#gold price today in up

[toytulini]

i dont want to give in to Modern Shapewear but i really hate when im trying to have a Fun Outfit and theres fucking Distinct Lines from various under wear bands (bra, undies, maybe a pair of tights?) all at separate points? that are impossible to hide bc the outer wear is fucking form fitting spandex

[dailynewztimes]

Uttar Pradesh Gold-Silver Price Today: जानें 16 अक्टूबर 2024 को क्या है आपके शहर में सोने-चांदी का भाव

Uttar Pradesh Gold-Silver Price: आजकल सोने-चांदी की कीमतें लगातार बदलती रहती हैं, और हर दिन नए उतार-चढ़ाव देखने को मिलते हैं। निवेश के नजरिए से सोना और चांदी खरीदने वाले लोगों के लिए इनकी कीमतें जानना बेहद जरूरी होता है। आज हम आपको सोने-चांदी का भाव की पूरी जानकारी देंगे, ताकि आप सही समय पर सोना या चांदी खरीदने का निर्णय ले सकें। आज का सोने का भाव (Gold Price Today) आज भारत में सोने के दामों में…

[stupittmoran]

In 1929 the price of a troy ounce of gold was $20. There are 32.15 ozt per 1kg bar, so that equals $6,430 for 10kg of gold.

Today an ounce of gold is $2,344.90 per troy ounce. That equals $753,885.35 for 10kg of gold.

The average home price in the USA in 1929 was $4,902. So 10kg of gold would have gotten you nice size home.

The average home price in the USA today is $412,095. So 10kg of gold would get you a nice size home today as well.

Its not that gold has gone up in value, its that the dollar has lost 99.14% of its purchasing power since 1929 due to the printing and expansion of the currency supply.

Property values didn't go up by 840.67%, the dollar lost that much purchasing power 95 years.

~Citizens for Sound Money 💰

[rileyslibrary]

With your hands full, you use your elbow to push the doorknob and nudge the door open with your shoulder. You enter Ghost’s office, shutting the door behind you with your foot.

He stands with his back turned to the door, focused on the map spread across his desk. He looks over his shoulder and narrows his eyes as they fall upon the box in your hands. Although he doesn’t say it, the message is clear—he’s waiting for an explanation. You don’t blame him; anyone in his shoes would do the same.

“I need your help,” you announce.

“Absolutely not,” he replies, returning to the map.

“I’m serious.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, scribbling something on the paper. “Out. Now.”

“Seriously, man?” you protest, stomping your foot once on the floor.

He stops mid-writing, lets the pencil fall, and slowly turns halfway towards you. It must be the casual “man” you threw at him; otherwise, nothing would explain how he looks at you now, with one of his eyebrows so high up that it’s threatening to escape his forehead and shoot out of his balaclava.

“Please,” you whisper. “Just this one time.”

He lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes. “What do you want?” He asks.

“I need to hide this,” you explain and slightly lift the box in your hands.

He throws a brief glance at the box, then back at you. “Elaborate,” he orders. “What is it?”

“Cake,” you reveal.

“Cake,” he repeats and gestures with his hands to speak further.

“For Price,” you explain. “It’s his birthday.”

“I know,” he says, shrugging. “Why hide it?”

“It’s a surprise,” you reply. “He doesn’t know.”

He clicks his tongue and turns his attention back to the map. “I think the captain is well aware that today is his birthday,” he murmurs.

“Will you please stop with the jokes?” you plead, throwing a quick glance at the door. “He saw me carrying it, and I think he’s suspicious.”

“Nonsense!” he chuckles while continuing to write on the map. “There is nothing suspicious about someone wandering around a military base holding a....” He turns back and looks at your hands. “Pink and white striped box with gold lettering embossed at the top; what the hell.”

“What can I say?” you snap. “Lulette’s patisserie ran out of camo boxes.”

He huffs and redirects his attention to the map, sketching out little arrows and making notations. He gets on your nerves like that, yet he never fails to lend you a hand when needed. You just need to be more pragmatic. Convince him.

“Please,” you beg. “This is the safest place to hide it; nobody dares to come here without permission.”

He tosses the pencil again on the map, this time more forcefully, and swivels his entire body towards you, crossing his arms and leaning on the desk.

“Yet here you are, in my office, permission or not,” he barks and points toward the door. “Out, now.”

“It’s an emerg-”

“I won’t repeat it.”

“But-”

There’s a knock on the door. You both turn towards the sound.

“Who’s that?” Ghost asks.

“Price,” the voice responds from behind the door.

You turn your head towards Ghost, and he meets your gaze. The once scornful expression he had is now replaced with urgency.

He quickly looks around and motions for you to get under the desk; it has a modesty panel that graces the floor, making it a good enough place to conceal yourself and the box. You run toward your hiding spot and crawl under it while mouthing an “I told you so” to him. He brings his index finger to his mouth while pushing your head further into the opening. You bring your knees to your chest and balance the box there. Ghost quickly sits on top of the desk and picks up the phone.

“Come in.” He shouts.

The door swings open, and Ghost theatrically shuts the phone. He apologises to Price for the delay, explaining that he “was on the phone with one of the Sergeants discussing the upcoming mission.” You hear Price approaching, and Ghost dives right into the mission details without letting him get any closer.

After the lieutenant finishes his briefing, there’s something about the operation being on a tight timeline, how the captain needs everyone to be on point and Ghost assuring him how prepared the team is. They then delve into specifics and strategies, and you hear the map rustling, tapping fingers on the wooden surface above you, scribbling with the pencils and some subtle shifts in posture here and there.

Suddenly, Price’s voice changes direction, and you hear him walking around the desk. Ghost walks towards your hiding place and pushes his office chair closer, squeezing you further towards the modesty panel. You look up and listen to papers being lifted up. You hold your breath, and your heart pulses in your ears.

“Are these the documents for the mission?” Price asks.

“Yes, sir.” Ghost replies.

“Good.” The captain exclaims. “Let’s meet with the team and finalise the plans in the briefing room in an hour.”

“Understood,” Ghost says, and you hear Price distancing himself from your hiding spot, leaving the room.

Ghost waits a few moments, ensuring the door is closed, and Price is far away, before knocking on the desk twice, signalling that it is safe for you to emerge from under the desk. You put the box on the desk and slowly crawl out.

“I told you it was an emergency,” you repeat. “You didn’t listen.”

He doesn’t respond but grabs the box and walks towards the bookshelf.

“What cake is it?” He asks as he squats in front of a cabinet and places the box there.

“It’s a fruit tart.”

“Christ’s sake,” he grunts as he shuts the cabinet. “Who in their right mind picks a bloody fruit tart for a birthday cake.”

“Captain likes fruit tarts.” You remind him.

He stands up and walks behind his desk. “Be back in half an hour,” he states, looking at his watch. “We’ll do it after the briefing, where everyone will be present.”

“Yes, sir.” You nod and walk towards the door.

“And no poppers, no sparklers, no party horns.” He clarifies.

“What about party hats?” You ask.

“Party hats are fine.” He murmurs. “They don’t make any noise.”

“Should I save one for you, sir?”

He slowly shoots you the same look he did when you stepped into his office. “I don’t know.” He murmurs as he tilts his head. “Should you?”

“I guess not.” You whisper and clasp your hands.

“You guess right.” He whispers back. “Now, and for the final time, go.”

[mead-iocre]

Pay Attention To Me | Leah Williamson x Reader 

synopsis: do you know what's worse than dating a football player? dating a football fan.

warnings: brief mention of sex

wc: 2.5k words

Sometimes you wonder to yourself what possessed you to date a footballer. You weren’t athletic or sporty, and unlike your athlete brothers, you didn’t enjoy any sport enough to stick to it. Your only means of exercise was pilates and the occasional trip to the beach in your cute bikini. 

So how did you end up dating a professional footballer? 

You found yourself thinking about that question as you sit curled up on one end of the leather sofa browsing the Chanel website on your laptop. On the other end of the sofa, with her legs sprawled out and a beer bottle in one hand, sat your girlfriend. Leah was dressed in a grey hoodie and matching grey joggers; her hair was down, which was a rarity these days due to the heat, streaks of light blonde strands framing her pretty face. From your place on the sofa, you are granted the most breathtaking view of the ocean thanks to the expansive glass walls. The horizon stretches as far as the eye can see; the sky painted in hues of orange, pink, and purple. As the sun begins to set, it casts a golden glow over the water, making the waves glimmer and sparkle.

The villa was gorgeous, and exactly like how the pictures showed it to be. You had chosen the place yourself, tempted by the promises of walking out onto the deck and being able to jump into crystal clear waters. The spacious overwater bungalow features polished wooden floors, high vaulted ceilings with exposed beams, and furnishings in soft, neutral tones complemented by cool-tone vibrant accents. When you showed pictures of the villa to your girlfriend, she took once glance at it and handed you her gold amex card. She didn’t even ask you for the price. 

Back to your own question earlier, the short answer was that Leah was attractive as hell. She was also everything you could ask for in a partner. She's got a cracking sense of humour, she's passionate about her job, family-orientated, and it didn’t hurt that she was the most gorgeous woman you had ever laid eyes on. She made sure to spend as much time with you around her busy schedule. She accepted that you were high-matainance, and gladly indulged you. Leah was the whole package. Sometimes as you lay in bed, when the night is still and quiet, you would take a moment to thank your lucky stars that she walked into your life. 

However, no one in this world is perfect– even someone like Leah Williamson.

Your girlfriend’s biggest flaw was that she is a football player–and by extension– that meant she was a football fan.

And that was the problem. 

Today was the 2024 Euros final. England somehow managed to slither their way to the tournament final and will be facing Spain to compete for the title of Champions of Europe 2024. The original plan was to head over to the Williamson’s house so everyone could watch the game together. However, your birthday happened to fall in the week leading up to the final. As a birthday gift from your very generous girlfriend, Leah had surprised you with a week-long trip to the Maldives. Her only condition was that she gets to watch the Euros final at the villa 

Uninterrupted. 

And being the good girlfriend that you are, you were more than happy to compromise. That is until you realise that Leah has pretty much ignored you the entire day. 

Well– maybe ignore is the wrong term. She was acting the same this morning– ordering a breakfast spread fit for champions by the time you woke up, booking a luxury spa treatment for the both of you at the resort, and even letting you run wild with her card at the nearby mall where there’s a strip of high-end stores with names like Cartier, Vacheron Constantin, and Dior. You came strutting back to the villa in your new pair of Jimmy Choo kitten heels, while Leah trails behind you, her arms full of shopping bags– all of them belonging to you.

However, you were what other people would call clingy. You craved attention and affection more than the usual person. Physical touch was your love language, and most of the time, your girlfriend was more than happy to meet your needs. 

But not today it seems. 

She was far too busy watching a bunch of men on telly chase a ball around a field of freshly cut grass to pay enough attention to you.

Finally getting board of looking at bags and shoes on your laptop, you shut it down and put it aside. Stretching one leg over the length of the cream white sofa, you nudge Leah with your foot. “Lee…”

Without even moving her eyes away from the screen, your girlfriend just hums in reply. Rude.

Another nudge with your freshly manicured toes. “Leah”

Finally he blonde turns to you, grasping your foot with one hand effectively putting an end to your incessant poking. “What, baby?”

“I’m bored” You pout at her. 

“Then watch the game, darling” She tilts her head towards the 85” Samsung TV that is mounted on the wall. Her hand was now lightly massaging your foot and your calves, probably sensing how tense you are. 

You groan in reply, your head falling backwards dramatically. “That's exactly what’s boring me, Lee” 

Leah just smiles, but it’s a bit strained. She just wants to watch the game, and you’re making it hard for her to focus. She’s usually used to your indifference for the sport that she happens to make a career out of. You only "enjoyed" football when your girlfriend was playing. You attended all her matches and would cheer loudly for her when she's on the pitch. Whenever Leah would drag you along with to watch football matches as a spectator with her, you would reluctantly agree– after many kisses and promises of shopping afterwards– and armed with the latest copy of Vogue to pass the time. If she wasn’t on the pitch, you did not care.

You sneak a peek at her, wanting to see if she would indulge you further, but she was already turning her attention back to the TV. Stupid tv. 

You rattle your foot that is still under her hand. You didn’t know where this was coming from but you had enough of being pushed aside for a game of football. “Leah!” 

And that’s when she snaps. 

