#i need to sit down for an hour. AT LEAST.

[jaesblogstuff]

The Lines I Crossed For You

Happy (early) father’s day i guess LOL. I might write something a little better, best fit for the occasion.

Simon’s been divorced six years.

She left without a fight — just said she was tired of a man who worked too much and smiled too little.

He didn’t beg. Didn’t chase. Just stood in the kitchen while the door shut behind her. Since then he’s been steady. Alone.

Liam —his only continuation of Riley blood, his son — moved in after burning through money and excuses. Said he was trying. Said he’d “try and get back on his feet” Simon didn’t ask. Just gave him a room. A second chance.

But he knew the truth. Liam wasn’t trying. He was coasting. Still a boy in a man’s world.

And then you came along.

At first, just weekends. Then overnights, shifts too long, Liam too distracted to show up. You were always moving. Always tired. Always giving.

Simon saw it all. Quietly. Every forgotten pickup. Every brushed-off look. And the way you stayed anyway. He knew that lingering in the doorway, cooking for you, waiting up even when you didn’t ask. It was too much. But there was a point where watching became unbearable.

He told himself to stay out of it.

But tonight? He can’t, He wouldn’t.

⸻

It’s almost 11 p.m. when you show up. No text. No call.

You hadn’t planned to really. You’d finished a 14-hour shift, head splitting, feet throbbing, too exhausted to go home. You’d asked Liam to pick you up — just this once — and when he didn’t answer, you sat in your car with your keys in your hand and your chest tight with something between shame and fury. Simon’s house was closer than your apartment. That’s the only reason you came. At least… that’s what you told yourself.

He opens the door in sweatpants, barefoot, hair a mess, face unreadable — and the moment his eyes land on yours, something in you buckles. You’re not okay. And he sees it. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you murmur. “Just… need a quick crash.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just steps aside. “You’re here,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”

You walk in. He doesn’t ask questions. Just takes the bags and load from your hands, sets them gently on the counter, and looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you. You swallow and glance toward the hallway. “Is Liam here?”

Simon’s jaw shifts, barely, but you catch it. “He left a few hours ago,” he says. “Went out with friends, I think. Didn’t say much.” A pause. Then quieter, “Haven’t seen him since before dinner.”

You nod once, like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t sting.

“I called him… three times,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Guess he forgot.” You rub your hands over your face, the fatigue crashing down all at once. “I can go… if this is weird. I don’t want to—”

“Stop.” Simon’s voice is low, firm. “You’re staying. Sit down.”

You do. Not because you’re told, but because for once, it feels like someone means it.

He places a warm mug in front of you — tea from the pot he made not long ago. You wrap your hands around it like it’s the only heat you have left. He sits across from you, watching you sip. “Rough day?”

You nod. “I don’t even know what happened. Just… non-stop. Four admits. One code. Everyone short-staffed again.”

You shrug lightly, stare into your cup. “It’s whatever.”

Simon watches you a long moment, his eyes careful, searching. “And Liam?”

You let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh — hollow. “Didn’t show. Again. I waited outside the hospital like a fucking idiot for fifteen minutes before I gave up.”

The silence that follows is thick — not awkward, just loaded. Something in Simon snaps. Not loudly. Not violently. Just… breaks.

“I’ve watched you give him everything,” Simon murmurs, voice low and sharp. “And I’ve watched him give you nothing. That’s not fair. That’s not love.”

You blink hard. Swallow. “I don’t want pity.”

“You think this is pity?” he says, eyes locked to yours.

Then, softer, steadier. “I don’t look at you and see someone weak. I see someone who’s been strong for too long.”

His hand finds your knee. His thumb moves in slow, grounding circles.

“I’d give you everything if you let me. Every minute. Every drop. Just to watch you breathe easier.”

Your throat tightens. Something inside you splinters. You’re tired. Spent. But right now — right here — you’re also seen. Not just as someone who’s holding it together. But someone worth being held.

And Simon? He’s still waiting. Still giving you room.

“I don’t want to think,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I will.”

Then you nod, barely a movement, and say, “Yes.”

⸻

He fucks you like someone who’s had years to imagine it.

Because he has.

Celibacy might as well have been stitched into the collar of his shirts — not by choice, but by the kind of quiet, aching resignation that comes from too many years of going untouched. No one since his wife.

And not once does he rush.

He undresses you slowly, reverently. Like your body is something to earn. His hands are warm and a little rough from yardwork and tools, but his touch is gentle. Intentional. His lips brush the inside of your wrist. Your collarbone. The skin just beneath your navel.

He doesn’t move to tease. He worships. When his mouth finds your thighs, you’re already trembling.

His tongue circles your clit. Soft, controlled, devastating, and the moan that leaves your throat is so quiet it startles you. It’s the kind of sound you don’t mean to make. The kind that lives deep in your chest and only comes out when someone really knows what they’re doing.

“Please,” you whisper, hips twitching, too gone to be embarrassed.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you first.”

Two fingers slide into you — slow, deep — and the groan he lets out is nearly broken. Like he’s mourning all the days he didn’t get to touch you like this.

His mouth doesn’t stop. And neither does your unraveling. You writhe under him, hand fisting the sheets, tears pricking at your lashes from how tender it all is. He doesn’t stop until you break — gasping, breathless, your back arching and legs shaking as you come hard against his mouth.

Only then does he rise, chest heaving, and kiss you like he’s starved. And then, just before he sinks inside you, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, voice rough and trembling

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Simon says, his voice low and raw against your shoulder. “To have someone like you. Someone so strong, so fucking hardworking, and beautiful, and kind — and just… look away. To not show up for you.”

“If you were mine—”

He stops himself. Shakes his head again like he’s trying to clear it. Like the thought hurts too much to say out loud.

But you feel it. You need it.

“No,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Say it.”

His throat works around the words. And when they come, they’re not smooth — they’re wrecked.

“I’d never stop touching you,” he says, voice cracking. “I’d never stop showing you. Every day. That you’re wanted. That you’re seen. That you’re safe. That you deserve it. All of it.”

You let out a broken sound, a breath that turns into a moan because the way he says it is what finishes you.

Not the touch. Not the friction. Him.

When he finally pushes in — slow, thick, achingly deep — the sound that leaves your mouth is a strangled cry.

“Oh my god—Simon—”

He groans, low and guttural. His hands grip your hips, firm but careful. “That’s it,” he pants. “Take it. Let me give it to you. Let me fucking have you.”

You nod wildly, mouth open, no words left. Your moans are quiet, breathy, raw. Real. They spill out of you like confessions. Like relief.

Simon moves slow — deliberate — each stroke heavy and deep, angled just right to drag a new gasp from your throat. His eyes never leave your face. His hands never stop touching.

It’s not just sex. It’s reverence. It’s grief. It’s a man making up for all the years he didn’t believe he’d ever get to feel this again.

It’s a man giving you everything his son never even thought to.

“You’re so full,” you whimper.

“You deserve it,” he breathes against your mouth. “Deserve to be filled until you can’t think.”

And when you come again, harder this time, your whole body clenched and trembling, he fucks you through it with nothing but praise:

“Good girl.”

“So fucking perfect.”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

When he comes, he doesn’t pull out. He stays there — still buried inside — holding you like he’s terrified the moment might vanish if he lets go.

Later, when your breathing slows and the room fades to a quiet hum, Simon wraps his arms around you from behind. Anchors you to him. Then softer, at your temple: “Sleep.”

And for the first time in a long, long time — you do.

(i don’t know what i was thinking oh my goodness i’m sorry)

[ninetailedruby]

Could you do a Thunderbolts* headcanons about like comforting Reader after they find them crying in their room after they screw up on a mission (romantic)?

I sure can! I ended up writing this as more of a little blurb for everyone and less headcanons I hope that is okay. Hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: None, all fluff.

Yelena

Yelena was already on her way to your room for movie night when she was stopped by the sound of sniffling. She had her ear pressed against your door as she knocked softly. She can hear you shuffle on the other side and mumble something before the door swings open to reveal you, eyes puffy and red. Her brows knit together.

“Oh milaya…”

Her accent is thick as she regards you. Once the door is shut she reaches out to take your hand and lead you with her towards your bed. She sits down and pats the spot beside her, waiting for you.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

When you shake your head she nods and wraps a blanket protectively around you, pulling you flush against her side. As she pulls you close the familiar scent of gunpowder and pine fills your lungs, easing some of your earlier anxiety. She reaches for the remote and puts on one of your favorite movies, as it plays in the background she occasionally places soft kisses to your temple or whispers in your ear words that remind you how amazing she thinks you are and how lucky she is to have such a capable partner.

