#furniture assembly rates

[flatpackassembler]

Furniture Assembly - What Does a Furniture Assembler Do?

Experience

Furniture assemblers are responsible for the physical assembly of flat pack furniture. They may also be in charge of adjusting, trimming, and fitting parts, as well as inspecting wood and ensuring quality standards. They also handle material orders, place orders on pallets, and use tools such as staple guns, drawer machines, and screwdrivers. Successful candidates have experience and resilience, as well as stamina and attention to detail.

If you’re a homeowner who doesn’t want to risk poorly assembling their new flatpack furniture or simply don’t have the time, call in the professionals. Our Liverpool flatpack construction service can provide you with high-quality ready-to-assemble furniture, delivered quickly and efficiently.

Safety

Many flat pack furniture pieces are difficult to assemble. This can be frustrating and time consuming, and it can cause injuries if you’re not careful. However, there are many flat pack assembly specialists who can help you assemble your furniture safely and efficiently. These professionals can save you money and time by doing the job right the first time.

Most furniture assembly specialists provide an estimated cost before they begin work, which allows customers to know what to expect. They also take safety measures to prevent damage. For example, they may use a carpet to cover surfaces that could be scratched during assembly. Additionally, they will remove any boxes, polystyrene strapping, and clips before beginning the assembly process.

Most furniture assembly experts will also anchor large pieces to the wall, which will protect them from tipping or falling over. This is especially important if you have children or pets. They will also clean up any mess they make, including sawdust or screws.

Time

If you have large furniture that needs to be assembled in your home, you need to know how long it will take. This can help you decide whether you want to hire a furniture assembly liverpool service or not. Some companies charge by the hour, while others have minimum booking fees. On average, a flat pack furniture assembly job takes about two hours.

If your home has a lot of clutter, you should clear it out before the contractor arrives. They may need to move items in order to assemble your flat pack furniture. In addition, they should have a place where they can work without interruptions from children or pets.

The skills that successful furniture assemblers possess include resilience, stamina, attention to detail, teamwork, and knowledge of safety measures. Most of these skills are learned through on-the-job experience. They also need to be able to read and follow directions. This is why it’s important to choose a company that has experienced employees.

Money

If you purchase furniture assembly experts that is delivered in a flat pack style, it can be challenging to put together if the instructions aren’t easy to follow. The best option is to hire a furniture assembly liverpool expert to do the job for you. They will be able to save you time and money by having the furniture assembled correctly. They can also take apart and reassemble your flat pack furniture when you move, which is especially useful if you are moving to another country.

Most flat pack assembly companies have standard charges for particular pieces of furniture, which makes it easy to know how much the service will cost before it starts. Most of them will have a minimum charge for the first hour, and then reduce their fee as they spend more time working on your furniture.

If you want to hire a flat pack assembly Liverpool specialist, you can find one by searching on the internet. There are a number of companies in the area, including those in West Derby, Orrell Park, Garston, Kirkdale, Toxteth, Edge Hill, Childwall, Tarbock, Fairfield, Kensington, Bankhall, and Otterspool.

[interiorergonomics]

Look Through Office Furniture Reviews and Ratings

Considering office furniture reviews and ratings is essential because they provide real insights into the office furniture quality, comfort, and durability—factors that are crucial for creating a functional and comfortable workspace. Reviews often reveal how well items hold up over time, if they’re easy to assemble, and whether they meet ergonomic needs, helping buyers avoid potential disappointments. Ratings can also reflect the seller’s customer service and delivery reliability, making it easier to choose a retailer who ensures a smooth buying experience from start to finish.

[manvannearyou]

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Synopsis - They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to four guys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the boys told you they loved you.

Pairing - Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller x Female Reader.

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - is it weird that I have sort of compared each boy to a room in the house? maybe! but we're rolling with it, because it worked in my head. this is the first of a few fics like this, much like Tethered, Time and Tranquility - I have a few different TF boy comparison ideas. love these babies so much. <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You follow the laughter floating down the hallway into your backyard. Standing against the doorframe, you watch as the boys double over in amusement while Benny reenacts the time Frankie fell in your pool. Their faces are illuminated by the golden glow of the fairy lights adorning your deck, moonlight shining down.

"And none of you helped me! Hermosa had to come and rescue me! At least I know who loves me the most," Frankie chuckles, tilting back in his chair to catch your eyes.

You make your way over and kiss him on the cheek, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I don't think there was ever any debating that. You've always been my favourite," you coo, ruffling his hair gently.

"Give us a break," Benny teases. "We all know I'm your favourite, sweetheart."

Santiago scoffs and jabs Ben in the ribs, yelping when the younger man elbows him in retaliation.

"Cariño, put them out of their misery. Tell them I'm your favourite."

You catch eyes with Will, who's grinning at you across the table. He doesn't even have to say anything. He raises his eyebrows and winks at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. You can't help but smile back.

"I mean, Will is currently very high on the list, because he built this table for me today."

Everyone groans as you and Will laugh, knocking on the table to check his handiwork.

"You did a good job," Frankie praises, kicking at a leg to see if it holds.

"I built your couch!"

"You can't build a couch, Ben."

"He did! It needed assembling!"

Benny blows you a kiss, thanking you for the assist.

"I did most of the painting," Santiago chimes in.

"Until your weak ass knees gave in," Frankie laughs.

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

"Me and Hermosa tiled her bathroom. That took fucking forever."

"Frankie, I told you that I'd call a guy for that, and you told me you were the guy."

"You can't tell me those tiles aren't gorgeous."

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

"You're right. They are. I admire them everytime I shower."

"Ooo, tell us more," Benny teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Pervert," you and Will say in unison, both shaking your heads.

You settle into the chair next to Frankie, popping the cap off your beer.

"I honestly don't think I'd have any furniture without you guys. This house wouldn't be a home if it wasn't for you."

All of their attention is on you, focusing as if you're the only girl in the world. You feel like it sometimes, when you're all together.

"I can't believe you've been moved in for an entire year," Santi muses. "Feels like only yesterday we were helping you unpack all those boxes."

"Time flies when you're having fun," you beam at him.

As the evening settles and the sun begins its descent, you start to think about just how many parts of the boys live in your house. The furniture, the paint, the lights. At least one of them helped you with basically every single element. You think of all the memories filled with happiness and laughter that have happened here over the last year, and your eyes well with tears. You meant what you said, earlier. Your house wouldn't be a home without them.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ ���　 *  · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

You're tangled with Ben on your newly assembled couch, a cheesy romcom acting as background noise. We have to test it out, he'd said. Just in case.

So here you are, nestled into his side, strong arm slung over your shoulder to pull you closer. You sip your drink, paying virtually no mind to the movie. You're making a mental list of all of the things you still need to do for the house - tile the bathroom, buy a lawnmower, paint literally every room. But the couch is a start.

"I can hear the cogs turning in that brain of yours," he laughs, pinching your side. "We're supposed to be relaxing. You know, really getting a feel for the couch."

"Right, right. Sorry," you chuckle, nudging him with your shoulder in retaliation. "Just thinking about all of the shit I've gotta do."

"Hey, we've got plenty of time. And you've got four guys ready to do whatever needs to be done. There's no rush."

Exhaling loudly, you realise he's right. There is no rush. Yes, you may have a never ending list of things you need to get done, but there's no time limit. You can take each job as it comes.

You turn your attention back to the movie, discovering that it's actually half decent. By the time you're an hour into it, you and Benny are laughing along. It's a sweet coming of age story, two teenagers falling in love for the first time.

You watch as the two characters share a kiss, all clumsy hands and unsure touches. You smile, and start to think.

"This bringing back memories, Ben?" you tease.

"Oh yeah. First time I ever made out with a girl, I couldn't get her bra undone. I was trying to give her a hickey at the same time, and I snapped the clasp against her so hard I made her bleed. Safe to say, we didn't make out again."

Both of you are crying with laughter, vibrating the couch with it.

"I can see the image so clearly. Teenage Ben with his frosted tips and his puka shell necklace. Bet you broke some hearts, huh?"

"Shut up," he chuckles. "I got tonnes of girls back then."

"I'm sure you did," you joke, pinching his cheeks.

He pinches your thigh and pulls you closer, settling back into the cushions.

"You know, I've never had one," you say after a while.

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

Ben pulls away and turns to face you, looking at you incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Never got one as a teenager. Now I'm a grown ass adult, I always warn my partners not to leave marks. Guess I just missed out on the whole hickey thing."

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

You quirk your brow and turn your body towards him, putting some distance between you to look at him properly.

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

He laughs, and the sound makes you smile so wide it's blinding.

"No games, baby."

"No?"

"I believe getting a hickey as a teenager and having to figure out how to cover it up in embarrassment is a rite of passage. And I'm weirdly sad you missed out on it. So, I'm offering to give you that experience."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Exactly. Because I am a kind, selfless, giving guy."

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laugh. "Show me what you've got, makeout king."

He chuckles at the nickname, but grabs your thighs to pull you closer. Benny plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, using a strong hand to hold onto your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, and brace yourself for his lips.

Instead, he takes his time. He noses up your neck, and then traces the path with the tip of his tongue. He blows onto your heated skin, making you shiver. Humming at your reaction, he leans in again, and connects his lips to the spot underneath your ear, kissing it softly.

"Benny," you breathe. "Don't tease."

"Whatever you want, baby."

Benny picks a spot on the side of your neck and sucks. When he's satisfied, he grazes his teeth over the mark, and uses his tongue to soothe the sting. Your eyes roll back, and you cant your hips into his knee between your legs.

You both lose yourself in the moment, chests heaving and breath panting. You separate yourselves to look at one another for a moment, neither of you breaking the gaze.

Suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, unable to stop it escaping. Within seconds, Benny joins you. Before you know it, you're both crying tears of joy, sides hurting and abs aching.

"Oh shit," you choke out between giggles. "How the fuck am I gonna cover this up?"

"That's half the fun, baby!"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking his side. "You're the worst."

"I love you too," he grins. "You're the best."

And when the rest of the guys ask what happened the next day, you and Benny discover that you make good improv partners. No one questions your elaborate story involving the couch and a runaway screwdriver. Benny winks at you cheekily, and you can't help but smile.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

Repeated knocking at your front door breaks you out of your reality TV induced haze. You check your phone for the time. 8:34pm.

You swing it open to be met with the sight of Francisco Morales. He has Ava perched on his hip, fluffy pink backpack held in his other hand.

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

"Hermosa, I'm so sorry for just dropping in with no warning. I have a favour to ask."

"Anything."

"Can I bathe Ava here? We're having some sort of plumbing emergency in our bathroom, and we can't get a guy out until tomorrow. I want her to have clean hair for when I take her back to her Mom's."

You wink at Ava, who sticks her tongue out at you cheekily. You mimic her and smile, glancing back to her Dad, who looks like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders.

"Of course you can," you assure, reaching over to grab Ava from Frankie's arms. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you clean!"

Frankie exhales a sigh of relief, and follows the two of you upstairs, locking the door behind him.

"Frank, did you bring shampoo and stuff, or shall we just use mine?"

He unzips the backpack and pulls out a couple of bottles.

"I have shampoo, and conditioner, but no body wash or anything."

You root around in your cabinet, finding a bottle with a label that contains words like sensitive and hypoallergenic.

"Vanilla and chamomile. Is that satisfactory for you, my princess?" you tease, grinning when Ava beams at you at the nickname.

You turn the water on and start to run the bath, trying to ignore the way you can feel Frankie's eyes on you as you bend over the tub.

"Bubbles, or no bubbles?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Right. Stupid question."

"These tiles are hideous," Frankie says from behind you.

"Thank you, Frank. Appreciate it," you tease. "I'm gonna call a guy about getting it all retiled."

"What?"

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

You look at him in confusion, before realising he's very serious.

"Do you... know how?"

"Hermosa, it's not rocket science. We can figure it out together."

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

"Okay. As long as you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't."

You smile at him before leaving and disappearing downstairs for a minute, trusting Frankie to watch the water.

"Where did you go?" he asks on your return.

"I just put a towel in the dryer, so it's warm when she gets out of the tub."

Frankie steps over to you and cradles your face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He's always been good at that - saying so much without saying a word.

"Princesa, you need help?" you ask, laughing as she struggles, head stuck in her shirt.

Soon enough, Ava's sat happily in all the bubbles, splashing around in the warm water. You and Frankie sit on the floor next to the tub, legs tangled and bodies pressed together. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you.

"Thank you for this. Seriously. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"It's no problem, Frankie. I love seeing her. Wish I saw her more."

"Me too," he says quietly.

You look up at him, and grab his chin so he meets your eyes.

"You're a damn good Dad, Francisco Morales."

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

"You are. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing a good job. I mean, look at her. She's happy, she's healthy, she loves you so much. What more could you ask for?"

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," he laughs, dipping his hand into the bath water to splash you. You splash him back, and before you know it, the three of you are completely soaked. Completely happy.

You eventually get around to cleaning Ava's hair, shampooing and conditioning as carefully as you can. She loves the fact she gets to use your body wash, and slathers herself in it, making you both smile.

You wrap her in the dryer warm towel and sit her in your lap on the floor, rocking gently as she snuggles into your chest. Frankie pulls you both against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The three of you sit for a while, peaceful and content.

"I know I don't tell you enough," Frankie murmurs. "But I love you."

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

"You don't always have to say it out loud, but I know. The way you smile at me across a room, the way you always have one eye on me when we're in public, the way you trust me with Ava. You tell me you love me in a million different ways, every single day."

"I love you," he says again, surer this time.

"I love you. Both of you. So much."

When Ava falls asleep in both of your arms, you convince them to stay the night. The next day, she can't stop telling everyone about the best sleepover ever, with her Dad and her best friend.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

You're completely in your own world. An upbeat, catchy melody hums from the radio and radiates around the room as you slide across the tiles in your socks. You grab your mixing bowl from the cabinet, picking up the bottle of vanilla extract too.

Your hips are swaying, head nodding, feet tapping along to the beat. The sunlight is beaming through the kitchen window, keeping the room bright and warm. There's flour covering every possible surface, sugar sprinkled over the counters. An array of bowls, cups and spoons litter the worktops - a visual representation of your efforts. You've barely even began baking, only just having measured your ingredients. You've set yourself up for an entire day of preparation, ready for the exciting occasion.

You're humming away to yourself, completely oblivious, when two hands plant themselves on your hips from behind. You shriek and throw your elbow backwards, connecting with the person's ribs. You spin around to face your attacker, only to be met with the sight of Santiago Garcia hunched over.

"Fuck!" he groans, clutching at his side.

"Shit! Santi, fuck. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Welcome home to me, I guess," he laughs breathlessly.

"Are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Santi. I thought you were an intruder or something. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow!"

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

You finally calm your rapid heartbeat down enough to register what's happening. You grin at him, before running and jumping into his arms, holding onto him as tight as possible.

"I missed you so much," he breathes into your hair. "Four months is too long."

"I've been counting down the days," you whisper into his neck. "We all have."

He finally puts you down to take a good look at you.

"You look good, cariño. This dress is real pretty."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"

He laughs, twinkle in his eye. The sun has kissed his skin while he's been away. He looks tanned, glowy, alive.

"Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up naked in your hot tub."

"Good times, huh?"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking him on the arm.

Santi looks around, and takes in the scene before him. Ingredients scattered, bowls full, oven preheated.

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

"Nothing? You've measured everything out. The oven is on."

You're trying to figure out a way to cover this up, to make up a lie as fast as possible, but it's no use. He can see right through you. You might as well be transparent when it comes to the boys.

"I'm making you a cake," you mutter quickly under your breath.

"What was that? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes and scoff, but give him what he wants.

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

"Yeah. I wanted to do something special for you coming home. Tomorrow."

"Sorry, cariño. I didn't know I was coming back early. Thought I'd make the most of it and surprise you."

"Well, now your surprise cake and your surprise party aren't a surprise anymore."

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

The two of you laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you, cariño. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"I wanted to. I'm so excited that you're back, Santi. There's so much I've missed doing with you."

"I made a list."

"Of?"

"Of things I wanted to do with you when I got back. It's what kept me going - thinking of going to that lunch spot with the sandwiches we like, our annual road trip to Cali. It kept me sane."

You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up and press your forehead to his, both of you exhaling. You stay tangled together for a long moment, enjoying each others long awaited company.

"You know what was on the top of my list, though?"

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, Santi. You can paint my kitchen if that's what your heart desires."

"It is," he grins. "I can think of nothing I want more. We'll do it this weekend."

"Okay," you smile. "Now, about this cake..."

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

"I love you," he tells you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone.

"I love you too. So much, Santi."

The two of you spend the afternoon baking Santiago's cake, singing and dancing around the kitchen. You turn a blind eye to him licking the spoon and sticking his fingers in the icing. You're just glad to have him back, annoying you again.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

"Can you pass me that screwdriver please, honey?"

You would, but you can't take your eyes off the man currently kneeling on your bedroom floor. His chest is glistening with sweat, warm in the morning sun. The light illuminates the room in balmy hues of gold, shadows dancing across your faces.

You and Will agreed to dedicate today to building all of your flat pack furniture. You've been sleeping on the floor for weeks, and it's finally taken a toll on your back. So, Will showed up bright and early, ready to tackle your bed, dresser, nightstands, desk, and whatever else presented itself. You were barely awake, still in your pyjamas, sleep heavy in your veins. But the sight of Will, toolbox in hand and smile on his face? That's enough to motivate anyone to assemble furniture all day.