“Fucking hell– would it kill you to be quiet! Can’t you see I’m trying to watch the match, mate?” She gestures wildly at the tv. Her eye brows were drawn together, the skin between them wrinkled. When she looked at you again, her gaze was intense– piercing almost.

You glare back at her, hoping she can feel your wrath from her peripheral since she has once agin directed her eyes back to the tv. “m’not your mate” 

You huff audibly, snatching your foot back from her grasp. You could feel the annoyance bubbling up inside you. Sure, you had both compromised that Leah gets to spend one day to watch the game uninterrupted. And yes, you did get your girlfriend all to yourself during the last five days, but you couldn’t understand why she was pushing you away like this. You were being selfish, but who wouldn't be when their girlfriend is being uncharacteristically mean about it.

When you were in one of your moods, you had a habit of muttering under your breath when things don't go your way, making scathing, albeit humorous, remarks. It wasn’t long before the sounds of you grumbling under your breath could be heard by your now equally moody girlfriend. 

“bloody football…this was supposed to be a birthday trip yet my girlfriend is spending time watching ugly men kick a ball around…we could’ve been snorkelling and exploring the reefs or having sex on a yacht but nooooooo apparently football is more interesting”

Sometimes Leah found it cute but other times, like today, your grumbling was annoying and it was distracting her from the game. The blonde just wants an hour or two to watch football uninterrupted, yet you can't even give her that. She smacks her hand down hard on the sofa, startling you and putting an end to your angry muttering. Leah turns to you and glares. “If you want to keep grumbling like that go do it somewhere else. You’re actually fucking pissing me off. don't know why I even put up with you” She groans the last bit as she rubs her forehead like you were some sort of nuisance to her.  

That did it. 

You were annoyed at the lack of affection from your girlfriend, and the same person that you wanted attention from was now mad at you. You glare at her right back, but your eyes were starting to water and you were getting the sniffles.

Wrestling the blanket off your lap like you were fighting an alligator, you swing your legs off the sofa, ready to stomp to the room and slam the door like a mature lady when Leah grabs your arm before you can move. “Sorry. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, baby” 

You angrily wipe away a traitorous tear as it slides down your cheek, trying to shake off the blonde’s grip but she holds firm. She moves to stand on her own two feet until she’s standing in front of you. Leah crouches down slightly, forcing your eyes to meet her blue ones. She frowns when she notices your tear stained cheeks. “Darling…hey, look at me, please”

You meet her eyes, albeit reluctantly. She rewards your effort with a kiss on your wet cheek. “I didn’t mean it. Don’t cry, please. You’re breaking my heart, baby” 

“Oyarzabal…Cucurella! 2-1 SPAIN!! Time is running out and Spain are nearly there. Oyarzabal hooks the ball out left to Cucurella, who beats a flagging Walker with a lovely diagonal ball into the box.The substitute is stretching ahead of Stones, having timed his run to perfection in between England's two centre-backs, and slides to put Spain back in front. This might just be it for England…”

Shit.

You head snapped towards the tv in shock, your annoyance disappearing. While you weren't personally rooting for any of the two teams, your English girlfriend was rooting for England so you automatically were rooting for England too. Not that you would ever admit it out loud.

You were anticipating a slew of cursed words from the Milton Keynes native, but her eyes had not left your face once, far too concerned about making sure you were okay. You were her number one priority, always. 

Taking a step closer to her, you rub the sides of her waist lightly. It was your turn to comfort your girlfriend. You hug her, pressing your head against her chest to listen to the rhythmic beating of her heart. It’s soothing and familiar, and any lingering feelings of frustration have completely disappeared. 

“The lads can pull one back” You say to her, peeking at the time running at the left top corner of the screen. Your girlfriend still hasn't said anything and you assume it's because she's sad about the score. “They’ve still got 10 minutes to equalise– plus additional time to play.” Just because you weren’t the biggest football fan out there did not mean you didn’t understand how the sport works. 

“Quit thinking about the match for a minute, baby, I don’t care about them right now. Are you sure you’re okay?” Leah pulls back slightly, cupping your face gently, and you lean into the warmth of her palms. 

“There’s nothing to forgive, Lee. I was just been silly” You pucker your lips up at her, and she grants your request with a grin. She kisses you once, and then again, pecking your lips repeatedly like she can’t get enough of you. 

You give her one more kiss, giving her a sharp bite on her lower lip before you pull away completely. Leah frowns at that, her eyebrows furrowing in displeasure. 

“I’m going to grab my laptop and watch Desperate Housewives out on the hammock. I’ll leave you to your football–alone– so you can focus.”

“What no. Baby, you can’t leave me when we’re one nil down during a Euros final” Leah gestures animatedly at the TV, the scoreline still showing Spain in the lead. “Stay with me. Watch your show right here with me” 

It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

Without waiting for you to reply, Leah began pulling you by the hand back to the sofa. She sat down, tugging you onto her lap. You just laugh, not even bothering to reach for your abandoned laptop on the other side of the sofa. You snuggle into her, your chest pressed together, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. Just because you agreed to stay with her, doesn’t mean you were interested in watching the match. 

A buzzing from the inside of your short’s pocket startles you slightly. You glance at the screen, reading the text, and then gasp. 

“love, my Chanel sales associate is asking me if I’d like to book an appointment at their store to see their new collection! There’s actually a cute bag that I've been thinking about…"

Leah hums, distracted slightly, not even looking at the phone screen that you are practically shoving into her face. “Yeah, we can get your bag once we arrive back home” 

You squeal, already texting your sales associate to go ahead and book you in. 

“–only if England win it” The typing stops and your heart drops. Your celebration cut short. 

“w-what…b-but, love…” You look up at her to see if she was serious, and to your dismay there's not a hint of playfulness in her gaze. She's serious. Glancing back at the screen, you see England have only 5 minutes left to equalise if they want to play for additional time, but the seconds are ticking by quickly. 

Scrambling off your girlfriend’s lap, you take your place beside her on the sofa instead. You have never been more motivated to cheer for a team your girlfriend was not playing for. Mustering all the manifestation in the universe, and your desperate need for that Chanel medium 25cm double flap shoulder bag in pink quilted lambskin leather with silver metal trim, you shout from the top of your voice “C’mon, England!!”

Leah just laughs loudly beside you, yelling and whooping too. 

However, sports can be a cruel thing sometimes.

England did not end up winning the Euros, much to the dismay of your girlfriend— and probably an entire nation. However, you got your bag anyway. Leah could never say no to you. She would give you the entire world if you asked for it, but luckily all you wanted is a pink Chanel bag– for now. 

More spoilt!reader x Leah because you all seem to enjoy her.

I wrote this the day after the Euros and then abandoned it because I got stuck and experience a writer's block halfway lol. Hope it still delivered.

-- kisses, butter.

[agirlnamedelia]

Price Tag and Credit Card Limits || Katsuki x Reader

Genre: fluff Pairing: Katsuki x FEM!Reader Synopsis: You were shopping with Bakugou but every time you saw the price tag, you just had to put it back.

You wandered into the boutique with an excited gleam in your eyes, the vibrant window display pulling you in like a moth to a flame. The racks were lined with beautiful clothes in every style imaginable, each piece seemingly tailored to your taste. Today was supposed to be a treat-yourself day, but as always, the guilt of spending too much loomed over you.

Bakugou had given you his credit card with his usual gruff dismissal, "Just get whatever the hell you want, damn it." It was his way of caring, and though you appreciated his generosity, you couldn't help but feel hesitant to spend his money so freely. He might be your sugar daddy, but that didn’t mean you had to act like some kind of gold digger.

You strolled through the store, picking up a cute blouse here, a stylish jacket there. The soft, silky fabric of a dress caught your attention, and you lifted it off the rack, holding it against your body as you admired it in the mirror. It was perfect—the kind of dress that made you feel like you could conquer the world. But as you glanced at the price tag, your heart sank.

"10,000 yen…" you muttered under your breath, eyes widening slightly.

You quickly hung the dress back on the rack, pretending to yourself and anyone watching that it wasn’t that great anyway. “Hmm, yeah, maybe not my style,” you murmured, moving on to the next item.

From across the store, Bakugou watched you with a keen eye. He wasn’t a fool; he could see the way your eyes lit up when you found something you liked, only to dim the moment you saw the price. It pissed him off a bit, honestly. What was the point of giving you his card if you were just going to put everything back?

He gritted his teeth, waiting until you had moved on to another section of the store before slipping over to the dress you had been eyeing. It was a deep emerald green, a color he knew would look stunning on you. “Excuse me,” he grunted to the nearest salesperson. “Can you get me this in whatever size they just had, and if you have it in a couple more colors, that’d be great.”

The salesperson blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Of course, sir. Right away.”

Satisfied, Bakugou wandered back towards the center of the store, hands shoved in his pockets as he kept an eye on you. He didn’t get it. If you liked something, just get it. Money wasn’t an issue, and he wanted you to be happy.

You, meanwhile, had moved on to the accessories, fingers grazing over a row of necklaces and bracelets. One necklace in particular caught your eye—a delicate gold chain with a small, heart-shaped pendant. You reached out, your fingers brushing the cool metal, but again, you hesitated. The price tag stared back at you, mocking your hesitation.

With a sigh, you put it back, mumbling to yourself, “Maybe another time…”

Bakugou was already on the move before you had even turned away. He nodded subtly to the salesperson who had been helping him, pointing out the necklace. “Add that, too.”

This little game went on for a while. You would find something you liked, check the price, and then put it back with a wistful expression. And every time, Bakugou would follow behind you, snatching up the item and adding it to his growing pile.

Finally, you made your way to the fitting rooms with a few of the more reasonably priced items you’d picked out, unaware of the surprise that was awaiting you. As you tried on a simple sweater, Bakugou leaned against the wall outside, arms crossed over his chest.

When you stepped out, he eyed you critically, giving a small nod of approval. “Looks good,” he said simply, though his eyes flickered with a hint of satisfaction.

You smiled, doing a little twirl for him. “Thanks! I think I’ll get this one.”

Bakugou merely grunted in response, his expression giving nothing away.

As you headed towards the register, ready to make your purchase, the salesperson hurried over with a large garment bag and a smaller jewelry box. “Here you are, sir,” she said, smiling warmly. “Everything you requested, all packed up.”

You blinked in confusion, looking between Bakugou and the salesperson. “Everything…you requested?”

Bakugou smirked, stepping forward and casually handing over his credit card. “Yeah, everything. Including the stuff you kept putting back.”

Your eyes widened as the realization hit you. “Bakugou! You didn’t…”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What? You think I didn’t notice you eyeing all that stuff and then chickening out ‘cause of the price tag?” He shook his head, his tone softer than usual. “I told you to get whatever you want, didn’t I?”

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, embarrassment and gratitude swirling together in your chest. “I just… I didn’t want to spend too much…”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat. “It’s my money, and I want to spend it on you. So stop worrying about it, okay? Just let me spoil you a little, damn it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, warmth flooding through you. “Thank you, Bakugou. Really, I… I appreciate it.”

He shrugged, his cheeks tinging just slightly pink. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me now.”

The cashier finished ringing up everything, and Bakugou grabbed the bags, handing them to you with a gruff nod. “Here. Let’s get outta here before you start crying or something.”

You laughed, taking the bags from him and leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best, you know that?”

He snorted, looking away to hide the way his ears turned red. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s just go, dumbass.”

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[jeyneofpoole]

acok dash simulator

🐺 winterscumming

i’m sorry but the lannisters licherally can’t expect us to just ignore what they did to our liege lord lmao???? sitting up there on that jank throne like i won’t answer the summons as soon as lord starks’ kid calls the banners goddddds the blonde hair makes those cunts stupid. also the incest probably. what is the north known for again??? forgetting??? that’s what i thought…….

🦁 gains-of-castamere

typical northern scum lmao. bring up the ‘incest’ allegations all you want but nobody’s ever allowed to mention stark’s actual bastard as if it’s just, like, fine????? we’ll see who’s laughing when king joffrey seizes your lands and holdfasts ig

🧜‍♂️ womanderly

cersei lannister isn’t gonna fuck you bro

⛓️ iron-pryce

you will never fucking guess what i saw lady asha and lord greyjoy’s other kid doing on the docks today ohhhhhhhh my god

🍑 rainbowhard

LORAS TYRELL BESTED BY A WENCH THIS IS THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFEEEEE

🦄 renlybrocade

she should’ve killed him the realm can afford to lose one twink

❤️‍🔥 rhollor-wifee

the comet is a sign of his coming

🦊 flor-aunt-it

me and the comet are making out sloppy style

❤️‍🔥 rhollor-wifee

you will burn

⬛️ dontcallmecrow

not my ass going on the great ranging lmao i should’ve deserted 🙏😭

🐻 lordcommandr

Report to command tent. Immediately.