Bob

Bob hadn’t been having the best day himself and had been looking forward to seeing you all day so when you walk through the doors and immediately go to your room, door slamming a bit louder than usual, he’s surprised to say the least. His stomach churns with anxiety, you usually give him a hug or a kiss right when you get home and you always tell him about your day. He gives it a good half hour or so before allowing himself to follow after you.

“Can I come in?”

When he has your permission he walks in, standing awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before asking what happened. When you shake your head and say nothing he gets that face that tells you he knows you’re lying.

“You can’t keep things bottled up baby, you have to talk about them or it’ll build up”

When you finally do talk he listens, holding your hand and rubbing circles on the back of it. He asks you questions and tries to help you figure out why you’re feeling so torn up about it this time.

Ava

Ava phased into your room without even thinking about it, ready to tell you about how John ate the last of her leftovers and that she needs your help getting him back, but when she sees you curled up in bed and sniffling she stops dead in her tracks.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just walks slowly over to you and puts her hand on your back to let you know she’s there. She’s never been the best at comforting people or being soft with them but for you she tries, she loves you more than anything and wants you to know that. Her hand gently massages your stiff muscles.

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

She doesn’t want to push you or say something wrong so she just stays with you until your crying subsides so she can ask you what happened.

Bucky

Bucky already knew you were upset before he found you, he saw the way you were acting on the way back to the tower and knew something was off. He didn’t follow you straight to your room, he gave you some time to cool off before coming to check on you. When he finds you still in your suit, covered in dirt and dried blood he sighs. He pulls you towards the bathroom and starts helping you out of your suit and starting the shower.

“Let’s get you cleaned up while you tell me what happened”

When you start rambling and telling him about how you screwed up he doesn’t interrupt, he waits patiently for you to finish before telling you that it’ll be okay, that everyone here has made mistakes and what’s important is that we learn from them.

When you’re both done rinsing the soap off he helps you out of the shower and wraps a warm towel around you. He leans down to kiss the top of your head and then rests his chin there and wraps his arms around you.

John

He was worried when you didn’t come out of your room for dinner, when all of you got back earlier you had said something about needing and shower and to go lie down so he didn’t think anything of it but that was a few hours ago and his gut tells him something is wrong.

There’s a curt knock at your door and before you have time to get up he lets himself in, a plate of leftovers in hand. When he sees the tears falling down your face he sets it down on your desk and reaches out, hands cupping your face tenderly. For a man who’s usually so gruff he finds himself unable to be anything but soft with you.

“What happened sweetheart?”

His arms encircle you protectively and the sound of his heart thumping helps calm your breathing. You can feel his body heat radiating through his shirt and smell his body wash, he smells like eucalyptus and bergamot.

[msmk11]

Poly!marauders x fem!reader

CW: hurt/comfort; implied toxic exes; brief mentions of blood and wounds; James and Sirius are accidentally harsh

Summary: After a full moon James and Sirius snap at you, and you think it’s your fault.

A/n: this is total self indulgent; my sister snaps at me a lot for no reason and it makes me feel bad. So I needed the marauders to comfort me.

——————————————————————————

Sirius says your name more harshly than you’ve ever heard him say it before.

“Stop. We’ve got it under control. Go to bed,” James adds sternly.

He’s never used that tone with you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and the blood rushes to your ears. You don’t have it in you to respond. Instead you just scurry off to your room, locking yourself in for the foreseeable future.

You’d just been trying to help. It was the first full moon that you knew about Remus’ lycanthropy. You’d suspected for months before but wanted to wait until your boyfriend told you himself.

And now that you knew, you wanted to provide all the support you could. James and Sirius, your other boyfriends, made it clear that they would handle his transition- that they’d been doing it for years. That was all fine and good. But you thought maybe, maybe you could help in other ways- to patch up the boys, or feed them, or just take care of them somehow.

Instead now you’ve ruined everything. You pushed yourself into a situation where you clearly didn’t belong and now your boyfriends are angry at you. It’s all your fault. You know it’s true because this isn’t the first time this has happened. Not with your current boyfriends, but with past exes. You’d been scolded by them for being too much, for being pushy, and nosy, and clingy. And now James, Sirius, and Remus- once he is conscious- realize it too.

Maybe if you stay hidden, you think, and don’t bother them for awhile they’ll forget and forgive you. Perhaps they won’t leave you too.

You wipe at the tears leaking out of your eyes, hot on your cheeks, and crawl under the covers of your own bed. You haven’t slept alone in god knows how long and you try to ignore the lonely ache in your chest. You have to do this. To save your relationship. You curl up in a ball and wait, hoping sleep will take away the pain of being awake.

None of your boyfriends notice your absence until the next day because they are so exhausted, beaten, and worried about Remus. It makes total sense for you to be off, asleep in your room. But they start to get worried when you still haven’t come out around eleven. You’re not exactly an early riser, but you never sleep this late either.

While James is cooking, Sirius redresses his werewolf boyfriend’s wounds. Remus’ tired brown eyes blink sleepily, eyes trailing from the kitchen to the boy in front of him, “where’s dove?”

James walks in with plates in hand, “she can’t still be sleeping?”

Sirius’ gray eyes flicker with worry, “I’ll go check on her.”

He stands and pads down the hall to your room. The raven-haired boy tries the door knob but finds that it’s locked. He frowns and knocks on the door, “baby?”

You’ve been awake for hours, never quite being able to fall asleep with the guilt wrecking your stomach and the constant stream of tears assaulting your cheeks. When you hear the knock on the door and Sirius’ voice you flinch, automatically withdrawing into yourself.

He knocks again, “why’s the door locked? Is everything alright?”

You tremble as you stand up and wipe at your face. You look awful- your eyes are red and puffy and heavy bags sit beneath them. You know the evidence won’t go away but hopefully you can play it off as worry for Remus. That would at least be true.

You unlock the door and are met with Sirius’ worried face. There are obvious scratches and bruises littering his body and he looks just as tired as you- his hair tousled and skin paler than normal. Your boyfriend’s dark eyebrows furrow in concern even more at the sight of your appearance, “were you still asleep?”

You decide to lie.

It doesn’t seem like Sirius believes you but he doesn’t push it, ushering you down the hall to the living room. James is attempting to feed Remus, despite the latter’s protest, and it warms your heart. When their eyes find your figure you freeze and Sirius nearly bumps into you. He places a steadying hand on your waist.

You can’t look at James, still recalling his words from last night. They fixate on Remus but you try not to stare either, not wanting to seem like you’re pitying him or anything.

“Dove,” your boyfriend says hoarsely, “you’re awake.”

You meet the sandy-haired boy’s eyes for a moment, and your heart breaks. He looks so worn and beaten. But of course you don’t mention it, and you don’t move to coddle him. It’s not your place.

You don’t really know what to say so you just smile shyly, “morning.”

Confusion flickers across Remus’ features and you feel your face heat, downturning your head.

“Jamie made breakfast,” Sirius mentions, pushing you towards the coffee table where all four plates sit.

You grab the furthest plate and scootch over, placing plenty of room between you and your three boyfriends. You give a murmur of thanks and start to eat quietly, not meeting anyone’s eyes, but they all meet each other’s, concern arising from your vastly different behavior.

“Did you sleep okay, angel?” James murmurs and you flinch.

You look up at him and his hazel eyes are wide, eyebrows hidden behind the tousled curls falling over his forehead, “sweetheart?”

You cringe internally, “sorry uh, I.” You don’t know what to say. Saying you slept good or fine would be a lie, but if you say you slept bad maybe they’d push. And if you say you slept good would they think you’re a terrible partner, so easily able to fall asleep while they were all out here struggling and injured? You don’t know what to do and you choke on a sob. Your own eyes widen and you freeze. Shit, now they were going to be even more upset with you for being dramatic and over emotional.

A hand finds your thigh and without looking you know it’s Sirius’, “doll, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

You shake your head, chewing on your lower lip so harshly you taste blood.

Remus hisses and he says your name sternly, “come here.”

Your eyes shine with more tears as you pitifully walk towards him, “I’m sorry- I- I’m making things about me but it should be about you and I did that last night too and- and.”

“Dove? What are you on about?” Your boyfriend’s bandaged hand comes up and cups your cheek, running his thumb over your lower lip to wipe the small drop of blood away, “you’re not doing anything of the sort. I’m not the center of the world just because there’s been a full moon.”

“But you’re hurt-“

“And you’re upset,” James interjects.