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

He smirks at you like he's reading your dirty thoughts. He probably is, knowing him. If anyone you knew turned out to be telepathic, it'd be Will. You're convinced he was some sort of psychic in a past life.

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You need a hand?"

"Come hold this up for me while I screw it in."

You shuffle over to sit next to him, leaning over to hold the piece he's gesturing towards. He's trying desperately not to look down your shirt, and you're trying desperately to ignore the way he smells like heaven.

"C'mere," he murmurs under his breath, scooting backwards so you can get closer to the bed frame. He grabs your hips and pulls you so you're sat between his legs, holding onto the wood steadily. He wraps his arms around you from behind and gets to drilling, placing the screws in perfect rows.

Every now and again, he stops to press a kiss into your hair, or onto your cheek. You smile every single time, heat creeping across your chest. He eventually changes his path, trailing the kisses down onto your neck, shoulders, back. You're breathing so heavily you wonder if you're about to pass out.

"I like this colour," he whispers into your ear.

It takes a moment for your mind to register what he said.

"...Hmm?"

"The colour on your walls. I like it."

"Oh," you murmur. "Santi helped me pick it. He was only gonna do the kitchen, but then we were on a roll, so we ended up painting every room in the house."

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you and encouraging you to relax. You lean back into him, resting your head on his firm shoulder.

"This place is really beautiful, you know," he says lowly. "It's so... you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"The best thing. Beautiful house for a beautiful girl."

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

The two of you sit intertwined for a while, reveling in the comfort the other person brings. After a while, Will speaks.

"Okay, strong girl, you wanna help me put the mattress onto it?"

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

"I mean, I could do it single handedly... but sure, I'll help you."

"That's my girl."

You both make light work of the mattress, picking it up and throwing it onto the frame effortlessly. Will helps you put on your sheets and pillows, standing back to admire his handiwork.

"We did a good job."

"You did a good job, Will. I just sat over there and stared at you the whole time."

"Thought I felt eyes on me," he laughs.

You don't know where it comes from, the sudden honesty. It creeps up your throat out of nowhere, clawing to escape.

"I'm always looking at you."

Will turns to look at you, confusion written across his face.

"No matter where we are, or what we're doing. The most interesting thing in the room is always you."

His features soften, gentle smile tugging at his lips. He strides towards you and cradles your face in his big hands.

"I love you," he tells you so sincerely it makes you want to cry.

"I love you, William Miller. My love for you is just so... overwhelming. Some days I just want to scream it from the rooftops. I don't know what else to do with it."

"Give it to me," he says without missing a beat.

"What?"

"All the love. Don't throw it into the abyss. Give it to me. I want it."

You grin at him, a bright, blinding thing. He reciprocates, before leaning down and smashing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your knees give out from the sheer love he's kissing you with, both of you tumbling to the floor.

You pull his shirt over his head, exposing his gorgeous, sun soaked skin. He's so broad it makes you clench your thighs together. He tugs your shirt off and throws it across the room, paying no mind to where it lands. The two of you don't separate your lips for more than a second.

He's rutting his hips into yours, the friction making you dizzy. You try and push his jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. He takes pity on you and shoves them down himself, adding them to the pile of clothes scattered across the room.

Will wastes no time, throwing his boxers behind him and pulling your underwear down your legs. He pushes into you with effortless ease, both of you ready and eager. You unanimously groan in relief, panting rapidly. You claw at his shoulders, leaning up to connect your lips.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, hips gliding into yours.

"I love you," you gasp, resting your forehead against his. "I love you I love you I love you."

Will slides a hand down your body to rub quick circles between your legs, dipping his tongue into your mouth as he does it. He's swallowing your moans, licking the whines from your lips. He can't get over how sweet they taste.

"Come for me, honey. Give it to me, good girl. That's it. Atta girl."

You back arches off the floor, nails scratching down his back. Your vision goes white, stars clouding your view. Will groans, deep and low, spilling into you. You both ride out your highs while Will murmurs sweet sentiments into your ear, against your skin, into your mouth.

He collapses onto you, smothering you with his weight. You don't mind. Every part of your body is touching a part of his, and it still isn't close enough. It'll never be close enough. You could sew yourself into his ribcage, and you'd still want to be closer to his heart.

The only sounds that can be heard are two sets of heaving lungs. When you've snapped back to reality, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails across his scalp and smiling when he leans into your touch.

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why did you just build me a bed, and then fuck me on the floor?"

He takes a moment to register what you've said, before breaking out into contagious laughter. He's vibrating against you, both of you high on each others company.

"I didn't even think," he wheezes. "Fuck, we're idiots."

"You can say that again," you chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Will rolls off and lies next to you, linking his fingers with yours.

"You ready to keep building?"

As much as you'd happily stay where you are forever, it would be nice to have actual furniture in your bedroom.

"Let's do it," you say as you sit up.

You scramble around for your clothes, both of you beaming at each other as you get dressed. You walk over and wrap your arms around his neck, looking up at him.

"I can't wait for you to move in."

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait either. Two more months and my lease is up. Then you're stuck with me forever, honey."

"I wouldn't say stuck. More like the luckiest girl in the world."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," you laugh, grabbing the toolbox. "Let's build our furniture, shall we?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"You've made this place really beautiful, you guys."

"Beautiful house for a beautiful girl," Will grins at you across the table.

"Ugh, I hate when they do that," Benny complains.

"Do what?"

"Look at each other like that. It's like they're communicating through their minds, or something."

"We're silently talking about you, dipshit," Will teases, jabbing his brother in the side.

"Before the Millers kill each other, we bought you a present, hermosa. Think of it as a one year housewarming gift."

Frankie hands you a large rectangular parcel, wrapped carefully. You rip open the paper, discovering a large, ornate picture frame. In it, is your favourite picture in the world.

You and Will's first dance.

Frankie had taken the picture, unbeknownst to the two of you. You're both swaying to the music, arms wrapped around your husband's neck, completely lost in each other. Around you, the lights twinkle as your closest friends and family look on in awe.

"Frankie," you breathe. "Thank you. All of you. I love it so much."

"We thought you could hang it above your fireplace," Santiago offers. "In that big empty space."

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

"It's like the final piece of the puzzle," you whisper. "Now our home feels complete."

You trace your fingers over the frame, overwhelmed with adoration for the four boys staring back at you.

"I love you all," you tell them, glancing around the table. "So much."

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

The chorus makes you beam so bright, you're convinced your smile can be seen from space.

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

[lacesoflove]

hello! can you do a move-in day with hamzah? where he’s lifting and looking yummy moving stuff around and just getting settled into the new house?? Ok. Love u. thx. 🤗🤗🤗

NOW SHOWING: BREAKING THE BED! (request!)

Rating: fluffy + suggestive

Warning: AFAB!Reader, reader is described to have curls, but besides that no ethnic/racial has been provided!

A/N: I find it funny that as I was writing this I stumbled upon an OOC video where Hamzah said that he cannot afford to buy a house because he’s only 22 😭

W/C: 1.1k words

MOVING INTO A HOUSE WITH YOUR DREAM MAN WAS NOT IN YOUR CARDS. Falling in love with your dream person wasn’t on your cards either. Yet here you were, navigating the cluttered chaos of boxes, each one a Pandora's box revealing surprises that felt like the universe’s surreal joke on your life’s trajectory.

If you had told your ten-year-old self about something called a “credit check” just to secure a roof over your head, she would have frowned and asked, “What’s that?” Standing in the skeletal beginnings of your living room felt surreal, like a scene from a half-remembered dream. You and Hamzah had toiled like modern-day Sisyphuses, pushing the boulder uphill in an economy designed to turn homeowners into a relic of the past. And here you were, bearing the fruits of your labour, and it was dizzying to think you could finally eat them.

You took a laid-back approach to moving in, checking occasionally for the arrival of another truck or pacing through the house to affirm that this dream was indeed yours. Red and Blue were tucked away in the guest room, avoiding the chaos of change. Meanwhile, Hamzah was knee-deep in the intricate task of assembling your bed, his body hunched over the instruction manual like a treasure hunter deciphering hieroglyphs. This was the only piece of furniture spared from the convenience of Amazon’s next-day delivery—because sleeping on the floor wasn’t an option, and Hamzah had declared it “just not right.” You had no desire to argue that point; after all, you couldn’t imagine what hardwood floors would do to both your curls in the morning.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him wrestle with the instruction sheet, his face a canvas of confusion painted with frustration. “Baby, how’s it going?” you called out, bouncing on your toes, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving him to fend for himself. “Not great,” he grumbled, forehead creased as his eyes darted across an endless loop of instructions that might as well have been written in ancient runes. “I think they shorted us on screws.”

“What? No way. Hand it over,” you insisted, stepping forward to snatch the manual from his hands. “No, there are enough screws; you just put them in the wrong part of the bed.” “But it says head of the bed,” he argued, his stubbornness as inflexible as the wood he was trying to piece together. You sighed, knowing that for all the reasons you adored Hamzah, his reading comprehension skills were not among them. “It says base of the bed. The head is a different section underneath. Your eyes must be skipping the important parts.”

“Probably,” he admitted, pulling himself up from the floor, stretching like a cat, muscles flexing under the strain. “Why don’t you just make the bed?”

“Because I’m the girl,” you shot back, a smug smile creeping onto your face as he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your lower back.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Shit like this brings the movement down; everyone’s a feminist until it’s bed-building time.”

You erupted into laughter, unable to contain yourself. “Did you seriously just quote Bo Burnham?”

“Sure did,” he replied, a grin lighting up his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief.

“You’re stupid,” you said, your heart swelling with affection.

“You’re hot,” he quipped, leaning in for a kiss that sent a spark through the air between you. It was only then that the creeping shadows caught your eye, the sun dipping behind the trees, casting elongated silhouettes that spread across your new room. “Shit, we’ll get to the kissing later—we should probably focus on making this bed.”

“Why? Got some plans for us on it?” he teased, tilting his head, curls falling in lazy cascades as he lowered his gaze to yours, his eyes glimmering with playful mischief.

“Yes, and those plans consist of my mandatory eight hours of sleep,” you replied, laughter bubbling up as you nudged him away playfully. “Let’s finish this bed.”

What was supposed to be a straightforward task devolved into a chaotic four-hour marathon of flipping through the instruction manual and squabbling over every little detail. You found yourself checking on Red and Blue and, perhaps most challengingly, fighting the urge to kiss your boyfriend senseless, especially when he adopted that commanding tone while explaining the simplest of instructions. The way his muscles flexed as he pieced everything together was a distraction you could hardly shake off, like trying to focus while standing in front of a volcano ready to erupt.

But eventually, you triumphed. “Well, we did it,” you declared, surveying the finished bed with a rush of accomplishment, the chaos of the day melting into a sense of belonging.

“I dunno?” he replied, the rhetorical lilt of his voice betraying the playful smirk that danced on his lips. He knew exactly what was simmering beneath the surface; your fidgety energy gave you away, your eyes glued to him as he had assembled the bed like a magician unveiling his greatest trick. “What’d you have in mind earlier?”

“Continuing our kiss, maybe? Something more… I dunno,” you said, a mischievous grin spreading across your face as you mimicked his nonchalance, your tone dripping with playful defiance.

His body inched closer, an electric tension crackling in the air, and in one fluid motion, he scooped you up and plopped you onto the bed, laughter bubbling up between you like effervescent champagne. He leaned in, kissing the crook of your neck, and you giggled softly, the warmth of the moment enveloping you. It was sweet, a bubble of intimacy growing as you both leaned into the heat of the moment, getting hot and bothered in that perfect little world of your own.

And then it happened—the moment was ruptured by a creak, followed by a crack. Suddenly, all at once the bed collapsed in on itself, its stilts surrendering to the weight of your laughter and unexpected enthusiasm.

“What the hell?!” Hamzah exclaimed before you both burst of laughter mingling with the chaos as you stared at the tumbled remains of what was supposed to be your bed was underneath you both. “I can’t believe we broke the bed.” He grumbled, his voice a mix of irritation as well as amusement. Any traces of horniness had long dissipated due to the absurdity of the situation. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it.” You smirked. “True. But damn this has got to be a bad omen or some shit. Cock-blocking ass bed.” You couldn’t help but let out another laugh at that. “Look baby, nothing is a bad omen with you.” You whispered as you pulled his head towards you as you gave him a deep kiss. “I know, but I should probably leave a review on it or something you know?” “Or maybe, Hamzah, you should actually try to read instructions properly.”

“Maybe.” “I’m right.”

“You’re right.”

[mrscakeishere]

Ineffable IKEA Furniture Assembly

“How can beings so clever create dowels and brackets and chipboard?!”

“Well, I’m not the one who threw everything on the floor.”

Wondering what the H-E-double hockey-sticks this is all about?

You can find out in The Long Road to Meatballs on AO3 (rated Explicit, mind the tags). A little comedy smut for the GOAD Smut War by me and @polychromicron-persei-8.

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 note; the notes are at the end of the chapter on ao3, please read them, thank you. | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 3.033 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 6 - Discolouration

There isn’t really a proper place to rest, the afflicted take the first floor, the furniture was moved out to make room for supplies and any others that have gotten sick, the upper floors of the building were made into makeshift barracks for soldiers and workers to sleep in—where you went to get some shut—eye.

  You had gone down to a nearby lake to wash, but even the waters seemed thick and sludgy… everything here felt so strange, the air was thick and heavy, even outside it wasn’t like the clean and fresh air of the lands you’re familiar with. There’s an undercurrent of a sweet scent that lingers when you sniffle and change clothes to something comfortable to sleep in. 

  As you are folding your clothes and putting them back in your basket, something falls from the cloth and thunks against the ground—the gift Guizhong gave you. You shift your knees on the wooden floor and pick it up, turning the box in your hands before lifting the top off. 

  Pulling away the paper and cloth that covers it, a flat block greets your eyes. You pick it up and turn it around, it fits perfectly in your hand and is longer than it is wide… inscription surrounds a small circular glass in the middle that points towards you, you look out the window behind the small mattress you’ll be sleeping on tonight—it’s pointing south. 

  The block is made of well—polished wood and a metal plate sits on the upper half of it, you tilt your head to read some of the inscription, twenty four directions are separated by carved lines, but the text at the corners is more interesting. It’s written in an older script, similar to the old sigils and talismans you studied in your home village’s archives. Northwest mentions protection and safety, southwest healing and health, but you struggle to understand the text at the northeast and southeast. You turn your torso and the needle spins—it’s a Luo Pan. 

  It’s smaller than the one you once saw a sailor use, and the bottom half is carved with strange patterns, you don’t recognise them as script, nor are you sure what it’s for… but it could be decoration as well. 

  You notice a small paper on the bottom of the box. 

  “Thank you for your hard work! Please accept this gift from us, you’ve worked hard and saved many people of the Guili Assembly and they are surely eternally grateful for your care. We hope you will continue to assist us.

  Morax provided the wood and metal. He worked hard on it, pretend you don’t know.”

  You tuck the Luo Pan between your robe and pants, before setting it in your basket and get ready to rest for the night. 

  The next two days are both exhausting and disgusting. The bodies of the afflicted continue to rot away at an alarming rate, it’s like the essence left behind by the dead god is eating away at them. Morax pulled you aside on your second morning in the outpost to explain to you that the writhing creature you extracted was formed from flesh and energy taken from the vessel by the miasma. It died with a simple crush of his hand, but the energy lingered until that was also blasted away. 

  The longer a person was infected, the larger this creature grew inside of them, feeding on their flesh, organs and energy until there was little left to salvage. The areas they grew and slid through would grow dark and begin to rot, leaving behind baths and lines under and through the skin. 

  You did everything you could, expended every ounce of energy you had to cleanse and extract the creatures from the soldiers, but the success rate wasn’t as high as you’d like. The creatures are slippery and if the patient is conscious it’s a nightmare for them to experience—watching you try and pull a moving creature from inside of them, and watching it squirm and writhe, or move across their stomachs or arms. 

  Despite the healers’ and your best efforts, on the fourth day, you’ve lost half of the infected. 

  The smell in the room is atrocious and only gets worse by the day, the screams of fright or pain from now dead soldiers and workers is hard to get out of your head—it’s nothing like the ones in the ward under the palaces. They were in pain and sick as well, their skin sometimes darkened by the spiritual energies battling within them, their bodies trying to cast out the infection, or wounds staying open as the miasma prevented healing and clotting… but nothing like this. 

  You kneel by a woman with only half her face left intact, you’ve peeled the bandages from her left side to see bone and dust, it’s been creeping up from her jaw since you arrived, and if nothing is done, it will reach her brain next. She can’t speak, her tongue dried up and removed before it could cause a more serious infection as the stretch of bone covers more than half of her now gone lips. 

  Your heart races, the rate at which your heart has been beating over the last days is far higher than usual—the strain you’ve put on yourself isn’t healthy, but how can you rest and lie around when people like this woman are rotting away faster than you can help them? 

  Ignoring the weight of your body and mind begging for rest, you get to work. The touch of the miasma in her body makes you dizzy, as if it were pulsing outward with every attempt of extraction, you apologise to the woman moaning in pain before digging your fingers into the empty eye socket of her dusted face. She screams and grasps your arm to try and pry you away, but her fingers are weak and trembling, unable to prevent the painful invasion. 

  You grit your teeth as you fish for the cursed being—you just barely manage to nip it between your nails and the woman screams again, the creature attaches to your fingertips and bites.     Your body tenses, a beat of distortion going through you—you can see, but it feels as if you’ve been blinded for a moment as something between your ears moves. You pull your hand back as if burned and ram your fist into the ground with such force your fingers and knuckle ache. A nauseating squish sounds as the flesh—coloured creature is flattened against the floor, disgusting liquid spewing onto your knees and the woman’s shoulder as she covers her face and cries. 