⬛️ dontcallmecrow

oh my god

🛶 c-bitch

they really expect me to follow this metrosexual into battle. ok. gold price looking nepo baby cunt he fucking shot todric and i’m just supposed to steal a castle with him. ok!!!!!! i miss asha……..

🩸 reek

heyyyyyyy i’m in the dungeon fornormal reasons does someone wannacome say hi?

🦑 princee-of-winterfell

ok lol

🐉 that-one-loyalist

i swear to fucking god i just saw daenerys targaryen burn down the house of the undying????? queen???? hello???

🐴 in-the-whoarde

likely place for her to be

⚓️ sonsshine

i love my dad i love boats this is great we’re going to blackwater next i’m sure our victory will be righteous in the eyes of our lord

⚓️ sonsshine

⛵️💥💥💥☠️🟩🟩🌊🌊⛓️🔥🔥🔥⛵️⛵️🟩🟩🌊⛵️🔥🔥🔥🔥💥💥⛓️⛓️⛓️👨‍👦‍👦☠️☠️ ⛵️💥💥💥☠️🟩🟩🌊🌊⛓️🔥🔥🔥⛵️⛵️🟩🟩🌊⛵️🔥🔥🔥🔥💥💥⛓️⛓️⛓️👨‍👦‍👦☠️☠️

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟐]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.6k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of abuse/alcoholism

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘

Summer brings longer days and sunrises that spill like molten gold over the horizon.

Kinich sits by the river to watch, washing clothes in the bubbling water and listening to his mother hum nearby. Her voice is lovely like this, carried lightly along the wind, part of her he wishes he would’ve inherited. She has these rare moments of peace sometimes, when she’s among her crops and the weather is gentle, where she’s temporarily able to forget about the house-shaking fights from the night before. Kinich tries not to disturb her in those times; mostly, he learns just by watching her.

His father, on the other hand, stays out later every day—longer days mean more time to gamble, and Kinich is often left yawning by the time the front door slams open. Their Mora pouches grow tighter and tighter, and his mother stops bringing him to the market with her.

One day, she stops going at all.

Then, she stops humming.

Kinich gets used to having the same meals every day—he eats Grainfruit so much that he gets sick of it, and vows that once he has the option, he’ll never eat it again. He stops thinking about making friends and starts thinking about his own survival. When he has some time, he finds ways to make his own fun anyway; he harvests plants to weave into rope, then makes his own swings on the trees nearby. He finds that he likes the feeling of flying through the air, though he hasn’t quite gotten advanced enough to do any true climbing yet.

Every so often, Kinich thinks about the tribe. He can hear them occasionally, on nights of celebration—the firelight and vivacious laughter pierce the night, even all the way out here. He hasn’t gotten the chance to visit the main village in a while, and courier visits are infrequent, not that his parents receive much mail anyway. Perhaps a mountain of bills, if nothing else.

In even rarer moments, he thinks of you. 

It comes on days when his mother locks herself in her room and his father disappears for hours, the quiet desire for companionship. He feels truly stupid even pondering it, but he wonders how you’re doing sometimes. He wonders if you ever learned how to make flower crowns, and if the other kids in the tribe are being nice to you again. 

He wonders if you’re alone, and sometimes, he wonders if he could be too.

“Yanta passed away,” his mother murmurs one day, cutting up a Grainfruit. Kinich’s stomach lurches at the thought of taking another bite of the crop, but he says nothing; he never complains to his mother. Instead, he stands beside her at the kitchen counter on a short stool, carefully grinding grain into flour. “The courier came by today and told me.”

For a moment, Kinich says nothing. Observant as he is for his age, he gauges his mother’s expression—she’d known Yanta a long time, after all. But she doesn’t look sad, at least not truly. Instead, she just looks…resigned.

“I’m sure she’s in a better place now,” he manages to reply.

His mother smiles bitterly. The knife cuts through the soft fruit with too much force, blade hitting the cutting board with a loud thud—Kinich nearly flinches at the sound.

“I’m sure she is.”

They lapse back into silence, and his mother stares out the kitchen window, wistful. He tries not to think about that too much, because he’s unsure how to feel about the implications.

(He knows she’s thinking about somewhere far away, but he wonders if he’s in that vision, too.)

Kinich learns that the price of his mother’s smile is his own usefulness—she smiles when he brings home larger harvests. When he can contribute, she ruffles at his hair and tenderly takes the basket from his hands. He finds that he likes that feeling—being useful, being needed. It’s the reason why he works so hard, the reason why his small hands form calluses, skin turning rough from labor.

A commotion sounds from outside—his father is home. His mother places the knife down immediately, moving on pure instinct. She takes up the cloth by the sink and wipes down her hands. It’s a pitiful thing, full of holes and threadbare from years of use. Kinich thinks he should weave a new one the next time he has a chance; the thought that it might please his mother makes his chest warm.

“Go to your bedroom,” his mother orders, hurried. The flour sits on the counter, forgotten, only half-finished. He looks at it longingly, even as his mother pushes him out of the kitchen.

He just manages to slip into his bedroom by the time the front door slams open, nearly flying off the hinges. Kinich’s eyes flutter shut, lips pressed into a thin line—the losses today must’ve been worse than usual.

“Don’t slam the door! Kinich is sleeping,” his mother argues. There’s a series of groans and squeaks—his father is stumbling into the furniture again, probably making a mess. “What’s got you so upset already?”

“It was the damn orphan kid,” his father slurs, spitting on the floor. Kinich silently seethes in disgust. “She’s always running around our fucking property, guess since she’s got nowhere else to go.”

Kinich isn’t sure who his father is referring to, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. The screams outside the door grow louder, until it feels like the walls of the house will fall from the noise. If he were any younger, he might’ve folded his pillow over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise. He’d stopped doing that years ago, though, having grown used to the chaos.

His mother screams and cries until the daylight disappears completely, and his father yells and inflicts as much damage as he can—both to the house and to his wife. Kinich pretends to be asleep the whole time, grip tight on his blankets. It’s not until the moon rises in the sky, watchful, that his parents tire themselves out, retiring to bed with fresh bruises. 

It’s quiet, at least for a bit.

The next day, Kinich rises with the sun. 

His mother is already outside, and his father is…somewhere. It doesn’t really matter where the man is, only that he isn’t here, and Kinich can enjoy the fleeting peace. The routine comes easily to him in the mornings—he sets about rearranging the scattered dining chairs and dragging the table back into place. It’s a useless endeavor, he knows, considering they’ll probably end up downed again by tomorrow. But there’s something about these small victories, in which he can pretend his house is normal for the day—where he can pretend it’s just him and his mom.

He cleans quietly, humming to himself, then decides against it—it doesn’t sound like when his mother does it.

She comes back inside a few minutes later, not sparing him a word. It makes something sting in his chest, the lack of recognition—he’d hoped she would praise him for tidying up, or maybe ask him to help her harvest. Still, he continues cleaning, grabbing a broom to sweep up the remnants of things his parents had broken in anger. He sweeps up smashed bottles, careful to avoid the glass, before stopping at the mess under the counter. He pauses.

For reasons he can’t explain, the sight makes him inexplicably sad:

The bowl of half-ground flour, shattered into a thousand pieces and flung across the floor.

/

When the air cools and leaves begin to fall from the trees, a ghost appears in the forest.

Kinich first notices it one morning after he goes outside to water his crops and check on their growth. The forest leaves are still full-bodied by this time, but they’re turning; as he walks, the emerald ceiling turns to deep reds, burnt oranges, and pale yellows. Yesterday, the breeze was gentle, but today it nips at his skin—he pulls his thin jacket tighter around himself. 

He’s not a superstitious or fearful person by any means. He’s grown used to being alone over the years, and the creaks of the house and the whispers in the forest don’t scare him like they used to. 

Still, he’s inclined to admit the chill that runs through his blood when he finds the small bag of berries awaiting him. 

It’s placed in such a specific location that he can’t help but feel it’s meant for him—a stone that marks the perimeter of his garden plot. There’s no note, though he checks thoroughly for one, nor any indication of who it might be from. The thought makes him a bit uncomfortable—no one from the village usually comes through here. He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him, but he finds himself rushing home after the fact.

The gifts don’t stop coming. 

It’s always inconsequential, little things like cheap candies and leaf whistles left on stones. They’re placed in very particular spots—areas around his crops, around his traps, or the trees where he usually sits to be alone. Kinich starts to feel like someone is watching him, and the shadows in the forest seem to loom a bit longer than usual. A collection of tiny trinkets and treats grows in the corner of his bedroom.

It takes three more weeks before he discovers that ghosts are, in fact, not real.

With the temperatures dropping, he decides to visit his crops a bit later than usual that day, when the sun is fully up and provides some semblance of warmth. The thought of the ghost still lays dormant in the back of his mind, but it’s less of a concern—after all, it doesn’t seem to pose a threat.

(And really, he can’t complain about having extra candy every now and then.)

He just about reaches the clearing when he spots a shadowed figure knelt over his crops. Initially, Kinich mistakes it for a wild animal—there’s no shortage of them around here, and they’re always interested in chewing at his plants. He readies himself to scream in an attempt to scare it away, but it suddenly moves in a way that is distinctly human—he freezes where he stands. Slowly, cautiously, he leans forward in the foliage to get a better look.

The figure rises just as his eyes narrow on the small object now laying on the stone.

It’s a crown, woven with jade and gold flowers.

“It’s you,” he breathes, mostly out of shock. You jolt like a deer in the headlights at the sound, eyes wide, and there’s a beat of silence before you turn and sprint away. Truthfully, Kinich considers himself a smart kid, but even he feels dumbfounded by the whole situation. It takes him about another second to start chasing after you, an impromptu game of tag with no clear objective.

“Stop!”

You’re quite swift for a child, but Kinich is faster, knows these woods better; he catches up to you with ease, and his fingers wrap around your wrist in a fashion that reminds him of when you first met. This time, you try to break out of his grip, but it only makes him hold tighter. In a panic, your ankle catches on a tree root, and that’s all it takes for both of you to go tumbling down.

Kinich hits the ground hard, tangled in your limbs, and he groans when his shoulder skids in the dirt—instantly, his mind is assessing the value lost in the event of an injury. If he gets hurt, how will he pay for it? How will he hunt? How will he harvest?

The thought just makes him angrier as he straightens to his feet, unsteady and brushing grime off his clothes. You’re a bit slower to rise, still on your hands and knees—Kinich pulls you up by your collar instead, lips curled into a snarl.

“Why are you running from me? Why are you leaving these things?” The words come out in a hiss, frustration boiling over. “Why are you doing this?”

You tear out of his grip, looking just as indignant.

“Because Chief Wayna said you’re lonely!”

Nearby, birds flock away from the noise, a rush of darkness flying overhead.

Kinich flinches at your words—he’s not even sure if it’s true, but the notion of it sends a pulse of lightning through his heart. Lonely? He turns away, fists clenched.

“Well, he’s wrong. So you can go back to the village.”

“I don’t think he’s wrong,” you say, arms crossed. “You’re the only kid out here, right? That would make anyone lonely.”

He thinks of his parents; on an average day, it’s true that they don’t talk very much. But that doesn’t make him lonely—in fact, he thinks he’s doing just fine by himself. Thinking of friends and other things makes him less useful to his mother, and he despises that thought.

“You don’t even know me,” he argues, eyes narrowed, and you huff. 

“I don’t. But that’s why I’m here,” you say. Kinich watches as you squat to the ground, thumbing over the thin petals of the flower crown. “Because I want to know you. I want to be friends. Is that so bad?”

He rolls his eyes. “There’s plenty of other kids in the village. Go play with them.”

You’re more stubborn than you let on, he realizes. Because even as he explains every reason why you shouldn’t be here, your feet remain firmly rooted in place, a pout written over your lips.

“I don’t want to play with them. I want to play with you.”

He’s not sure why the words hit him as hard as they do—you’re just a child who wants to play. Maybe you’re bored with the other kids, or maybe they still don’t like you, but it’s not like you’re coming to him out of genuine necessity. 

(Distantly, he reminds himself that he’s a child too. He forgets that sometimes.)

“...Why me?” he probes, tentative. “Why does it even matter to you?”

