he knew this because you described it exactly as it looked, Chan almost collapsed at how cute you were. You had this ruffle in your brow and his hoodie looked like it was threatening to drown you in the black material. Gnawing on the spoon, your chest rumbled a little as Chan smiled his dimply smile and reached for the tub of ice cream to take away. “You doing okay, baby?” He chuckled trying to pop the spoon out of your mouth, wriggling it back and forth and swaying your head until you decided to let go.

“No, I’m mad at you,” there wasn’t much bite to the statement.

Chan pecked your forehead and ventured off to put the ice cream away, “oh yeah? Wanna tell me why so I can fix it?” He returned to stand behind you and lean over the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around your neck and nuzzling his cheek into the top of your head.

Upset but still wanting the physical touch, you pulled his arms tighter, “dream you cheated on me.”

He popped his head around the side of yours to come face to face with a look of genuine shock. “Did he?!” Chan hopped over the back of the couch to sit next to you.

“Yeah. I caught you in our bed and everything. Then you broke up with me and posted the bitch on your instagram the next day.” You huffed and pushed him away with no force, turning to lean on the armrest and lay your legs over his lap. Chan rested his head on your knees, looking at you with his big puppy dog eyes that never failed to make you melt.

“I thought I taught him better than that,” he gently scolded. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Is that why you didn’t kiss me back when I left this morning?

You nodded. “And why you weren’t answering my texts?” Another nod. “And why you can’t look at me because you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

You were half way through nodding for a third time when you caught his words, “hey! It’s not ridiculous! It could be a premonition, I could be psychic and get into fortune telling with how accurate I am.”

Chan closed his eyes and let his hands wander up and down your calves, lightly dragging his lips across the bare skin of your knees as he spoke, “mhm, mhm. Or it means that it’s never gonna come true. I like to think that, instead.”

It was getting harder to be mad when the feeling of his breath fanning over your skin made goosebumps rise, he loved watching the way your body reacted to him. It was never hard for him to work you up, physically and emotionally. Chan thrived on the effect he has over you, but it’s a two way street and you live for the way he’d do anything to please you. Even if it means apologizing for something he didn’t really do. In this reality, at least.

You wanted to be mad so bad that you debated on throwing him off you entirely, however his lips were just too plush looking and you craved to feel them on your own. Chan took his time to work them higher up your legs, eventually laying them and sticking his head under the hem of his hoodie you wore. He tugged you to lay flat so he could have more area to trace his pretty lips cross, the thoughts of being upset almost totally dissipating under his touch. Your leg instantly wrapped around his torso, to which he grinded lightly into the cushion. His hair tickled your bare chest as he peppers kisses across your belly, hands roaming your back to keep you near. He didn’t move as sexually as one might’ve thought from an outside perspective, it wasn’t to get into your nonexistent pants, you just got him so horny.

So horny to the point where he would’ve kept grinding against the couch if you didn’t feel like relieving him, he would’ve taken it like a champ if you denied him. You never do, though, as if you had the impulse control to ever tell him no.

Chan kept his movements slow, intentional, with the purpose of getting you to relax and see how much he loves you and how much an asshole dream-him was for cheating on dream-you. Big hands moved down to cup your ass under the fabric of your underwear, teething lightly above your belly button then soothing over the bite with his fat tongue. The wet muscle laved over the sore spots with the tip of his tongue, then flattening it, the tip, then flat again, alternating like he would if it were your pussy and were trying to get you to cum.

You wanted that, you always wanted his tongue on you. But now, you needed this more. The closeness and being able to keep him where only you can love and appreciate.

It felt so stupid to even be thinking that way, stupid that you had pulled such childish acts instead of just telling him in the first place. If you had just asked to be coddled, he would’ve given it to you without a second thought.

Chan needed this as much as you did, little to your knowledge. He could feel how off you were in the morning but really just didn’t have the time to fix it at that moment. It stung his heart hearing what dream-him did to dream-you, he couldn’t possibly imagine putting you through that, let alone move on so quickly if you ever were to actually break up.

No, he couldn’t even bear the thought of leaving you, it hurt too much.

His heart hurt for you, he could see the pain all over your face when he got home and it wasn’t even real life. Chan would rather die than ever let you go through something like that in this reality. In your dreams, well, there isn’t much he can do other than what he’s doing now.

Leaving chaste kisses anywhere along your torso he could, massaging your ass with his nimble fingers while heavily breathing in the scent of your skin. The quiet moans you were trying to suppress made him smile, able to feel your muscles tightening and loosening beneath his fingertips. He felt so warm against you, you wanted to thread your fingers through his hair and tried to from over the hoodie. Chan mumbled incoherently in protest and tugged the hem over his head again when you tried to tug it up.

“Wanna be close to you,” he murmured, going back to rubbing his cheek to your belly. You could only giggle and let him.

This was just Chan. Just purely and entirely him. Doing nothing and everything at the same time and making you melt into the palm of his hand, you’d forgotten why you were mad until he spoke again.

“Can’t believe I’d do that,” the barrier of material made it hard to hear him.

“Hm?” You hummed.

He slithered a little higher up your chest and you pulled the neckline to peak down into the dark shadows of the hoodie. You could see just one of his pretty brown eyes peering up at you sweetly, “who in their right mind would do that to you?”

Chan rested his cheek on your chest and stayed there, arms enclosing around your torso. “Dream-you did. And it really sucked.”

He whined this time, higher in pitch and wiggling to get comfortable. Your head back against the couch, you closed your eyes and let yourself calm down before you got worked up again. Chan could hear your heartbeat speed up, placing another soft kiss to the skin above it. You shivered and draped your arms over the back of his shoulders to succumb entirely to the feeling. Just as you finally relaxed, warmth engulfed your left nipple, wet and hot and being suckled into his mouth like a pacifier. “I’m trying really hard to be mad,” you admit while smiling to yourself, out of his field of vision.

“Please, don’t be,” he pleaded, “I’ll never hurt you. I’ll destroy anyone who tries.” It sounded silly coming from his mouth considering it was full of your tit, you couldn’t help a gentle laugh.

A few more moments of him playing with your breast, then switching to the other with no regard for the wet sounds that emitted from his suckling, you couldn’t take not seeing him anymore. You sat up as much as he’d let you and tucked your arms into the body of the hoodie, pulling your head through the neckline just enough so that the two of you were pressed chest to chest under the material.

It was dark and hot, you weren’t sure how he was able to stand being underneath it for so long. You couldn’t totally see him, but you knew he was looking at you– or at least, attempting to. You felt for his cheeks and held him just millimeters away, feeling his calm breathing over your chin. In almost total darkness, unable to see but could feel each other entirely, he whispered, “you’re safe with me. You’ll always be safe with me.”

You pulled him into you, savoring the fragile way he always tended to kiss you when you were particularly emotional, scared as if he’d break you. Handle with care, your heart said, and he did just that and more. Delicate. Do not touch, written outside the glass case he envisioned you in whenever something went even remotely in the opposite direction you wanted. It wasn’t that you needed the protection, by no means were you unable to handle yourself, but you invoked something in him that he couldn’t control. Fortunately for him, you let him smother you and baby you and wrap you in bubble wrap so tight you couldn’t breathe because it felt good to be seen. It felt good to be loved, and loved by him.

It was getting more and more difficult not to rut your hips against him, any part of him because he made you that insatiable. Chan could feel you trying to restrain and laughed against your lips.