  A shaky breath leaves your lips and you don’t dare stand up, or move a muscle. 

  It feels as if the slightest movement might tip you over, three waves of dizziness making your vision swim before stilling. 

  A healer that had been waiting for the extraction quickly tended to the woman, the lingering miasma still has to be removed, but at least the root of the problem is flat on the ground. You grab at a piece of the wall and slowly hoist yourself up once you trust yourself not to fall immediately again and shuffle outside. You need some fresh air to continue. 

  The door is barely open when you walk straight into someone on your way out. The both of you crash to the ground and a few fruits roll—an attendant was arriving with some refreshments for the sick and you’d nearly walked them over.

  “Ah—I’m sorry,” you try to pick up the fruits that rolled around and help the attendant put them back in the top-open box. 

  The man gives an awkward laugh. “It’s okay, I couldn’t see over the top properly, are you hurt?”

  You only knocked your nose against the box and your knees ache a bit, but that could also just be all the kneeling you’ve been doing today next to patients—landing on them probably just made it worse. “No, no, I’m sorry again, do you need help?”

  He waves you off and picks up the now fully stacked box, all fruits gathered to go inside as someone seems to call for him. 

  You sigh as you squat on the grass for a moment, almost jumping up into a straight position when you hear a voice behind you. “You seem tired.”

  Morax stands behind you, staring down at you from beneath that white hood and bangs that give his expression a strangely alien look, despite it not conveying much. He extends a hand towards you without a word, and you reach to take it. 

  His strength is surprising—it really shouldn’t be���as he pulls you up with ease, yet with so much force that you almost stumble forward and into him. Thankfully, you steady yourself in time, but note that his other hand had lifted next to your side in case you did fall. “You’ve been straining yourself,” he says, Morax looks down to where he’s still holding your hand, and he doesn’t let go. “Your fingers are cold and your heart is beating quicker than usual.” How does he know how fast your heart usually beats? “You should rest more, the healers have expressed their worries for you.”

  You blink at him, unsure how to respond. It's distracting how warm his hand is as he holds yours tightly, as if trying to warm your cold fingers. “Oh… it’s just—I don’t… I don’t want to rest, not while they’re still in pain.”

  A small tug comes to his lips, but he shakes his head. “Your compassion is admirable, but the treatment required for them is not a race, but a marathon. Healers should always ensure they themselves are healthy and able to heal, or else there will be no one left to treat those in need.”

  It’s dangerously close to what you’ve been told before, and of course, you understand it. But it’s hard to close your eyes and rest, especially when you can hear the crying and moaning from below the floor you sleep on. 

  “I know, but—” He raises his eyebrows only slightly and you stop yourself. Anything you can say will likely be something he’s heard before, and you’re sure he won’t just let you off the hook. You lick your lips and think. “How do I… stop thinking about it?”

  How do you simply stop and close your mind, even for a few hours? 

  “I’m afraid no answer I can give will help you, you will need to find your own way,” his voice is calm and easy to listen to, even though you’re severely distracted by his warm hand enveloping yours. “For some, they can’t, and sleep will just have to come despite it. Others are more fortunate and can simply halt their thoughts to rest.”

  You feel a tinge of disappointment, but you can’t expect someone to just have a magical answer. Maybe a good nap under the sun would help, too bad you haven’t seen the sun the entire time here, it’s been cloudy the entire time and a thick mist covers the grounds during the night. One of the healers mentioned it was normal in this area. 

  After a heavy silence, Morax’s fingers slide from yours and the warmth is sorely missed as soon as he does, even though you also feel a strange relief that the distracting heat and touch of his gloves hand is gone. “Thank you… I’ll try to rest for a moment.”

  Morax nods. “Good, then—”

  His words halt as a scream tears through the air, his head snaps to the side as you flinch in surprise, and before you know it, he’s taken off.

  You can’t just stand there and watch him disappear around the corner of the building—you instinctively grab what’s closest to you, a rake leaning against the wall by the corner he just rounded as you follow him. You run as fast as your tired body allows—you really realise now how perpetually exhausted you’ve been for weeks at this point. 

  Behind the remaining building, where the corpses of those that weren’t able to be saved have been waiting to be transported back to the capital, is a scene that almost makes you drop the rake in your hands. 

  There’s a handful of people in what used to be training grounds, the lines where fourteen corpses had laid just this morning are missing two—cloth tossed aside. A man is laid on his back on the ground with his throat torn open and his chest hollowed, every rib has been pulled outwards and sticks open like a maw as blood pools under him, another man is trying to wrestle off a robed being as two people stand and try to help, but are too afraid to touch the silently moving corpse. 

  The two corpses—which you have already purified and made ready for transport, have stood up and attacked the people watching over them. 

  Thankfully, Morax was fast. He was already on the walking corpse attacking the poor man  and ripped it off of him, glowing ribbon—like restraints emerged from the ground and trapped the corpse, preventing it from moving as a spear materialised in Morax’s hands, it was dark with contrasting golden edges on the tip of the spear. With mesmerising speed and accuracy, the tip penetrated twelve spots on the corpse’s body and it stopped moving instantly. 

  “Alert everyone,” he said as he caught your eye. 

  You nodded quickly and turned around, hurrying back towards the front of the building as quickly as you could. 

  The entire outpost is on alert in an instant that you find a Millelith soldier to help you pass the information on—the dead standing up and attacking their fellow soldiers made everyone uneasy and on guard. Thankfully the second corpse had been found quickly and neutralised immediately. You went back a while later and saw a sizable amount of people there, the man whose chest and neck had been opened has been removed, and the injured one taken to be healed.

  People murmured amongst themselves as you stood by the corner of the building, some wondering what was going on and what had actually happened. “Are they sure it was the dead?” “Surely it was just ghosts… ahh I hate ghosts!!” “Maybe it was an animal?” “I saw it! He walked like a string puppet!”

  A hand touches your shoulder and you jump, you instinctively raise the rake—still clutched in your grasp, who knows if there’s more walking around—but a second hand catches it before you can whack it at him. Morax looks down at you for the second time this day. 

  Before he says anything, something catches your attention. “Weren’t the dead supposed to be purified already?”

  Another speaks from the group, they seem to be talking to someone. “Possessed?! It was a ghost?!”

  “I thought the cleanser was supposed to be good?” someone from the back of the crowd says. 

  “Did she do a half-assed job? How do you let a spirit linger like that!?” 

  That couldn’t be it—you were sure you purified it completely, the lingering soul shouldn’t have been disturbed at all until it could be sent off by their family. Could you have missed something? There was no corruption left, you checked multiple times, surely it—

  Your thoughts are interrupted as the hand on your shoulder tightens and pulls you away from the back of the building. “Come.” 

  Morax tugs you with him next to a building that was crumpled to the ground. The restoration process was slow, but some of the rubble had been removed. He decided not to directly address what the two of you just heard. “I suspect the surrounding corruption sept into them,” he raises a hand to his chin, the soft glow emanating from beneath his clothed hands illuminates his pale skin. “You cleansed them all and returned the creatures within them, thus there was nothing internal to grasp at their bodies like that…”

  You’re relieved to hear that, you were sure… but what if you had been wrong? If you had really forgotten two? Or not paid enough attention? One man is dead. 

  He doesn’t say more immediately, and you merely stand and wait. 

  “When I took the two dead that moved and examined them, there was no trace left—but I had felt dark energies within them when they stood,” Morax taps his index finger on his cheek as his hand still rests on his chin. “I set up a barrier around the outpost the night the essence settled over the earth, nothing should have entered without my knowledge.”

  “... you don’t think…” you’re not sure if to say it.

  “That someone within the outpost did this? Unlikely, I know every face here,” he shakes his head, it seems that he doesn’t consider it an option. Lowering his hand, Morax’s expression is firmer than usual, his eyebrows furrowed and a small frown tugging at his lips. “Do as you have been doing—with adequate rest—and talk to me immediately if you notice anything strange. I must search for the cause of this.”

  You didn’t see him for another two days after the occurrence. 

  There was some tension around you at first, but it seemed to subside as you continued to work hard to help the afflicted—the glances and occasional whisper wasn’t truly gone, but you suppose it’s not unnatural to be suspicious… you were the one responsible for things like this to not happen. 

  It still didn’t make you feel comfortable, your movements while cleansing under scrutinising eyes from across the room were stiff and you had a hard time focusing—one man even refused your help, saying he would rather die now than be ‘cured’ and then ‘possessed later’... after explaining to him that if you cleanse the dark energies from his body, he won’t die, and thus won’t have a corpse to be possessed, he seemed to realise he was being unreasonable. 

  He did still curse you a bit when extracting the sludgy miasma from his body, it was quite unlucky the exit-point was on his asscheek. You don’t want to know how he got the essence on his ass to begin with. 

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

A Solid Plan

Prompt Day 5: Domestic Fluff | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: Light E | CW: Sexual Content | Tags: Established Relationship, Teamwork Makes the Dream Work, If You Build It: He Will Come, Idiots in Love, Silly Sex Mishaps, First Apartment, Flat Pack Furniture

"Are you sure you don't need the instructions?" Eddie asks, and Steve shakes his head. He definitely doesn't need the directions. It's like a picture booklet, more than actual plans on how to build this thing. So, he's good without, he's pretty sure.

"No, it's not that hard," Steve says, for the tenth time. 

It's a bookshelf, not rocket science. 

"Because, I think-" 

"Eddie! Just let me do this, okay?" Steve snaps, cutting him off. 

Eddie makes the motion for zipping his lips, and throwing away the key. 

Steve smiles at him, can't not. Even if he's tired of putting together all this furniture. But he'll do it, for Eddie. 

Eddie dragged him into this huge store, with names he can't pronounce, picking out pieces they had to put together themselves. That's not Steve's experience with furniture. Growing up, a truck brought a new couch, or a new bed frame, and the delivery guys just carried it through the double doors. Ready to use. 

This? Is not that. They don't have the money for that kind of treatment, at least not right now. So, they're stuck with this headache. This is Lego furniture, he's pretty sure. But it's made out of particle board instead of plastic. 

It's okay. Right now all they can afford is furniture with vaguely shitty instructions. 

So, Steve turns the Allen wrench that came with it, tightening all the pieces until he has a bookshelf. He stands it up. 

"See? Done," Steve says. 

"Anything look wrong?" Eddie asks, a smug look on his face.

Steve looks at it, really looks. 

The back panel is on backwards. Fuck. 

"Shit, I can fix it." 

"You wouldn't have had to fix it if you used the instructions," Eddie taunts, but he's smiling. 

"Yes, you're right. I'm wrong," Steve says, dryly. 

"Damn straight," Eddie says, but he holds onto it while Steve unscrews the back panel, so he can flip it around and screw it back on, the right way.

The bed frame takes both of them to assemble, and Steve isn't sure it's going to be sturdy enough to sleep on. Let alone fuck on. He should have brought his bedroom furniture from home. It's a little ugly, and his mom's taste, not his own, but it was solid wood. But they didn't want to move it halfway across the country.

So, now, they're stuck doing this, and Steve hopes it'll hold up until they can afford something better, sturdier.

Once it's built, Eddie helps him put the sheets on, and then he sits on it delicately. Eddie is thrilled, Steve is skeptical. 

He was right to be skeptical. One thrust too hard, and Steve hears it give way at the same time they're suddenly falling. 

They hit the floor, the mattress falling straight through the slats, the legs giving way to total collapse. Steve is stunned. He knew it was possible, but he wasn't expecting this to happen. Not really. Okay, maybe a little. But not the very first night. He thought it'd give way under heavy use. Not just fall to pieces immediately.

Maybe he put it together wrong.

"Shit!" Eddie yells, "Are you okay?" 

Steve's fine, but that was a rough ride. Eddie's somehow still in his ass, but he's gone half-hard from the unexpected scare. 

It really shouldn't have been so unexpected. Steve definitely predicted this exact thing to happen. 

"I'm pulling out," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. 

"Sounds like a solid plan," Steve answers, bracing for it. 

Eddie laughs with him as he eases out of his body. 

"You sure you're okay?" Eddie asks, rubbing his hand against Steve’s back. 

"I'm fine," Steve assures. "The bed? Uh, I think we killed it." 

Eddie laughs, then accuses, "Why would you pick this bed?! You nearly killed us!" 

Steve just laughs. Eddie picked the bed, but he'll take the blame. He doesn't mind. 

"Are you really okay?" Eddie asks, laying his cheek on Steve's back. 

"I'm fine. You didn't break your dick, did you?" 

"No. Just scared it," Eddie teases, pressing his lips to Steve's shoulder. Again. And again. 

Steve knows Eddie's kissing his moles. It's not an unusual occurrence. 

Once they've caught their breath, and stopped laughing, they get dressed and clean up the broken pieces, throwing them in a pile, then shoving their mattress on the floor. 

"This'll do," Eddie says. 

And Steve nods. It will, for now. He knows Eddie's bed at home didn't have a bed frame, so it's definitely not a necessity to him.

While Steve doesn't want to crawl up off the ground forever, they can do it for a while until they find something. They're still young. 

Steve looks in the phonebook the next day for thrift stores in the area. He's gonna find something heavy. It can be ugly as sin, as long as it's made of actual solid wood. He writes down five places that advertise furniture, not just clothes, and they get in the truck and go. 

The first place has nothing, but the second has something that's perfect. It's a little scratched up, but it looks like it'd stay exactly where they put it. And it's a bargain, with two nightstands included in the price.

Steve watches as the employee takes the tag to the front, and organizes for the pieces to be taken to the truck. 

He pays, and outside, in the daylight, it's uglier than he thought. The lamp that Eddie has in his hand is absolutely hideous. It has fringe. Together, it feels like it weighs a combined thousand pounds, but Eddie helps him load them into the back of the pickup. 

The new frame is not easy to put back together with no instructions, but he finally gets it done. And Eddie flips the switch on the lamp that's now on his nightstand. 

"Let there be light," Eddie says, and Steve flops on the bed. 

It doesn't give an inch. 

But maybe later, if he's lucky, Eddie will give him seven.

Notes: IKEA was in the US by the late 80s, just not near Hawkins. So, if this stuff came from IKEA, they moved far, far away for this one to happen, lol.

And here's a little piece on how IKEA utilized the power of the Allen wrench for their flat pack furniture.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🛏️

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[oxandthorn]

KAFKA x HOSHINA WEDDING AU 💖💐✨

wedding's eve (M rating, 704 words)

Hoshina loves 3 things: 1) Kafka 2) Fighting kaiju 3) His new reading nook. One shots are now on my AO3!

A kaiju attack interrupted Hoshina’s bachelor party two days ago. 

To be honest, Hoshina was elated. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the efforts of his friends in organizing a night of drinking and axe throwing. Eviscerating kaiju was simply far more entertaining for him. 

Tonight was the eve of Kafka and Hoshina’s wedding. 

Kafka was out with his comrades and friends for his bachelor party. Doing what? Who knows. Hoshina didn’t ask any questions. He was content with enjoying Kafka’s wedding present to him all to himself:

A reading nook.

Having moved in together months ago, there was still an empty corner of their home. Neither of them were well versed in home decor, and barely managed to furniture and decorate the main parts of their home. Where they’ve lived in the Tachikawa Base dorms for so long, both were so used to having minimal space and minimal furnishings to play around with.

Hoshina was freshly showered, and excited to enjoy his new relaxing corner. Waiting for the kettle to boil, he continued to dry his hair. With a towel on his head and a smile on his face, he couldn’t wait to enjoy his present.

Kafka assembled it when Hoshina was out at his bachelor party-turned-work-outing. The kaiju horde that Hoshina, accompanied by Mina and Kikoru had been dealing with took longer than expected. This was good for Kafka: The assembly of the nook ran longer than expected. Reno and several off-duty Third Division colleagues were wrangled with their various expertise and tools. 

For the first time in a very long time, Hoshina could see all his books all at once. From ceiling to floor, every shelf was filled with his plethora of books, from various genres and page count. There was no space. With a coffee in one hand, and the other holding a comfy blanket, Hoshina scanned the shelves from side to side, and up and down. He couldn’t decide what to read, but he was still delighted by the sight.

Upon moving in, Kafka finally saw Hoshina’s entire book collection. He’s stored them in a self-storage area since coming to the base to live so long ago. They were boxed up and left alone in that cold storage room. The numerous boxes were overwhelming for Kafka, who admittedly owned very little literature. But he knew these books meant a lot to Hoshina.

Having plucked a book from a lower shelf, Hoshina settled quickly into the ornate and oversized chair Kafka painstakingly ruminated over for months before coming to a decision. He tucked his legs under him and set his coffee on the nearby window sill. He fluffed and spread the blanket over himself. 

The lounge chair was so comfy and spacious. It was only yesterday that Kafka found Hoshina asleep in it, much like a cat sunbathing at the foot of a picture window during the morning light.

He leafed through the book– A photo album to be exact. A gift from Mina to the both of them. It featured a series of pictures of them as kids that Mina managed to scrounge up, as well as photos from their time in the JAKDF.

Hoshina was shocked to see how many photos of his younger self she tracked down, “I mean, it makes sense she’d have access to Kafka, but me? That’s concerning.”

He sipped his coffee, pausing on a photo of the two – The moment Kafka proposed. 