You seem to sense that a crack has formed in his resolve, and your expression softens. The wind rushes by as you outstretch one hand, holding the flower crown out to him—an olive branch.

“Because you’re the one who offered to help me back then,” you say, nearly a whisper, “and that matters to me.”

For the second time since he’s met you, Kinich finds himself genuinely speechless. He’s not a talkative person to begin with, but it’s not out of a lack of things to say—it’s out of a lack of necessity. There’s no need to speak in the life he lives, only to move. To survive. But here you are, latching onto him simply because you want his company.

I don’t need friends, he thinks desperately.

Before he can stop himself, he gently plucks the crown from your hands.

You smile.

In the next few weeks after that, Kinich lets you come around, if only for a few hours.

The forest clearing becomes your meeting place—he learns a lot about you among the crunching leaves and bare trees. He learns that you’re an orphan, that your favorite season is spring, that you think his eyes are pretty. You don’t tend to think before you speak, only saying things as they come to mind. In a lot of ways, you’re his opposite. 

He’s not sure what the feeling is that takes root in his chest.

Next, he teaches you what he knows. You had suggested it offhandedly one day, that he might teach you how to weave—that maybe you might be able to do something more complex than flower crowns. He had been a bit hesitant—he doesn’t consider himself an expert, after all—but relented after you asked over and over.

(He always seems to relent when it comes to you.)

He finds that he likes the way your eyes sparkle when he teaches you something new, or when you successfully try something for the first time. You’re overjoyed when you weave your first rope, when your traps come back full, when your first plant finally blooms. Kinich merely watches, a warmth permeating his chest. He starts to crave your company, the way you cling to him, the way you need him. Soon, he starts to think that a small part of him might have needed you too.

Despite his willingness to spend time with you, he’s quite strict with your time—once the sun dips, he’s quick to send you off. 

“Go home,” he says, looking pointedly toward his house. He’s always waiting for something. “And don’t let anyone see you.”

You never disobey, mostly because you have no reason to—ascending the mountain in the dark is difficult anyway, and you don’t want to overstay your welcome.

And though his house still shakes and rocks with screaming every night when he returns, Kinich finds it a bit easier to sleep when he thinks of meeting you the next day.

/

Kinich’s mother disappears on a winter night.

Something startles him awake, and his eyes slide open to see the moon hanging over the inky sky. It’s uncharacteristically quiet, save for the subdued snoring of his father passed out on the couch. At times like these, Kinich misses the warmer months; the river outside has long since frozen over, and he sometimes relied on its steady bubbling rush to put him to sleep.

These days, it’s too cold for you to make the trip down the mountain. The ice makes it far more dangerous to make the descent, and even someone as stubborn as you wouldn’t risk it. Kinich thinks he finally understands what loneliness means.

Winter also means more time spent inside, and forced quarters with his father. The weather seems to take a toll on the man—he skips work more and more these days, citing an ache in his bones. Kinich’s mother works longer days now, desperate to feed them all. He helps as he can, setting traps in the forest to catch wild game, but it’s not enough sometimes. Some days, he sleeps with his stomach empty. 

He sits up in bed, slow.

He’s still short enough that his feet barely dangle above the ground when he swings his legs over the edge, wincing when he first makes contact with the cold floor. It had been snowing when he had first fallen asleep, cheek stinging from the force of his father’s hand. Outside, a blanket of white is settling, still undisturbed by human interference. His footsteps are light, trained from years of practice.

The door creaks open, millimeters at a time, lest he accidentally wake his father. He peeks a single eye out of the crack, observing how the man lays draped over the couch. Several bottles of alcohol lie vacant on the table, emptied down his father’s throat in one of his fits of rage. He’d lost more Mora than usual today—Kinich’s mother had been the unfortunate scapegoat for his anger, and Kinich as well when he came to her defense. 

He slips through the opening in the door, agile, creeping past his father’s sleeping form and into the kitchen. It’s still a mess, as a result of earlier. One of the cabinet doors sits unlatched at an awkward angle, evidence of the fight. Kinich’s fingers twitch to fix it, but decide against it; it would make too much noise, and the cabinet is bare anyway. 

He moves on.

His mother’s bedroom—technically his parents’ bedroom, but the two haven’t slept together in years—is half-visible through a crack in the door, but it doesn’t look the same as he remembers. The bedsheets are smoothed down, his mother nowhere to be seen. He glances out the window again—there are times when she awakens in the middle of the night to take walks, craving temporary silence, but the notion seems unlikely with the current weather.

Kinich eases the door open quietly, exposing the disaster to his eyes.

His mother’s things are strewn about the room in various states of disarray—someone had left in a hurry. The bed frame also sits crooked, revealing a loose floorboard beneath that had been pulled aside. The perfect place to hide something, whether it had been jewelry, Mora, or something else.

A seed of panic plants itself in his stomach. 

He rushes over to the front door, tripping as he goes—he slams to the floor with a cry. A hand slaps over his mouth in fear, eyes flickering over to his father. The man turns over, but doesn’t awaken, so he scrambles to his feet, finally seizing the doorknob and throwing it open. 

Nothing but a starless night awaits him outside—a burst of freezing air surges into the house, but Kinich doesn’t feel it at all. Instead, he stares out into the snowy landscape, gaze following the trail his mother had left behind.

Shallow footfalls leading away from the house—leading away from him.

Kinich is not ignorant; even young as he is, he understands the situation instantly.

His mother had weighed the value of her son and the value of her freedom, and he had not been the final choice.

That night, Kinich doesn’t cry.

Instead, he creeps back into bed, deathly quiet in his footsteps and wincing when the door creaks. A shiver runs down his body; teeth chattering, he slides beneath his thin blanket. His father doesn’t stir, and for once, Kinich doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel anything at all.

For a few minutes, he tosses and turns. It doesn’t help—the dread settles in all the same. There are too many questions and not enough answers to placate him. He thinks of his mother and her smile.

Distantly, he wonders if he can blame her, or even hate her. If he weighed his options, would he have made the same choice? If he had been more useful, would she have stayed?

What more could he have done?

As he falls back to sleep, Kinich wonders how long it will be until spring comes again.

[quillcraftconquer]

TW: Angst (?), Divorce, little sad lol, WIP

John Price is a good dad.

When he’s home, he’s present. He changes diapers. He feeds the baby. He helps out with bath and bedtime routines. He’s up at every cry he hears.

But that’s not why you left him.

He’s a great dad.

Except he didn’t know what size diaper your son wore, or that he preferred to be bounced, not rocked. He didn’t know what time to give him his last bottle, or when to lay him down. It had only been six months since you had your son, and John was gone for over half of it. You knew he had to be busy, but fuck, you gave up everything, and it felt like he gave up nothing. You quit your job. You left the SAS. You stayed home. You took care of the baby. It wasn’t necessarily because you wanted to, either, but someone had to, and you knew John wouldn’t.

It ate at you that you knew John wouldn’t.

“I need help.” You begged him, and when he offered to have his sister or his mother stop by more often, you knew it was a lost cause. You didn’t want them. You wanted John.

You remember when you reached your breaking point. You laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling as you listened to your baby cry for over an hour.

John said “I’ve got it.”.

When you finally burst through the nursery door, eyes blazing as you watched John attempt to rock him, again, you snatched your son from John’s arms. Your son was hungry, a cry only someone who spent countless hours with him would recognize. You gritted your teeth in anger when John tried to take him back.

“I’ve got him”

“Give him to me”

“I can do it”

Finally, you remember your anger boiling over, screaming at John through hot tears that he couldn’t even change a fucking diaper without asking you what size, or how much to feed him, or that he liked to be bounced and not rocked.

You remember the grief that filled John’s eyes when you pushed him out of the nursery, slamming the door in his face as he stuttered. You remember laying the divorce papers and your ring on the counter the next day, packing a bag to take you and the baby to his sisters until he left for deployment again.

You remember every feeling that rushed into your heart when he left, leaving the signed papers on the countertop.

When you moved out, he was on deployment. When you FaceTimed him for the baby, he always ended the call with “I love you.”. You could still see the flash of gold on his hand in the video.

You refused to say it back.

On the rare occasions he did come home, your house was the first stop he made. You would always meet him at the door with your son to exchange him, knowing if you let him any further, he would fill the spaces in your home with memories of him.

Until today.

[starsjulia]

luxury and lace // leah williamson

leah williamson x spoilt reader

a/n : i know quite a bit of this is inaccurate, but i am currently skint and dreaming of a luxury shopping spree

warnings : suggestive, and that’s really all!!

It wasn’t uncommon for her to surprise you with spontaneous shopping trips, but this particular Saturday was different. Leah had sensed you’d had a tough week and decided that today would be all about pampering you. So, she insisted on taking you to Bond Street, one of the most upscale shopping destinations in London.

The day began with Leah picking you up early, a playful grin on her face as she drove the two of you into the city. You knew that look—it meant you were in for a day of indulgence, whether you liked it or not. But of course, you did like it. You loved how attentive Leah was, how much she enjoyed making you feel special.

As soon as you arrived, Leah wasted no time. The first stop was Gucci. The store was quiet, its plush interiors and soft lighting creating an atmosphere of luxury. Leah immediately began browsing through the racks, her eyes sharp as she sought out pieces she knew would look perfect on you.

“This one,” she said, pulling out a sleek black dress with a plunging neckline, the fabric shimmering subtly under the store lights. “You’re tryin’ this on, love.”

You took the dress from her, smirking. “Are you sure you can handle it if I wear something this daring?”

Leah’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Handle it? Babe, the real question is, can you handle the way I’ll be lookin’ at you all night?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at her words, and without another word, you headed to the changing room. The dress fit like a dream, clinging to your body in all the right places. When you stepped out to show Leah, her reaction was immediate—her gaze darkened, and her lips parted slightly as she took you in.

“Proper stunnin’,” she murmured, stepping closer to adjust the straps on your shoulders, her fingers brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “This is non-negotiable. We’re buyin’ it.”

“Leah, it’s so expensive,” you protested weakly, knowing full well that Leah wouldn’t back down once she made up her mind.

“Price don’t matter when it comes to you,” she replied smoothly, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

Before you could argue further, Leah had already signaled to the sales associate, handing over her card with a practiced ease that made you smile. As you changed back into your clothes, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of affection for her. Leah was always like this—determined to make you feel like the most important person in the world.

Next, you made your way to Louis Vuitton. The store was a haven of luxury, with its iconic monogram prints displayed proudly on every shelf. Leah’s eyes were already scanning the collection of bags as you walked in.

“How about this one?” she asked, holding up a chic crossbody.

You bit your lip, admiring the bag. “It’s beautiful, but do I really need another one?”

Leah’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Need? Maybe not. But deserve? Babe, you deserve the world.”

You laughed, shaking your head at her logic, but there was no denying how perfect the bag was. Leah could read you like a book, and she knew exactly what would make your heart flutter. She insisted on purchasing the bag, adding it to the growing collection of items she was spoiling you with that day.

From Louis Vuitton, you wandered into Cartier. Leah’s eyes immediately gravitated toward a delicate bracelet in gold, adorned with small diamonds that caught the light beautifully.

“This would look gorgeous on you,” she said, already envisioning it on your wrist.

You raised an eyebrow, giving her a teasing smile. “Leah, are you trying to claim me with jewelry now?”

Leah chuckled, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind and pulling you close. “Maybe I am. Should get my name engraved in it. Gotta make sure everyone knows you’re mine, yeah?”

You turned your head slightly to meet her gaze, feeling the warmth of her breath on your neck. “Not bad at all.”

The bracelet was yours before you could even protest, Leah slipping it onto your wrist herself, her fingers grazing your skin in a way that made you tingle all over. She kissed the inside of your wrist after fastening the clasp, a gesture so sweet and intimate it made your heart swell with love.

The next stop was Chanel, where Leah couldn’t resist picking out a pair of back heals.

“These are a must,” she declared. “They’ll go perfectly with that dress we just bought.”

You tried on the heals, feeling a rush of confidence as they elevated your outfit—and your height—by several inches. Leah’s approval was immediate, her gaze sweeping over you with a mix of admiration and desire.

“You really have it all planned out, don’t you?” you teased as you walked around in the pumps, testing their comfort.

Leah grinned, her eyes following your every movement. “When it comes to you, always, babe. Gotta make sure my girl’s the best-dressed wherever she goes.”