“What if I want you to break me?” He glitched for a second, then went back to kissing you with a little more intensity.

“Then, I’ll just have to put you together again.” You ripped the hoodie away, leaving you naked in his hold aside from the underwear you were soaking through. “And break you, put you together again, and again, and again until you’re begging for me to stop.”

You felt the wave of butterflies flutter right between your legs and caved.

“Fuck– take me to the bedroom.”

Chan stood just to throw you over his shoulder effortlessly, entirely too excited for either of your own good. It wasn’t until now that you noticed he was still in those uncomfortably tight jeans he left in this morning, your mouth watered at the timely prospect of getting him out of them. You just couldn’t stop yourself from sending a light smack to his ass as he walked through the bedroom door, and he reciprocated with an even harder one to the bare skin of your own.

He laid you down gently just to cover your body with his own once again, not letting you strip him without your tongues laving against one another's. His shirt came off first, tossing it towards the headboard, your underwear, then his pants. Chan stopped you from reaching for his underwear so he could tease you, barely tugging the elastic down his hips and letting his erection catch in the fabric until he finally let it slap against his lower belly erotically.

Chan let them fall to the floor before kneeling tall onto the bed, “turn around,” he instructed. You followed and faced the headboard, seeing him reach around for his discarded shirt. Just barely could you feel his hot breath against your neck, “are you sure this is what you want tonight, baby?”

You hummed with desperation, “break me. Lovingly, please.”

Leaving a small peck to your cheek for reassurance, Chan grabbed your arms harshly and brought them behind your back. He used his forgotten shirt as a makeshift restraint, keeping you bound and tied up with no way of being able to touch him, you wondered what it was he had in store that required it.

Once he finished he sat opposite of you, falling on his back and watching the process of your mouth watering over seeing him in the perfect cock-sucking position. The redness of his tip, you would’ve thought it was painful if you didn’t know better. No, that’s a lie– it was painful. Painful watching you be so pretty and worked up and he was fighting the urge with everything in him not to untie you and lay you in the sheets like the pillow princess you so rarely got to be.

But it wasn’t what you wanted. What you wanted was to not think, be serviced and be of service, used to please. Tonight needed to end with you feeling weightless and not an ounce of sadness or anger left lingering to be found.

“Break you lovingly?” Chan called, tucking an arm under his head while the other stroked himself slowly. He swiped the bead of precum, beckoning you over with a single finger and forcing his thumb past your lips to taste. You hummed at the salty bitterness, the weight of him on your tongue and could feel yourself salivating. “Which do you want first, doll? Break you, or love you?”

Judging from the way you were practically drooling down his wrist, he took your lack of response as the former.

Stealing his thumb away, a thread of spit following, Chan laid back down and put both hands behind his head. “Go ahead. Be a good doll and suck.”

You folded so fast that it made him chuckle with pride knowing you were wanting him as much as he wanted you. Licking and twirling your tongue around the tip like hard candy, taking in as much of him as possible. Your own spit dripped down your chin and filled your mouth like a perfect hole.

Chan started to stutter up into you the further down you went. The more of him you took in, the harder it got not to thrust up. By the time you’d gotten to the point of lightly gagging, he was biting his lip to keep from losing all control. But then you looked up at him, eyes big and watery, tears already rolling down your cheek and you couldn’t even wipe it away. Nope, all self control completely obliterated by that single look. That fucking look, Chan physically felt his chest cave like crumbling sand between his fingers.

“I’ll fucking break you, baby. Don't worry your pretty little head, I’ll make you forget.” You couldn’t reply with his thick cock in your mouth, but could see you approve with the little nods you managed to give. “Be a good cocksleeve, yeah? Make me feel good.”

You took him as deep as you could, stilled as soon as your nose hit his pelvis and thought that was good enough since he groaned, loud and deep from within his chest. But you looked up at him again, this time just as the tears fell from your lash line. Chan tangled both hands in your hair and hooked his legs over your shoulders, cock still buried down your throat. He locked his ankles around the back of your head and pushed himself that much deeper to get you to gag harder. The sound that he emitted resembled that of a bear, hearty, unrestrained, feeling.

Oh, how he felt you. Felt the constricting of your throat around him, felt your tongue fighting to make room for you to breathe and failing, felt your tears wet the skin of his pelvis. Nothing but your safe word could have stopped him from pulling you off his cock for a split second to inhale a deep breath, then shoving you back down to abuse your throat like it was just a toy. For now, you were just a toy– his toy.

Lewd and adulterous squelching of your mouth slicking up and down his cock filled the room, overridden just by Chan’s moans of pleasure and your light humming to vibrate up his shaft. He was kind for a few moments– as kind as he could have been in this position, and eventually gave up seeing as you could still fight back. His lazy pushes and pulls of guiding your head up and down turned into him rutting up into your mouth in quick jabs, utilizing the headlock he had you in as leverage to move at what could have been neck breaking speed. His hands held you firmly in place as Chan did all the work now, focused on nothing but his own pleasure as your tears and spit mixed to puddle around his throbbing cock.

You were a gagging, crying mess and you loved every second. So much so that you spread your knees and tried to rub your puffy clit into the bunched up sheets. A few more upthrusts of his tip hitting the back of your throat, Chan let you go entirely. Without the stability of him holding you up, your weak body tilted to the side as you gasped for air, hips slightly twitching from the immense need built up.

He took a second to regain his composure while you caught your breath. Chest still heaving up and down, Chan forgot that your hands were still tied, wondering why you weren’t jumping his bones the second he let you free. Sitting up, he tilted his head at you with a sympathetic smile, “sweet doll, I haven’t even done anything to you yet. Anything left in here?” He mockingly tapped the side of your temple, to which it went unacknowledged. You just wanted him on you again, whining and trying to wriggle closer to him. “Hm, guess not. Did my job, didn’t I? Didn’t take very much effort, baby. You love me that much? Or you’re just a cockhungry doll.”

Through the soreness in your jaw, you managed to whisper, “l–love you.”

Chan chuckled, “I know you do. Love my sweet doll, too.” He leaned over to kiss your forehead, ignoring the way you puckered your lips for more. Chan manhandled you to the center of the bed, keeping you on your side with arms still restricted from touching.

There was nothing you could do but let him do what he wanted with you, but this was the lovingly part. This, although bound on your end, was where he showed you everything he couldn’t tell you. This was the putting you back together part, the safe with me part, the dream-me can go fuck himself because you deserve the best dicking down ever part.

And could you tell that’s what all of this was? Absolutely. Could you do anything about it? Not a chance. You couldn’t touch him, couldn’t form coherent sentences, couldn’t do anything but babble love you, love you, and more love you’s.

Chan pushed your hair from your sweaty forehead, memorizing your features for just a second before he lost himself again. Then straightening out your bottom leg for him to straddle while resting the top in the crook of his arm and aligning his cock at your entrance, just teasing your clit with the tip and spreading the perpetually leaking beads of cum. He would dip into your hole, hear you whimper, then pull away and do it all over again to keep you in a constant state of frustrated that he wouldn’t just fuck you already.

It was because fucking you wasn’t what he wanted, he hated calling it that. If it were anyone but you, calling sloppy sex for what it is wouldn’t have bothered him. But you weren’t just anyone, he wouldn’t dare call you anything less than what you deserved and that applied in the bedroom as well. That was, of course, aside from when you truly asked for it.