“No one’s problems matter more or less than the other’s,” Sirius adds, “I would know. I used to feel the same, baby. I thought my problems paled in comparison to Remus’ furry little problem or Jamie’s bad days. But they don’t. They’re just as important, hm?”

“Come sit with me,” Remus declares, and you can tell it’s not a question.

You timidly crawl into his lap and he pulls you against him. He’s so warm and you want to relax entirely against him but you don’t, worried you’re gonna hurt him.

“So are you going to tell us what happened?” James asks softly, sweeping a thumb over your ankle bone.

You don’t respond.

“Baby…” Sirius mutters.

“I’m sorry for getting in the way last night,” you murmur so softly it’s almost intelligible.

Your eyes are downcast but you feel Remus lock eyes with your other two boyfriends over your head.

“What? You didn’t, you-“ James trails off and his hazel eyes fill with guilt, “oh, angel. I’m so sorry. I was too harsh last night. I- I didn’t mean...”

“No- it’s okay, you were right I should’ve-“

“No,” your raven-haired boyfriend interrupts, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just trying to help. And we lashed out.”

Remus coos softly and pulls you closer to him, “oh, my sweet angel dove. Were Jamie and Sirius mean to you?”

You pout and your eyes widen in fear, “no, I-“

He huffs a laugh into your hair and kisses your head, “I’m teasing, my love. But they’re right. They shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Sirius moves to sit next to James and the set of hazel and grey eyes look up at you pitifully.

“We really are sorry, sweetheart. Our behavior was unacceptable.”

“And we love you so, so much.”

James kisses your ankle and Sirius brushes his lips over your knuckles.

“Let us make it up to you, hm?” James offers.

“We’ll take care of both you and Rem,” Sirius adds, kissing your palm.

“But we should focus on Remus and-“

“You can focus on me by staying right here in my arms, dove,” Remus answers, kissing your cheek, “your love is the best cure.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t being a nuisance?” You ask, throat thick with tears, “because I’ve been told before that I’m too much and I’d understand if you wanted to leave me and-“

“Woah, woah, woah,” James protests, sitting up on the couch, “we’re not going anywhere, hm? You’re not getting rid of us that easy.”

Sirius cups your cheek and kisses your forehead, “you’re perfect just the way you are. And we love the way you love us, baby.”

Remus brushes his thumb over your nose, “so let us love you too.”

So you do.

[maugustiee]

“Somebody Else?”

Smoke (elijah) x black!reader

Elijah hadn’t touched her in two days.

Not in the way that mattered.

He still made her breakfast. Still brought her home from work like he always did. But it was different. There was no warmth in it,just duty. Muscle memory. His hand on the small of her back felt like a placeholder, not a claim.

⸻

It started after that dumb argument about her wanting to go out of town with friends. She hadn’t even planned the trip, just mentioned it. But he’d gone quiet in that slow, dangerous way he did when he was thinking too much.

“Do what you want,” was all he said.

And he meant it.

Not out of freedom.

Out of detachment.

⸻

Now it was Thursday afternoon. Elijah was out on the back porch, talking low with his twin brother, Elias—Stack, the fast-talking one, always grinning like he was trouble.

Marie was in the kitchen. Window cracked.

She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Not at first.

But then she heard her name.

And then she heard another one.

“Shanice.”

She froze.

Stack laughed. “She still callin’?”

“Yeah.”

“And you still pickin’ up?”

Elijah didn’t answer right away.

Then: “She don’t run her mouth when I tell her something . Peaceful.”

Marie’s chest dropped like someone had kicked her heart down a flight of stairs.

Stack whistled. “That what you want now? Peaceful?”

“Maybe,” Elijah said. Flat. Cold. “Think I been to easy with Marie she been pushing my buttons lately.”

Stack made a noise like he didn’t believe him. “You serious?”

Another pause.

Then Elijah’s voice, low and final:

“I love her but Ian waiting for her to grow up.”

⸻

She didn’t even realize she was crying until the floorboards creaked under her bare feet.

She backed away from the window, heart in her throat, mind spinning. Shanice? Who the fuck was Shanice? And why was he answering her calls?

She sat on the couch in silence. Too sick to cry, too stubborn to panic,at least not out loud.

He came in half an hour later like nothing happened. Washed his hands. Looked at her once,he then turned toward the hallway.

“Elijah,” she said, voice too thin.

He stopped.

Didn’t turn.

“You wanna talk about something?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder, calm as ever. “No.”

That was worse than yelling. Worse than anger.

He didn’t care if she knew.

Didn’t care if it cut her.

And God—it did.

⸻

That night, she couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Could barely breathe with him lying in bed beside her, face turned away, body distant. She reached for him once—he didn’t flinch, but he didn’t hold her either.

Just laid there.

Let her feel it.

The hollow.

“You gonna leave me?” she asked, voice shaking.

He sighed heavily sitting up against the headboard looking over at her with those eyes.

“You already crossed the line,” he said. “You push my buttons every chance you get.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked up, slow. “Sorry ain’t always gon cut it with me?”

Her throat clenched.

Marie tried to hold her ground, but her lip trembled.

“I don’t want nobody else,” she whispered. “Even if I act stupid sometimes. I don’t. I don’t want no peace if it ain’t with you.”

He searched her face. Hard. Silent.

“Why now?” he asked. “Why not when I was giving you multiple chances?

She choked on the truth. “Because I thought I had you. Thought you wasn’t goin’ nowhere. I got comfortable.”

“You got careless.”

“I know.”

“You got everything other women begging for and you act like this ,” he said. “So I reminded you that you’re not the only one who want me.”

Tears spilled hot down her face. “You gon leave me?”

“No,” he said. “Dont need to.”

“But you wanted me to think you did.”

He didn’t answer.

And that was the answer.

She laid her hands on his chest, soft and trembling.

“I don’t want to feel this again,” she said.

“Then don’t give me a reason to make you.”

“Elijah… I love you.”

He leaned down until their foreheads touched. His hand cupped her jaw.

“You gon’ show it now?” he whispered. “Or I gotta keep remindin’ you I don’t beg for what’s mine?”

She nodded through her tears. “I’ll show it.”

“Good,” he murmured, brushing her lips with his. “Now get undressed. You gon’ prove it tonight.”

⸻

Everything was fine after that she had still spent her days making it up to him when he already forgave her.

Until she got a little visitor one after closing up her boutique.

⸻

Marie was locking the boutique door when she heard heels click behind her.

She turned, slow, the evening sun casting a soft gold behind her.

A woman stood there, arms folded, lips glossed, looking too pretty for a chance meeting.

“You Marie?”

Marie didn’t answer right away. She already knew.

“You must be,” the woman continued. “I been meanin’ to meet you.”

Marie slid her bag up her shoulder. “That right?”

“Mmhmm.” She stepped closer. “I’m Shanice.”

Marie didn’t blink. “And what exactly is it you wanna talk about?”

Shanice smiled, slow. “Elijah.”

There it was.

Marie took a breath, calm. “You his cousin or somethin’?”

“No,” Shanice said proudly. “But we been talkin’. A lot.”

Marie’s heart ticked—but her face didn’t move. “You telling me this for what?”

“I want you to know what it is,” Shanice said, stepping forward. “He look like he real tired. Said you been actin’ like you got better things to do.”

Marie laughed. “He told you that?”

“Yeah. And from the way he talk, I figured it’s only a matter of time ‘fore you out the picture.”

That one hit different.

Shanice saw it too.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she said, arms folded. “He picked up when I called. Stayed on the line too. Real quiet. But I know what that silence meant.”

Marie’s chest pulled tight, but she kept her voice light. “You real bold.”

“I’m honest. And I know when a man’s already half-gone.”

Marie looked her over. “He ever take you home?”

“No.”

“He ever sleep over?”

“No.”

“Cook you breakfast? Wash your hair in the shower when you tired? Tell you how you not going anywhere?”

Shanice’s face twisted.

Marie stepped forward, real close now.

“Don’t matter he gon be mines sooner or later,” she said like she was so sure.

“You thought you could take somethin’ I bled for? I suffered for? You thought you could walk up here and tell me he yours like I’d hand him over?”

Shanice blinked, faltering.

“You ain’t built for the kind of man he is,” Marie said. “He quiet, but he ain’t soft. And when you fumble with him, he make you feel it. He make you sit with it.”

Shanice stepped back.

Marie didn’t.

“You ain’t got the years I got with him. The nights. The fights. The history. You saw him alone one time and thought that meant you was next. But he ain’t nowhere near done with me.

Shanice shifted, trying to hold pride in her spine.