It was shortly after a kaiju was neutralized. Mina must’ve taken hundreds of snapshots. She was by no means a good photographer, but she captured their expressions so perfectly. Kafka’s scrapped face and bloody nose were eclipsed by his wide grin. Hoshina’s hilariously confused and fight-or-flight expression was a stark contrast. Of course, after processing Kafka’s kneeling stature and the ring presented to him, Hoshina’s expression quickly changed.

Hoshina remembered that their date had been interrupted by that kaiju attack that day. Kafka mentioned he intended to propose less chaotically… But realized their lives were rife with chaos there was no better time to do it.

He laughed to himself, remembering Kafka explaining the moment of saying “fuck it” and pulling the ring out. Truthfully, Hoshina thought it was absolutely perfect.

[sasheneskywalker]

batfamily fic recs that will make you laugh

Breaking News: Local Teen Given Intervention For Normal Behavior by yellowrooster Tim ends up in an alternate dimension where he's considered a drug addict.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake & Everyone, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne

The Ballad Of The Adult-Sized Robin Suit by centreoftheselights Where do you go to purchase a Robin suit large enough for a muscular man? There are probably some specialty sellers on Etsy for that…

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Original Character(s) & Original Character(s)

Night of the Living Batmen by vellaphoria This is either the best or the worst idea they’ve ever had.

As far as Dick is concerned, the jury's still out.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Some Assembly Required by ChocolateTeapots A Martian, a God, and the Goddamn Batman try to assemble Ikea furniture.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Scott Free & Bruce Wayne, J'onn J'onzz & Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern) & Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen/Hal Jordan (minor)

Joker in critical condition after Red Hood pride stunt by Naphorism LOCAL : NEWS/OPINION

The Joker is in critical condition at Gotham General Hospital after shots fired by the notorious Red Hood at Gotham’s annual pride parade yesterday.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Sasha (DCU) & Jason Todd

what goes around by Goldmonger A civilian accidentally kills the Joker. It’s a confusing time for everybody.

G | Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death | Batfamily Members & Original Character(s), Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Original Character(s), Stephanie Brown & Original Character(s)

Brad Wayne Meets The Family by city_noise Brad Wellington is a typical frat boy who's just trying to keep his scholarship and post memes. Now, half the world knows him as Brad Wayne, son of the infamous Gotham billionaire. When he gets an invite to spend a few months at the Manor, Twitter tells him to watch out for inheritance feuds, and TikTok is betting he'll be dead by the end of the week. Are they just rumors, or is there more to the Wayne's than meets the eye? …Nah, probably just rumors.

(Or: Upbringing be damned, no spawn of Batman could possibly turn out to be this normal. Or dumb. The Bats are on the case.)

Not Rated | No Archive Warnings Apply | Bruce Wayne & Original Male Character(s), Bruce Wayne & Everyone

shipling rivalries by ScarlettSwordMoon It’s a long flight from Gotham to Siberia. Dick’s siblings, to Bruce’s horror, use the time to start debating Dick’s love life.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne

Vanity Googling by hradzka, Petra "Oh, man. Check this out. Nobody has written Oracle porn."

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Relationships

[flatpackassembler]

Why Furniture Assembly Experts Are Better Than DIYers

Furniture assembly experts are seasoned at following instruction booklets without difficulties. They also know what to do when something isn’t quite going right.

Save your energy and let background checked Taskers handle the tricky stuff like assembling furniture. Just book online, choose your date and time, and a pro will come to you!

They Have All the Tools

More and more furniture comes in flat-pack boxes with the label, "assembly required." While this may be great for consumers looking to save money on their purchase, it can become an expensive chore if not done properly. A loose screw or a misaligned hole can leave the piece damaged, and if it's something expensive, it's not a good idea to try fixing it on your own.

A professional furniture assembler will arrive equipped with the tools needed to complete the job quickly and efficiently. They will also have comprehensive toolboxes, so they won't be searching for the wrench or screw that mysteriously went missing from their box.

Many of the best furniture assembly services can be found online and through mobile apps, such as TaskRabbit and Thumbtack. These apps connect customers with top-rated pros for a flat rate or per-piece pricing structure. They also offer a minimum fee, which can help cover operating costs and travel fees.

They Have the Maneuver Techniques

As furniture assembly experts deal with this type of work on a regular basis, they know how to maneuver pieces into place. This means customers don’t have to worry about putting their back out or damaging furniture.

While a customer may think they can get by without hiring a furniture assembly service, it is important to find one that carries technician liability insurance. This will protect the company and customer if an accident occurs during the assembly process. In addition, many assembly professionals offer a labor guarantee.

Life is busy enough, and assembling furniture takes up valuable time that could be better spent on something else. Finding a reliable furniture assembly service is easy, and many services are available on apps and websites. Customers can search for trustworthy assemblers in their area and schedule an appointment to have them come by on a day they are free. Depending on the company, these services often charge hourly or have a minimum of hours that must be met.

They Are Safe

Furniture assembly experts can easily handle all of the steps required to put together a new furniture set in your home. This is because they have the proper maneuver techniques and tools that are necessary to do the job correctly. They also have the knowledge to follow all of the instructions that come with the furniture kit, ensuring that it is assembled properly. This can protect the furniture warranty and reduce the chances of damage caused by a mistake.

This makes the process of assembling RTA furniture much less stressful for homeowners and is especially beneficial for those with limited mobility. There is no reason why seniors or disabled individuals should have to struggle with the task of putting together their own furniture when they could simply hire a professional to do it for them. These professionals will even take the time to clean up the mess after they are done, reducing the amount of work that the homeowner has to do in their own home.

They Clean Up

A lot of DIY furniture comes flat-pack and requires assembly. Whether that's IKEA, Wayfair or Amazon, you can often save money by opting for the "assembly required" option at checkout.

Unfortunately, putting together these pieces of furniture isn't always easy. In fact, if you don't know what you're doing, it can be dangerous for you and the item.

Not only does assembling large pieces of furniture assembly Liverpool require a set of tools, but they also require a good understanding of the instruction book and proper maneuver techniques to avoid damaging the piece or your home. Furniture assembly experts have all of these skills and more, which is why they're able to do the job quickly and efficiently.

As an added bonus, they'll clean up after themselves so you don't have to deal with piles of boxes, spare parts and styrofoam scattered around your home. For a guaranteed up front price online, let LoadUp's background checked furniture assemblers take care of all your assembly needs.

[daisynik7]

I SAW THAT ANGST MINI FIC AND THAT HURT!! OK WHAT ABOUT....

Its Eren who has the unrequited love while reader likes....Jean (?) and plans to move in with him....

cw: angst, unrequited love

Word Count: ~1.7k

Author Notes: Hi anon! Loving these angsty requests! I changed it up a little bit so that the reader is already moved in with Jean, hope that’s okay! And I hope this hurts (in a good way) LOL. 

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

Eren stares out the window, watching the passing buildings as Mikasa drives through the unfamiliar street. He hasn’t spoken since they left, only the radio to occupy the silence. As they approach closer to the apartment complex, Mikasa clears her throat, finally speaking. “Are you okay?” 

He’s not. How can he be? The woman he’s in love with is moving in with her boyfriend. And it’s not him. 

He doesn’t respond right away, fixating on a particular street corner while they’re stopped at a red light. Mikasa knows not to pester him; she only put the question out there in case he wants to talk about it. Recently, he hasn’t been wanting to say much. 

The news about Jean and you moving in together came as a surprise. You announced it a month ago during a big group dinner with friends. Everyone there congratulated you, thrilled about this big step. Eren mustered up the energy to do the same, but deep down, he was hurting. It’s not as if he didn’t see this coming. Maybe at first, he was a little bit in denial. It’s Jean Kirstein, after all. The guy is an idiot. But he’s the idiot that got you to fall in love with him, so clearly, Eren is the even bigger idiot. 

What do you see in Jean that you don’t see in Eren? The question still haunts him. He’ll never get an answer, though. You have no idea that Eren is in love with you. Absolutely no clue. And, at this rate, you never will. It’s a secret he’s willing to take to his grave, especially knowing how goddamn happy you are with Jean. He won’t take that away from you, even if it means sacrificing his own heart. That’s how much he cares for you. 

Mikasa clears her throat, obviously concerned, but doesn’t ask again. Eren keeps looking outside when he finally responds. “I’m okay.”

She doesn’t push it any further, taking that as the final word of the conversation, if they can even call it that. Only she knows about his secret. Sometimes, he likes to use her as a scapegoat, blaming her for introducing you to Jean in the first place. It’s not her fault though; if it wasn’t Jean, it would have been somebody else. Eren has always been too much of a coward to step up to the plate and confess. In the end, he has only himself to blame.  

They park at a curb, right outside the apartment complex. Eren is reluctant to get out, anxious to see their new place for the first time. Eventually, he does, following Mikasa to the front lobby, heading towards the elevator. She’s been here before, a handful of times actually, helping them move and settle in. It’s been an entire month now. Each time Eren has been asked to come over, he made up excuses to get out of it. This time, he couldn’t refuse. Not when you practically begged him to help you assemble furniture. 

The elevator takes them up to the third floor. Mikasa leads them down the hall in front of a door that reads “306”. She knocks twice, a few seconds passing before your bright face greets them. “Hey!”

The flutter in his belly whenever he sees you smile has never wavered. His mood is instantly lifted, and he almost forgets what he’s so grumpy about. Almost. Jean approaches them from the kitchen, snacking on a protein bar, shaker bottle in the other hand. He looks ready to work out. “Hey guys, thanks for coming.”

Mikasa glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Gym.”

“I thought we’re putting together furniture,” Mikasa says, annoyed. Eren tries to contain his scoff, understanding now that Jean has no intention of participating. 

“You know I’m not handy! That’s why we called you two as reinforcements, right honey?” He wraps his arms around you, tipping his head to give you a loud smooch on the cheek. 

You giggle. “Yeah.” Though you’re smiling, Eren can tell there’s disappointment in your eyes. He’d do anything right now to clock Kirstein in the face. 

With Jean gone, the three of you gather in the living room, staring at the stacks of boxes laid out on the floor. “We bought a couple of items for the living room and our bedroom. Mikasa, maybe you can do the drawer for the bedroom. And then Eren and I can do the TV stand here.”

Mikasa nods, agreeing with the plan and walking into the bedroom on the other side of the apartment. You grin at Eren. “Ready?”

The two of you open the box, removing all the parts and organizing them neatly, instructions in your hands, reading aloud the first couple of lines. It starts smoothly, the directions clear enough to get halfway through, until you laugh, realizing that Eren put one of the pieces on backwards. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, re-doing the screws. 

“Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

It’s comments like this that make his chest swell and heart sink at the same time. “Jean really doesn’t like doing this kind of stuff, does he?”

You shake your head, “Not really.” You pause, sounding like you have more to say.

“Are you okay?” 

You let out a deep sigh. “I was hoping this would be a fun bonding experience for us. Putting together our own furniture, I don’t know. I like this kind of stuff and I wish he was more into it.” You avoid Eren’s gaze as you explain this, focusing blankly on the instructions in front of you. 

Now, Eren really wishes he could punch Jean. “I’m sorry.”

You smile at him. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. In fact, you’re always the next best person I want to do this stuff with anyways.”

It’s true. Before Jean, it was always Eren. He was the first person you called when you got a flat tire on the highway, freaking out because you never learned how to fix it. Minutes later, he was there, down on the ground, patiently explaining every step. The next time it happened, Eren was the first to know that you successfully did it, all thanks to him. Whatever concert you wanted to go to, he was there, standing right beside you, screaming along to the music, bopping his head to the beat. Late night drives along the coast, listening to waves crash against the shore. New restaurants you wanted to try because a food influencer you follow recommended it. He was there. And even after Jean, it was still Eren. Midnight phone calls, listening to you cry about a silly argument you and Jean had. Visiting local farmer’s markets together because Jean never understood why you liked them so much. Movie screenings for obscure features that Jean declined to go because the only films he enjoys are action and comedies. Eren is always there for you when Jean isn’t.

In this moment, Eren realizes that it can’t be this way anymore. If you’re going to move on with Jean and he’s going to move on from you, it can no longer be this way. As painful as it is to admit it, Eren can’t have you relying on him anymore. Because the longer you do, the harder it’ll be for him to let you go. 

You both complete the TV stand correctly this time, moving it against the wall. Mikasa comes out to join you, the three of you admiring your handiwork. Keys jingle from outside the door and Jean returns, still sweaty from the gym. Before he retreats into the kitchen, he exclaims, “Looks great, guys!”

You and Mikasa start on another set, this time another drawer for the living room. Eren takes this time to excuse himself, joining Jean in the kitchen. He’s shaking one of his protein concoctions in his bottle, eating a banana. “What’s up man?” 

“Help her with the furniture,” Eren bluntly states.

Jean makes a face, surprised by the demand. “Huh?”

“She wants you to build it with her.”  

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I thought you and Mikasa are helping?”

“It’s not about needing help. She’s perfectly capable of doing it on her own if she really needs to. But she thinks it’s a fun bonding experience. She wants you to do it with her.” He’s a little more aggressive this time, annoyed from Jean’s incompetence.

He opens his mouth, sputtering like a fish before responding, “How was I supposed to know?”

Eren pinches the bridge of his nose, losing patience but maintaining his composure. “When she asks you if you want to do something with her, just say yes. That means she wants to spend time with you, even if it’s for things like this.”

The two men are silent for a moment, Jean contemplating what was just said. Eren lets himself imagine for a split second how it would be if it were him moving in with you, not Jean. This conversation wouldn’t even need to happen. He’d happily build furniture with you every day. He would do anything for you. 

Finally, Jean speaks. “You’re right. I should do better. I will be better.” He pauses, picking his words carefully, adding, “I’m so used to you being there for her instead.” He avoids Eren’s gaze when he says it, embarrassed. 

“I’ll always be there for her. But I’m not her boyfriend. You are.” It’s difficult for him to say out loud. Hearing himself say it makes it official. It makes it final.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll be better. Uh, thanks for telling me.”

Eren looks at him with a serious expression. “I just want her to be happy.”

He returns his gaze knowingly. “Yeah, I know. Me too.”

They stand there for a few more seconds, understanding each other. When they leave the kitchen together, Jean walks over to you, massaging your shoulders. “Hi baby. I’m back now. Let’s build some furniture!”

You face him, beaming. “Really?”

He smiles. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

Eren says, “Looks like you’re in good hands now. We’re going to head out.” Mikasa looks at him, confused. He doesn’t say anything else, steering her towards the door, waving farewell. Before it closes, he overhears Jean mention something about going to a farmer’s market. 

In the car, Mikasa asks once more, “Are you okay?”

This time, Eren answers a little more confidently. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

[zombiethingy]

all i want is the here and now - fucking fuck

For day one of @zukki-week: bi awakening

(It probably makes more sense to read the other part first)

wc: 528 | rated: T (for language and to be safe) tags: modern au, slice of life, feelings realization [AO3 link] [prologue] [next part]

It's the best thing that happened to Sokka. It was a mistake. It's a dream come true. It's torture.

1 week, three days and 5 hours after moving into the perfect apartment with his two best friends, Sokka starts to really question his sanity.

For some reason, he misses Suki and Zuko all the time now. It doesn't make sense. He gets to spend more time with them than ever before, they ate dinner together most days, spent the evenings assembling furniture, playing games, watching movies, or doing their own things next to each other. Their bedrooms are so close, he's pretty sure he heard both of them masturbate at least twice. He's usually greeted by one of them when he gets home and when they get back and he's still working, they'll stick their head in his room to say hi anyway.

He sees them all the time and yet he misses them so much, he has to keep himself from wrapping his arms around them and then just staying there, attached like a pentapus.

Whenever he walks into the living room and Zuko sits at his piano practicing quietly, Sokka wants to walk up behind him, press in close against his back and lean his chin on his shoulder.

Whenever Suki walks through the door, he has to keep himself from sprinting towards her, bundling her up in his arms and spinning her around until she giggles.

He misses those giggles too, the ones he always gets when he hugs Suki.

And then it finally hits him; he sees them more often, but they hug way less. All those hello and goodbye hugs aren't a thing anymore since they see each other so much.

He doesn't miss them, not really, he misses the hugs.

He makes a point of hugging his friends more often. At least once a day, more if he can get away with it.

---

2 weeks, 4 days, and 6 hours after moving into the perfect apartment with his two best friends, Sokka is sure he's lost it.

He still misses Zuko and Suki.

He re-established the hugging into their lives, gets the same amount of or even more hugs again. But he can't get enough of them.

He doesn't really want to let go of them, wishes them back into his arms as soon as the hug is broken, wants to move closer on the sofa when they watch a movie together, wants to stand closer to them when they prepare dinner next to each other in the kitchen, wants to slip his fingers under their soft sleep shirts and really feel them for a moment when they hug him good night, wants to snuggle–

Fuck.

He wants to snuggle close and feel them and bury his nose in their neck and maybe, possibly, just stay there the whole night.

Fuck.

He hasn't felt that much affection and that much of a need to be close in a long time.

Fuck.

He's got a crush on his best friends. Actually, scratch that, he's in love with both his best friends and roommates as of 2 weeks, 4 days and 7 hours.

Fuck.

[pisupsala]

Wish You Were Here [1] | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | Some things you’d rather not face alone.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings | swearing, explicit smut / 18+ only

Words | 7.4k

Note | Can be read as part of One For The History Books (takes place post-epilogue—chronologically the final part) but also works as a standalone.

Library

When the blob of paint unceremoniously splashes over your bare feet, you feel like your final shreds of sanity have hit the ground with it. You stare intensely at the pale sandy color splattered over the plastic covering on the floor, your legs and the more of outside the paint bucket than the wall at this rate. 