Even the sloppiest of sex with you wouldn’t be classified as just fucking. He felt every inch of you in every single one of his nerve endings, in his veins, pumping the blood through his heart straight down to the tip of his cock. Chan felt a little dumb just looking at you, like he’d lost his mind at the mere scent of your arousal, he felt like a lovesick puppy and if you’d ever decide to leave him, he’d die of a broken heart.

God, he loves you. He said it as he finally pushed into your pulsing, wet hole. He said it as he came to the hilt, he said it as he slipped the bondage off your wrists, as he grabbed your hand to hold and as he began to lazily thrust in and out, searching for the spot that would make you cry so hard you’ll pass out as soon as you cum.

And you did cry, not just from how good you felt physically but because even if he wasn’t mindlessly telling you how much he loved you, you could see it in the way he looked at you. He wasn’t looking anywhere but your face, straight into your eyes in a stare so intense it should’ve been uncomfortable. It was anything but, you shed a tear every time you blinked to see him still looking at you like he was sure you were the last thing he’d ever see.

God, you love him. You said it as your hand held his for dear life, as he pummeled the soft spot within you that made you see stars through the tears, you said it as you were curling your toes and arching your back at an unholy angle. You said it as coherently as possible as the butterflies in your belly swept you into a whirlwind of pleasure, as you milked him for everything he had, as you came back down to earth somehow laying on his chest and not at all in the same position as when the orgasm hit.

Gentle beating of his heart in his chest stirred you from the light daze you had fallen into, you don’t even remember doing it. “Hey there,” his chest rumbled. Chan kissed the top of your head, your forehead, then moved to lay your head in the pillows so he could kiss your lips.

As he tucked your hair behind your ear, you finally got to brush your fingers through his curls, so soft and pretty. His eyes closed as your nails raked across his scalp, letting his forehead fall against yours. The rumbling of his chest made you smile, “you purr like a cat,” you said through the sore scratch in your throat.

“Cats ward off evil. Real me is shooing away the nightmares for good. Let me purr.” Chan let you tug his head against his chest with a content him falling from your lips, where his purring turned into soft snores as the exhaustion finally hit him.

☆ﾟ

tags: @sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @hamburgers101 @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @lvrhyuka @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @goblinracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny @mamabymychem @katsukis1wife @woozarts @noellllslut

[thanksbutno98]

Psych Eval

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: Death in the family rattles John Price.

Warnings: death, death of a family member, grief, PTSD, mentions of depression, allusion to an eating disorder, injury, blood, domestic argument, swearing, not edited.

——————

The creak of hardwood under John’s suede chestnut slippers whined in the darkness. He was just creeping up the stairs having stayed up much later than he intended. One episode of his tv show had turned in to six and now it was 2am. It was the first real time to himself he felt like he had gotten recently and he overindulged. Just like he overindulged on that tub of ice cream sitting at the bottom of the garbage bin.

It had been a little over a month since the events of you being kidnapped on a dig happened. You hadn’t gone back to work in this time and the former curator had been filling in for you at the museum. You were in talks about going back soon but it seemed that every time you were ready the panic attacks started again.

You had been in a tough spot the past two days after finding an old bottle of perfume that happened to shatter when you were taken. The smell had sent you in a downward spiral and John was helping you in every way he could. He was losing sleep and over eating watching you suffer like this. It was normally himself who had the panic attacks or woke up screaming from nightmares that plagued him. Seeing you go through the same things was messing with him on a very deep level.

Slowly, John opened your bedroom door to see the room was in complete darkness. Shutting the door quietly behind him, John made his way towards your bed to finally get some much needed rest. After stripping down to his boxer briefs he was crawling into bed. John could hear you breathing heavily and when he looked at you closely sweat was collecting at your brow. Your sleeping face that normally looked peaceful was twisted in fear. Realizing you were having a nightmare John thought it might be best to gently wake you up before you woke yourself up screaming or crying like you had too many times.

He wanted to save you from the pain, take it away, put it on himself if it needed to be felt. John was good at that. Feeling pain and suffering and still managing like nothing had happened. He walked through life most days with a back pack of emotional bricks strapped to himself and was able to carry on. You weren’t as capable as him on that front and he wished he could save you from the never ending abyss of trauma like this.

Bringing his hand to your shoulder John leaned over you and lightly shook you and with his other hand caressed your hair to calm you. The touch woke you up and John smiled softly at you to help you adjust to being awake. An obscene crack echoed in the room and your shrill screamed followed seconds after.

Johns vision went blurry and then the pain set in. His nose throbbed so violently it made his eyes water and he swore he could hear crackling inside his skull. John sat back against the head board, his hand quickly coming up to his nose as he felt it begin to gush. The pain was white hot and so disorienting he could hardly register you freaking out next to him.

“John, oh my god are you okay!?” You frantically turned on your lamp light and rushed to his aid.

When you opened your eyes and saw a figure looming over you it startled you to your very core. You weren’t sure what you were dreaming about but dread was the first feeling you had and then fear set in. Without thinking and purely relying on instinct you threw an elbow to get whoever was pinning you down off you. When the sharp end of your elbow connected you screamed, and were ready to run since you were absolutely terrified.

Scrambling back you realized seconds later you were home and the person you struck was your husband.

“I’m fine.” John’s gruff voice was muffled from pinching his nose and using the other hand to try and catch the blood.

He was fine but beyond pissed off with you. It was taking all his self control not to instantly berate you for almost breaking his nose.

“Get up, you’re staining the sheets.” Your reaction to him bleeding was insult to injury.

You sounded more concerned about the bedding than you did for cracking him across the face. The mean narrowed eyed look he gave you for talking about the sheets put you in your place.

“I’m- so sorry.” You whispered and then jumped out of bed. You helped John to the bathroom as his nose continued to gush; accepting that the sheets were now ruined.

——————

“Jesus, Price! You piss the wife off?” Soap’s joke had John’s eyes narrowing in his direction. For any other members in the military that look scared them away but the men of 141 were use to the irritable Captain Price.

John’s nose was slightly swollen and heavily bruised. The blow had connected with the bridge of his nose towards his right side. The bruising had spread from that area and bled into the corner of his eye and around the lid and underside. Not only did you almost break John’s nose but you had given him a black eye too.

“No.” John said plainly and went back to getting dressed.

His reaction said otherwise to Soap, who was now pondering if Price’s wife was capable of violence. You didn’t seem the type. Soap knew you were opinionated and bossy with John but imaging you striking him was impossible.

John had just finished up his workout and was ready to get some paper work done. He came in early hoping to avoid anyone who knew him personally so there would be minimal jokes.

“Indy finally try to kill you?” Ghosts voice came out of nowhere.

He was just entering the locker room to drop off his gym bag. Ghost was chuckling darkly at his own joke because there was no way you went after your husband. Maybe verbally but that black eye couldn’t have been from you.

“No.” John’s teeth were gritted as he laced up his boots.

Soap and Ghost were cracking jokes that you did this to John because of how ridiculous of a notion that was. They started to volley back scenarios that would push you to murder. The one that had Johnny howling was if John set your kitchen on fire. You loved to cook, so they were convinced that would have you digging John’s grave in the yard. Little did they know John had already done that and was still standing. They concluded that you wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone strike your husband; at least on purpose.

“Seriously Cap, the little lad clock you in the eye again?” Soap asked as he stood in front of his locker, rummaging through it.

The question had John rolling his eyes. When Jj was younger he’d given John a black eye by head butting him while he was napping on the couch. It was a complete accident but you had warned the little boy to stop jumping on the couch while his father was lying down. Suffice to say jumping on the couch stopped after that.