From Chanel, the two of you made your way to Sephora. Leah knew how much you loved trying out new makeup and skincare products, so she insisted you pick out anything you wanted. You spent a good hour browsing through the aisles, swatching lipsticks, testing perfumes, and sampling the latest skincare lines.

“Do you think this color suits me?” you asked, holding up a shade of lipstick.

Leah nodded, moving closer to inspect it on you. “It’s perfect. But you should get a few others too, just in case you wanna switch it up.”

You chuckled, knowing that Leah wouldn’t let you leave without at least a few bags of makeup and skincare products. She insisted on getting you a new fragrance she thought you’d love and a high-end eyeshadow palette that had caught your eye.

With several Sephora bags in hand, Leah led you to Victoria’s Secret. As soon as you walked in, Leah’s eyes lit up with that familiar glint of mischief, and you knew you were in for some fun.

The store was filled with soft, sensual lighting and racks of lingerie in every shade and style imaginable. Leah wasted no time, immediately gravitating towards a section filled with delicate lace sets. Her fingers trailed over the fabrics, picking out pieces she knew you’d love—or, rather, pieces she knew she’d love seeing you in.

“Here we go,” she said, pulling out a deep red set with intricate lace detailing that left little to the imagination. “This one’s got your name written all over it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “Are you sure you’re picking this out for me and not for yourself?”

Leah’s grin was nothing short of wicked. “Bit of both, maybe. But mostly for me, yeah?”

Your cheeks warmed at the way she looked at you, her eyes dark with intent. She handed you the set and gently nudged you towards the fitting rooms.

“Go on, try it on. I wanna see how it looks.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “You know, I might need some help getting into this one.”

Leah didn’t miss a beat. “Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe,” you replied coyly, biting your lip as you led the way to the fitting rooms, Leah following close behind.

Once inside, the door barely closed behind you before Leah’s hands were on your hips, turning you to face her. She looked down at you with that same mischievous glint in her eyes, her fingers already toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Alright then, let’s see what we’ve got here,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing.

You giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as Leah helped you out of your clothes, her touch slow and deliberate. She was taking her time, savoring every moment, and you could feel the intensity of her gaze as she watched your every reaction.

Finally, you were standing there in nothing but the lacy red set Leah had picked out, and the way she looked at you made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Leah stepped back for a moment, taking in the sight before her, and you could see the raw desire in her eyes.

“Turn around,” she instructed, her voice huskier than before.

You did as she asked, feeling Leah’s eyes on you as you slowly spun around. When you faced her again, she had already closed the distance between you, her hands reaching out to gently touch the lace along your hips.

“Jesus, you’re somethin’ else,” she murmured, her breath hot against your skin as she leaned in closer. “I’m never letting you take this off.”

Your heart raced at the intensity in her voice, and you couldn’t resist teasing her. “You’ll have to, eventually.”

Leah smirked, her hands sliding up your sides, her touch setting your skin on fire. “We’ll see about that.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “I’m buying this, and a few more. I’ve got plans for you, babe.”

You shivered at her words, feeling a thrill rush through you. “You’re spoiling me, you know that?”

Leah chuckled, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “And I’ll keep spoilin’ you every chance I get.”

With a final kiss to your shoulder, she reluctantly stepped back, letting you change out of the lingerie. You could see the reluctance in her eyes as you put your clothes back on, but there was also a promise there—a promise that tonight, when you were back home, she’d pick up right where she left off.

When you emerged from the fitting room, Leah was waiting with a satisfied grin, her hands already full of a few more sets she’d picked out while you were changing. She handed them to the sales associate without even glancing at the price tags, her focus entirely on you.

As you left the store, Leah’s arm draped casually around your shoulders, she leaned in to whisper in your ear. “Can’t wait to see you in all that… and then out of it.”

You laughed, playfully shoving her away. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

She grinned, unfazed. “Only when it comes to you, babe.”

The two of you continued your shopping spree, visiting a few more designer stores where Leah picked out everything from a stunning evening gown to a pair of sunglasses that she claimed made you look like a movie star. By the time you were done, you could barely carry all the bags, but Leah was right there beside you, more than happy to shoulder the load.

As you walked down the street together, the sun beginning to set behind the London skyline, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love for the woman beside you. Leah might be tough and commanding on the pitch, but when it came to you, she was the most loving, generous partner you could ever ask for.

And as the two of you made your way back to the car, Leah’s arm never leaving your shoulders, you knew that no matter where life took you, Leah would always be there, ready to spoil you with not just gifts, but with her endless devotion and love.

[flowerfreya]

Repercussions

The next part in the office AU

Masterlist

Content: Readers ex boyfriend tries to win her back( does not go well ) and then she discovers she has a crush on all four of them *gasp*

Pairing : poly!141 x reader

If have any thing you want to see from this group of people, please let me know. Lowkey running out of ideas lol

Price, Soap, and Ghost stand in front of the room where you were just taken. “She’s just trying to get attention”, he shifts his gaze to Price, “You know what I mean?”, he raises his eyebrows in a know what I mean motion. 

Price is not amused ,“No, I don't know what you mean”.

“Maybe you need to take a walk”, Soap says. He tries to guide him to entrance but your ex is  a glutton for punishment. 

“No,she a bitch, she used me as a gold digger”,he spits out, waving his arms and yelling and honestly embarrassing himself. 

“Mate, you need gold in order for that to happen”, Simon is trying to move him away from the door but he is very persistent. 

“You take another step it will be your last in this building” 

He slowly turns around, “You can’t do that, there's a process”, he smirks, thinking that he’s won. 

“Oh I know the process, we have been doing the process”, he lists all the things that your ex-boyfriend has been doing or in this case, not doing. 

Price has always had a problem with your ex boyfriend, they hired him on a whim and they needed a body. They had hoped that he would have no call , no show and they could help him but alas , he very very sadly persisted. He started fucking up almost four months ago, showing up late leaving early , taking long lunches. Price had finally found his in. He’s been putting in the work with Kyle to fire him, that when he brought you in for an interview. 

Price knew that men like him , took out his frustration on the women in his life because that's just the man he is. So he put a pause on it, you didn’t deserve that. When he got that call from Simon that you had called asking for help he knew that it was a sign.

~ 

Your ex is still moaning and bitching about you, then he says something that makes you not care. 

“Oh shut the fuck up” , you yell at him and walking out the backroom. He’s shocked that you responded, you're usually very passive in this , thinking it’s easy to agree then to argue. He starts stuttering, not used to this from you. 

“Uh -u -u -u” , you mock him. You get close to him so tired of just taking it. You’re so done with him. 

“Nothing to say?” , you ask him. He looks around like one of your guys are going to help but he finds none. 

“Can you do me favor and just fucking go?” ,you're so pissed that you let yourself get to this level, this sad sad place, where knowing that you need better, that you deserve better but just staying. Settling. 

He tries to change tactics with you, “Baby, please you know that I’m sorry, I messed up please forgive me”, he gets tears in the corner of his eyes. 

You scoff, “You know you caused this , you decided to leave me here and be a jerk when I asked you to pick me up”, you pause and wait for him to respond and he has nothing to say. 

“We are done, over, never getting back together, wrap your brain around that”. 

He tries to say something else but John cuts him off and leads( pushes) him toward the exit. 

Once he’s out the door, you kind of deflate when you no longer see him. Kye places his hand on your shoulder, “Alright?”, you want to go home and curl into a ball and drink dessert wine still your stomach hurts. 

“Can I go home?”, you don’t make eye contact with him even though you know that he is trying to connect with you. You can’t do life today and being with all of them today is going to be too much. You are single for the first time in a very long time and you have a crush on your boss ... .and coworker ... .and your other coworker… and your HR rep. How do you go from hating your only romantic partner to having a crush on four people? 

[chaoticwriting]

Fenton Crime Family 2

-Batcave-

The batmobile enters the cave with a resounding boom. When it stops, Nightwing, Batman, Robin and Red Robin jump out of the car with Batman going to the batcomputer to make a report. The rest go to change their suit when the elevator bell sounded. Out comes Alfred with a tray of tea and snacks.

Alfred: Returning early today, Master Bruce?

Bruce: *Grunts* Someone has already captured all the rogues before we reach them.

Red Robin: And Oracle can't find any footage of the person in question. All she got is blurry and fuzzy images and the next moment, the rogue has already been tied up. The only thing we know is that the rogues that got beaten up all are around The Bowery.

A revved of a motorcycle enters the Batcave and Red Hood enters with Black Bat and Spoiler following from behind. Red Hood gets off his bike and sits on one of the sofas while taking a plate of cookies from the tray.

Red Hood: I think I know the guy you are talking about.

Red Robin: You know?

Red Hood: Yeah. There is a new gang in The Bowery. They call themselves the Undead. Their MO is completely different from any other gang in Gotham.

Red Robin: So our guy is part of this gang?

Red Hood: Worse. The guy is possibly the leader of the gang.

Red Robin: What?

Red Hood: You say any video of the guy is corrupted in someway right?

Red Robin: Yeah. The image is blurry and the audio is unusable.

Red Hood: Yeah. That's the same thing that happens to all the spying devices I use on them. No recording devices can directly record the leader specifically but from what I know, the leader is supposed to be a child.

Batman: A child?

Red Hood: Yeah. And no. She will not get adopted by you. Apparently, she has a personal vendetta against rich people.

Nightwing: Welp. There goes my new sister.

Robin: I would appreciate it if father put more restraint on his adoption problem.

Batman: *Grunts*

Red Robin: What else do we know about the girl?

Red Hood: Not much actually. Most of the people around her are children around Damian's age so we can assume she is also around that age.

Red Robin: What about her gang?

Red Hood: Remember how I say their MO is completely different from anyone else? Yeah, that's because they don't seem to work like a gang.

Batman: Explain.

Red Hood: They don't partake in any illegal activity at all except for some sketchy gold selling that doesn't have any source. Even those golds are sold at a very high price because they are old gold. Apparently, the collectors are going crazy for them.

Red Robin: Then how do they obtain money?

Red Hood: Using their money as capital, they bought buildings and shops and made their gang members work there. Hell if not for the fact that I know it's a gang, I would have mistaken them as a company.

Red Robin: Anything else?

Red Hood: The leader also has a brother and an unknown sister. Both are older with only the brother ever showing up. White hair, green eyes and around Timmy's and Cass's height.

Black Bat: *Frown*

Spoiler: Wassup BB? Got any news?

Black Bat: I meet the brother.

Red Robin: What? Where?

Black Bat: On a rooftop. He says he is on the lookout for rogues.

Nightwing: You are not hurt right? He didn't attack you?

Black Bat: No. Not hostile.

Red Hood: I thought so. My underlings also say that The Undead is quite friendly. They wouldn't actively hunt other gangs unless provoked first.

Batman: Find out more about them. All of you go to bed. I will finish the report.

Red Hood: Well I guess that's my cue to go. See you never old man.

Red Hood then gets on his motorcycle and exits the cave. The others also move and return to the manor. The others realize that Cass is unusually absent minded the whole time they are going to bed. Cass is usually quiet but her eyes also show that she is not focusing on her surroundings.

She lays on her bed after showering thinking heavily on today's event. The guy that she meets on the rooftop seems so familiar to her. She just doesn't know who.

-The Bowery-

Ellie is not having a good day. First, Danny and Jazz are pressuring her to go to school at breakfast. She says she doesn't like school and their response is how can she not like it when she never experienced it herself. To that response, she has seen how Danny struggles with class and she is pretty sure he is not having fun.

Then there is that new gang that suddenly rises up. It's one thing to make a new gang. But then they have the audacity to send people to kidnap Danny. Sure, Danny is strong enough to raze Gotham to the ground if he wants to. But it's the principle that counts. She is going to punt their group to the ground for doing something like that.

And then there is this Arkham breakout. Why can't all these guys just stay in Arkham anyway? It's not like there is much for them to do outside. After she beats up Condiment King (Ellie swears she is going to kill this guy for covering her in mustard) and Professor Pyg, she gets the news that Danny has already beat up all the rogues near The Bowery.

On the bright side though, she met this cute guy named Damian. He has a little temper but not something she hasn't dealt with before. She is apparently some rich guy's son but she really can't see the similarities in their mannerism from what she sees in this Brucie Wayne guy. After talking for a bit they promised to go out on a date at a zoo. His dad sponsors it and apparently there is a new animal in the exhibition.