What were you thinking?

Dropping the paint roller in the bucket, creating another wave of splatters for good measure, you sit down in the middle of the room, knees pulled up. Your hands are burning painfully from gripping the roller hours on end—you can see the first blisters forming. You’re not even half-way done yet with painting. And then you need to install curtains. Clean. Wax the hardwood floors. Pack up your house. Clean. Disassemble all your furniture. Move. Order new furniture. Assemble everything. Clean. 

This was such a bad idea.

But you promised. You promised Bradley you would take care of it all, not to worry and focus on the detachment at hand. Six weeks. And you really thought you could do it. 

Now, you’re really not sure.

Your apartment is a mess. This house is an even worse mess. And you feel so incredibly alone.

Hanging your head, you can’t stop the tears from coming. There is no reason on this godforsaken earth this should be so hard. Really, you need to get the fuck over yourself. You rub the heel of your hand over your cheek to wipe away the tears, but you’re probably just spreading still-wet paint over your face. But it’s not like anyone will see you here like this.

Your sobs echo through the empty house. 

After getting engaged last July, you both decide there is no sense in a long engagement. Or a big wedding. Bradley is straightforward about it—you could have whatever wedding you want, but for him, it’s a means to an end. He wants you by his side. But more importantly, he wants taken care off in case anything would happen to him. 

He still hasn’t completely shaken the consequences of facing death so directly as he did on the mission almost three years ago now. Through long nighttime talks, chipping away his and your own walls, you’ve come to understand that Bradley not concerned with his own mortality per se—he is a lot more scared and concerned for what he will leave behind. Who he will leave behind.

You don’t like to think about, but rationally you have to. If—god forbid—anything would happen to Bradley, you would have no say. No rights to anything. Not unless you married.

So right before the new year, scarcely three months after you receive your doctorate, less than half a year after you’ve gotten engaged, you say ‘yes’ to each other in a small mountain chapel in the Rockies, surrounded by your closest friends and family. 

Snowflakes falling from the sky contrast starkly against Bradley’s formal Navy blues as you walk out of the chapel. The sight of him, with a slight blush on his cheeks from the cold as he kisses you under the arch of swords, is one of your favorite memories from that day. 

After that, everything keeps going so quickly, you feel like you still can barely comprehend everything that happened. You’ve had been looking at houses together for a few months already, but when you view the red brick house with hardwood floors and a great big tree in the backyard with a swing hanging from it in Fredericksburg, one look at each other says it all. 

You sign so many papers in such a short time, you might have signed your soul away and not even remember. 

When you get the keys on a strangely sunny late January day, you grab a bottle of champagne, and drink it together in the empty house, dreaming about how it will look when it’s done. It needs a little TLC according to the realtor, but it could be the perfect place to raise a family.

Bradley is pushing you on the swing, as you laugh in the evening sun—your breath coming out in small puffs of smoke. For a moment, it feels like you have champagne in your veins—everything is so light and intoxicating.

“Let’s have a baby.” 

You turn so quickly, you nearly vault yourself off the swing. Bradley pulls back the swing, stopping your motion. His mouth hangs sightly open, the tips of his ears red, like he can’t really believe he just said that. The champagne must be getting to him too.

You discussed having children, although not very concretely—between everything else, you don’t have a timeline. And why would you? Until a few hours ago, you didn’t have a house. You live in a one-bedroom apartment surrounded by mostly books and stacks of paper, and Bradley lives on base (most of the time).

“Now?” You utter, completely stunned. Your cheeks are stinging from blushing in the cold air. Bradley licks his lips nervously.

“I mean- I don’t - If you… Fuck.” Bradley stumbles over his words, averting his gaze from you. There’s a blush creeping up the back of his neck, just peeking over the collar of his jacket. You are at a loss for words, because you don’t know how to verbalize everything you are feeling. The champagnes, early winter sunlight and Bradley’s words are forming a vortex in your head.

You end up just grabbing his hand, threading your fingers through his. Smiling, you pull yourself up from the swing, enveloping his hand in yours.

“I’m going to have to go off birth control first.” You tell him softly. “But no time like the present, right?” 

You look at Bradley to gauge his reaction. He still looks a bit apprehensive, like he’s not fully convinced you’re really on board with this.

“We should also practice a lot.” You add seriously, looking him straight in the eye.

Bradley bursts out laughing, and you can’t help but laugh along.

But you let yourself dream a little too much. As you sit on the floor tearfully, paint drying on your face and feet, you know damn well a large part of your current misery is of your own making. 

Three days ago you got your period.

And it makes you feel like shit.

You dreamed a little too much about surprising Bradley with a house made into a home, and a positive pregnancy test to boot when he came back from deployment. 

Rationally, you understand. It’s early days. You shouldn’t expect it to happen this quickly.  

Rationally, you know. Quitting birth control has been hell on your hormones—you can’t explain why you’re feeling what you’re feeling, just that you are feeling it. Intensely. 

You are just fucking miserable, incredibly lonely, and kind of bloated—and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Power through this, you tell yourself. You’ve faced bigger challenges. You overcame them. You’re not getting defeated by a fucking wall and some paint. 

What would Bradley think? Probably that you’re unreliable. Or worse, incompetent. Just what he needs in a wife.

You are making yourself cry harder now, pathetically sobbing into your hands.

Oh fuck, you really got yourself good with that one. You excel at making yourself sad these days. 

You’re not giving up. No, you don’t think you could face Bradley if you gave up like this.

You’re just giving up for today.

Bradley calls you that evening, quite unexpectedly. You have not managed to get out of your funk, electing to wallow in it as you power down a sleeve of Oreos while binge-watching sitcoms reruns.

“Hey darlin’,” He sounds so cheery. “How are you holding up there?”

“Hey babe, all good!” Your voice sounds strangely out of tune, trying to hide the evidence of your self-pity as you’re brushing the Oreo crumbs on your shirt. “How is it over there?” 

“It’s been busy, lots of hours up in the air,” Bradley replies, sighing, before changing the subject. “How’s it going with the house? Making progress?”

“Oh yeah, it’s fine.” You try to sound at least neutral, but your voice wavers on the last syllable. Swallowing dryly, you hope Bradley didn’t hear it.

“Sweetheart…” His sounds out gently before you start talking again. Fuck. Of course he heard it. You stare at your chipped fingernails, covered in specks of paint you didn’t manage to scrub off.

“No, really, it’s fine.” Willing your voice to be steady. “It’s just a lot of work, and it’s kind of messy…” Hesitating for a second, you hurriedly continue: “But it’s nothing I can’t deal with, I promise, the house will be as good as done by the time you get back—I just need to get those walls done you know? After that, I’ll get the floors polished, and-”

By the end of the sentence, your voice is thick with tears. You can’t stop it now. And you hate yourself for it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” You cry, desperately trying to regain a semblance of control over your emotions. “I just had a hard day today—everything kind of sucked and everything went badly, and I just miss you so fucking much, because you’d know what to do, and it wouldn’t feel so alone…”

You choke back a sob.

“I’m just afraid I’m not going to be done in time, and you’ll be disappointed.” Hot tears stream down your face again, your eyes stinging from the salt.

“Darlin’, look…”  Bradley sounds worried as he hears your cry softly on the other end of the line. “Darcy, listen to me.” His voice is level—not stern, but enough to focus your attention on him. “I truly do not care if you stuff all the furniture in the garage and put garbage bags over the windows instead of curtains. All I need when I get back is food in the fridge and a place to sleep. Because most of all, I need you to be happy.” 

He listens for a moment, your crying now just soft sniffles. “Everything else we can take care of when I get back.”

“You’re right.” You concede quietly. “I’m sorry, I just got so worked up about this—I wanted to surprise you.” 

“Don’t apologize, darlin’.” His voice is warm again and it’s so easily washing away your sadness. “This deployment was extremely shit timing, but I never expected you to do everything by yourself in the meantime. We’ll fix it together.”

Finally, after a long day of unfortunate events, a smile creeps up your face again. Together. Together is always better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bradley does finally get home after his six-week deployment, spring fill the air. It’s making your head spin. 

You managed to prepare the house a fair bit beyond “food in the fridge and a place to sleep”, but some things are definitely still missing. You need a place for all your books, and Bradley’s steadily growing collection of vinyls is outgrowing the corner of the living room where he’s been keeping them. 

Every day you wake up in a house that feels a little bit more like a home—boxes finally get squared away, and things are finally finding a place. And soon, hopefully very soon, the drill can take a long well-deserved rest in the garage. 

You pack up the last of the bags and suitcases from the bedroom. All clothes have been folded or hung, shoes put away, bedding and towels squared away in the linen closet, and the hopefully final load of laundry is in the washing machine.

You navigate your way down the stairs with the bags, intending to store them away in the garage. You hear music playing downstairs and Bradley whistling along, and you can’t help but peek in on him. He’s in the living room, back turned to you.

There must be something in the air.

But those basketball shorts, that sleeveless shirt, and the pencil tucked behind his ear as he’s drilling into the wall gives you pause. Your heart is suddenly beating so loudly you are sure it’s audible over the sound of the drill.

From your vantage point, you can see clearly how the muscles in his arms and shoulders are tensed, vibrating from the tremors of the drill. 

Fuck.

You lean against the door frame, taking in the scene before you, not particularly feeling the need to announce your presence yet.

Bradley focused on his task. Measuring out where to drill, marking it with the pencil before tucking it back behind his ear, leveling shelves, gently brushing the dust from the wall with his fingers. He grabs one of your books from a pile on the floor, placing it on the shelf as if to see how it would look. With every motion, your eyes are irrevocably drawn to the movement of his arms, the way the muscles of his broad shoulders shift, and the faint sheen of sweat forming at the nape of his neck.

Shit, you need to pinch yourself, because that’s your husband. The words still feel new and almost unfamiliar in your head, like they haven’t fallen into place yet. But it makes your heart skip a beat, much like when you first met Bradley, filling you with exited energy.  

Unconsciously, you rub your thighs together, the fabric of your yoga pants creating unexpected friction, suddenly overcome with the urge of being in his arms. Forget the shelves, you want that attention to detail on you.

You pad across the room, while Bradley still hasn’t noticed you, humming along to the music. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you boldly run your hands over his chest and abs, pressing your cheeks against his back. You feel Bradley chuckle, as he puts away the level before covering your hands with his.

“Can I help you?” He jokes.

“I hope so.” You murmur, bunching up his shirt in your fists and pulling it up.

“You hope so?” His hands grasp your wrists, pulling them away from his shirt before turning around to face you. You waste no time—it’s like a raging fire has been lit in you—pulling free from his grasp, and running your hands over his biceps before grabbing his face, crashing your lips into his.

Bradley doesn’t hesitate, opening his mouth as you lick the seam of his lips for access. He lets you push him up against the wall next to the shelves, kicking away the tool box. Screws get knocked out of their box, bouncing off the floor in a symphony of metal. Bradley knows it’s going to be a massive pain to find them all back, but he really doesn’t care right now. All he can really focus on is your hands, lightly scratching, making their way up his stomach again, pulling up his shirt up as you go.

He doesn’t know what just got into you, and he doesn’t really care either. Since he returned from deployment last week, you’ve been a lot more forward in, well, practically tearing his clothes off when the mood strikes you. Bradley is only happy to acquiesce—normally he would try to tease a reaction this strong from you, but this is even better. It does his ego a lot of good when you want him so unashamedly. He doesn’t think he could ever deny you.

You break the kiss to pull Bradley’s shirt over his head, taking the pencil behind his ear with it. Unceremoniously, both drop at your feet. Meanwhile, Bradley’s nimble fingers are pushing the spaghetti straps of your top down your shoulder. You shimmy your arms out, giving him easy access to unclasp your bra.

You push Bradley back to the small stepladder by the wall. You know what you want, you know what you need, and you are in no mood right now to give up dominance. As you guide him to sit, you clamber into his lap, your hips hovering over his crotch. Bradley’s mouth is on your nipple, not-so-gently tugging at it with his teeth. You can’t help but moan out his name, completely shamelessly. 

Your hips dip down, rubbing your pussy over Bradley’s hard dick through the layers of clothes you’re still wearing. 

“F- fuck, darlin’,” Bradley’s eyes close for a moment, brow furrowed. You grind down again, your own eyes fluttering from the sensation. His lips find your collarbone, nipping at the skin, up the column of your neck. Your hand roam over his shoulders, the back of his neck, nails scratching lightly over his heated skin.

Your mouth finds his again, pulling Bradley’s lower lips between your teeth. There is little romance in the moment, it’s mostly about need. Mostly your need, one that you can’t fight, and don’t even want to fight.

Bradley’s large warm hands are tugging your yoga pants and underwear down your hips. Grabbing your ass, he pushes you up, to tug the fabric down your legs. You kick them off the rest of the way, as he shrugs off his own short in one fluid move. Immediately you are back in your position, your soaking pussy rubbing over his cock, letting out a breathy sigh. 

But the fire in you is still raging.

Grasping his length, running your fingers along the shaft, you delight in the way Bradley’s breath hitches and his fingers dig into your hips. He moves to kiss you again, but you move back with the mischievous smile tugging at your lips. 

“Oh, you’re going to be like that?” Bradley breathes out. His face is flushed, lips parted—you have him right where you want him.

“Like what?” You tease, giggling. 

“Difficult.” 

You shush Bradley gently, grin still on your face. You lightly rub the tip of your nose against his, your breath mingling, but not releasing him with a kiss just yet. As much as you’re burning, you want to blow his mind.

Bending closer, your tongue darts out just below Bradley’s ear, teasing the sensitive spot as your hand is lightly pumping his cock. He sucks air in between his teeth, causing your hips to involuntarily stutter, brushing your pussy against him. You let out a litany of curses—you are so sensitive, just that touch is sending you into overdrive.

Rubbing your cheek against his, you finally let yourself slowly sink down on Bradley’s cock. Just before you sink down completely, your lips find his again. You kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as your hips connect. Bradley’s hand travels up your spine, wrapping around the nape of your neck, keeping you in place.

Starting slowly, you roll your hips, screwing your eyes shut at the overwhelming sensations, Bradley fills you up completely, and at this angle your clit rubs against him with almost every breath.

Bradley’s other hand is rubbing over your ass, helping to guide your pace, as his head falls backwards, resting against the wall. It gives you access to more of his neck, which you gladly explore with your lips, kissing and nipping.

Steadying yourself by leaning your palms against the wall, you pick up the pace. There is a wildfire in you, and it’s only growing—every motion fans the flames higher.

“I need—I need more.” You grind out. “Please, babe-Bradley, I need it all.” You end in whine.

You lower one leg, putting the tips of your toes on the floor for better leverage. The new angle makes you cry out, as Bradley’s head bangs against the wall as he curses.

His hand leaves your neck, his calloused fingers running over your collarbone, pinching your nipple, before grabbing the fabric of your top that has now bunched up around your waist and pulling you closer. His other hand leaves your ass for a second before coming down back on it with a resounding smack. You cry out in ecstasy.

Bradley wants to say something to tease you, but he can’t get the words out of his mouth as you start riding so hard he’s practically seeing starts. His head and shoulder keep colliding with the wall, but he can’t find the presence of mind to care. He needs all his focus and strength just to keep you and himself upright, and not to cum before you do from the absolute onslaught you’ve suddenly unleashed on him.

He spanks you again, delights in the vision before him as you throw your head back, his name on your lips.

The metal beam of the stepladder is digging into your knee uncomfortably, but it’s no more than an afterthought right now.  

Chest heaving, your movements are growing more frantic. Bradley grasps your hip, fingers digging into your flesh, guiding your movement in the unrelenting pace you’ve set. He can feel how you are starting to tighten around him, how your eyes are slowly glossing over and the blush from your cheeks is slowly making it’s way down. He has you close to the edge now, and he knows that when you go, he will go right with you.

Bradley pulls you closer by the fabric of your top, so your clit is rubbing against him harder, bucking his hips to match each movement. You are crying out incoherently now.

Desperately, you wrap an arm around his neck, kissing him deeply, like you want to disappear in him. Your hips are stuttering against his now in hurried, small movements, maximizing the friction.

All the muscles in your body a growing taut, like an elastic being stretched.

“I love you.” You breathe out against Bradley’s lips, unable to form another thought as every bit of your energy is focused on keeping your body moving.

“You’re the love of my life.” Bradley barely finishes his sentence as you scream out, and your orgasm hits you with blinding force. As every muscle in your body coils, your walls clamp down on Bradley’s cock in a vice-like grip. He cries out, thrusting up with such force it has your head lolling backwards.

Completely spent, Bradley collapses back against the wall with you against him. He winces as his right shoulder definitely has a tender sport from where it met the wall before—it will probably a bruise by tomorrow.

The room is filled with your heavy breathing as the record player is skipping, having reached the end of the vinyl. He can hear birds chirping outside. Bradley is content to sit like this for a little bit, enjoying your body against his.

You finally stir against him, lifting your head from his shoulder, trailing kisses along his hairline.

“Was I helpful?” Bradley asks you, unable to hide his cocky grin.

“What?” You seem genuinely confused for a moment, eyes wide. “Oh, oh…” You burst into giggles as it dawns on you. 

“Yes, although I could really use another hand later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, come on.” You almost beg under your breath. At least you don’t live in your old second-floor apartment in Arlington anymore, where the lack of an elevator meant you would have to drag your exhausted body and groceries up the stairs. The only stairs you need to climb in your new house in Fredericksburg are the ones to the master bedroom, where you can collapse in peace. Gracelessly, you stumble into the hallway as the door finally swings open. Almost there.