Marie tilted her head.

“Because If he was done with me, you wouldn’t be here tellin’ me. You’d be home with him.”

Silence.

“Now get out my face,” Marie said. “Before I mop my floor with yo cheap ass bundles bitch.”

⸻

Later that night, Marie didn’t bring it up to him. Just made sure while he was in the shower to call her and let her hear who he was fucking and putting through the mattress at night.

Tag list: @chrisevansmentee @queenofklonnie22 @christinabae @secretlifeofpreshap @thefutureemmywinner @monstaxmomma0 @cocooned-butterfly

[ratatoastwrites]

Habits and Distractions

Spencer Reid x wife!reader

nsfw, 18+ MDNI

Synopsis: Your oral fixation has been getting out of hand, and your husband is concerned enough to take matters into his own hands

cw: professor Reid (but it’s like only briefly referenced), also he teaches at harvard (even more briefly referenced, like barely at all), reader has an oral fixation, chewing on lips, mentions of viruses and bacteria, pet names (angel, sweetheart, etc), some terms of degradation (slut, whore) BUT it isn’t meant in a degrading way, use of ‘Sir’ (once), like maybe one religious imagery ?, oral (m receiving), oral cockwarming, shoe humping, coming in underwear, face fucking, softdom!Spence

a/n: ughhhh this is so self-indulgent lmao 🥸 also, my reqs are open, so check out my masterlist for guidelines if you’re interested 🤟

wc: 2.8k

The grandfather clock ticks quietly in the corner of your shared home-office with Spencer, the room illuminated by the warm light of the setting sun. You’re both already home, sharing space in the quiet study, content with being in the same room, even without any conversation.

You don’t have any paperwork left to finish, so you’re curled up on the loveseat, drawing the outlines of a future painting on a canvas. Spencer is sitting at the big mahogany desk, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, as he grades some essays from his students, his lips moving quietly as he reads, mouthing the words on the paper. There’s something you’ve always found endearing about it, and you once told him that it was like he needed to taste the words, to fully take them in.

You don’t realise that you’re staring, at least until his lips stop moving, and when you glance up into his eyes, you find warm hazel irises looking right back at you.

“You’re doing it again,” he says softly, making your nose scrunch up a little.

“Sorry. I can’t help it, y’know. Try having such a pretty husband and not staring at him all the time.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, a fond huff leaving his nose as he shakes his head.

“I already have a gorgeous wife, so I understand the struggle.” His words are sweet, but you can tell that there’s a lingering ‘but’ in there somewhere. “That’s not what I was talking about, though.”

And there it is.

“What do you mean?” You ask, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip, which prompts a pointed look from your husband. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” His words aren’t mocking by any means, his tone is soft and indulgent. Still, your eyebrows pinch together, your lips twisting into a small grimace.

“You’ve been doing it a lot more lately,” Spencer points out, his gaze gentle, but observant, as he looks at you. “You did it approximately ten times just in the last hour. And that is not accounting for the nearly twenty times you chewed on the end of your pencil.”

You sigh softly in frustration, raking a hand through your hair as you glare down at the pencil in your lap, like the piece of wood is the real villain here. Spencer’s quick to cut off your negative thoughts before they can even form, completely attuned to your micro expressions.

“I’m not saying this to embarrass you, sweetheart. I’m just worried. For one, chewing on random things like pencils and pen caps can damage your teeth and cause several infections transmitted by bacteria. Did you know that, for example, a cold virus can survive on a pen cap for over a week, with bacterial strains surviving for up to a month?”

“I guess not.”

“Yeah. And that’s not even mentioning your lips.”

You reach up a hand to run your fingers along your lips, hissing softly at the sting. You habitually chew on your lower lip, but these days your top lip hasn’t been safe anymore, either. You have all sorts of chapsticks and lip balms lining your vanity, laying in your purse, decorating the bathroom counter. Still, it’s never enough, not when you aren’t giving your lips the chance to recover.

“You know I’m not judging you, angel. And I know this isn’t a new development. But you’ve been doing it more frequently, and I want to know if I can help you somehow.”

He sounds so genuine that it makes your heart squeeze in your chest. It also, coincidentally, makes a familiar heat flicker in your lower abdomen.

You stand up from the loveseat, smoothing down your skirt and the Harvard sweater that you stole borrowed from his closet, before sauntering over to where he’s sitting behind the desk.

“I don’t know,” you reply with a heavy sigh, leaning your lower back against the mahogany. “I guess I’ve just been more stressed about work lately. I know that I should try to redirect my frustrations, but I don’t know how. Lollipops aren’t my thing, and they aren’t good for my teeth either. Chewing gum only works for a while, and if I have too much, my stomach starts rioting. I’m all out of options here.”

You know that you’re being very transparent about your faux dilemma —which isn’t completely fake, actually, but you’re definitely playing it up. He catches on immediately, of course, raising one of his eyebrows as his lips twitch into an amused smirk. Being the indulgent, sweet husband he is, though, he doesn’t point it out. Instead, he pushes his chair away from the desk, making space for you as he spreads his legs.

“I think I know just the thing you need.” His tone is still mellow, but there’s a darker edge to it now, something that you know to recognise as desire. “Kneel down for me, sweetheart.”

You’re on your knees before he even finishes his sentence, making him chuckle fondly while you blink up at him. You reach out a hand to touch the bulge that’s formed in his slacks, and while you know that it never takes much from you to turn him on, you have a sneaking suspicion that watching you chew on your pencil and bite your lips for the past hour may have been what got him so worked up in the first place.

You retract your hand when you see his raised eyebrow, understanding the warning without him having to tell you. He smiles at you in approval, and it does nothing to quell the growing need in you.

“Please, Sir,” you plead in a whiny tone, making him let out a sigh of exasperation. You know it’s just for show, and he confirms your theory with his next words.

“Only because I appreciate your manners, princess.”

Spencer finally unzips his slacks, pushing down his briefs just enough for his heavy cock to spring free. Just the sight of his length has you salivating, looking at the flushed tip and prominent veins like you are seeing the second coming of Christ himself.

“Look at you, drooling over yourself just from seeing my cock,” Spencer murmurs softly, carding a hand through your hair gently. “You want it that badly, huh? You dirty little slut.”

All you can do is nod enthusiastically in response, biting down on your lip. Noticing this, Spencer cups your jaw gently, his thumb swiping over your abused skin, freeing it from your teeth.

“None of that, sweetheart. Come here.”

He guides you closer to his erection, your thighs rubbing together from anticipation. Your lips are so close that you can taste him in the air, but you don’t do anything yet. Not until he gives you the word.

“Such a good girl. So patient for me.” Spencer’s tone is close to reverent as he praises you, watching with something akin to fascination as your gaze briefly leaves his cock, in favour of looking up into his eyes.

“Go on, baby. Take what’s yours.”

You’re on him as soon as he gives you the permission, moaning whorishly at his taste. You lick a fat stripe along the underside of his length, before swirling your tongue around his tip. You repeat the sequence a few times, feeling rewarded by the sounds leaving Spencer’s lips, and you can already feel your panties sticking to your dripping cunt, even though he hasn’t even touched you yet.

When you finally wrap your lips around his flushed, leaking tip, Spencer and you moan at the same time. You swirl your tongue and suck like he’s your personal lollipop, whining obscenely, like you are the one getting head.

His hand moves to the back of your head, his fingers twisting into your hair, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t make you take him deeper. He just lets you enjoy yourself on his cock, hissing out a curse when you finally take more of him into your warm mouth.

“You’re doing so good, angel. You look so beautiful like this, fuck. You needed this, huh? Needed that pretty mouth stuffed full of my cock.”

You moan around him pornographicaly, your eyes glazing over as you look up at him, your throat bobbing around him as you nod, making him let out a delicious sound in return.

You take more of him, as much as you can, your tongue continuing to run along his shaft, as you bob your head slowly up and down his length.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you’re an absolute vision,” he whimpers out the praise, his fingers tightening in your hair to ground himself, head tipping back against his chair. “Go on, sweetheart, just like that.”

You would love to do as you’re told, but you know that if you continue on like this, it won’t take long before he cums, and this ends. And you simply never want it to end, never want his beautiful length to leave the confines of your throat.

You humm around him apologetically as you still your movements and lay your head down on his thigh, with his cock still inside your mouth. Spencer looks down at you with a quizzical expression, to which you only respond with innocent puppy dog eyes, that are hazy with lust, and your cheeks hollowing around him for a second, before relaxing your mouth around him.