After all things are settled she goes back home to have dinner with her family. After teasing Danny a little bit about his date, she goes to bed excited for the date.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Just wanted to say I LOVE your work! Especially with the inclusion of a black reader/character 😭🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

This is a personal lil thought of mine, BUT

John Price wouldn’t say he was dating a black woman, but there would be signs. Even though his style would be fine beforehand, He’d be dressing nicer, his hair and beard would always be well groomed and overall put together.

I think Gaz would be the first to peep something different from his Captain cuz he recognizes the work of his own people lol

And you're right because suddenly this man's beard is lined up too nicely and that damn hat is gone. Check it below the cut love.

Rating: gen audience

It all started a few months ago with a simple, "Hey Captain?" Johnny says, "Nice cologne, the hens in the media bay can't stop talking about it."

Price only shrugged, not really paying attention, "Just trying something new."

Kyle agrees, it's new, and he thinks it fits his Captain nicely.

Then, things escalate from that one-off comment.

Kyle is perplexed. Confused. Genuinely thrown for a loop because why is his Captain sporting a tapered fade that connects tastefully to his beard? With the side burns fading into the connect?

Kyle just shruggs it off as someone at his boss' super cuts trying and talking him into something new.

Only the new hair style stays and there are plenty of women and men staring at him with lust filled eyes.

The next thing Kyle noticed was the glittering shine of a simple gold chain around John's neck. It's thin, and within regulations, the clasps are too small for his co's large hands to actually put on. Kyle peeps the little gold cross that's just dangling there when he leans over the desk to point out things in their mission dockets. Hm when did he find religion? It's not really his business.

Okay what the actual fuck? Kyle is wondering where John heard the phrase "Do I look like Boo Boo the fool" to be able to understand that he needs to not answer that question with anything other than "no ma'am". They are working with another task force that's headed by an older black woman who's a force to be reckoned with. But that's beside the point because, since when did he learn that and whom did he learn it from?

John Price isn't one to actually keep up with eating lunch at work. Kyle remembers having to drag and threaten and get Simon and Soap to help him get their leader to at least try and eat lunch and not work through it. Nowadays? This man brings in lunch, and it's not what you expect. What Kyle is expecting, well...he's not really sure what he is expecting, but seeing this man eat a fried plantain sends him.

It all comes to a head when the four of them are leaving a debrief. They are shipping out at the start of next week. Set to be gone for like maybe a few months. Johnny is begging asking for them all to go out for lunch and Price only raises an eyebrow.

"Can't today Soap." Price says as they exit the office building. His eyes scan the parking lot, and a smile breaks onto his face at the sight of a shiny black car. "I've got plans."

Now Kyle knows how to put two and two together to get four. He's had his suspicions, but the reality of John Price even dating never crosses his mind. He really thought it was just the effects of him and Soap teasing him for being an out of touch old man. But no...he crosses the parking lot and opens the car door to help out a gorgeous brown beauty. There's no telling how old she could be because Kyle knows black doesn't crack (he's often called baby face...its why he refuses to shave off the little facial hair he has). Johnny is shocked and Simon just grunts out a small "huh?" as they watch their captain help his girl into the passenger side of the car.

"In hindsight." Kyle smiles and says as they watch the car pull off, "That new cologne he started wearing months ago should have let us know far before the tapered fade."

[gothghostiie]

more musk kink with price or soap im on my knees

why not both??

cw: musk kink/huffing, degrading, fingering, oral, creampie, risky place, gn!reader, another one that turned out longer than I meant it to

price is always a lil musky, no matter how much he showers, what cologne or deodorant he uses, he just is. soap much less, unless its after a mission or after training and he didn't get to shower yet - like today. you're training with soap, price just happens to watch. he's really pushing you, it's been a gold 1 ½ hours already, you're both sweaty and exhausted but naturally soap refuses to give in; instead set on making you tap out.

with that in mind he puts you in a nasty headlock, face pressed right into his armpit. your eyes widen, struggling as you try to hold your breath and push him away, but he's laughing in your face. "tap out and I'll let ya go." he says simply; unfortunately you're as stubborn as he is. price is watching with a chuckle; just as he's about to give soap a little nudge to let you go he's stopped by you - or more like the noise you make when you stop holding your breath. it's a high pitched, far too pleased moan, paired with your eyebrows furrowing and you pressing your thighs together. the two of them exchange knowing looks. "oh? y'like that? fucking nasty slut.." soap laughs, meanwhile price goes to pull your pants down, revealing how fucking horny you are - the gym is empty right now, so might as well make use of it.

your eyes widen and you blush, shaking your head as you panic a little at being exposed; but all it does is make you huff soaps scent more. your eyes roll back, hole clenching around nothing, making price laugh. "look at you.. eager aren't you?" before you can give a muffled answer he already pushes 2 fingers into your hole, stretching you open for what he knows is gonna come. fingering your poor hole, playing with your cock/clit - you can't help it, can't hold back. they already realised you're enjoying yourself far too much, so might as well properly enjoy yourself, right?

you start inhaling the scent deeply, one hand clinging to soaps shirt while the other one holds onto his tense biceps. your eyes are rolled back, your face flushed fully red as you get lost in the sensations, allowing soap to force your face deeper as his boner grows in his sweatpants. meanwhile price is still fingering your hole open, gruff voice throwing little praises at you to keep going, bury your pretty face in there good. only when you cum the both stop, but it's far from over. soap releases you, pushing you into prices arms who smiles at you, patting your red cheek gently - just to carry and throw you in position like a ragdoll.

he carries you to one of the little benches, sitting down on it and forcing you on all 4s. you watch him pull his pants down, not even realising that Johnny is kneeling behind you - only when he pushes inside you the realisation hits. lucky for your fogged up little brain price makes sure you can't think too hard, grabbing your head and forcing it between his thick thighs, making you huff his cock n balls while soap fucks you silly from behind, slapping your ass and degrading you for liking something this nasty.

you moan and grunt against prices skin, hairs tickling your face as you bury yourself deeper and deeper on him, licking and sucking at his thick cock while he keeps pushing your head closer. you get close to cumming far too soon, pulling away to speak to them - what a dumb little mistake honey. price scoffs, grabbing the back of your head and forcing it almost painfully to his crotch - catching you in a headlock as he swings his leg over your neck, making you unable to escape him while soap fucks you silly, cumming into your poor hole.

[chlix]

to do what i can do

pairing: seungmin x f!reader

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6.1k

warnings: insecurity, light angst, exactly three (3) uses of "y/n"

synopsis: after a conversation with hyunjin's girlfriend, you grow worried that you aren't putting enough work and attention into your relationship. seungmin dissuades you of this idea immediately.

a/n: literally never done this before so sorry if this formatting isn't standard. also ignore any spelling errors pls <3

Seungmin kisses you goodbye every morning. It’s like clockwork: he puts on his shoes, pours his coffee in a mug, kisses you goodbye, and is out the door. Both of you are routine-oriented people. You like schedules and organized silverware drawers. Ever since you first got together, Seungmin has been kissing you goodbye whenever you part ways, and nearly a year later that hasn’t changed. It’s sweet that he always remembers, and the fact that it’s practiced doesn’t make it feel any less sincere.

This morning is more of the same. You get up before him, as always, and put the coffee on. You check your emails while your breakfast cooks. Seungmin emerges just as the food is done (too late to actually eat it, as always) and goes to get his coat and shoes from the door. He loops back around to put his coffee in the cup you washed the previous night and leans down to where you’re sitting at the table to kiss you lightly on the lips. It’s so rote as to be unnotable, but it makes you smile anyway, your day instantly brighter.

“I love you,” you call after him, as you always do, and Seungmin waves as he leaves, throwing a “Be safe!” over his shoulder.  And then the door closes, and you’re alone.

In a few minutes, you’ll go to work at your office job. Later, you’ll come home and make dinner. At some point in the day, Seungmin will text you to let you know if he’ll be coming home or not, so that you’ll know if you need to make one portion or two. You normally make two anyway, and just leave the second wrapped up in the fridge. If worst comes to worst, you don’t mind eating the leftovers. It’s far more horrible in your mind to not have food ready for him when he is home. It’s not that Seungmin expects food from you. He’s expressed multiple times that he can buy food on his way home. But you like cooking for him, and lately you don’t get much chance because he’s so busy. You want things to be perfect when he’s home because the time you get together is precious. You’re not obsessive about it, or anything. You’re not “playing housewife” as your friends sometimes say. It’s not a crime to want to take care of your boyfriend.

Right now is a bit of a hectic period, and you haven’t seen him much for a while. You were surprised he even had the time to come home the previous night, although of course you were grateful. When he does come home, he gives you his undivided attention, like you’re the only person on earth. It makes the wait worth it. And he kisses you goodbye every morning because he loves you, and you can feel it on your lips all day, and it assuages the loneliness you might otherwise feel.

Today you have lunch with Ahrin, Hyunjin’s girlfriend. You have good relationships with the partners of all the boys, but you’re a bit closer to Ahrin, maybe because you two are so similar. Ahrin is quieter than the other women, and is more content to observe rather than participate. She’s witty and sharp-tongued, but still kind, and has a gentleness to her that makes her easy to open up to. She calls you up and complains she hasn’t seen you in a while and asks to have a meal with you that afternoon. You haven’t been feeling work very much, and you do miss her, so you agree to take a late lunch and meet her a cafe near your office.

Ahrin is radiant as always, and you make small talk about your families before devolving into complaining about mundanities: annoyances at work and the price of fruit at the supermarket. As you’re speaking, you notice Ahrin is wearing a dainty gold necklace that you don’t recognize, and cut yourself off to ask about it.

“Oh, this? It’s Cartier. Hyunjin bought it for me,” she says, bringing a hand up to touch the small pendant like she’d forgotten she was wearing it. “He’s on this kick about couple’s jewelry.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, and you mean it. It suits Ahrin’s softness and sophistication. He may have bought it because it was Cartier, but he clearly put some thought into it besides the designer label.

“Thank you,” she says, genuinely pleased. “I try to wear something he bought me whenever I go visit him.”

“Are you going to see him today?”

“I just come from there, actually. He took my credit card in his wallet, so I had to go get it back.”

“Oldest trick in the book,” you say.

Ahrin rolls her eyes. “I know. But it’ll work every time. I can’t help that I need it to go about my day.”

She doesn’t sound the least bit bothered. Ahrin and Hyunjin have been together for two years, and it’s a trick he’s pulled ever since they started living together, the “accidentally taking one of Ahrin’s things to work.” You’ve asked her before why she doesn’t confront him about it, but she says that she thinks it’s cute how he keeps coming up with excuses to see her, and anyway, she also likes having excuses to see him.

You also think it’s cute, if in a more wistful way. Seungmin is organized to a T, and he’s never needed you to bring him something he’s forgotten or vice versa. In fact, you can’t remember if you’ve ever visited him at work at all. You don’t think it’s that strange, though. It’s not like he’s made a habit of showing up to your workplace. Also, you likely wouldn’t have the time even if he’d offered. It does dampen your mood a bit though, especially as Seungmin texts you in the middle of your conversation that he in fact, would not be coming home today, meaning you would have to eat dinner alone tonight.

Ahrin notices the dip in your mood as you set your phone back on the table.

“Bad news?” she asks.

You swipe the notification away.

“It’s nothing. Seungmin just texting me about how busy they are.”

Ahrin hums in understanding. “Well, what can you do. At least it’s not as crazy as it was a few months ago.”

“Isn’t it?” You’ve been seeing less of Seungmin than you had in ages, and you’d assumed it was because their schedules had been bordering on unbearable lately. But Ahrin looks confused at your question.

“I don’t think so. Busier than last month, yeah. But they’re not filming anything right now, so the schedule isn’t as rigid. Seungmin hasn’t talked to you about this?”

You feel embarrassed, somehow. “He doesn’t talk about work much when he’s with me. He likes to keep it separate.”

“That makes sense. You should ask him to share his schedule with you, though. What if you need him and you don’t know where he is, or when he’ll answer?”

“I know where he’s at, generally. He tells me if he’s traveling. I just don’t know the minutiae.”

“You’re allowed to know. You should, for your own peace of mind.”

It’s not that it hadn’t occurred to you to ask. Seungmin told you his whereabouts if you questioned him, and he even volunteered information every once in a while, so you hadn’t thought much of it. And you didn’t suspect him of cheating on you ever in a million years. You knew he had other hobbies and friends as well- a whole life outside you that you weren’t privy to and didn’t need to be. But was it possible you were being a bit too aloof about your boyfriends daily habits? Why didn’t he share what he was doing, if he wasn’t at work? Why didn’t you know?