Dropping your keys in the bowl by the coat hanger, you blindly kick off your shoes, before haphazardly stuffing the perishables into the fridge. It will have to do.

You cannot remember the last time you were so incredibly tired. Not when you were writing your PhD thesis into the early hours, hell, any all-nighter you’ve ever pulled, or when you painted the whole house and coordinated the move when Bradley was deployed. Maybe it’s the last few months finally catching up with you. It’s been a lot, and you haven’t had the chance to stop a bit, and actually enjoy life as newlyweds. You are barely done with the house—most rooms still have some unpacked boxes, and not everything has a place yet. A honeymoon would be somewhere on the horizon ideally, but you haven’t even picked a destination yet, let alone a time.

You hope you’re not coming down with something. Like the flu. Regardless of the fact that it’s May – it’s probably from the climate control in the archives. It leaves the air so dry and arid, the chill settles on your throat and lungs easily. 

You have an hour before Bradley gets home. You have both been busy, and commuting is a bitch (when Bradley has early formation he still stays on base), but tonight is for you, finally spending time together without any external pressure. Just a homemade dinner, a movie and each other. 

One hour. That’s plenty of time for a nap. Just a nap. You’ll be ok after a nap. 

Not even bothering to get changed, you collapse face-first on the bed. God, it’s so soft and nice, exactly what you need. With your last bit of energy, you set a thirty-minute alarm.

Just a nap.

When Bradley opens the front door, he immediately notices how quiet the house is. Too quiet. Usually, you’d have music playing as you’re busy in the kitchen, calling out to him as he walks in the door. Your shoes are here, in the middle of the hallway, like they just dropped off your feet. 

That’s not like you.

“Sweetheart?” His voice echoes through the house. No reply.

Carefully, he walks into the kitchen, looking around for you. The grocery bag sits  half-unpacked on the counter, like a still-life of non-perishables, but no sign of you. Bradley frowns.

Again, that’s not like you.

You leave a quite literal paper trail behind in the form of books throughout the house, but you don’t really make a habit of just randomly throwing things down. Are you upset? Is something wrong? You didn’t mention anything. The last he heard from you was when you were shopping, asking if he needed something.

Carefully, Bradley walks up the stairs. He strains his ears—but he can’t hear the shower running, or any indication that you are up there. What the fuck? You must be home. His heart is starting to beat louder. Did something happen? Did you hurt yourself?

He quickens his pace, almost running up the final steps, barreling into the bedroom first. “Darce? Sweetheart?”

You are so dead to the world, you don’t even stir at the sound of his voice. Bradley stills, finally taking a deep breath. It’s kind of cute how you are sprawled across the bed with your socked feet dangling off the side. Your hair has come loose from the braid, strands framing your sleeping face. Gingerly, he approaches you. 

“Darlin’?” Voice soft, his hand dips under the hem of your blouse, fingers lightly running over your spine to rouse you. You groan in response without waking. Carefully, Bradley climbs into bed next to you, kissing you along your hairline, his fingers dancing in delicate patterns over the skin of your back.

Instinctively you cuddle up to him, your nose nuzzling his neck, arm draped loosely over his waist. Somewhere far away, your consciousness is piecing together Bradley is there with you, pulling you out of your slumber step by step—you can feel his skin on yours, the warmth radiating off his body. His breath is caressing the shell of your ear as he talks to you in velvety tones of which you can’t make out the words, but it’s like being wrapped in a warm blanket. You can smell his cologne, he is so close. 

Lids heavy, eyes stinging, you finally stir. Your brain is managing to finally fire back up again.

Fuck.

You overslept.

You try to sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, anxiety suddenly rising. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I meant to get up before you got here. I need to start dinner -” You croak, sleepily.

This was supposed to be your evening together, and you fell asleep before it even started. Great going, you fucking dork. You start to move, struggling to untangle yourself from the remnants of your deep sleep and Bradley’s arms.

But Bradley pulls you back wordlessly, tucking your head under his chin. He just shushes you, as he starts running his hands over your back again. Your palms rest on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. 

“Don’t worry about that, darlin’,” His voice is warm. “I want to make sure you are okay first.”

You nod. “I’m good. I just suddenly felt so tired.”

“Do you think you might be coming down with something?”

“Maybe.” You cuddle up closer to him. Bradley feels so good, and his body fits against yours like a glove. The steady rise and fall of his chest against your palms as he breathes grounds you from your sudden surge of anxiety. “But I feel better now I’ve slept a bit.”

“You sure?” Bradley’s voice is neutral, not wanting to pressure you, but he knows you are quick to say you’re okay. You sat awake the whole night before your PhD defense, mumbling through your presentation, but swore up and down you were fine in the morning as you kicked back countless coffees with shaking hands. 

You ended up doing great at the defense. Although, Bradley doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed tension leave someone so physically as when you were in the waiting room while the commission debated your defense. You kept repeating you were fine, just a bit tense (although being completely wired from caffeine didn’t help). When the door opened, you sat rooted in place, wide-eyed, barely even breathing, fingers digging into your cheeks. A simple nod, the confirmation: “Doctor Williams.”, had you physically deflating so much, Bradley thought for a second you would collapse out of your chair from joy (and exhaustion).

After that, your brilliant smile skillfully masked every bit of suffering you had gone through in the past years, culminating in what were the final 24 hours from hell for your nerves. He noticed how you were unsteady on your feet after your third drink, the hors d’ouvres not being enough to stave off the alcohol on your otherwise empty stomach. But you would never admit you were feeling anything less than perfect, ecstatic even—but really just fine. But Bradley likes to think he had you figured out by then. So the moment it was appropriate, like a good fiancé should, he bundled you out of the stuffy academic after-party and to a large order of fries and a peanut butter milkshake.

“Yeah.” You confirm. “Let’s do something easy for dinner, though?” You dread how late it already probably is, and having to start dinner will eat into your time with Bradley tonight. 

“How about I just make us some grilled cheese?” He offers, picking up on your anxious thoughts. “You go freshen up, chill out and pick a movie for us.”

“I’m sorry for falling asleep and making you miss out on the homemade dinner I promised.” You mumble guilty. 

“I’m not missing out on anything.” Bradley counters immediately. “I don’t care about dinner, I care about spending time with my wife.”

You chuckle as you look up at his handsome, grinning face.

“And I make a mean grilled cheese, wouldn’t you agree?”

“The best.” You smile back. 

Throughout the evening, it’s like the fog of tiredness just won’t lift. You struggle to keep your eyes open as you watch a movie together, the grilled cheese heavy on your stomach.

Bradley is peeling a tangerine, plucking the white threads off the flesh carefully before feeding you the slices. He is pretty convinced you are getting sick, so extra vitamins can only help.

You think a good night’s sleep, cuddled up to your toasty warm husband, is all you need to feel better. But you are not going to complain about Bradley taking care of you, especially when he’s so good at it.

As you predicted, you feel better in the morning. Giggling, you pull Bradley into the shower with you. He fussed over you last night, so it’s only fair you show him exactly how much you appreciate it. Any protest from him dies away the moment you sink down to your knees, his rapidly hardening cock sliding into your wet, warm mouth. 

After that, you are both hurrying out of the house, travel mug of coffee in your hand. You blow Bradley a kiss as you slide into your little compact car (which Bradley still thinks you should upgrade to something he considers safer), as he gets into his Bronco with a wink. He has a safety brief this afternoon, which always runs late, so that means he’ll be home late. But he will be home, and you will be awake for it, even if it means drinking the Pentagon’s entire supply of coffee.

As you pull away, heading north towards D.C., you reach for your travel mug. Bradley made coffee this morning as you tried your best to dry your absolutely sodden hair. As you hold it up, and gently blow through the opening, you realize it smells… off.

It smells like coffee. Without a doubt. But it doesn’t smell good. Can coffee go off? Surely, but that pack you have a home is fresh. Bradley makes good coffee, you doubt he fucked something up. But why does it smell so nasty?

Maybe you’re just being weird this morning. Carefully, you take a sip. As the hot liquid hits your tongue, you realize without a doubt: you are going to throw up.

You force yourself to swallow, accepting how uncomfortably your stomach churns. Fuck. Taking the nearest exit to a gas station, you pull into a parking spot and immediately throw open your door, unclicking your seatbelt.

You breathe heavily as you limply hang from your driver’s side door, but nothing comes out. Sitting back up, the smell of coffee is suddenly overpowering. You need to get it out of here.

You dump the contents of your travel mug in the grass next to your parked car, the soft breeze mercifully carrying the heavy smell away. Taking a second you catch your breath, you dig out a pack of chewing gum for your bag. The minty taste erases the acrid taste of coffee from your mouth, and settles your squirming stomach.

Right. So you’ll just have water today. 

You fire off a text to Bradley. “Bb, is there something wrong with the coffee?”

You know he won’t reply for a while, but there’s no hurry. For today, you’ve gone off coffee anyway.

Bradley confirms his coffee was fine, and that your travel mug was freshly washed that morning. You try not to dwell on it, deciding it was probably a fluke. Maybe it’s a stomach bug? At work, the smell of coffee doesn’t actually bother you, but you still decide not to have any. Just in case. You used to live really close, and could be home in no time, but now you have to drive for almost an hour to get home. Not something you’d like to do when nauseous. 

When you get home, you can’t stop yourself from inspecting the bag of coffee like some sort of maniac. It doesn’t smell off, it’s not past it’s best by date, it looks completely normal. Your mug doesn’t smell weird, either. 

What the actual fuck?

In the next few days, you feel fine. You’re still tired, but you tell yourself it’s not more or less than usual. Your days at work are long, your weekends are busy finishing up things about the house, shopping, chores. You’re bound to feel tired, right?

Bradley eyes you wearily as you hurriedly clamp a hand over your mouth when you pass a fish restaurant on your evening out that Friday, the smell hits you so strongly you think you might pass out. He isn’t bothered by you not being able to stay awake through a movie anymore, but it’s the sudden, quite frankly bizarre reactions to food that concern him. 

First it was coffee, then potato salad, sweet and sour noodles, even peanut butter—you suddenly turn white as a sheet, practically dry heaving from just the smell, barely able to even look at the food.

You keep insisting you’re fine, that it will pass, you never liked potato salad to begin with, it just needs a few days, and then you smile that brilliant smile of yours. Nothing to worry about. But Bradley worries.

On Sunday night, he goes to a Korean barbecue place with fellow aviators—you excuse yourself from the evening, feeling too tired. Bradley tucks you into bed with your laptop, promising not to be late and let him know if he can pick you up anything.

“I’m fine, really.” You say between kisses. “I just really need to catch up on sleep.”

“I worry about you, darlin’.” Bradley looks at you pensively. 

“I know.” You smile up at him. “If I’m not better by next week, I’ll go to a doctor.” “Promise?” His lips hover over yours.

“Promise.” You press a final kiss on his lips.

You fall asleep before the first episode of the show you started watching (have been sleeping through?) is over. You don’t hear Bradley come home. You barely stir when the mattress dips under his weight as he leans over you. It’s only when his face is close to yours, pressing a kiss on your temple with a quiet “I’m home”, your senses are absolutely assaulted by the pungent stench of alcohol and barbecue coming off him.

You shoot up so quickly you nearly fall off the bed, not sparing a second look for a completely bewildered Bradley, still kneeling on the bed, as you sprint towards the bathroom, barely making it in time to the toilet, before the contents of your stomach splash against the porcelain.

Bradley has witnessed women having some strong reactions to him. Hell, you’ve had absolutely buckwild reactions to him, ranging from trying to punch him to almost fucking him through the wall of your new house. But never—absolutely never—has anyone reacted to him by violently throwing up.

He’s almost too stunned to move until he hears your cries echo from the bathroom. Bradley hurries to the bathroom but stops dead in his tracks in the doorway. You are crouched down, hunched over at the toilet bowl, hand clamped over your eyes as sobs wrack your body. 

“Darlin’...” He trails off, worried. You cough loudly, uncovering your eyes and pressing the back of your hand against your mouth. Finally, you look at him, your face tear-stained and eyes bloodshot.

“Bradley… I feel so sick.” Your voice is raw, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

He starts to walk to you, reaching out to you, but you motion him back, waving your hand urgently.

“Please… please.” 

Bradley stops again, completely unsure of what to do now. He wants to comfort you and help you, but you don’t want him close.

“You smell like barbecue.” You utter weakly, feeling completely defeated and embarrassed to hell. What kind of fucking reaction is that? To Bradley, no less. Yes, food has been setting you off, but it hasn’t made you throw up, never mind so suddenly and violently. You would have rather vomited in the middle of the street at this point than in reaction to your own husband.

Flushing the toilet, rest your eyes against the heels of your hands, letting yourself fall back on your ass. You hear rustling from Bradley moving around, his footsteps going back and forth. Curiosity wins out over your embarrassment as you peek over your fingers to see what he is doing.

While you are wallowing in self-pity and embarrassment on the bathroom floor, Bradley started to strip off his clothes—he’s just now pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it out the bathroom door into the laundry room across the hall.

The moment you mentioned the smell, Bradley felt like slapping himself. He was so preoccupied with checking up on you, he didn’t think of taking a shower first, not realizing the barbecue smell would wake you up. Like that no less. He wants to help you, hold you, and it’s driving him crazy that you’re sitting there on the floor, and he can’t come near you.

Shrugging off his jeans and sending them sailing out the door, he hops on one leg to take off his socks. Bradley finally notices you looking at him, knees pulled up, head leaning on your hand. He stops. Your face still looks pale and drawn, but he thinks there’s the smallest of smiles on your face.

“Don’t stop on my account.” You joke, voice still raw. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

Bradley chuckles. Of course, you bounce back quickly. He loves that about you. And he never doubted your resilience—you power through most things with a smile on your face—but that same resilience comes with a special brand of pigheadedness.  

He turns on the shower to warm it up.

“You coming to supervise?” He jokes back as he slips off his underwear, balls it up, and throws it outside before closing the bathroom door and turning on the fan. He hears you giggle. Good. A much better reaction to him than crying and throwing up.

Bradley makes sure to lather up liberally and scrub his skin and hair to get rid of every bit of food smell that still lingers on him. Rinsing off, he turns back to you, wiping the fog off the glass. You are brushing your teeth, back to the sink, eyes roaming over him appreciatively. 

“Will there be an inspection, Dr. Bradshaw?” He asks, mischievous grin on his face as he sticks his head out of the shower. He cannot get enough of calling you that—he liked you just as much as Miss Williams, or Dr. Williams, and now as Dr. Bradshaw-Williams. But secretly, he likes Dr. Bradshaw best.

“Brush your teeth, lieutenant commander, and I might consider it.” You reply, mouth full of toothpaste.

Turning off the shower, Bradley dries off before wrapping the towel around his waist. You are rinsing your mouth as he steps out.

Gingerly he walks up to you and runs his fingers over your back lightly. When you turn to him, he finally sees you up close, it’s clear how tired you still must be. As soon as the adrenaline from feeling intensely sick died down, exhaustion settled back onto you like a heavy blanket. You look up at him with bleary eyes, stifling a yawn.

“Go lie down darlin’.” He tells you warmly. “I’ll be with you soon.”

“Better be ready for inspection.” You yawn, a smile tugging at your lips. Bradley doesn’t reply but just taps your butt playfully. Entire body heavy, you make your way back to the bedroom. You collapse back onto your side of the bed, not even pulling the covers back over yourself. 

Already dozing and your stomach finally settled, you feel how Bradley climbs into bed with you and pulls the covers over your body. He smells so good now, you happily wrap yourself around him. Your lips immediately go to Bradley's—the minty toothpaste that still lingers is making you feel even better.

Bradley cradles your face in his hands.

“Promise me you’re seeing a doctor tomorrow.” He implores you, voice soft, but urgent.

“I promise.” You nod.

“No more ‘I’m fine’—call in sick if you have to.” Bradley sounds so serious, you feel ashamed you’ve been putting it off for the whole week. This isn’t going to go away on its own, and you’ve been making him worry. That was really the last thing you wanted, which was exactly why you kind of kept brushing it off.

“I’m sorry.” You sigh, dejectedly, as you cast your eyes away from his intense gaze. 

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart.” He tells you gently, brushing his nose against yours. You look back up at him again—his eyes are so soft and warm, it’s melting your insides. When Bradley looks at you like that, with so much love, he makes you feel like the center of the universe.

“I just want you to be okay.” He concludes with a kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

note | Yes, it's truly the last Bradley and Darcy story. But to celebrate 300 followers, I decided to make it a two-parter ✨ Read part 2 here.

taglist | @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut

[mrscakeishere]

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Beta Reviews!

“I just passed the sausages!”

“Omg it really was chipboard!”

“I can't believe you. I just can't.”

Polycakes (me and Polychrome, aka @polychromicron-persei-8) here, proudly hurling the first fanfic grenade in the @goodomensafterdark Smut War with The Long Road To Meatballs (rated Explicit, 4786 words).

Summary and excerpt below!

NSFW CW: light BDSM, butt plugs, oral sex, penis inflation (not in excerpt but on AO3)

The Long Road to Meatballs

After an unfortunate miscommunication regarding the lack of spice in their lives, Aziraphale and Crowley seek out IKEA’s new intimate playroom products for the South Downs cottage. When their purchase—and all 279+ parts—proves too difficult to assemble, Aziraphale and Crowley take matters into their own hands (literally). It's the IKEA comedy smut you never knew you wanted but can't live without.