Spencer huffs in amusement and fondness, his free hand moving to caress your face gently, his thumb brushing over the bulge in your cheek, from having him in your mouth.

“Aw, you just need me in your mouth for as long as possible, right sweetheart? Warming my cock, while you hump my foot like a bitch in heat. My perfect little cock drunk whore.”

You don’t even realise what you’re doing until he calls you out on it, making you whimper around him needily. And true enough, somewhere along the line, your thighs parted around his leg, your hips grinding your wet pussy against his dress shoe, making the material shiny with your slick. You can’t bring yourself to feel bad about it though, matter of fact, your hips only pick up the pace, once you are aware of what you’re doing.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself feel good.” Spencer’s soft encouragement has you whining around him as you grind your throbbing pussy against his shoe, your moans and whimpers vibrating around his shaft. “Mmh, so good for me. You gonna cum like this, angel? Is my perfect slut going to cum on my shoe, with my cock in her mouth, like the dirty little whore she is?”

You can’t answer him properly, but the need in your eyes definitely does. He continues stroking your hair tenderly as you get yourself off on his foot, and it isn’t long until you’re squeezing his ankle between your thighs, your whole body shuddering as your orgasm wracks through your body. Your throat relaxes around him, until your nose is buried in his neatly trimmed pubic hair, his moan loud enough to cover up your quiet gagging.

“Good girl. Did so well for me. You’re so beautiful, just for me.” He continues murmuring soft praises as you come down from your high, before he pulls you off his cock, just enough so that you aren’t deep throating him anymore, letting you catch your breath, as much as you can.

“You did so good, my love. Do you need me to take over for you? Want me to fuck your throat, sweetheart?”

The idea nearly makes you shiver in anticipation, managing a small nod in response. He gives you a soft smile, before standing up from his chair, tapping your cheek twice to make you open your mouth. You do so obediently, sticking out your tongue, that earns you a reverent “good girl”.

“You know what to do if it’s too much,” he says, his fingers tightening around your hair, and you barely have the time to nod, before his hips snap forward harshly.

Spencer doesn’t fuck your throat often, he likes watching you take his cock at your own pace and volition, and ultimately, he prefers going down on you anyways. But when he does, there is nothing hesitant about it. He fucks your mouth like he fucks your cunt, with deep, precise thrusts, holding you still, so you can’t squirm away. Your eyes fill up with tears from gagging around him, which he seems to enjoy, his eyes dark and heated as they take in your appearance.

That’s not to say that he has no compassion. Though he isn’t particularly gentle, after every deep thrust, he pulls back just enough to let you breathe, and he even reminds you to relax your throat from time to time.

“Mhm, there you go, sweetheart. Just breathe for me, yes, good girl. You’re so perfect, baby, you were made to take my cock.”

His praises come in the form of sharp gasps and whimpers between pants, looking absolutely gone as you look up at him. His eyebrows are pinched, his lips parted, and his nose scrunches up every time he has to remind himself to open his eyes, not wanting to miss the sight of you on your knees, with a mouthful of his cock.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum like this, twitching harshly in your mouth, making you dizzy with the taste of precum he’s leaking on your tongue. Your only warning is a choked “fuck, baby, gonna—“ and then his hips buck against your face, his tip spurting warm cum down your throat, as he trips over the edge with a moan of your name. You attempt to swallow as best as you can, your tongue tracing his shaft to clean him off, before you finally pull off, letting out a few shaky coughs as you try to catch your breath.

He is on his knees in front of you in a second, large hands cradling your face, like you are the most precious thing on the planet. Even through the fog in your brain, you have enough brainpower to think ‘holy fuck, I’m married to the most beautiful person in the world’. His face is flushed, his hazel irises looking almost black with how wide his pupils are from the lingering effects of his high. His brows are furrowed in slight concern, and his glasses sit a little crooked on the slope of his nose. His lips are red from the way he was biting them —ironic, huh?— and they’re also moving, making you realise that he’s talking to you.

“…you listening?”

You barely catch the end of his question, blinking a few times as the haze finally clears from your brain, shaking your head to snap yourself back into reality.

“Sorry, what?”

Your voice is a little hoarse, which makes his eyebrows furrow even more, despite the small twitch of his lips.

“I asked if you’re alright, sweetheart,” he says, with a tone so tender that you can’t help leaning forward to kiss him gently. He kisses you back just as softly, one of his hands sliding down from your face to your neck, caressing your throat with his thumb, like he’s trying to soothe it from the outside.

“I’m okay. I was just a little… out of it,” you murmur finally as you pull back, tilting your forehead against his.

“Mhm, I know. Your voice is a little rough, baby. Does it hurt?”

You just shrug, leaning in for another kiss, and he indulges you, just like he does about everything. He pulls back before the kiss could deepen, swiping a thumb across your bottom lip when it juts out into a pout.

“Please don’t shrug this off. I want to take care of you, angel girl.” His voice is still so achingly careful, like you’re made of fine china, and you’d crumble from so much as a harsh word. You’re putty in his hands now, unable to say no to him when he asks so sweetly.

“Okay. I’d like that.” The smile he gives you after your mellow reply is radiant in the gentlest way, his adoration lighting up the room like the pinkish orange hues of the sunset.

“Can you stand up for me, darling?”

He helps you up to your feet gently, pressing careful, soothing kisses to your red knees, his hands massaging your thighs. He makes you drink some water from the glass on his desk, and then reaches into one of his drawers to give you a honey flavoured throat candy, ignoring your raspy claims of being just fine.

And then he pulls you into his lap, turning on the desk light to continue grading the essays, even after the sun has set, letting you curl up against him, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead with every paper he finishes reading. You fall asleep to the sound of his pen gliding on the paper, the grandfather clock’s rhythmic ticking, and the soft voice of your husband, telling you that he loves you more than anything.

[milk-lover]

These are all game-changer strategies frfr. I’m going to add my tricks too

Set out my clothes the night before (or even week before..) so I don’t get distracted/overwhelmed by my full closet and end up late to work

I have “dump bins” in my room, cute baskets on my desk and dresser to put stuff in. I don’t have the bandwidth to put this away in its proper spot but at least it’s not sitting out on the floor or the desk

Connected to above issue, when I buy something I find a spot to store it Right Away so that it doesn’t end up lost and or sitting out for months on the floor or desk. Buying a new hair product means making space in the bathroom cabinet, so be really sure you need Another bottle of gel.

I don’t really put away laundry anymore. I have 2 laundry bins, one full of clean clothes that sits on The Chair and one full of dirty clothes in the closet. I take out easily wrinkled stuff and put it away, but the rest usually lives in the clean bin. This somehow has taken a lot of stress off and made me not despise and avoid doing my laundry

Write down everything. I carry sticky notes everywhere at work. I text things I need to remember to myself (literally text my own number). “Oh I’ll remember this” L no you won’t.

PUT PLANS/APPOINTMENTS IN YOU CALENDAR IMMEDIATELY. This was such a hard habit to get for me but it’s so important for my functioning As An Adult. So many missed plans and late fees. I use my phones calendar app and I have a widget set up that puts my next scheduled event on my lockscreen. I also make evens alert me and hour before I need to leave, so I don’t lose track of time.

Never set your wallet down. Never set your keys down. Never set your phone down. Keys and wallet live in my bag. They never leave my bag except if they are in active use. Phone lives in my pocket or charging on my dresser. No. Other. Places.

Emergency snacks. I like frozen green peas and Chobani yogurt cups rn. Something w protein that tastes good that is easy to grab and eat fast when Oops i didn’t eat all day bc i was engrossed in Project. Or Oops I need to leave the house Right Now and I never ate breakfast. Running out of these emergency foods has been the inciting incident in weeks long crash and burns for me so I try really hard to always have them. Being too hungry/tired to cook/ buy groceries is a dangerous place to be.

Don’t beat yourself up. For me, forgetting things all the time, being inconsistent, “flakey,” bad at school, unable to hold a job for more than 3 months, “airheaded” and distractable, all of these negative things that came from having undiagnosed ADHD and 0 coping skills, gave me an overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment, which led to very extreme anxiety and depression. My journey to better mental health didn’t start w being good at all these strategies and tips, it came with radical self acceptance. Once I decided shame was no longer welcome at the banquet of my emotions, all this stuff followed. Self acceptance comes first. Change comes after.

Some tips and tricks I use to be productive through my ADHD:

The “eh might as well” method. If I’m going to the kitchen to eat might as well bring all the cups from my room too

Make it inconvenient to ignore. If I have clean laundry that needs to be put away, I will put the basket in my doorway. Now it’s inconvenient for me to sidestep it. I also do this with my homework.