“Why are you two here so early?” Pushing past the question John decided to change the subject.

“Psych Evals this morning. You forget?” Ghost shut his locker loudly before heading for the door.

“Fuck.” John mumbled heading in the same direction.

Today was not the day he wanted to do this. He’d slept horrible the night before because he’d been clobbered by his beautiful wife. What was a complete accident turned into John comforting you because you felt so awful for elbowing him in the face. The only upside he could find in this was that the self defense he’d been teaching you in the yard was paying off.

Walking down the hall John checked his email on his phone to see when his scheduled evaluation was. With a heavy sigh he realized he had 15 minutes to get over to the other building. He was lucky Soap and Ghost said something or he would have missed it. Giving Ghost a nod goodbye John made his way to the exit as his phone rang. Pulling it from his back pocket he saw your name and the cute picture of you apple picking from last year.

“Hello, darling. I’m a bit busy.” John didn’t mean to sound unpleasant but he knew he did.

“John, you have to come home.” From the sound of your voice down the line John could immediately tell something bad had happened.

Stopping in his tracks a million scenarios flashed in his mind, it had him wondering what could have happened that he needed to come home. The first thought was that one of the kids were hurt but then John was worrying you might be hurt. He quickly ducked into an empty conference room and shut the door so no one could over hear his conversation.

“Are you and the kids okay?” John blurted out.

“We’re fine. But-.” John heard you take a deep breath on the other end of the line. Usually you were so straight forward, your hesitation was putting him on edge.

“John, you just need to come home. I don’t want to tell you over the phone.” You spoke earnestly knowing that your husband shouldn’t be finding out this news like this. He needed to be home with his family that loved him.

“Tell me.” John spoke seriously no longer putting up with you beating around the bush. What his mind was coming up with had to be worse than the actual news.

“John. I mean it. You shouldn’t be hearing this over the ph-“

“Tell. Me.” John cut you off.

His words were hushed but held so much fury behind them. He didn’t like being kept in the dark. The lack of knowing, of losing that control wasn’t something he could ever feel comfortable with.

There was a long pause before you mustered up the courage and spoke.

“John, I’m so sorry. Your mum passed this morning.”

Static.

All John could hear was static coming down the line. His arm fell to his side and the sound of his phone hitting the tiled floor didn’t seem to bring him back from the trance he was in. Flashes of his childhood sparked in his mind.

Crying in the garden when he stepped on a bee as a young boy and his mother carrying him inside. Christmases, birthdays, visiting home after being deployed; they all played in his head. Each memory ending in his mom’s cheery smile and outstretched arms to tightly hug him.

The one that stuck out was how every time he walked through the door of his childhood home his mother would come bustling down the hall to hug him. She’d squeal and fuss over him needing to put some meat of his bones. John always told her ‘Still in one piece, like I promised.’ then she’d smack his arm and bring him to the kitchen for a cup of tea and biscuits.

Your voice could be lightly heard calling his name which seemed to finally grab John’s attention. Shaking his head John quickly picked his now shattered phone back up off the floor and pressed it to his ear.

“John? John, sweetheart are you okay?” Your voice was barely holding John’s attention, he needed to get off the phone for his own sanity.

“No. I have to do something quick and I’ll be home.” John sounded distant as if he were in a far off world.

You couldn’t see him but you knew him. He had to be in a daze. A state of shock. Reverting to auto pilot so he didn’t have to accept the facts yet. Before you could respond to try and check on him the line cut.

Your chest became tight, a consuming sense of dread filling you. Your husband was a strong man, he was notorious for being calm and collected. But this was going to rock his world and the fact he was alone when finding out racked you with guilt.

“I shouldn’t have told him.” You whispered.

“Sweetheart, you had to tell him at some point. He’s stubborn, and would’ve badgered you until you told him.” Your dad’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as he tightly hugged you.

The first person you had told was your father. You called him immediately after getting off the phone with John’s little sister. You didn’t know what to do or how to handle something like this. He was over your house and helping you plan on what the next steps were. Your father would be stepping in to help around the house and be staying with you if needed. While you focused on your husband and the grief you knew was about to consume the Price family as a whole.

Sarah, John’s little sister, had called you in hysterics that Mary had died that morning alone in her home. She screamed and sobbed that if her father and Mary hadn’t split up her dad would’ve been there to help her. The four Price siblings had been taking turns checking on their mother while she was getting accustom to being divorced from their father.

It was John’s turn today but he called and asked Sarah to stop by and he would go as soon as the black eye was gone. His original thought was his mother seeing him like that would only be fuel to the fire and she’d be overbearing as usual seeing him hurt. He had no clue that what his sister walked in to would’ve been him. That John had unintentionally avoided seeing his mother on the kitchen floor as a kettle screamed to the high heavens.

——————

“Is daddy okay?” Evelyn your oldest daughter’s voice came from behind you.

You jumped not realizing she was there when she should be in bed. It was the middle of the night and she should have been asleep hours ago. You frantically looked to your husband who was snoring loudly and sprawled out on the couch with one leg dangling off. John was lying on his back, still in his jeans and grey crew neck, cheeks rosy, and the lines on his forehead deeper than usual. You threw a blanket over him and sat down and cried when you realized he’d been out drinking and that was why your multiple calls went unanswered.

He hadn’t come home after you broke the news to him and you went as far as calling Soap who told you he left around 9am. John’s oldest brother Harrison called you midday and said John had come by just as distraught as the rest of their siblings. He told you your husband seemed to be completely out of it and unable to be present. That John clearly needed you to tether him back to earth. After that you had now clue where John had been.

The state of the living room was not something you wanted your daughter to see. There was a half empty whiskey bottle sitting on the coffee table along with cigars, an ash trey, an empty crystal glass, and multiple lighters. You hadn’t even heard John come home or smelt the cigar smoke. You found him passed out here when you came down to wait up for him.

“Yes, now go to bed.” You were quick to escort your daughter back upstairs.

Evelyn didn’t need to see her father like this. You knew John would be humiliated in the morning that you saw him in that state, let alone any of his children.

“But Gran she-. How can he be okay?” Evelyn asked as you tucked her back into bed. She had been mulling over what you said.

Her and Jj were completely distraught when you sat them down and told them their grandmother had passed away. The tears felt endless and they asked for John. You had to hold the fort down and help them through their big emotions. It was tough to do on your own but John had gone radio silent and you couldn’t keep this from them. You knew if any of John’s siblings came by looking for him the kids would find out, so you had to tell them properly.

“He’s not okay about that. Your dad’s very upset.” Running your fingers through Evelyn’s hair you watched as she wiped away the coming tears.

“I don’t want you to die mummy.” Evelyn began to sob unable to find the words at her young age that this fear was magnified after what happened to you abroad.

“I’m not gonna die for a very very long time.” You hugged your little girl and laid with her in your arms as she wept and wept.

She cried about not having any grandmothers now. How her daddy must miss his mum because she would miss you forever and ever. The pain she was feeling brought tears to your own eyes so you stayed with her until she was asleep. By that time you felt that your bones had become heavy and you yourself wanted to crawl into bed and cry yourself to sleep; but you didn’t.

You made your way downstairs and cleaned up the mess in the living room. Pouring the remaining alcohol down the drain you tossed the bottle and put everything back where it belonged, as if it had never been touched. You were going to give John tonight to be self destructive for once, but after this never again.