IKEA had evolved a great deal over the decades, as had Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship. The Swedish furniture and furnishings company—in a debatably misguided and belated attempt to be a part of the sex-positivity movement—had developed designs for one’s personal intimate playroom, including the TRÄLDOM, BOTÖVNING, and FLATHET series. In addition, the Swedish designers had managed to produce products for each line that incorporated a not insignificant amount of chipboard.[1] This was quite a feat considering that most of the products listed should have been predominantly made of metal, leather, silicone, latex, or fur.[2]

As for Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship, it had evolved out of a 6000-year drama defined by mutual pining and pegged in by supernatural bureaucracy, into a satisfying pairing filled with safety, stability, and sex. Lovemaking had been glorious and intoxicating, and while it rarely verged into territory that could be considered truly “hedonistic,” both parties were quietly content in their newfound domesticity. But as we both know, dear reader, few things last forever.

And so it was on a mild Tuesday afternoon in the South Downs when an unfortunate exchange concerning Crowley’s cooking planted a seed of doubt in the demon's mind as to whether his angel was truly sexually satisfied.

[1] Note for Americans and other aliens: chipboard is the British term for particle board or low-density fibreboard. Regardless of the term, it is an unsuitable material for any type of sexual activity as it has the ability to absorb moisture like a sponge.

[2] This had led to IKEA ending up in litigation for five years over several regrettable incidents that had occurred with their compressed wooden dildo.

Continue reading on AO3 for Crowley and Aziraphale miscommunications, sex swing assembly complications, witty banter, dowels, sausage jokes, and some first-time sexual experiments: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52376542

Image by Polychrome.

[jxtina-86]

Strong

There's a nursery to be built, promises to be made. Promises that I'll be damned if I break. RomanReigns/Alexia. See here for the rest of the series/order to read.

Warning: Language/Hints of smut

Rating: MA

Italics = flashback

Because we need each other We believe in one another I know we're going to uncover What's sleepin' in our soul Acquiesce, Oasis

I lean against the doorframe and watch as Lex slowly packs away the final pile of baby clothes. All that remains is the white chest of drawers and the boxes of furniture left to be assembled. The room still carries the air of fresh paint, despite the windows being flung open for the past few days. Three walls are now coated in a pale grey, the fourth covered in grey and white chevron wallpaper – the shade matched by Lex's expert eye and carefully applied by a professional, despite my own willingness to undertake the task myself. Although that was before I realised how difficult it would be to match each sheet to the next in order to keep the pattern in line.

I did win the task of painting though. Mainly because Lex had been banned from undertaking any such job by Dr Ash, who'd looked aghast at the suggestion that she'd be putting together the nursery together single-handedly in my absence. Turns out Pregnant Lex is feistier and more determined than ever.

“All the tools are here,” Lex turns to me, pointing at the box on the floor. “And please read the instructions before you put together the crib because I don't want to come back to find that half the screws are missing because you just guessed or something.”

“Would I do that?”

She raise an eyebrow. “You put up a shelf last week that fell down after twenty-four hours because you didn't follow the instructions.”

I push off the doorframe and step towards her, taking the bag of clothes from her hands and pulling her into my arms instead. “I promise to read the instructions. And not to let Seth near the power drill. Or let Dean near a hammer. Happy?”

She scowls. “I'm being a total control-freak aren't I?”

“Wouldn't have it any other way, baby girl.” I lean down and press my lips to her forehead, my hand curling over her waist and across her ever expanding belly.

“I just feel so useless,” she murmurs against my chest, her own hand coming down to rest on her bump as well. “I told you we were jinxed by calling this one Pumpkin. Why didn't we stick with Blueberry?”

I chuckle. “And I told you we grow 'em big in my family.”

“Yeah, don't I know it.” She rocks against me. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten. They'll be here soon.”

She nods, stifling back a yawn. “I swear I'm going to fall asleep in the middle of my pedicure. They turn that chair massager on and I'm a goner.” She pokes her belly. “All because someone decided that 3am was the perfect time to start practicing somersaults.”

“Why didn't you wake me?” Guilt and frustration washes over me. Guilt because I slept through whilst she was awake. Frustration that I missed out on seeing our baby move, the actions becoming more and more visible every time. Actions that I've witnessed once or twice in real life, but mostly on video with Lex's giggles in the background.

“You were tired,” she shrugs.

“You know I wouldn't have minded.”

“I know,” she smiles up at me. “Next time. I promise.”

I lean down and kiss her softly, groaning as I hear the doorbell sound. “Perfect timing as ever.”

Lex grins. “Like that was going to turn into anything else.” She winks at me, pulling back to head towards the door.

I watch her go, my head titling to the side as I take her in from behind. Her body is fuller than ever, but in the best way possible. She might complain about her swollen ankles and feet, the puffiness around her cheeks, the stretch marks working their way over her belly, how her bellybutton has gone from innie to outie, but to me she is more gorgeous than ever. There's more of her to love and hold, my hands stretching over her belly whilst I nuzzle at her neck and whisper how much I adore her and how incredible she is. I sound like a walking cliché, but I don't care. I may be on the road, working hard to provide for the three of us, but that's nothing compared to what she has done over the last eight months, growing and nurturing our baby inside her.

I promised her that I would still love every inch of her no matter what and I make sure that I do just that every time I come home. Even if recently, that's just been through kisses and hugs because Pumpkin has become so big that it's difficult to anything else. Not that I am complaining, no way. I'd rather spend an evening with Lex snuggled against me on the couch, than put her through any discomfort just to get my rocks off. Although sometimes she surprises me, like this morning when she joined me in the shower, leaning against me with a lazy grin on her face as her soapy hand grazed against mine.

“You coming?” Lex calls out to me from the stairs and I quickly follow her, reaching the bottom as she opens the front door.

“Are you sure you're not having twins?” Siobhan exclaims as she pulls Lex into a hug.

“Nope, just those Reigns genes doing wonders,” Lex shoots me a grin over her shoulder. “Pumpkin's getting the cardio in already, gonna come out of me already crawling knowing my luck.”

“Gotta start 'em young,” Seth chuckles as he too hugs Lex before reaching out to bump my fist. “Hey man, Dean and Becca are just pulling up outside.”

“Thanks again,” I tell him. “Appreciate it.”

He waves my thanks away. “Whatever. But you're paying us with beers later, right?”

“Of course, bro.”

“Take it we've got strict instructions from the boss?”

“I heard that, Rollins,” Lex pipes up, but Seth is saved by Becca coming through the door, closely followed by Dean, who nods at us over their heads.

“You're not allowed near the power drill,” I tell Seth, who scowls. “Hey, don't look at me man, I don't make the rules!”

“We've known that for a while, dude,” Dean chuckles as he claps me on the back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, man. You?”

Dean nods distractedly and I inwardly smirk as I watch him eying up Becca's hand on Lex's stomach.

“Not you as well,” Seth groans, causing Dean's eyes to cut to him.

“What?”

Seth cocks an eyebrow. “The misty-eyed look, bro.”

“You're one to talk.”

Seth opens his mouth to retaliate, but Siobhan pipes up instead. “So, how long do you need us to keep Lex out of here? A couple of hours long enough for you to read instructions, ignore them, mess up, start again and finally finish?”

“Such lack of faith,” Seth shakes his head. “We are completely capable of putting together a crib and shelving unit.”

“Considering past experience...”

“That wardrobe's still looking good though?” Dean points out.

“You never told them huh?” Lex raises an eyebrow at me.

“Told us what?” Dean queries.

“The wardrobe door fell off about a month after you put it together,” I confess with a smirk as Dean and Seth frown.

“Wow, way to crush 'em,” Becca giggles before reaching out to rub Dean's arm soothingly. “Just maybe make sure those screws are extra tight on the crib, yeah?”

“You not gonna stick up for me?” Seth asks Siobhan, who shakes her head.

“Nope. The day we put together that TV unit will haunt me forever. I had to wrestle the tools away from you before you caused a fatality.” She glances around with a grin. “And now that we've successfully bruised all your egos, maybe we should go?”

Lex steps towards me, reaching for her purse on the table behind. I take the opportunity to pull her into my side as she passes.

“We got this, don't worry,” I tell her. “Just enjoy today.”

“Hard to enjoy when I'm imagining every worst case scenario of you three with tools and flatpack furniture.” But her tone is light and she's smiling softly when she looks up at me. “Thanks,” she murmurs quietly. “I know it means a lot... For you to do this.”

She leans up to kiss me, her breath warm on my cheek and then my lips. I fight hard not to linger, but I can't help myself, my arms wrapping around her for a second longer than necessary. Her bump presses against me, her giggle soft against my lips as I shake my head when she tries to draw back. But her hands grasp mine and pull them apart. She looks up at me with a knowing smile.

Goodbyes have never been our thing. No matter for how short or how long.

Hello is where we're good.

**

My hands feel clammy as I walk up the narrow stairs, my suitcase scraping loudly against the wall, the bag on my back feeling awkward and heavy. I feel like I'm in high-school all over again, walking up the stairs to pick up some girl for a date, my tongue thick in my mouth, my mind blank of anything coherent.

Only this isn't high-school.

And it's not a date per se. In fact, I'm not sure what this is. I haven't been sure of anything since I first saw her. I do my best to keep things as normal as possible. The last city we met up in, I tried to keep us away from the hotel for as long as possible. I took her out for dinner, the conversation easier than I imagined and I found myself wanting it to last longer. So we walked around afterwards, her hand slipping into mine the second we left the restaurant, her body brushing against mine at any given opportunity until eventually, I couldn't help myself and I pulled her hard against me, my mouth claiming hers. I'm still so desperate to prove that I can be the ultimate gentleman, but the second her body is pressed against mine, reminding me of all the delicious ways it dips and curves and how incredible it feels in my hands, I can't help myself. I want to feel all of her on me. I want to taste every inch of her. I wrap her around me, groaning as her legs grip my waist tightly, her fingers digging into my hair as I splay my own hands across her back, down to her waist, her ass as I slide her up and down my dick with ease.

And when I have her like that, the only gentleman thing I can do is make sure that it's ladies first.

I round the final curve of the stairs and pause. Setting my suitcase down with a thump that echoes around the hallway, I wipe my hand on my jeans. I'm about to knock when I hear the lock click and the door slowly opens. My heart pounds furiously, my mouth going dry as Lex appears, her long dark hair pulled into a loose braid that hangs over one shoulder, her fingers plucking at the loose end as she bites her lip. She leans against the doorframe, one bare leg crossed over the other, the hem of her black silk robe resting mid-thigh, the matching belt cinching in her waist, the neckline plunging to reveal the swell of her breasts.

“Hey,” Lex breathes and my gaze flickers up to her face again. She smirks and I can feel my face flush.

“You look amazing,” I blurt out before I can stop myself, my need to have her so painfully obvious in the rasp and roughness of my voice.

“Thanks,” she smiles. “You look good too.”

She steps back to let me in, her hand brushing over mine as she takes the handle of my suitcase and wheels it inside to set by the door. As I turn to close the door, I can already feel her hands on my shoulders, easing the straps of my backpack away and setting it on top of my case. I exhale slowly, as I roll my head forward to release the tension in my neck.

“Better?” she asks, her hands sliding down my back.

“Yes.” I turn back to face her, but my gaze is drawn to the room behind her. Normally, I would never pay much attention to our surroundings, one hotel room is the same as another as far as I'm concerned. But today is different.

Today I'm stood in her lounge, taking in the couch strewn with cushions and blankets, the coffee table covered in magazines and papers, flowers in jars on the window sill, pictures of friends and family decking the walls. The kitchen lies to the right, the refrigerator door completely covered in old postcards, take-out menus and polaroid snaps and on the counter next to it, I spy an empty glass of wine and wonder if she is just as nervous as I am about being in her personal space.

“Sorry, it's a bit of a mess,” Lex murmurs.

I shrug, my arm automatically moving to around her shoulders, pulling her against my side. Wisps of hair tickle my hand as I lower my other to slip my fingers under her chin and slowly rock her head back so she looks up at me. “Don't apologise. And anyway, I didn't come here to see your apartment.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

I chuckle. “Ain't not use in playing innocent with me, Lex. Not when you're all dolled up this...”

“Dolled up like what?” she shoots back as she unwraps herself from my arm. She turns to face me, but takes a step back so she's out of arm's reach. “I wear this all the time...”

“Then how comes I've never seen it?”

“Maybe because you're so damn impatient every time we get behind closed doors?”

“I'd say you're as bad as me.”

To her credit, she blushes but she's quick to correct herself, the coolness never leaving her voice. “But this time, we've got all the time in the world.”

“True.”

“We've got time to appreciate all the little things...”

“Lex, you know full well there ain't anything little about me,” I grin as I take a step towards you.

She giggles. “Oh, I know that, big guy,” her eyes pointedly drop to my crotch before they drag up slowly, roving over my arms and chest before settling back on my face. “And now I've got all the time in the world to make sure I cover every inch...”

I swallow thickly as I watch her hands drop to her waist, her fingers slowly untying the knot. “Yeah?”

“But it's all in the details,” she tells me. “Like how you bite your lip when I trace your tattoo with my fingers... Or how your eyes squeeze shut when I lick from your hip down to your thigh... All those little things...”

I take a step towards her, my hand reaching out to slide around her waist. Only this time, I feel bare skin, the silk slipping back to reveal...

“Fuck, Lex...” I groan as I take in the blood-red lace that covers her breasts, the panties in the same colour that hug her hips.

“All in the details,” she smirks against my lips.

**

“Stop dicking around and pass me the damn drill!” 

“No fucking way, bro. If Lex said you can't using the drill, then I'm not gonna argue.”

I chuckle to myself as I make my way upstairs, beers in hand.

“Scared of Lex, Ambrose?”

“Fuck you, man. I ain't scared of shit.” There's a brief pause. “Just don't fancy pissing off a pregnant lady.”

“Wise man,” I tell him as I round the corner into the almost completed nursery. “And you,” I turn to Seth. “Should know better.”

He huffs as I pass him a beer. “So what's the point of me being here if I can't actually do anything.”

“Hold shit together, pretty boy, whilst the real men do the work,” Dean grins as he accepts his own beer.

“Real men, huh?” Seth scowls. “How's that crib coming along?”

I flip him a finger in return. “Just fine.”

“Yeah, Lex'll be real impressed with the progress you've made.”

I look at the corner of the room, where it's taken me around an hour to construct the base of the damn thing. The instructions are already well-thumbed, the staples holding them together starting to loosen from the amount of times I've gone back and forth through them trying to make some sense of the diagrams.

“Fuck you,” I mutter under my breath, causing both of them to chuckle.

“We're nearly done anyway,” Dean nudges Seth to move his hand that's blocking one of the screw holes on the shelving unit. “We can give you a hand.”

“No, it's cool. I got this.”

“Why are you so determined to do that shit on your own?” Seth asks.

“I promised Lex.”

“She's not going to know if you let us help though.”

“Not the point.” I take a swig of beer and pick up the instructions again.

“Leave it,” I hear Dean mutter and then louder: “Becca said that Shiv was gonna stay down here for a bit with you guys.”

“Yeah,” I reply distractedly. “Just in case I'm not here when it all happens.”

“You know Lex sent her a pregnancy book to read,” Seth says. “Have you seen those things? Jesus.”

“Hang on, so if you're not here, Shiv is gonna be with Lex throughout the entire thing?” Dean asks.

“Pretty much. I mean,” I frown at the instructions and then reach for what I think is the correct piece of wood. “It's not like I don't want to be here...” I trail off.

I don't like thinking about it. I don't like the idea that I'm going to miss the birth of my first child. I don't like the idea of Lex going through this without me. I have every faith that Siobhan will make a great birthing partner for Lex, but it's not the same. Lex and I have discussed this many times over the last few weeks, but it still doesn't make it any easier.

“Surely the company understand though, right?” Seth says quietly.

“Sure. I get a couple of days extra off to be with her and the baby, but it's just not so easy to predict when. It's only a few weeks till her due date. It could happen next week or it could happen two weeks after the due date.”

“Sure, sure...” I can hear him chewing his lip. “Pretty shit though if you were to miss it.”

“Yeah,” I exhale. “Missed so much already. Classes, check ups. Oh and this...” I stand and tug my phone out of my pocket and thumb through it. “Lex filmed this the other week.”

I hand the phone over to Dean, who hits play. I turn back to the task in hand as I hear the sound of rustling coming from the phone and then Lex's voice: “Look who says hello...”

“Holy crap,” Dean breathes. “I didn't think you could actually see them moving.”

“Yeah, that was the first time you could actually see it. I mean, it's happened again when I've been here. But I just... I dunno. I wanted to be there for the first time. Not watching it on a recording, a few hours after because I've been driving or something.”

“I doubt Lex will let you miss out on anything though, bro,” Seth hands me back the phone over my shoulder. “Your phone is always kicking up a storm with texts and photos from her. Pun intended,” he chuckles.

I crack a smile of my own. “I know. But the birth is different.”

“I hope you're not suggesting my girlfriend films your wife giving birth.”

“What? No!” I cast a scowl behind me. “I missed out on being there right at the beginning, when Lex found out. I don't want it to be the same at the end.”

“Sure, I mean, you guys don't know what you're having either right?”

I don't answer Seth, faking interest in the next step of the instructions, hoping he doesn't notice.

“Yeah, I wouldn't like to find out over the phone or something,” Dean agrees with him. “Dude, you'll be there.” He reassures me. “You'll make it. Even if it's not for the beginning, you'll be there for the end.”

I grunt in response, desperate to pull all my thoughts back to here and now, where I can control what does and doesn't happen.