Hiding or making it hard to access distractions. I can slip into doom scrolling on TikTok so what I did is add the fingerprint requirement to open and removed it from my homepage. Now I have to go through 3< steps to get into it.

Make things convenient. I can get overwhelmed by my clothes so in my closet I have a shelf dedicated to comfort clothes. Pj pants and hoodies mostly, that I can quickly grab and throw on when I need them.

Use the “don’t see, don’t exist” to your advantage. Most of my crafting supplies sit in the same drawer under my bed. They are (kinda) hidden so I don’t get distracted.

Some other random tips

I sort my shirts by graphic, plain or under shirt and sweaters/blouses.

I have my quick grab n go pants next to my most used jackets

I hope these help

[orellazalonia]

Unexpected Outlook

Summary: The Avengers launch a mission to raid a known base of the organization you now work with and discuss over what they found.

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: A little shorter since it’s Father’s Day, but I also wanted to add more weight to the previous chapter and progress the story.

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

Preparations moved fast. Too fast, maybe.

Steve didn’t like that they were running with incomplete information, but the longer they waited, the deeper this organization could dig itself into global systems. And the more time you had to assist them, whether willingly or not.

Still, it didn’t sit right. None of it did.

Bruce pulled the files. Natasha studied known locations. Sam monitored chatter. Bucky cleaned his weapons with a look in his eyes like he wanted answers he didn’t have the right to ask.

Yet no one brought up your name again. At least, not directly. But it hovered beneath everything.

The way Bucky checked each plan twice. The way Natasha’s jaw twitched when she reviewed footage. Even the way Steve hesitated before calling it an official mission.

The woman Bucky liked didn’t voice objections anymore. She simply kept a kind, quiet distance, like someone watching friends argue over a lost cause.

And within a week, the op was set.

Steve gave the greenlight with his jaw tight and eyes harder than usual. The mission was clear: infiltrate a suspected communications hub. A nondescript, rural compound masked as a grain storage facility. Satellite data showed encrypted signals routing through it over the last month, signals that matched ones the Avengers used internally.

Which meant either someone was watching. Or someone had been taught how.

They went in with a small team. Just Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bucky. No need for Hulk or Thor; this wasn’t a battering ram job. It was a retrieval and disrupt operation. Quiet and clean.

Or so they thought.

The quinjet landed half a mile out, under cover of dense fog rolling over the hills. The forest beyond the compound was eerily still like it had been holding its breath since before dawn.

“They want us to find this,” Natasha muttered, brushing a branch aside as they crept through the trees.

Steve didn’t argue. His shield was strapped to his arm, but he hadn’t raised it once.

They reached the clearing. The compound was just as expected. Gray concrete, flat roof, minimal security fencing, and a gravel path leading to two entrances. No guards. No movement. Even the air felt… hollow.

Sam scanned the building with a handheld sensor. “No heat signatures. Not even a rat.”

“Too clean,” Bucky said, voice low.

They breached the back door.

Inside, it was dark but not ruined. Every surface was wiped. Consoles powered down. Not destroyed, removed. Carefully like a move-out rather than an attack. Upon investigating further, files had been cleared, drawers emptied, and chairs pushed in with bland desks.

Whoever had been here knew exactly when to leave.

Steve turned in a slow circle, taking it in.

“This was active,” He said. “Days ago.”

“Hours, maybe,” Natasha said, crouching beside a desk. She tapped the edge, there was a faint spot where something electronic had been sitting. Someone had worked here… and then vanished.

Sam stepped into the central control room. There was only one thing left behind: a monitor left switched on, flickering a soft blue light in the dimness.

A single message scrolled across the screen.

Too late, Captain.

That was it. There wasn’t any long monologues. No other mocking comments. Not even a signature or sign-off present. Just a cold fact. Steve stared at it like he could will it to change. Bucky stood a step behind him, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“I don’t like this,” Sam muttered.

Natasha approached a wall panel and pried it open effortlessly. Inside, wires had been sliced. Intentionally. However, there were no explosives. No traps could be seen anywhere either. It was all just… closure.

“They stripped this place surgically,” She said. “No fingerprints, no traces. It’s like they wanted us to know they were here… but not who they are.”

Steve closed the monitor with a clenched jaw. “This wasn’t a base. It was a decoy.”

“No,” Bucky said suddenly. His voice was soft but steady. “It was a base. It just outlived its usefulness.”

They all turned toward him. He looked at the empty room, the missing equipment, and the quiet hallways. Then, to the message. And for a moment, something shifted in his eyes. Guilt, maybe or something deeper.

“They planned for this,” He murmured. “Someone told them exactly how we’d come.”

No one responded, but no one needed to. Because they were all thinking it.

-

The debrief room was thick with a heavy silence, the kind that pressed down harder than shouting. Ghost-blue blueprints and photos of the abandoned compound still flickered on the monitors, reminders of how quickly their plan had unraveled. Notes about the missing equipment and the chilling message on the screen scrolled slowly, marking everything they should have anticipated.

Steve hadn’t sat once since they returned. He stood rigid at the head of the table, hands braced on his hips, and a deep furrow like it was etched there permanently. Sam had stopped pacing but his leg bounced nervously, jaw clenched tight. Natasha’s fingers tapped against her thigh in a rhythm so steady it barely seemed voluntary.

Only Bucky remained perfectly still, arms crossed, and eyes locked on the screen across the room. He said very little since they’d left the empty compound since that message haunted him.

Too late, Captain.

The words weren’t just text; they carried a weight, a deliberate coldness that dug into Bucky’s mind. Whoever had left it knew him. Not just the soldier, but his moves, his instincts. And worse, their enemy had used the knowledge you once held to outmaneuver them.

The memory played on loop in his mind. Not just the words but the feel of them. The calculation in them. Whoever was behind that terminal… knew him. Not just facts. His patterns.

And maybe worse than that, they’d used your knowledge to do it. They probably used you to do it.

The door hissed open.

She stepped in with her usual soft elegance, cradling a fresh cup of tea between her hands like she had no idea anything had gone wrong. Dressed casual, warm, and comfortable. Like she belonged. Like she didn’t feel the same tension that pulled everyone else taut. The one you used to be jealous of had sat out for the mission after all.

“Oh,” She said lightly. “You’re all back already.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was gently surprised, as if she’d simply walked into a meeting that ended early. Steve didn’t answer right away. Neither did the others.

She blinked, smile sweet and expectant, like someone unaware they were intruding. “Was it a short mission?”

“We were too late,” Steve said flatly, straightening.

Her brows lifted, and she crossed to the table, setting the tea down. “Really? That’s unfortunate. I thought it was just one of those cleanup things. You all make those look so easy.”

Sam looked over, jaw tight. “They cleaned up, alright. Took every last trace of themselves. Left us a polite message, too.”

“They knew how we’d approach,” Natasha added with her arms crossed now. “Like they knew our pattern. Our flow. They stripped the place within hours of our arrival window.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a fingernail against the ceramic. “That’s strange. Maybe they had inside intel?”

“No,” Steve spoke, narrowing his eyes. “Not unless someone studied us long before they left.”

“Oh.” She blinked, tilting her head. “So… do you think your old administrator friend told them?”

Bucky stiffened.

Natasha’s voice was sharper now, eyes narrowing. “She’s not our anything.”

That seemed to amuse her. She let out a light laugh, the kind meant to dissolve tension, not that anyone was asking for it. “Well, you’re not wrong,” She smiled. “ She didn’t really fit in here anyways, did she?”

Bruce, who had been mostly quiet, looked up sharply. “She worked here for over two years.”

She didn’t seem phased. There was no malice on her face actually. Just soft confidence.

“I guess I didn’t think she’d be important,” She sighed simply. “Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed she’d move on.”

Sam stood, voice tight. “She did. Straight into the hands of the people trying to tear us apart.”

Her smile faltered just a touch. “I didn’t mean—look, I’m sure she was… sweet. I just don’t see how it helps to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be here. Don’t you think she made her choice?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t know that yet.”

“I mean, sure,” She said gently, “But if she’s really that dangerous, wouldn’t you have noticed before she left? You didn’t even realize she was gone until weeks later, right?”

Bucky shifted slightly. The burn in his chest deepened. Not from her words exactly, but from how true they rang.

They hadn’t noticed. They hadn’t looked.

The woman moved closer to Bucky, noticing his subtle distress as she rested her hand lightly on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I just worry about you,” She confessed softly, smiling up at him. “You’re all stretched so thin already. I’d hate to see you waste energy chasing ghosts.”