Sleep seemed to evade you like it had been for weeks now. So you stayed on the couch and read your book allowing John to sleep until the wee hours of the morning. You wanted to be there for him when he woke up, so he wouldn’t be alone anymore. As the sun began to lighten the sky you sensed John beginning to stir.

Carefully you watched his light blue eyes flutter open in the dark living room, followed by an uncomfortable groan. John turned to look at the coffee table for what you assumed would be another drink, which was true. Seeing the bottle gone and mess picked up he was quickly more alert. John sat up using his forearms to prop himself up and caught sight of you curled up in the other corner of the couch with your book, using the book light he’d gotten you to read.

He looked embarrassed. Ashamed of himself. His eye and nose were still black and blue making this scene of your husband feel all that more sorrowful. Without a word you got up and sat next to him.

John stayed silent as he moved to sit up properly on the couch with his feet on the floor and you two shoulder to shoulder. The hangover didn’t compare to the heart ache he felt. The feeling of your arms wrapping around him did him in. He had spent the entirety of yesterday in denial and drinking away the truth of his mother’s passing. But today, in this moment in your dark living room, John finally began to accept she was gone.

A guttural broken sob left your husband as his shoulders and body began to shake. You had seen John cry before but never like this. Placing his face in his hands John sobbed from the pain deep within his soul and crumbled to pieces in your embrace. He began to cling to you and placed his face in the crook of your neck as he broke down. His fingers were clutching onto your shirt like a life line as he let out deep pained sobs. There was no shame or hiding, John was letting it all out as the woman he loved most in the world held him together while he felt a grief like no other.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered in John’s ear.

His grip on you only became tighter as he hugged you with more force than was comfortable. It pushed the air from your lungs and had you wincing. John didn’t realize he had you in a bone snapping hug and you didn’t say anything to let him know. You allowed him to get all his tears out until he was simply breathing heavy with his face pressed into the crook of your damp neck. With a loud sniffle John was pulling away, his hands sliding from your back to grip your shoulders.

Staring in to your eyes you could see the storm raging inside his sea of blue. He looked older in this moment. The years of service in the military seemed to have left deeper marks in the pale morning light. Or maybe it was the black eye and bruised nose that made John look so beaten down and broken. The wrinkles on his forehead were creased like your books dog eared pages. The crows feet that you told him were laugh lines were sunken in. Pain and sorrow were etched into the deepest parts of John’s face and it made the speckles of grey in his beard and hair seem to be spreading like weeds in your garden.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home last night. I went out to the pond to clear my head.” John’s normally deep and gruff voice was raspy beyond imagine. There was a scratchiness to it from the prior tears and what you assumed countless cigars and cigarettes.

“I had a feeling.” You whispered, unable to keep your face loving but now twisted in worry for the love of your life’s well being.

John had shown you his secret spot he commonly referred to as ‘the pond’ back when you were dating. It was where he went when he needed to clear his head and shut the world out. You suspected after he left his brother’s flat that was where he went. His sacred place, untouched by everyone but you. John hadn’t even taken your children there. It was the little place he carved out for himself to remain untouched.

“What do you need from me?” Your words were soft as your hands came up and cupped John face delicately.

The touch was warm, it felt like home. The scruff of John’s hairy cheek prickled against the skin of your palms as he rested his face in your hands. His icy blue eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he took in the feeling your soft touch left him with. You were holding him like porcelain, something wounded and broken that needed the gentlest of care.

It wasn’t often John felt or needed this kind of treatment and you being the intuitive woman he loved so dearly, you could read him like a book. You knew he needed taking care of. That this was going to be a time of weakness in his life where he’d be leaning on you to be strong.

“To help Harrison handle the funeral. I-“ Letting out a sharp breath John felt the pressure building behind his eyes again.

“I can’t handle it right now.” John’s breath became ragged from one moment to the next and you knew he was panicking.

“I’ll handle it.” You spoke as you quickly wrapped him up in the tightest hug you could manage.

——————

“Why’s dad home?” Your son had appeared seemingly out of thin air and startled you.

You were standing with your head shoved in the pantry eating candy. It was an attempt to hide and not have to share but you’d been caught. Turning slowly Jj’s hand was outstretched waiting for you to give him a piece of what you were sneakily munching on. With a sigh you plopped a chocolate in his hand and then walked over to the back window.

You thought John had left for work an hour ago so you weren’t sure what Jj was talking about. Thats when you saw John’s truck was still in the driveway and he was off in the distance on top of the chicken coop.

“Is he redoing the shingles?” You asked yourself before heading to slip on your shoes.

“He hasn’t gone to work in forever.” Jj added as more of an off handed comment.

It felt rare to the young boy when his dad was home for long stretches of time, even skipping going to the gym on base. He loved having his father home it just felt strange like something was off.

“Yeah, he hasn’t.” You mumbled carefully watching him move.

“Mum?” You hummed at Jj calling your name.

“I’m not trying to be cheeky, I promise. But dad’s kinda getting chubby.” Jj was looking down at his feet and wiggling his toes so he wouldn’t see the mean look you’d have cast at him.

“We don’t comment on people’s weight. I’ve told you this enough.” You sighed when Jj wouldn’t look at you.

He wasn’t wrong. You just thought it was inappropriate to comment on anyone’s weight. But John had been over eating and reaching for sweets to cope. Along with that he stopped working out and instead was working his way through some gory tv show about Vikings.

“Why are you telling me that?” You asked and finally Jj looked up at you with concern etched in his icy blue eyes.

“Dad needs to stay healthy so what happened to Gran doesn’t happen to him.”There it was, fear. Jj was concerned for his father’s health.

“You know you’re a very lovely little boy. I promise your dad is going to be okay. I’ll talk to him about it.” Ruffling Jj’s hair he nodded with a bashful smile. You were then exiting onto the back patio to make the trek out to the chicken coop in the far corner of your property.

Walking through the slightly damp afternoon grass you cast your gaze up to the grey dreary looking sky. It looked like it might storm at some point today and you prayed it was only a drizzle. It had been raining almost nonstop since the funeral. You were hoping some sunshine would break through and help cheer up your husband.

“What are you doing?” You asked as you came up to the wooden fence wrapped around the chicken coop.

“Fixing the bloody roof and everything else. Those damn foxes killed another chicken.” John grumbled with a nail tucked between his lips. His black eye was healing, but in the process turned a nasty shade of yellow and green.

“We should put Molly out here to scare them off.” The way John spoke you weren’t sure if he meant what he said or was just ranting at this point.

“That’s cruel. And it would never happen, Jj would fight you tooth and nail before you put her out here.” Rolling your eyes you weren’t sure why you were entertaining this.

“Fine, we’ll get another dog that isn’t a bloody couch potato.” John was looking to argue so you changed the subject.

“You haven’t gone to work in awhile. They still giving you time off considering everything?” The question was ignored as John hammered away. You stood there for a minute or two realizing John didn’t seem like having much conversation anymore.

“John, why aren’t you going to work?” You asked again.

With a heavy sigh John’s hands fell to his sides and he gave you a mean stare from atop the chicken coop. To most that would scare them away and he’d be left alone. But those sharp looks didn’t work on you. With a simple quirked eyebrow from you and an expecting look John groaned and went back to hammering a nail into the roof.

“You’re going to have to tell me at some point.” You stated matter of factly.