“I’ll ask him,” you say. “You’re right.”

Ahrin smiles encouragingly, and the topic is dropped for other matters. The odd feeling in your stomach doesn’t settle, though, and by the time you’ve finished your day and sat down to eat dinner, you realize you’ve unfortunately lost your appetite.

Seungmin calls you the next day to say he’ll be staying at the dorm for several days, and you tell him okay, thanks for telling me, I love you, goodbye. After you hang up the phone, you berate yourself for not asking more questions. You’re his girlfriend. You should be care that he’s leaving you alone for days at a time, you think as you drive to work. Maybe he’d been waiting for you to ask what he’d be doing or pester him for spoilers about the group’s upcoming plans. Maybe he wanted you to pout and whine about missing him and beg him to come home. You’d never done any of those things before, but maybe you should be. Maybe he’d called you hoping you would do those things and had hung up the phone disappointed.

The central problem of dating an idol is always a scarcity of time. They’re always busy, and because they’re always busy, you as a partner need to have a life outside them that is full and fulfilling, and sometimes those two schedules conflict. You can go long stretches without spending meaningful time together, and it’s hard to cope with, especially when they’re within driving distance of you, but still inaccessible. You know, though, that a scarcity of time does not always mean a scarcity of attention. You’ve seen it in Ahrin and Hyunjin, in the Cartier necklace and the missing credit card, that Hyunjin thinks about Ahrin all the time, and Ahrin knows that he does, is thinking of him just as much if not more. She can languish in the thought that even if Hyunjin is not with her, he desperately wishes he was, and when she wears his necklaces and bracelets and $500 hair clips, Hyunjin knows she is also desperately thinking about him.

You and Seungmin don’t have a system like that. Seungmin isn’t in the habit of buying you expensive gifts, for starters. He’s frugal with his money, hyperaware that one day his youth and fame will fade, and he won’t have such extravagant income. You’re similarly pragmatic, and you’ve never resented him for this. And that’s not to say he never spends money on you. He buys you flowers and takes you on expensive dates. He bought you a new laptop and headphones without you saying anything, and your closet is full of fancy dresses that are each tied to a high class outing you’ve been on. For each one, he’d bought himself a shirt and jacket to match. But those aren’t things you wear every day to show off. They’re for special occasions, specific memories. There’s nothing you wear or carry daily that marks you as ‘his.’

And honestly, you’ve never really thought about yourself that way. You and Seungmin are together, and you live together (by whatever measure your living arrangements currently count as), but you’ve never longed to be “branded” in a way befitting a pair of earrings or an oversized sweater. You wear his clothes at home, but never out. You don’t feel the need to show up to his practices and recording sessions. You’ve never even asked if you were allowed. If Seungmin bought you a Cartier necklace, you aren’t totally sure you would wear it.

It hits you like a freight train when you put it all together: You don’t care enough about Seungmin. You’re comfortable with him, you feel like you love him, but you don’t care about him the way you’re supposed to care about him. You’re not involved enough. But then, the same goes for him too, doesn’t it? He knows what you do for work, but he rarely asks you about anything other than a cursory how was your day? He doesn’t pester you for anything, doesn’t ask you to visit him or stay up for him when he comes home late. Aren’t those things that he should expect from you as a girlfriend? Why doesn’t he care that you’re so obviously neglecting him? When he kisses you goodbye in the morning, is that because he misses you, or is that just a habit formed over these past months, a meaningless part of the morning ritual he couldn’t resist if he tried?

You feel caught in a lurch, unsure what to do now. Seungmin deserves better than you, clearly. He deserves a girlfriend who actually gives a fuck about his life. But maybe, if you start making up for it now, he’ll forgive the past few months of you being so terrible. He’ll realize that you are an attentive girlfriend, and that you do care about him and that you love him, and you can prove it, you swear, it took you a while to realize what was wrong but you’ve got it all straightened out now. 

You can change. You can fix this. You know you can.

-/-

The next time Seungmin comes home, you wake up first the next morning, like always. You go to put the coffee on, and you make breakfast, and you check your emails. Seungmin comes out, walks past you to his shoes and coat, and doubles back to get his morning coffee.

“Busy day today?” you ask.

Seungmin freezes in his movements, caught off guard by your question. He recovers quickly enough, and answers. “Not particularly. Vocal practice, some other things.”

“Oh, good. Do you think you’ll be home today then?”

Seungmin turns to face you, his cup abandoned on the counter, unfilled. “Is everything alright?”

“What?”

“Is something wrong? Do we need to talk?”

Oh god, it’s worse than you thought. Asking if he’s going to be home to eat dinner is enough for him to think something is amiss. Have you truly never asked him that before?

“Everything’s fine. It would just be nice to eat dinner with you, is all.”

Seungmin relaxes. He leans down to kiss you, but it lingers longer than normal, as if he’s savoring the touch, your attention. “I’ll do my best,” he promises. “I love you. Have a nice day.”

You absolutely blossom under his affection, the verbosity atypical for so early in the morning.

“I love you too. Be safe.”

“I always am,” he says, and presses another peck to your lips before pulling away. He finishes pouring his coffee, grabs his coat, and waves as he leaves. You sit at the table, vibrating with satisfaction. You’re doing it, you’re giving him what he needs. Maybe all hope isn’t lost for you two just yet.

Your sky-high mood follows you to work, and the day keeps getting better with the discovery of cupcakes in the break room. One of your coworkers’ kids just had a birthday, and they had way too much food left over. You take one back to your desk to nibble on while you work, and even the mundanity of your daily tasks can’t bring you down from how well this day is turning out. Around midmorning, it occurs to you that this is the perfect opportunity to do something else nice for Seungmin by bringing him cupcakes. They’re not filming, which means they’re not on diets, so he can handle a bit of sugar and frosting, especially if it’s a gift from you. You borrow a container from the staff kitchen to carry some cupcakes and decide to defer your own lunch to deliver them across the city.

When you get to the JYPE building, though, you realize you have no idea what to do. You’re fairly sure you’re allowed access; the other girlfriends pop in and out all the time. But it’s possible no one here recognizes you, since this is the first time you’ve shown your face around here.

Being spontaneous is cute and quirky, but standing around lost and embarrassed grows tiring within seconds. You give up and decide to text Seungmin.

Are you busy?, you send, standing awkwardly by the door and hoping security doesn’t throw you out. Thankfully, he responds quickly.

Not super. Do you need to call?

Actually I’m in the lobby of your building. Can you come down?

Typing, and then a pause. Then more typing. Eventually the message comes through.

Ok.

You can’t decode that at all. It strikes you for the first time that you may be bothering him by driving over here. You did ask if he was busy, though. And it stood to reason that if you had time for a 5-minute phone call, he had time to come downstairs and accept the gift you’d brought him. It isn’t intrusive. This is what people do for each other when they care about each other.

It only takes a few minutes for Seungmin to round the corner into the lobby. His face is creased in concern, even worse than he’d looked this morning, and he’s walking at a brisk pace to stand right in front of you.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

You don’t know how to respond to his intensity, so you just hold out the container towards him. “I brought you cupcakes.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows furrow in utter confusion. “You…made cupcakes?”

“I didn’t make them. A coworker brought them in. But I remember you saying you liked cupcakes, and I had a free minute, so I thought I’d bring them over before they got finished.”

Seungmin accepts the box gingerly, as though it contains a nest of wild hornets, or lit sticks of dynamite. “You drove all the way over here to give this to me?”

Your doubts go from an inkling to a full-on tumult. “Yes, I did. I was just thinking of you…I thought you might like something sweet.”

You don’t mean to look dismayed, but Seungmin must clue-in to the fact that this isn’t the reaction you were hoping for. He shifts the box to one hand and laces your fingers together with his other.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” he says. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to bring me things.”

“It’s not out of my way. I had time.”

“Let me rephrase. You shouldn’t expend your lunch hour to bring me food. When are you going to eat now?”

“I’ll stay an extra half hour. It’s fine.”

Seungmin clearly isn’t satisfied with this. He tugs lightly on your arm, bidding you to follow, and you do, unsure of what else to do.

He takes you up a floor, and down a hallway to what seems to be a regular employee break room, where he gestures for you to sit down at one of the tables. You do, and he walks over to the fridge to get bottled water and brings back one for you, along with napkins and a knife from the drawer next to the fridge.

“If you aren’t going to eat lunch, you might as well share your spoils with me,” Seungmin says. He opens the container and takes out one of the cupcakes (and they are huge, to be honest, you kind of can’t believe they’re from a kid’s birthday party) and cuts it in half.

“Pick a side,” he says, and you do, and he carefully picks it up and lays it on a paper towel before sliding it towards you. He takes the other half, and you pick your desserts apart with your fingers. Seungmin tells an anecdote about Jeongin from their vocal lesson that morning. It’s…nice. You’re just spending time with your boyfriend, a quick stolen minute in the midst of your busy lives. The frosting is sickeningly sweet, and you find yourself reaching for the bottle of water without even thinking of it, and only later preen at the realization that Seungmin knew you would need to wash the artificial taste out and had brought you water preemptively. He knows you well enough to identify if something would suit your palette with only a glance.

Both of you don’t have much time to spare, so after fifteen minutes you wipe off your hands and clean off the table.

“I’ll bring the rest of these back upstairs,” he says. “They won’t last ten minutes once the others see them.”

“That’s fine. That’s what I was hoping for, actually.”

“And here I thought you brought these only for me,” he says, but his lips are curled up, teasing. He kisses you goodbye, like always, lips sugary-sweet and soft as cotton-candy. “Thank you for stopping by. I’ll see you tonight.”

Your heart grows three sizes. You’re on cloud nine. “Anytime,” you say.

That night you try very hard not to be an absolute freak about dinner. You cook nearly every day, so the cooking itself isn’t that special, but for some reason your usual rotation doesn’t feel good enough. Seungmin is coming home for the second day in a row, and you don’t want to reuse ingredients, or phone it in when you’d specifically asked him to come home. At the same time, a five-course meal is definitely doing way too much. You stop by the store on the way home and scan the shelves, before wrestling yourself into a compromise and getting ingredients for a meal you both enjoy, but you’re normally too lazy to bother after a long day at work. It’s nothing fancy, just time-consuming, but you’re in such high spirits that the labor doesn’t even feel harrowing.

Seungmin gets home a few minutes before you’re properly done, with the pot on the stove ticking down steadily as you wash dishes and spoons. Seungmin greets you as he walks in but vanishes quickly down the hall to shower and change into inside clothes. By the time he reappears, you’re all but done, and you’ve never been more satisfied with yourself as you dish the food into two bowls and set them on the table. Sure, maybe it’s “playing housewife” a little bit, but you don’t even care. If playing housewife is this rewarding, you might have to start doing it more often.

Seungmin raises his eyes as the dinner you prepared.

“Didn’t you complain that this is hard to make?” he asks. You shrug.

“Felt like cooking today,” is all you say. “No biggie.”

Seungmin sits down at the table, pushes his plate to the side, and looks directly at you. “Y/n. What’s going on?”

Anxiety shoots through you. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I’m not oblivious. You’ve been acting off all day.”

“Off?”

“Visiting me at the company? Cooking this fancy dinner? It’s not like you at all.”

“That’s not me being ‘off.’ I just missed you, that’s all.”

“Have I not been paying enough attention to you? Is that why?”

“No! I mean, you have. There is no ‘why’. Am I not allowed to miss my boyfriend?”

Seungmin looks distinctly unimpressed. “Nice try. Wanna go again?”

All your good humor from earlier is dissolving into your soup. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not mocking you.”

“I was trying to do something nice for you. I just wanted to spend time with you today. Is that so wrong?”

“It’s not wrong. It’s just unusual for you. When you told me you showed up at the company, I thought something horrible had happened, because you never visited me before.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“What doesn’t?”

“That I never visit.”

“Why would that bother me?”

All your anxieties are simmering near the top, threatening to boil over. “Because the other members’ girlfriends visit all the time. I know they do. They have security clearance and everything. But I never do. I don’t even know where you are most days if I wanted to visit you.”

Seungmin frowns. “You’re busy. You have a job you’re at all day, same as me. Some of the other members’ girlfriends work less or have other things going on.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” you mutter. “Maybe I have too much going on.”

Seungmin looks hesitant at this. “If you feel you need to cut back, I’ll support you.”

“Is that what you want? Do you think I should work less?”

“No, I don’t. That’s not my decision anyway.”