Her hand lingered. But Bucky’s jaw clenched, and for once, he didn’t lean into her touch.

“She’s not a ghost,” He muttered. “She’s a mirror. Of everything we missed.”

Her expression flickered for barely a moment. Then the sweet smile returned.

“Well, if you have to go after her,” She brushed her hand away, her expression turning more solemn. A hint of pity evident, “I hope you’re prepared for what you find. Sometimes people change… and not always in ways you can fix. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

She reached for her tea again, her fingers wrapping around the cup like it was an anchor.

“And if you do decide to keep going after her, well.” She gave a gentle little laugh, looking around with open, innocent eyes. “I hope it goes well. I really mean that. And if you need my help at all… just let me know. I’m always happy to support the team.”

The door hissed softly behind her as she walked out, quiet heels tapping against the floor in steady, graceful rhythm.

The rest of the team stood in silence for a few long seconds, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.

Steve broke it first.

“We move forward. We stop that organization before it spreads deeper.”

“And if she’s helping them willingly?” Sam asked, his voice low.

Steve hesitated.

So, Bucky answered instead.

“Then we stop her, too.”

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[karlachismylife]

Strawberry foam

#PriceGazWeek

Day six: Fantasy

I asked my comrades to give me additional prompts and they gave me: massage, strawberry, jacuzzi/hot tub.

CW: suggestive, kinda dirty talk, thus NSFW (MDNI)

"What's your status, Gaz?"

"Like a depressed pig in mud, sir. No movement."

"Aye, well, stay sharp, Sergeant. No movement on my end either, but tha' can change rather quickly, yeah? We'll get ya cleaned up afterwards."

"Gonna scrub my back, sir?"

Kyle hears a snort, distorted by the shitty sound in comms, and smiles into his rifle's scope. He wasn't kidding about feeling like a pig in mud - weather conditions turned the slopes they were supposed to have this stakeout at into a greasy mudbath, so that after crawling around for just thirty minutes the need in a ghillie suit disappeared entirely. With every passing minute Gaz can feel cold, liquid, slippery and squelchy mud seeping deeper into his clothes, and he's pretty sure that the few more sturdy and steady rocky bits he placed his rifle on are slowly drowning in this shit. At least it smells like wet clay and not like...

"Don't needa hear your fantazies over the comms, Garrick. Keep the channels clean."

Price's hushed voice sends shivers down Kyle's spine - or maybe it's the nasty Russian summer chill, and he shrugs it off his shoulders without tearing his eyes off the target - or the lack of such. He can clearly hear his Captain smirking, so he pushes his luck again.

"I don't know, sir, feelin' kinda filthy today. Drippin' wet, even."

"Dirty boy, are ya? Too bad. Bath isn't on the schedule till the end of the mission. Over."

They probably both cringe a little - all in good fun, and Kyle sighs, getting back to the enthralling task of doing jack shit. He doesn't get antsy like Soap before the lad locks in, but his mind is wandering - especially because he started suspecting something since the hour two of stalking the empty warehouse up ahead.

"Sir." He waits for Price's quiet "wot" in his earpiece and sighs with extra flair. "The intel was dogshit, wasn't it?"

"You're not getting out of this jus' because ya got bored, Sergeant."

"Ya can't blame me, sir. I don't even have a nice view of your arse this time."

Price clears his throat on the other end and Kyle realizes - John in his turn must have a decent view of his arse, covered in shit, leaves and sticks. Must be fuckin' nice staying on the upper, drier land further back.

"So it's not me who's filthy, eh, sir?" He muses and gets half a mind to wiggle his butt for Price, but the slightest movement causes the pit his body indented in the diarrhea-like soil to make a pornigraphic squelching noise, and Kyle groans in a hushed voice. "For fuck's sake... don't tell me you're not fantasizing about a bath yourself, sir. Or a shower, at least."

At this point Gaz expects Price to get serious and shut him up for good - there's only so much joking complaining his Captain will take over the comms before he deems it too distracting; but to his surprise John sighs wistfully and relents. Probably agrees deep down that the intel was shit, but his stubbornness is too strong.

"A proper hot tub, Sergeant. With massage jets. Go big or go home."

"Mm, fuck, and some fragrant foam," Kyle doesn't mean to practically moan into his mic, but the thought of putting his cold, stiff back against a pressured stream of hot water is too enticing. Even without imagining Price sitting across, wet fur clinging to his chest and arms resting on the tub... "Like a strawberry scent, what do ya say, sir? Or better, actual strawberries on a plate right there... with a nice strawberry shake, too..."

"Gettin' pregnancy cravings already, Kyle?"

The answer rolls off his tongue fast - and obvious.

"Negative, sir. Haven't been bred in a while, ya see."

Price chokes on the other end of the comms and grunts, then Gaz finally hears his rifle supports fold.

"Olrigh', cheeky. Get your arse up here, I'm gettin' us outta here. There's no way these fuckers show up, intel's shite."

Gaz takes off his place in an instant, crawling back to John like a lizard on speed, then getting up and crouch-rushing. He gets to Price and wipes the mix of grime, paint and mud off his face, dripping the shit sludge down his legs. John senses there's some demand coming his way by the sheer look of those big brown eyes, guilting him with no words uttered yet.

"If ya get us that hot tub, I won't say "I told ya so", sir."

Cheeky git. How can John ever say no to tha'?

[pagesfromthevoid]

Spirit Week | b.b. | 2

Bradley Bradshaw x librarian!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of past abusive ex's (not graphic), language, alcohol use

Author's Note: I yapped a bit in this. And also wrote the cringiest Facebook post for the sake of it. Idk, part of the TGTU (Top Gun x Teacher Universe)

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

“Can’t I change first?” She whines, motioning to her outfit today. It’s Surfers vs. Skaters and she obviously went for surfers with her flip flops, Hawaiian shirt and Hurley tank top underneath. This was her staple outfit in high school, minus the Hawaiin shirt and bermuda shorts. Usually it was a hoodie and way too short board shorts or cut offs. “And why are we going out on a Thursday?”

“Because they got a day off tomorrow. Plus, I called off tomorrow,” the counselor explains but she is not dressed up like the spirit day theme. “And you look cute –did you bring those shorts I told you to bring? Trust me, going to the Hard Deck in your work clothes is weirder than showing up like you’re going to the beach.”

She sighs and nods, fishing them out of her bag, holding them up. They are not cut off shorts, but they’re still better than the bermuda shorts she currently has on. With the school day over finally, she’s able to quickly change into her other shorts and slip out into the parking lot without too many students giving her weird looks. For some reason, the kids act like their teachers must not do anything outside of school hours –like they just live at the school. 

“I’m not getting drunk enough to call off work tomorrow,” she counters, giving her a look of mock disappointment.

“I’m not calling off because I’m getting drunk. I’m calling off so I can spend the day in bed with my boyfriend.”

She gags jokingly, fishing her keys out of the bag as they approach her car.

“Rooster is going to be there,” the counselor comments like it’s just a casual thing to bring up, opening the passenger side door. Jake dropped the counselor off this morning solely so they could drive together tonight. “Could call off to hang out with him…,”

“I’m not calling off work,” she says again, rolling her eyes as she starts her car. “And I know. He texted me last night, actually, asking if I wanted to come out. I told him you asked me first, but that you’d probably bail on me for Hangman eventually.”

“I will not bail on you,” her friend promises, but she knows that’s a lie. “I am not like Floyd and her husband –the night I met Jake, she had disappeared with Bobby for like half an hour. I would never do that to you.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” she teases, grinning as she pulls out of the school parking lot. 

She’s not one to desert her friends because of a man, but she is kind of hoping that her friend does find herself distracted by her boyfriend tonight. If Bradley is actually going to be there like he says he is (and why wouldn’t he be? His squadmates will be there), she wants to see him again. They’ve been texting sporadically since he came to the school on Monday, and he’s been flirting hard with her –at least, she thinks he is. Bradley’s always been a bit of flirt; it’s just sort of his natural state of being. 

Her ex had made a comment about it at the ten year reunion. Saying something about how Bradley needed to learn to not flirt with women with engagement rings on. She tried to explain that he wasn’t actually flirting, and that’s just how he was. But her ex had just huffed and that started a fight later that night when they got home.

She probably should have known that was the beginning of the end.

“Wanna pregame in the parking lot?” The counselor asks suddenly, pointing at a liquor store down the street. 

“I thought your bartender made Jake pay for everything?” She asks, but then she’s pulling into the parking lot anyway.

“Maybe I want him to save some money for my ring.”