Staring down at his worn hands John contemplated if he really should. You were his wife, you had every right to know what was going on. It was his embarrassment that was getting the better of him and he didn’t want you seeing him as weaker than you had been since before the funeral. He’d shown you just how far he could fall and he wanted to protect you from seeing he had only fallen farther. Glancing up John was going to spit it out and get it over with you. You were right he was going to have to tell you at some point.

Only when he looked up he saw the back of your head walking away and toward the family home. You were far enough away he would have to shout for you to come back. With a heavy sigh, John started to feel even worse about the situation he’d gotten himself into. He was failing as a husband, father, at his job, and worst of all he felt that he had failed as a son.

“I’ll tell her later.” John mumbled to himself before going back to his work.

That’s when a crack of thunder roared through the air and a second later the heavens opened up and poured down on him. Looking back toward the house John sat back on his haunches feeling utterly defeated. He could see you in the large back window and he assumed you were laughing because you had just made it inside before getting caught in the rain.

Avoiding this wasn’t going in his favor because now he was forced to go inside and be around you.

——————

“Darling?” John’s voice startled you causing you to jump and wack your head off the upper shelf in the pantry.

Again you were hiding away to eat sweets and it seemed like you were going to be caught every time today.

“Hm?” You hummed turning around to see John drenched from the rain. He had his dirty clothes work gloves in hand. You quickly stepped out of the way so he could get by and go into the laundry room.

“I- was wondering what’s for dinner?” It seemed John had something else to say but decided against it.

He was stripping out of his wet clothes and tossing them into the washing machine. The avoidance was unlike John. Yeah he avoided you when he knew it was time to deep clean the house or you wanted him to hang art work. But when it came to real pressing matters, John tended to deal with things head on.

“Lasagna.” Simplicity felt better than trying to convince John to tell you what was going on.

You watched as he paused with his jeans in his hands and hovered over the washer drum. The gears in his head were turning but you went on your way. Life hadn’t stopped and neither could you.

“No veggies?” The question was odd in your opinion but you were realizing John was trying to make conversation; even if it was forced.

“Asparagus and I made fresh bread.” You thought you could feel John slowly approaching from behind you.

You were bent at the waste by your oven and checking on dinner. It would be ready within the next thirty minutes. A light tap smacked your bum and you were ready to scold John for being cheeky. Now was not the time and you sure as hell weren’t going to help him avoid things any further with sex.

Turning with your eyes fixed at your husband’s height you were greeted with open air. Looking down Lily was standing in nothing but her diaper. Her eyes were heavy and she had that milk drunk look. In her hand was a bottle you didn’t remember giving her. Before you could open your mouth and ask where her clothes went she threw up on you like a scene out of The Exorcist.

“Ah! Are you okay!?” You picked you your daughter who then threw up on you again and rushed her to the bathroom.

John heard something splatter and peaked out of the laundry room. He was just pulling his clean shirt that felt a little tight over his head. Then he saw you pick up Lily and then she threw up all over you. In a flash you were running with your toddler to the bathroom.

“Happy it’s not me.” John spoke to himself and finished getting dressed.

He cleaned up the mess and soon found you upstairs, both you and Lily showering. You asked John to pull dinner out of the oven and get Evelyn and Jj ready to eat. That you were going to be taking care of Lily for the rest of the night and John needed to handle everything else.

John served dinner, cleaned the kitchen, did homework with the kids and got them to bed after some snuggles on the couch. It was a typical night but without your help it was exhausting. To this day John still didn’t understand how you managed when he was deployed.

Dragging his tired body into your bedroom John saw Lily tucked in the middle of the king sized bed sound asleep. You were no where to be seen so John checked your en-suite; and there you were. Damp hair braided, wearing those cute grey cotton sleep shorts and a white tank top with no bra. You were rubbing lotion on your face, just finishing up with your nightly routine.

“How is she?” John asked.

“Better. She found an old bottle that rolled under the couch. It must have spoiled and made her sick.” Giving John a sweet smile you could see the building pressure on his shoulders weighing him down.

It made him seem an inch or two shorter from how his shoulders sagged and posture slumped. You were use to him standing up straight, almost never slouching. But the tiredness was becoming impossible to hide and you found it misplaced. John had been sleeping in and taking naps more frequently than ever.

“She’s going to have to stay home from daycare tomorrow. Since you’re not going to work she’ll be staying home with you.” The comment about work was a baited one and you were trying to see if John would take the bait.

“When did I say I wasn’t going to work?” The annoyance was evident that you assumed such a thing.

John stood next to you, only he was in front of his designated sink. Now it was his turn do his nightly routine, brush his teeth.

“You didn’t. But you haven’t gone in a while and I know your leave has been up for a bit now.” The retort was snarky.

“How’d you come to that conclusion.” Talking around his tooth brush John gave you a quizzical look. How did you know?

“It was a hunch but by the way you’re looking at me I now know it’s true.” Holding the same expression John looked at himself in the mirror. You were right, he did look guilty but he wasn’t ready to admit anything yet.

“Bullshit.” John said after spitting out his tooth paste.

“Yeah, you’re right. It is bullshit that you won’t tell your wife what’s going on. Happy we agree on that.” You were clearly frustrated by your tone and the way you put your creams away aggressively.

“Darling, I-“ John was at a loss.

This wasn’t the side of you he liked. He found it callused and rude. The love and warmth you usually offered up so easily could grow dormant in moments like this. It wasn’t out of cruelty because you were trying to force his hand. But more that your patience had run out and you were sick of his hiding and secrets. You were his wife after all, the one he should be sharing things with.

“I’m embarrassed.” John finally admitted.

“Of what?” The frustration from before dissipated and was replaced with concern.

John wasn’t sure if he liked that any better. The last thing he wanted was you to fret over him. That seemed to be all you did the past month since his mother passed away. What you had been going throw was swept under the rug daily no matter how much John pressed you on it. You avoided your own baggage by focusing on him; as if he needed fixing.

“Look. I’m going to tell you but please don’t make a big deal of it. I can’t stand when you fuss over nothing.” John already seemed annoyed with you before even telling you what was going on.

To you this reaction was saying a lot more about him than it did about you.

“I failed my psych eval. I have to see a counselor on base twice a week until I’m cleared.” With a shrug like he told you the weather John was ready to roll into the next discussion topic.

“You failed? For what!” You realized after your immediate strong reaction this was what John meant.

Tossing his hand in the air the frustration built. You couldn’t even try to respond evenly for him.

“It doesn’t matter.” John dismissed the conversation and left the bathroom to get ready for bed.

“John-“

“Stop pestering me. I told you it doesn’t matter.” Busying himself by pulling out clothes to sleep in John felt your finger tips against his bicep.

“John, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” You spoke a lot gentler, a sweet undertone to your sugary words.

Sincerity. It was a weapon when disagreeing with you that John felt was impossible to fight. You cared about his well being, that was obvious. But he wasn’t in a place to have a meaningful conversation.

“I’m fine!” John turned and shouted at you.

You were only a foot away making the words seem louder and more aggressive since they yelled in your face. The way John’s face went from angry to regretful in a few second helped you forgive quickly. This wasn’t your husband, at least not the version of him you had become accustom to. This was a damaged man who was lashing out at someone about to touch his wounds.

“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry for pushing. Let’s get some rest.” Again you were sweet to him.

It made everything worse for John. He would have preferred you getting upset with him for shouting at you. If you did, that would mean he was overreacting and things weren’t as bad as they seemed. But you allowing his behavior to go unchallenged meant you truly thought, no, you knew, something was wrong with him. That he needed gentleness not a firm hand.