“But I just…” You’re cracking, you know you are, you can hear it in your voice- “I just want to be there for you more. I want to be attentive.”

“You are attentive. You’re there for me all the time.”

“I’m not!” It bursts out of you more violently than even you expected. Seungmin is taken aback, eyes widening as you finally break. “I’m so aloof towards you, it’s awful. I never know where you are, or what you’re doing. I never ask you to come home to me. I don’t stay up for you. I don’t visit you. Other girlfriends have bracelets or necklaces they wear for their boyfriends, and I don’t do any of that. No one would even know we were dating, based on how we are now.” You suck in a breath, reminding yourself to stay calm. “I just don’t even know what you get out of being with me. I don’t do anything I’m supposed to do, and you keep letting me get away with it. And I thought if I changed, and I started trying harder, maybe I could fix it before you realize that I don’t deserve you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, humiliation and sadness making you feel dizzy and hot. Now that you’ve said it all out, it sounds ridiculous. It’s not as if you could fix a behavioral pattern with one good day. If your relationship really is rotten through, all you’ve done is draw attention to the problem and made it even worse. Contrasted with how you acted today, the past eleven months must seem downright hollow.

Seungmin sighs. “Y/n, look at me, please.”

You open your eyes and are horrified to see Seungmin looking absolutely mournful where he sits across the table. He looks so aggrieved, so weighed down, and a horrible rock forms in the pit of your stomach.

“First of all,” he says. “I don’t ever want to hear you say again that you don’t deserve me. It’s not true, and I won’t have you putting yourself down like that. You don’t decide what I deserve, I do. And I’ve decided you’re exactly what I want.”

You blink, confused at the turn of events. It’s a very Seungmin thing to say, yes, but in this situation, you didn’t expect him to double down on it so earnestly.

“Second of all, you’re not aloof towards me. I know you love me, and you care for me in your own ways. I also know you have a life outside of me that keeps you busy. I’m grateful for that. I would feel horrible if you spent a significant amount of your day just waiting around for me when we both know I can’t always be there.”

“That’s different,” you can’t help but interject. “You’re an idol. You can’t help that you’re busy.”

“You can’t help being busy either. Being an idol isn’t any more important than any other job. You have responsibilities too.”

You deflate, sagging in your chair. He takes this as license to continue.

“Third, I didn’t think you were the type to wear jewelry every day. If you want me to get you something, I can do that. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured to wear something just because I bought it and it was expensive. Someday, if we get married, you’ll wear my ring, and that’ll be enough for me.”

He’s right. You don’t usually wear jewelry every day, and you would feel bad about not wearing something he’d specifically bought you as a gift. You’re starting to feel more and more foolish as this conversation continues.

Thankfully, his itemized list ends there, and he leans forward, dark eyes fixed on yours. He doesn’t look angry, or upset, just focused. Leave it to Seungmin to mind-map his way through a relationship crisis.

“Can you tell me what brought this on? It’s unlike you to be insecure. If I’ve done something to make you think you’re not good enough for me, I’d like to know so that I can change my behavior.”

You let out a long breath, giving up the fight in the face of Seungmin’s rationality.

“I had lunch with Ahrin the other day. I was complaining about how you’re so busy these days, I rarely see you. Ahrin said you guys actually haven’t been that busy. It made me realize I don’t actually know your schedule, like what you do all day, much less outside of work. And I also realized part of the reason I haven’t seen you much is because I never ask to see you. You have no reason to spend time with me when it seems like I don’t even want you around.” Your voice trails off as you continue, shame sticking the words in your throat.

Seungmin hums, thinking. He lifts his hand up and stretches it toward you, your sign to extend your own hand so he can lace your fingers together. You oblige, and the contact settles you a bit.

“I have never thought for one second that you didn’t want me around. I don’t take offense to you not knowing my schedule either. I know I don’t talk about work much. It might be a flaw of mine.”

“Hyunjin is always playing these little games with Ahrin to get her to come see him. But I’ve always felt that you’d prefer I stay away when you’re working.”

Seungmin hesitates again. “That might be right. That’s not because I don’t love spending time with you, though. It’s the opposite.”

“I…don’t follow.”

“Whatever you believe, the other members’ partners don’t really come around all that much, but when they do come around, it’s not really a big event. They’re just spectators. Like when Ahrin visits us at practice, it’s easy for Hyunjin to pretend she’s not there and keep working. I couldn’t do that. If you were in the room with me, I don’t think I could be as focused as I normally am. I’d be distracted because all my attention would be on you and how you’re doing. That’s why I’ve never encouraged you to visit.”

A small hysterical part of you wants to twist his words somehow, to start a fight about him calling you a ‘distraction’ and all it implies, but you know what he meant. It’s a fairly big admission he’s given, that he couldn’t keep control of himself if you were in his eyeline. It’s…unexpectedly flattering.

“I fluster you that badly?” you ask, half-teasing, half-curious. But Seungmin answers you dead serious.

“Embarrassingly so. When I went back upstairs with the cupcakes, Minho-hyung didn’t give me a second to breathe before commenting on it.”

You find yourself grinning. “Really?”

“Don’t laugh at me. It’s unkind.”

“I’m not laughing,” you say, even though you definitely are. Seungmin rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat or embarrassment in them.

“You could at least be sorry about it.”

“I’m very sorry that I got you bullied by your bandmates,” you say dutifully. “I promise I will do my best not to place you in such a compromising position again.”

“You can visit me if you want,” Seungmin rebuffs. “I can take a little teasing if you really want to see me. My point is just that you shouldn’t feel like you have to because the other girlfriends do.”

“Okay.” You nod, then venture out into the part of the conversation you’ve been avoiding. “If that’s all true, why do you stay away so often? It’s okay if you just have other things to do, but why do you let me think you’re at work if you aren’t?”

You aren’t sure what he’s going to say to this. You believe in his loyalty, always, and you don’t think he truly intended to lie to you, but you still can’t figure out who’s to blame here, and how this miscommunication has persisted between you for so long.

To your surprise, Seungmin’s ears flare red. His grip tightens on your hand, like he’s fighting himself, but you can tell he answers you honestly when he says,

“I was worried I was imposing on you.”

You blink. “Imposing?”

Seungmin is no longer meeting your eyes, his gaze lowered to the table. “Like I said, I don’t want you to constantly be waiting around for me. I don’t want you to get used to having me around, and then when I go on tour, or get busy with activities, you feel my absence stronger. Then, when I come back, I become an inconvenience as you try to fit me into your life again. It’s hard, and it’s unfair. I thought it would be easier to try to keep the same level of involvement all the time, so that you didn’t miss me too badly when I was gone, and I didn’t annoy you too much when I came back.”

You hardly let him finish his sentence before you say, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You keep your attention from me so that I won’t miss you later? How does that make any sense? I miss you regardless. That’s the point of being in a relationship.”

Seungmin winces, and you decide to dial back your indignance. He’d spoken to you evenly, and you could do the same for him.

“Sorry. I just meant that you shouldn’t keep yourself away from me in an effort to spare my feelings. I know what I signed up for when we started dating. I know some times will be easier than others. I appreciate your efforts to mitigate that, but this isn’t the way. You being gone so often is all the more reason to be overt and intense when we do have time together. It’s fine to not want to spend all your free time with me, but don’t ever think wanting to be around me is imposing, or hurting me in some way, because it’s not.”

Seungmin looks properly chastised. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll be around more.”

“And I’ll ask for you more. We both need to stop holding ourselves and each other back.” You let out a little laugh. “We’re acting like it’s embarrassing to be in love or something.”

“Hyunjin said the same thing to me once.”

“Hyunjin is smart in exactly one area,” you acquiesce. “Ahrin is a lucky girl.”

“Comparison is the thief of joy,” Seungmin mutters. You lean forward over your cold dinner and press a kiss to Seungmin’s cheek.

“I didn’t say she was luckier than me.”

You both grin.

-/-

Next week, Monday. You wake up at your usual time, put on coffee, make breakfast. You clear your entire inbox because fuck the sales department, they can say whatever they need to say in the meeting this afternoon. You set your phone down and enjoy the warmth of the tea you brewed and watch the sun come up outside your living room window.

Seungmin gets up, gets his shoes and coat, and doubles back around.

“Good morning,” you say.

“Good morning.”

“Busy day?”

“Nope. I’m free after lunch.”

“Lucky. I have an awful meeting from two to four.”

“You’ll do fine,” Seungmin says. “Sales isn’t the boss of you.”

“They actually are,” you groan, and Seungmin laughs at your dismay. He kisses you goodbye, tells you to be safe. You tell him you love him. The front door opens and closes.

At around 1pm, your phone buzzes with a text.

Are you busy?

Eh. Why?

I’m in your lobby.

No way.

You grab your security pass and head towards the elevators, watching every floor tick down until it lets you out on the ground floor. Seungmin is sitting in a chair in reception, holding a white cardboard box. When he sees you approach him, he grins and holds it up.

“Got time for cupcakes?”

Your smile is so wide it’s splitting your face in half. “Follow me. The break room is on the fourth floor.”

-/-

“I didn’t even know you knew what building I work in.”

“I looked it up on NAVER.”

“Of course you did.”

“Why reinvent the wheel when someone invented the iPhone, y/n.”

[cod-fishing]

Thinking about Price being possessive over his boys. Not romantically or sexually (he likes to tell himself), but any time Soap starts chatting about some bear he met in a bar during leave, or Gaz mentions a girl who gave him her number, he can feel himself bristle. He tries to bury it, but it only gets worse after Las Almas, their bonds forged in far too much blood, and he struggles to bite down discouragement for any connection outside their little family.

When soap and ghost finally get together, he can’t figure out which of them he wants to throttle, but the sensation is intense nonetheless. Enough that he can’t stop himself from ordering them to his office and dressing them down so meticulously his old drill Sargent would be proud. They both look defiant. At perfect attention, military perfect in their stance, but fire in both of their eyes. It’s only when Soap, jaw clenched, demands if Price is going to transfer them that the Captain falters.

He sits heavy into his chair, and orders his boys at ease.

“I could never let go of either of you,” he finds himself gritting out through cigar smoke and choking emotions, far too unfiltered, “I just don’t want you boys to get hurt.”

He sees them soften, understanding. Not expecting a real answer, Price asks them their intentions with one another. He doesn’t want either of them to hurt the other, and while he knows they both have hearts of gold, they’ve got a lot of thorns as well. But they talk, and Soap is his usual genuine self and Ghost- Simon, really - is more honest and open than Price has seen him be ever, so…

He says okay. But keep me updated, he says. The good and the bad. They nod, and he assumes he’ll have to pry information out of them, and they move on.

Miraculously, they do keep him updated. Soap comes knocking one day, and Price asks about those reports he sent him off with and Soap says, aye, captain, got those for you, but ah…can I tell you something sweet Ghost did for me today? He’s bursting with joy when Price looks at him properly, and how can he say no to that?

Ghost, too, comes in one day, and asks to speak with the captain. Need some advice, sir. Johnny wants to take me home to his family for the holidays and I’m feeling real conflicted, he says. And they talk it out, fingers playing with the rims of their whiskey glasses. Price gets this feeling in his chest, likes he wants to reach out and trace his fingers somewhere else, but he ignores it.

It keeps happening that way, Price getting deeper and deeper in their relationship. He knows everything about the two together - almost everything. Ghost is on a solo mission one day and soap is moping, and so price pulls him into his office with the intention of getting him plastered and making him go to bed.

Instead, Johnny gets talkative. He should have known.

“God, Price, you wouldn’t believe the things he can do with his mouth. His fingers, too, lord knows where he learned it, but it’s like he took a fucking class on making me cum just from the teasing alone.”

“You’ve heard his voice captain, I mean no wonder I was creaming my pants to be with him so bad, and boy was I right. Downright evil how good it sounds during and early morning shag.”

And, even worse than all that, somehow…

“Well you know me, I like to be the best. So I told him we should start training my throat, so I can actually take his monster cock, the bastard. Did pass out the first time but we’ve been taking it slowly but surely ever since.”

And Price just…he should shut him up, but instead, he just takes it. Just lets the lad ramble about his love, like some lass back at home pinning for her deployed soldier. He hates it, he hates it, he tells himself. But he takes it for Johnny, and for Simon, and for the trust they have put in him.

And when he fists his cock in his quarters later that night, aching from being hard for so long, he can’t help but picture all those filthy things Soap told him.

Maybe, all this time, he was just jealous.