Because that's the worst thought of all. Being completely and utterly helpless, whilst Lex goes through pain that I can't even begin to imagine. I can't bear the thought of watching her suffer, no matter how amazing the end result will be. And if things go wrong... I shudder at the thought.

I don't want to admit to Lex that I feel like this. Every time we talk about it, I can sense she's holding something back and I wonder if she thinks the same of me. But this what Lex does. She buries away her fears, because she wants to show me she's strong. She's determined not to crack, not to show how vulnerable she can be.

**

My phone starts to ring just as I exit the rental office, keys in hand. I grin as I see Lex's name flash up on screen.

“Hey, I'm just about to get in the car.”

“Ro... About that...” she pauses. “I'm just going to be honest with you.”

“Okay...”

“These next few days aren't really a good time for me.”

I frown. “Something come up with work? That's cool, Lex. I can occupy myself during the day if that's what you're worried about.”

“No... It's not work. It's me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine...”

“So...”

There's another pause.

“I'm on my period, Ro.”

I chuckle and I can almost see the scowl forming on her face. “What's so funny?”

“Lex, you don't have to cancel on us just because of that.”

She snorts. “If you think there is a slightest chance–”

“What? No, Lex. C'mon, what do you take me for?” I reach the car and unlock the trunk.

“Then why would you want to still see me?”

“Why do you think, Lex?”

She pauses and I can hear chewing her lip. “I don't know.”

“Yeah, you do.” I load in my suitcase and carry-on and slam the trunk shut. “I'll give you a few hours to figure it out. Do you want me to pick you up anything on my way?”

“Ro, seriously. You don't have to come out here.”

“I know I don't, but I want to,” I tell her as I climb into the driver's seat.

“I have no make-up on, my hair is a mess and I'm in oldest, dirtiest sweats.”

“Perfect.”

“I'm not moving from the couch all weekend.”

“You're really not saying anything that's putting me off, Lex. You gotta try harder than that,” I grin.

She sighs. “You really want to spend an entire weekend with me, when there is absolutely zero-chance of getting any?”

“Yes.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Then let me convince you otherwise.” I start the engine. “You didn't answer me earlier. Do you want me to pick anything up?”

“No,” she sighs again. “Let me know if you come to your senses.”

“Not a chance.”

A few hours later, I'm climbing the now all-too familiar stairs to her apartment. When I get there, the door is on the latch and I push it open tentatively. “Lex?”

“Told you, I wasn't going to move from the couch.”

“Fine, fine.” I make my way inside, placing my bags by the door as usual before stepping over to the couch where Lex is splayed out. I reach out and brush my fingers across her temple before leaning down to kiss her. “You okay?”

“I guess. Still don't know why you're here though.”

“Isn't that what boyfriends do?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

“Why not?”

She doesn't answer me, just shrugs.

I shift her legs off the couch and sit down, reaching to pull her up and against me. She whines softly, but lets me anyway, her hair, which is bundled up into a haphazard bun, tickling my cheek as she nestles against me.

“So you really don't know why I'm here?”

She's silent.

“I care about you, Lex. I know this all started out as a bit of a fun, something casual, but I think we both know it's a bit more than that now. I like hanging out with you, just being with you, watching TV, walking around the city whether that's here or Tampa or somewhere else entirely. I like doing stupid shit with you, like playing video games or going bowling or to the movies and just messing around just so I can touch you and kiss you and just be normal people getting to know each other. You make me laugh, Lex. You make me think about things I believe and what you believe and I like just shootin' the breeze with you. And sure, we have absolutely first-class sex as well,” I pinch her side softly and she squirms against me with a small giggle. “But that ain't just what this is anymore. The sex, I mean. It's that and everything else in between.”

“And today?”

I shrug. “I just wanted to see you. I haven't seen you in two weeks. And as much as I love seeing you all dolled up, you are just as beautiful in sweats and nothing else.” I lean down and brush my lips against her temple. “And if all you want to do is curl up on the couch and watch TV and sleep and eat, then I am more than happy to keep you company for that.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine. “You're too good to be true sometimes.”

“But all that is the truth, Lex.”

She chews her lip. “I... I guess I just didn't want to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That I feel that way too... Like I really did want you to come here today, but I was afraid that if I didn't tell you, you'd have been disappointed”

“I never turn up here expecting anything other than to just see you.”

“The times where you've kissed me hello and it's immediately escalated into so much more says otherwise.”

“I think we're both guilty when it comes to that, don't you think?” I whisper, feeling her shiver in my arms.

“Touche.”

I chuckle and lean back against the couch. “So, what are you watching?”

“See, now you're really going to regret coming here...” she grins back at me as she reaches for the remote.

But she couldn't be more wrong. As she settles back against me, I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be than right here.

**

“You really finished that all by yourself?” Lex's voice is incredulous as we stand in front of the finished crib.

“Of course,” I tell her. “I mean, the guys held some of it together for me so I could get the screws in properly, but apart from that...”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Seriously?”

“We weren't allowed to do anything other than hold shit,” Seth pipes up from behind me. “We even filmed him for posterity's sake.”

“And so we don't get blamed if it collapses in a few months,” chimes in Dean.

Seth hands Lex his phone and she watches it with a raised eyebrow. “I'm impressed.”

“Full of surprises, right?” I grin at her.

She moves closer, passing the phone back to Seth before wrapping her arms around me. “Always have been, big guy.”

I lean down to kiss her and she smiles against my lips. The floor creaks as Dean and Seth make their way back out and downstairs and I'm about to follow when Lex stops me.

“Thank you for doing this. I know it meant a lot to you, but it means a lot to me too that you wanted to do it.”

“Anything for you and Pumpkin,” I tell her, my hand dropping to rub at her bump.

“It feels weird.”

“What does?”

“This.” She gestures around the room. “This is only going to be empty for a few more weeks. And like dinner tonight, it'll be the last time we're all together just the six of us. That's not weird to you?”

“I'd say surreal.”

She chuckles. “That's just a fancy word for weird.” Her hand slips into mine and she pulls me towards the door. “It's just... Did you think a year ago or even two years ago that this would be happening?”

“Sure,” I smile down at her. “I told you our time would come.”

“Maybe I should I have more faith in you,” she nudges me softly as we make our way downstairs.

“I've been saying that for years and you finally figure out that I'm right,” I tease back.

We enter the kitchen to find Becca and Siobhan unpacking cartons of take-out, Dean and Seth already helping themselves. Siobhan passes us both plates and there is a few minutes of commotion and laughter as we all load up our plates and grab drinks before taking a seat at the table.

Lex shifts her chair closer to mine, one hand slipping under the table to rub at my thigh as she picks at her food. I slip my arm around her shoulders and watch her lips twitch into a smile.

“So that's you guys all prepared right?” Becca asks after a few quiet moments.

“As we'll ever be,” I squeeze Lex's shoulder.

“What about names?” Becca asks. “You've both been incredibly secretive about that.”

Lex glances up at me. “Yeah, we've got that sorted.”

“Yeah,” I smile back, my heart beating faster as I think of the name we settled on a few weeks back. A name that we've now started to refer to Pumpkin in private.

“Oh man, you guys are such a tease,” Siobhan groans. “We've taken bets though.”

“Bets? On what?” Lex asks.

“Boy or girl, name, weight and due date.”

Lex glances up at me with a smirk. “And we weren't included because...?”

“Well, you know the names you've chosen.”

“Sure, but we don't know if it's a boy or girl...”

I'm trying my best not to laugh at Lex's poker face as she reasons with Siobhan.

“Okay, fine. You gotta write it down though – we all have. No-one knows each others answers.”

“Perfect,” Lex looks up at me again and winks.

“No offence, Lex, but don't you have kind of an unfair advantage when it comes to the weight?” Dean frowns.

“Excuse me, Ambrose?”

Dean's face flushes. “Well, you've had scans and shit, don't they tell you how much the baby's gonna weigh?”

“Perhaps but I think it's only fair seen as you've all been staring at my bump and trying to guess how much weight I've put on.”

“I think you'll find I've been quite nice in my estimate,” Dean pouts.

“You asked me how much a baby normally weighs and then you looked horrified when I told you,” Becca laughs. “For Lex's sake, I hope that you asked that before rather than after you wrote down your guess.”

Siobhan gets up and walks over to the refrigerator to tear off a piece of paper from the notepad. She hands it over to Lex with a pen.

I watch as Lex writes down the sex, weight and due date. “Really?” I ask her as I see the date. “You better hope that's not the date. I'm on the other side of the country that week.”

“Just our luck then.” She folds the paper in half and hands it back to Siobhan.

“Don't worry,” Siobhan tells me. “I've read the book and everything. Totally prepared.”

“You were all pale after you read the labour chapter,” Seth comments, ducking his head as Siobhan's hand rises to clip him.

“Oh, great,” Lex says dryly. “You'll be just like Ro then. They showed us a video in the class and all the first-timers looked scared shitless.”

“You included,” I remind her.

“Well, excuse me for being slightly anxious about the prospect of squeezing this out of me,” she squeezes my thigh. “You'll be fine, Shiv,” she reassures. “Just hold my hand and tell me to keep breathing.”

“That's the bit I'm worried about,” Siobhan grimaces. “Losing my hand.”

I pull Lex closer to me. “You'll both be fine, I'll get there. I'll be there.”

**

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Lex asks as I pull back the sheets on my side of the bed. She's propped up against a mountain of pillows, her shirt rolled up to just beneath her breasts as she rubs moisturiser onto her bump.

“What's that?”

“You said you'd be there. For the birth.”

“Of course I meant it.”

“And if you don't, are you going to ever forgive yourself for missing it?”

“Lex, I'll be there.”

“Ro...” she pauses in her actions and turns her face towards me as I roll onto my side. “Be realistic. Despite your assertions that I'm wrong, you never keep your phone with you at shows. Once you've warmed up and changed into your gear, it gets buried under all your crap in your bag. And even if that doesn't happen, there'll be at least a couple of hours when you won't have it with you because you'll be doing meet and greets or meetings with Steph and Hunter or in the ring itself. But that's okay. You can't always have your phone with you in those situations.”

“But someone else can. I can leave my phone with Dean or Seth, any number of people and they can get a message to me.” I move closer, my hand resting over hers. “This isn't the first baby born to a wrestler, baby girl. There are ton of guys who've been through this and they made it.”

“But some didn't.”

“Sure, but I'm not going to let that happen.”

“But what if it does? Ro, c'mon, be realistic. Say you get the message from Shiv an hour after she calls. You bust your gut to get to the airport, there's traffic, there's a flight delay. You've got a show in Seattle a week before my due date. That's a five hour flight. Obviously, the labour could go on for hours, but what if something happens and they have to take me into surgery?”

“I'll be there.”

“You're not listening to me,” Lex says irritably. “What if that happens? What if, for reasons that neither of us can predict, you don't make it in time, are you going to let that hang over you forever?”

“I think the chances are highly–”

“Roman!”

I look up at her and see her face starting to crumple. “Hey... Baby girl...”

“For fuck's sake! Have you any idea how hard it is to sit here and listen to you tell me that it'll be okay and that you'll be there when all I can think of is all the situations where you don't make it and I'm there in fucking surgery, panicking because the one person I want to be there with me at that moment is stuck in traffic or in an airport on the other side of the country or even in a plane where no-one can get hold of him to tell him what's going on?”

I scramble to sit up, pulling her into my arms as tears start to spill down her face. “Hey... Lex, ssh... Don't do this to yourself. C'mon, breathe. Don't cry...”

“I can't help it,” she mumbles into my chest. “It's all I keep thinking about when you're not here. I keep thinking what if it happens now. What then? What am I going to do? Siobhan doesn't move down here for another week, what if it happens then?”

“You know what you do,” I tell her. “You call Dr Ash and tell her what's happening. And then you call a cab or an ambulance, whatever she suggests and then you call me once you're on your way and I will stay on that phone for as long as possible.”

“What if I can't get hold of you?”

“Then you call Seth or Dean and one of them will find me or get someone else to find me.” I work my fingers through her hair gently. “We've talked about this, Lex. We have a plan, right?”

“Things can still go wrong. What if–”

I press my lips to her head. “Someone will let me know Lex. Someone will find me and I'll be on a plane or in a car as soon as I can. The most important thing is that you get to hospital where they can look after you and the baby. That's all you've gotta worry about, just making sure that you and Pumpkin are in safe hands.”

“I don't want you to miss it,” she murmurs. “I want you there, Ro.”

“Hey,” I rock her back so I can see her face. “You know it's gonna take a damn act of God to stop me from being there, right?” I cup her face in my heads, my thumbs brushing across her tear-stained cheeks. I kiss her softly, easing her back onto her pillows before plucking the moisturiser from beside her.

Her fingers stroke through my hair lazily as I pour a small amount of moisturiser onto my fingers and slowly work it into the taut skin of her belly. I lean down further, my lips brushing across the stretch marks that curve up from under the bump.

“Anyway, me and Pumpkin have a deal.”

“A deal?” Lex asks dubiously.

“Yup, no appearances until Daddy's in the room.”

She giggles and then sniffs. “I'm still going to worry, Ro.”

“I know you will.”

I glance up to see her smile down at me. I kiss her bump again, breathing in the scent of cocoa butter. There's no point telling her I feel the same, no need to confirm her worst fears by saying they're mine as well. There have been many times over the years where Lex has been my rock, my anchor, my never-ending source of strength. And now it's my turn to do the same for her.

Even thought, ultimately, she's the strongest out of the two of us.

**

I roll over and switch on the bedside light, rubbing my eyes at the brightness.

I can't sleep. I've been in bed for almost an hour, just tossing and turning, my mind racing, adrenaline still pumping through me despite the three hour car journey from the last town to here. Not even the hot shower could soothe me, not even jerking off to the thought of Lex could calm me.

Reaching out for my phone, I flick through Twitter and then Instagram and my emails for a few minutes and then pause. My mind races through the calculations and I realise that calling her is not an option. Fuck.

I could really do with hearing her voice right now. Even just for a minute or two. She has this way of relaxing me, making me forget my aches and pains, the long days, the weeks that go by where we can only communicate via our cellphones. I mean, I'd give anything to have her in bed beside me right now, just to feel her in my arms, to be able to run my fingers through her hair, to be able to kiss her and hold her. That's all I want right now. That's all I need.

I miss her.

The sensation wraps around my spine, taking a strangle-like hold and I'm so engrossed in the feeling that my eyes go out of focus and I realise too late that Lex's name and face are flashing up on my screen. I'm a second too late in answering and I curse loudly as I hit re-dial instead.

“I woke you up,” she greets me. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.”

“No, it's fine. I couldn't sleep.”

“Long day?” She pauses. “Stupid question.”

I grin up at the ceiling. “S'okay. It was alright, I guess. Just still pumped up.”

“I caught the end of the show. I was out at a late dinner, but made it back to my hotel room in time.”

A warm glow washes over me. “I didn't know you did that.”

“Did what?”

“Try and watch my matches when you're away.”

There's a rustle of sheets in the background. “I like watching you, but... Oh, never mind.”

“No, tell me.”

“I...”

“Lex...”

“I like watching you, but then, I dunno... I feel a bit down.”

I frown. “Why?”

“I dunno. I guess...” she pauses. “I guess I just miss you.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

I can't help but chuckle.

“I know, silly right?” she sighs.”Ignore me, it's late, I'm tired.”

“I wasn't laughing at you,” I tell her. “I swear. It's just funny because...Well, just before you called I was thinking the same about you.”

“You're just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I miss you, Lex,” I tell her softly, slowly. “I really do.”

There's a long silence.

“I feel...” she starts and then stops.

“Go on,” I encourage gently.

“I feel bad for admitting it though.”

“Why?”

“I knew what I was getting into and I feel like I'm guilt-tripping you if I say I miss you, because there's nothing either of us can do to change any of this.”

“Don't feel bad about it. None of this is your choice.”

A wry laugh echoes down the phone. “It is though, Roman. I made a choice the second I gave you my number. You didn't push me into this, I chose this too. I knew what this meant and I feel silly for thinking that it would be easy to switch off and on.”

“You don't have to hide away from me, Lex. It's okay to tell me how you feel and if you miss me, you miss me. You can't help that.”

“I know. I just thought, I dunno... I just thought I was stronger than this.”

“Just because you miss me, doesn't make you weak,” I tell her gently.

“But it's not fair on you.”

“And you don't have to be strong for me,” I continue. “But I like that you want to be. I like that about you, Lex. I like how you care.”

She's quiet for a moment, her voice small and vulnerable when she speaks again. “Sometimes I feel like I've lost control, like I shouldn't be telling you all this.”

I shake my head. “It's who you are, Lex. I told you, you don't have to hide from me.”

She pauses. “Do ever feel like that? Like you've lost control?”

“With you,” I tell her. “Always.”

**

Five weeks later

I make my way down the corridor, back to the locker room. The place is alive with technicians and production staff all packing up to make a quick getaway to the next town. All I want is a long shower before Dean and I hit the road ourselves.

I push open the door and head inside, grateful for some peace and quiet. I slump onto the bench and close my eyes for a second, listening to my heart pound hard and fast. Cracking open one eye and then the other, I roll my neck slowly and then reach for my bag. Digging around, I curse as I realise I left my phone here, rather than handing it over to Seth or Dean like I always promised Lex I would.

I press the home button and my blood goes cold.

Siobhan

Missed call (10)

Voice mail (1)

I swipe frantically at the voice mail, entering my PIN wrong on the first and second attempt, cursing loudly.

And then:

“Shit, Roman, why aren't you picking up your damn phone? Look, Lex is in labour. Call me. Oh and get your ass back here. Now.”

Fin x