“Daddy?” Lily’s sweet voice cut through the tension.

John turned to see his toddler sitting up in bed with her arms out stretched. Her curls were a frizzy mess and she had a big pout fashioned on her lips. Clasping and unclasping her hands quickly she beckoned John over to her.

“I want daddy.” Lily began to hiccup and cry ever so softly.

The pain was evident on John’s face. In a moment of tension, anger, and remorse John fell back into the man you were use to. He gave you an apologetic look, leaned in and kissed your cheek. He lingered for a second by your ear and whispered.

“Tomorrow. Give me tomorrow and then we can talk.” With one last kiss John pulled away and gave you a melancholy smile. You nodded, silently agreeing to his terms.

John then crawled into bed much earlier than he normally did. His little girls tears dried up as he brought her close to cuddle into him. They laid in silence, drifting to sleep quickly in their exhausted states. Holding his child close helped bandaid his heart, if only for a moment.

——————

Night had cast its gloomy shadow over your normally bright home. You sat in the heart of your home with your husband at the head of the kitchen table and you to his right. Sitting like this brought memories of dinners through the years with your children, homework session, ginger bread house decorating, paying bills, and romantic dinners between just you and John.

Tonight those lovely moments felt downcast with the kitchen lights off. The only light was the candle you had lit on the table and the dim lights under the kitchen cabinets.

After a hectic day for you at work and John with Lily at home all day you were both exhausted. Jj sprung a solar system project on you right after dinner; it was due tomorrow. You were expecting John to ask to push off this conversation when he got home from the shop with a poster board but he didn’t.

So now you sat here having inconsequential small talk until you couldn’t take beating around the bush any longer.

“So why did you fail?” You practically blurted it out instead of answering John’s question about your new tires.

Breathing through his nose deeply John had to gather himself for a moment. It was cute half the time when you became impatient with him but tonight John didn’t feel that way. Getting thrown straight into the conversation was not how he saw this going but then again he didn’t know how to start it either.

So, instead of dragging his feet John decided unfettered honesty was the best plan of action.

“Emotional Instability. Apparently I have poor coping skills.” The way John spoke sounded as if he read it off the report sheet he’d been given.

“I could’ve told you that.” It wasn’t meant to be cheeky or a joke, you thought it was rather obvious John didn’t cope well.

“Yeah, never been good at the whole coping thing.” John let out a dry laugh finding a dark humor in the situation.

There was a lapse of silence that hung heavy. John could hear the gears in your head turning. Knowing you as well as he did it was obvious to him that you were censoring your immediate take. That now you were concocting a thoughtful line of question as to not raise his hackles.

“Why’s it different now? What makes you emotionally unstable? You’re not having a psychotic break, you’ve been. . . Average. Struggling, but aren’t you suppose to considering.” You waved your hand around haphazardly.

It didn’t make much sense to you that John had failed a psychological evaluation. His coping mechanisms were sub par, that was a fact; but they weren’t nonexistent. It usually took him some time to mull things over and talk with you or his best mate Sam.

John pursed his lips and clasped his hands together. Leaning forward on his forearms slightly he repositioned himself in his seat.

“Apparently I’m. . . Depressed.” It was said as if it were funny. Like some comical twist of fate that no one saw coming.

And you didn’t see it coming.

For some reason it never occurred to you John could be depressed.

“Oh.” You whispered. You could’ve been knocked over with a feather hearing that.

“But your psych eval was the same day you found out-“ You stopped yourself from finishing that sentence. There was no need to say it out loud you and John both knew what you were talking about.

“Yeah, then they had me take another last week before I came back. Thought scraping the first one would do me good and gave me another go after I had time to grieve. But apparently I scored even lower. Went from being failed for violent tendencies to out right depression now.” Again John spoke as if this were some sick joke. There didn’t seem to be any acknowledgment of how serious this was.

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say.

It felt obvious that in John’s line of work a person could easily become depressed. But John being depressed didn’t feel right; it didn’t make sense. After everything he’d been through he’d proven his emotional resolve was unshakeable. Yes he suffered from the traumas and tragedies of war but he bounced back in due time. He always bounced back.

“It’s all a load of rubbish. I’m not depressed.” With a dark chuckle John looked at you waiting for you to join in.

But you couldn’t.

For only a split second John’s eyes betrayed him. It was fear you saw. A chest tightening, bone chilling kind of fear. One that shook your husband to his very core.

“John?” Reaching out to him you took his hand in yours and squeezed. The puzzle piece had fallen together in your mind.

“Yeah?” The charming look faltered under your knowing gaze.

You couldn’t know. John was a master of hiding these feelings. How could you know that fast?

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Leaning in closer you reassured a man who refused to accept it.

He refused to admit to you and himself that this wasn’t rubbish. That this was happening and he was suffering.

“I’m not depressed.” John spoke more forcefully trying to convince you of this.

“It’ll be okay.” You reassured him again.

There was a crack in his armor that began to splinter and spread rapidly.

“I’m not depressed.” John’s voice cracked this time, the rasp leaving for only a second.

“John.” You pleaded.

And like looming grey clouds, from one moment to the next the storm rained down. Acceptance came in the form of hot tears and ragged breaths. Hunching forward John rested his elbows on the kitchen table and covered his face with his calloused hands to hide his shame.

“I’ll be right here. Through it all.” Wrapping your arms around the love of your life you let him cry.

The hurt flowed, uncertainty unearthing itself as the walls John had built so high crumbled. Through his sobs he confessed his deepest hurt, his regrets, and to his utter shame, the sense of relief he felt at times.

John broke in that moment. Finally surrendering to himself and you. As hard as this was and embarrassing, you were the only person, in this life and the next, who John trusted enough to see him like this. And he trusted you to help pick up the pieces; like he had done for you.

That was the thing about the love you shared. Not once had either of you shied away from the pain and sadness life could leave the other with. And like John had swooped to your rescue when you came home after the horrors of your dig, you were here to save him. Because even Captain Price needed saving every once in a while.

——————

“I like these” Evelyn showed John a bouquet of white tulips.

“They’re very pretty.” With a kind smile John took them and placed them on the florist shops counter. Handing over his credit card John stopped halfway feeling a tug to his jacket. John looked behind him to see his son with a solum expression.

“These too?” Jj hesitantly handed John a second bouquet of white and pink chrysanthemums.

“Good pick.” Ruffling the young boys hair, John took the bouquet and added it to the counter.

There was now one bouquet for each of them. Paying what John normally would say was way too much money he strangely felt satisfied with the purchase. If it cost double he still wouldn’t mind.

“Ready?” John took both of his children’s hands and lead them across the street where you were standing in front of an old stone wall.

You were dressed in light jeans, a white and blue flannel left unbuttoned revealing your white tank top. Lily was asleep in the black baby carrier you had strapped to your chest. Like always John found that motherhood suited you more than anything this world could offer.

It was a pretty spring day. One the took leaves and flower petals on the soft breeze. The sun shown down pricking your skin in a refreshing sort of way. The air was crisp and smelled of freshly mowed grass and evergreens.

Walking over to you after looking both ways there was a comfortable silence that fell over your family. Evelyn held John’s hand tightly while Jj came over to you and held yours. The five of you made your way up the gravel path to a plot under a blossoming dogwood tree.

“Hey, mum. Missed you. Still in one piece like I promised. . . Finally put some meat on my bones.” John spoke as he always did when walking in to his childhood home and watching his mother bustle down the hallway to hug him.

Only now he would never get that again, this would become the new normal for him. This was where the relationship stopped and could never improve or fail. It had to be put to rest along side the woman who raised him.

Stepping forward he placed the bouquet of his mother’s favorite flowers at the base of her head stone. They were an angelic white Lily of the Valley bouquet that John had picked up countless times in his youth along side his father. He had gotten these flowers less and less over the span of his adult life and never thought the next time he bought them would be for a headstone.

“Hi Gran, I picked these out special.” With big tears in her eyes Evelyn laid her tulips next to John’s.

Jj stayed quiet and placed his along side the growing pile.

“Mummy why didn’t you buy a bouquet?” Your daughter asked as she wiped her eyes.

You were just placing a single English Rose atop the smooth grey stone. With a somber smile your eyes met John’s then held Evelyn’s. He too was wondering the same thing but chose not to ask. See, you and Mary had a tumultuous relationship. One John chose to ignore nowadays. So when you said no to buying a bouquet he assumed it was from your disdain.

“Your Gran was a phenom in her green house and garden. Could turn weeds into the prettiest flowers you’ve ever seen. She taught me how to plant roses when Jj was still in my belly. It’s because of her, my garden is so beautiful; so I wanted to give her a piece of it." The sweet smile you gave Evelyn after you finished speaking was minuscule compared to the sentiment.

You didn’t have to like Mary to pay your respects. Things may have been tough but she was your husband’s mother and he’d love her and hold her dearly no matter what. Part of supporting John was choosing to love the parts you disliked and like you swore to him the day you married, you would love him for better or worse.

And today was for better.

Because he came here. After a month of avoiding visiting his mother’s grave, he finally came. And you were incredibly proud of him for that.

“I love you.” John’s words were just above a whisper and you watched those blue eyes you adored become misty.

“C’mon you two. Let’s give your dad a minute.” Your children didn’t protest but quietly came along with you.

Walking back down the gravel path your children kept glancing back at their father. John had sat down and taken his hat off. He seemed to be talking but the kids weren’t sure about what.

“What’s dad doing?” Jj squeezed your hand to get your attention.

“Not sure. At the very least he’s spending time with his mum.” It was a melancholy moment but you hoped it was the start to John’s healing.

“When you visit Nana what do you do?” Evelyn asked. She was searching for some knowledge in what grown ups did when they lost a parent.

Stopping at the curb you looked both ways and started across the street.

“I buy two icecream cones, one vanilla and one chocolate and I eat both while I sit with her.” It had become tradition to do that since you were a young girl visiting your mother’s grave.

“Ice cream cones?” Jj looked at you funny.

“Your Nana loved ice cream so much she let me have it for dinner with her sometimes. She was always finding an excuse to take me to get some. So I bring her one. I know she can’t eat it. . . but it makes me feel better.” Your voice carried off at the end. There was a sadness to the words but there was acceptance after your years of grief.

“What’ll make dad feel better?” It was so like Jj to search for an answer like that. Something he could learn or do to aid a broken heart.

“I’m not sure. But you’ll be sweet to him while he figures it out?” Stoping in front of the ice cream shop down the street, you asked your children a question you knew the answer to.

“Of course, mummy.” Evelyn was quick to answer, the eagerness for her father to cheer up evident.

“Yeah, we’ll even try listening for a change.” Jj’s cheeky comment made you snort out a laugh.

“Good, and I think a big hug from you two would be a great place to start. . . And some ice cream.”

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

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[fatty-lit]

Dear @brattyandballooning

You wake up still a little dazed and feeling so heavy. The same way you always wake up these days: on the couch, naked, surrounded by fast food wrappers with an empty tub of ice cream by your side. Your massive udders resting on top of you huge bloated gut which in turn spills out onto your enormously expansive thighs.

You place a pudgy hand on your belly to rub it. It's still digesting your last feast, but at the same time craving more. You always need more.

The first attempt to stand goes no where. Your fat ass doesn't even leave the cushions. You take a moment to catch your breath from the exertion. The second attempt gets a little bit of clearance but only for a brief moment. Now you're really starting to get winded. You think about giving up but your stomach is now demanding to be filled and she's the real boss here. Your brain checked out 50lbs ago. This time you roll your fat body over and push yourself off the couch and finally make it to your feet. It's a little shakey at first. There just isn't a lot of muscle left anymore and you haven't gotten used to balancing all this rapidly accumulated new weight.

Up on your feet now, you begin your slow, deliberate, laboured waddle towards the kitchen. As you approach you can smell something sweet cooking, sending your belly into a frenzy. Your slow waddle increases just slightly so that when you finally make it the 30 feet from couch to kitchen, you're red in the face and panting.

I turn around from what I'm working on by the oven and see you catching your breath with your wide, fat hips barely fitting into the doorway of the kitchen. "What are you doing up off the couch, piggy? I thought I packed you full enough to keep you down for a while?" You rub your big hanging gut and make a pathetic pout. "Oh, I'm sorry did I keep my hog waiting? I'll have to make sure to get you an extra tub of ice cream next time." I walk over to you and take in your immense, wobbly form. I put both my hands under your round soft globe of a belly and lift its great weight before watching it drop back down with bounces and ripples all through all the layers of fat engulfing your once fit body. You let out a soft wimper. "Your becoming quite the big girl, aren't you?"

"Am I getting too fat?" You reply with a mischevious smirk.

"Not fat enough, piggy. Now go sit down like a good girl and wait for the treat I have for you."

You waddle right back to your customary wide and deep indent on the couch and impatiently wait for me to bring you whatever treat I've concocted this time. Now your belly is really mad. As patient as you're trying to be, your belly doesn't have that ability anymore. If it isn't filled completely, it isn't happy, and it won't be ignored.

After what feels like an enternity, I arrive carrying in both arms a huge sheet of cake with an extra thick layer of rich chocolate frosting.

"Now be a good girl for me and finish every bite, okay?"

You obiently nod and reach towards the rich delicacy. You're long past the time where using a fork even crosses your mind. Nothing short of handfulls can satisfy the pace with which you need to fill yourself. But just as your pudgy fingers are about to reach, I pull it away.

"Ah, ah, piggy. I don't want you to work too hard." That's when I grab a big handfull and shove it into your mouth. This isn't anything new to you, but it still surprises you everytime I force you to take more than a motuhful at a time. But you're my good girl and you take it obediently. Quickly, you chew and swallow all the sweet, rich butter and sugar, but before you can catch your breath another handfull. Then another. Just barely faster than you can handle. An overwhelming load of dense calories. Not enough time in between bites to properly breathe. And so it goes as you quickly enter a daze of calories. Losing your self in the rich, heavy sweetness. Feeling your already massive belly expand and rest even heavier on your lap.

You're barely cognisant of the world around you, but you're aware of every bite and my occasional praise and encouragement for being such a good girl. My good girl. My growing girl.

The cake is almost done but you're starting to hit your limit. Words can no longer escape your lips, but there are plenty of moans and wimpers between the labored breaths. Your belly is painfully tight and past its limit but I keep forcing more calories inbetween your ever-greedy lips. You don't know how you manage to fit in more, but as always, you find a way.

Finally the cake is gone. You can't do anything but lay there half conscious and panting and wheezing like the dumb hog you've been turned into. You've let yourself be turned into. I reach down into the warmth between the two masses of your thighs and under the immense weight of your belly to feel the dripping moisture of your soft, fat pussy. Then I lay you down on the couch and begin unbuttoning my pants. "Good girl."