If she rolls her eyes any more, they’re going to pop out of her head.

Bradley is sitting in his truck, staring at his phone. He’s spent the better part of thirty minutes stalking her Facebook page, after finally having made one and added her. Social media isn’t really his thing, if anything because it’s not like he can post anything about what he does or where he’s at at any point. He just never felt the need to have one. 

But he’s nosy and wants to know what happened to that guy she was engaged to. Did she get married? Did she get divorced? Or god forbid, was she widowed and he had no idea? He almost asked Hangman if he had any idea from his girl, but then he decided asking Hangman anything was a stupid idea.

Her Facebook –which is full of shared social commentary posts, educational ideas, and wishlists for the library –is not half as helpful as he’d hoped it would be. He’s gone back about ten years already, through pictures that she’s posted. There is one photo of her and the guy –Max –that he’s found and she’s got an engagement ring on her finger in the photo, but it’s just a family photo of her with her parents and siblings. It’s not anything special.

Then he goes through her “Life Events” section and she did get married –a year after their ten year reunion. But then there’s nothing else posted about them. Nothing. It’s like she went through and scrubbed her page of him entirely.

So Bradley does what anyone that’s normal would do:

He finds Max’s Facebook. 

And this guy doesn’t have anything set to private. He’s an open book of shitty memes, bad takes on dating, and life updates that get one or two likes maybe and comments asking if he’s good. And that’s when he finds the post that confirms the end of the relationship between Max and her.

Two years ago, Max posted what seems like his most interacted with post:

Life Update (Not that anyone cares): Well. I guess she finally did it. My wife walked out. Packed her bags and left without even trying to fix things like an adult. Said she “doesn’t feel safe” and “can’t live like this anymore.” All because I got upset and punched a wall. Yeah, I punched a wall. Not her. Not even near her. But somehow I’m the bad guy? I’ve explained this over and over –sometimes emotions build up and need a release. At least I didn’t bottle it up and have a heart attack, like my dad. But no, apparently showing emotions “aggressively” is abuse now.  I only did it twice. Maybe three times. It’s not like I meant to scare her. I always apologized. I begged her to go to therapy with me –she never would. She just kept saying “you need help” like I’m some kind of monster. Sorry I’m not some soft-spoken yoga guy lighting candles and crying to Coldplay. I worked, I paid the bills, I stayed loyal. I gave her my whole damn heart. But I guess some people just want perfection or nothing. I’ll be fine though. I’ve been through worse. Just sucks that in today’s world, men can’t even feel anything without being labeled toxic. 

He had to read it a few times, to really understand that this guy actually thought this post was the right idea. When he opened the comments –because Max seems to be dumb enough to really not lock his shit down –Bradley is only slightly relieved to see that absolutely no one took this guy’s side. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, closing out of the app and pocketing his phone. He feels like he needs to wash his hands after reading any of that for some reason.

Inside the Hard Deck, it’s loud already –anyone with a day off tomorrow is there, getting an early start to the weekend. He comes up beside Maverick, who’s making eyes at Penny while she works, and knocks on the bar. Maverick forces his eyes from her and looks up at him with a brow raised as Bradley takes his shades off, looking around the bar for her.

“You’re late,” Mav says, though he knows the captain doesn’t actually care. “The rest of the team is back at the pool table.”

“Have you seen her?” He asks, looking back at Maverick again. When he gives Bradley a confused look, he says her name and Maverick looks genuinely surprised.

“I didn’t know she was around,” he admits, looking around the bar now himself. “Wow –I haven’t seen her since you guys graduated high school.”

“Yeah, she’s the school librarian,” he explains, turning and leaning back against the bar. “I ran into her on Monday there –she’s friends with Hangman and Bob’s girls.”

“And you invited her here tonight?” Maverick jokes, giving him a pointed look. “That school is a better matchmaker than any dating app out there.”

“Technically Hangman’s girlfriend did,” he explains, glancing down at Mav with narrowed eyes. “You act like I’m tryin’ to ask her out.”

“Aren’t you?” Maverick counters, brow raised. “If I remember correctly, you tried asking her out several times when you were younger and chickened out every single time.”

“I never chickened out,” Bradley quickly argues, rolling his eyes. “I just…never found the right time.”

“Didn’t you make her a mixtape and she told you it was bad?”

“I told her it was for someone else, in my defense.”

The bell on the door chimes, and Bradley immediately looks to see her walking in with the counselor close on her heels. He’s barely registering what else she’s wearing because he’s distracted by high waisted shorts and how long her legs look in them –and the jellyfish tattoo that’s wrapped around her thigh, just below where the shorts stop. 

“Look at that,” Maverick says, shaking his shoulder some and Bradley can just hear that smirk in his voice. Doesn’t even need to look at him. “You two match.”

He blinks once. Twice. Then realizes they do, sort of. She’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt similar to his –though hers is a faded blue while his is his usual orange. But she’s wearing a white tank top underneath just like him, and he can’t help but grin some as he pushes off the bar and walks towards her. 

The counselor is pulling her towards the pool table where Hangman and Phoenix are arguing. He’s half aware of Hangman’s girlfriend making some comment about Jake’s inability to admit when he’s wrong. If Bradley wasn’t set on getting her attention, he would have chimed in but his focus is solely on her as she laughs, covering her face as she does. 

“Now don’t go hiding that pretty smile of yours,” Bradley says as he comes up behind them and he’s reaching out to tug on her button up with a grin. She turns and looks up at him, dropping her hand to her side. It takes her a second to process what he said, and she glances between him and her friend before she finally settles on him, looking him over. “You good?”

“We match,” she points out, reaching out to mimic how he’s touching her shirt. The smile on her face is definitely not a sober one, and Bradley realizes she’s already been drinking –and then he wonders how the hell she got drunk between coming here and leaving work. “I think this shirt is yours, actually,” she admits with another laugh. “I found it buried with all my surf stuff –I think I stole it in high school.”

“Probably doesn’t fit me anymore. Looks better in you anyway,” he reassures, but he realizes she’s right: it is his shirt, and that…is a lot to take in at the moment. “Are you drunk already?”

“We may have stopped at the liquor store on the way,” she admits with a sheepish little laugh, but she waves it off. “I probably won’t drink anymore though –I didn’t call off work tomorrow like someone did.”

“And who’s taking you home tonight?” He asks, and there’s a double meaning there. He knows it. And she does too, as she cocks her head to the side.

“I guess we’ll see what happens,” she says with a shrug. Then she’s turning to walk back to her friend –but the counselor and Hangman are walking out the back door. She throws her hands in the air. “I fucking knew she’d do that. I literally said, in the parking lot at school, that I told you she’d bail eventually. It didn’t even take ten minutes.”

“Listen, Hangman works fast,” he chuckles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her towards a booth. “That’s okay though. You get to hang out with me now.”

She hums a little as she sits down, resting her chin in her hand as she leans on the table. “I’d be lying if I didn’t kind of want that to happen.”

“Oh yeah?” Bradley can’t help but smile at her admission, elbows on the table as he leans forward. “What if I told you I asked Hangman to distract her for me?”

“I’d say Hangman probably would have held out longer, just to annoy you.”

“Damn,” he laughs, leaning back against the seat. But he nods. “No, you’re absolutely right. He would have.”

They sit there for a little while, just talking nonsense. He asks if she’s still surfing, and she says when she has free time, which is rare. That tonight is the first time she’s gone out in a while, just because she’s so tired after work. Sometimes she goes before work, but it's rare she wants to get out of the bed early enough to do so. She asks when he got back to San Diego, and he explains he’s been given a long-term contract to remain on North Island until further notice; the squad has been back for a little over a year and half now. The only one that left is Bob, but she knows where he went with his wife.

He does ask about her ex, and admits that he may have stalked her Facebook. She just rolls her eyes and huffs a sigh, explaining pretty much what Bradley assumed from reading Max’s post. They were engaged for three years, and got married right before the fourth year. The first few years were fine. But he had no emotional stability, she explains, and didn’t know how to handle his anger. She promises that he never hit her, but that she just couldn’t live in fear that he might one day. So she served him papers, changed the locks on the house and put his shit on the porch. That was that. 

Making it even, she asks him about what happened between him and Maverick for him to pull his papers. Bradley explains a bit reluctantly what happened, and why. He can’t go into a lot of detail about how they reconciled, just because of where they were and why they were even together in the first place, and he apologizes for that. But she just says she’s happy they figured it out because she can’t imagine him not having Mav in his life. 

At some point, Phoenix brings over a round of drinks and winks at him like she knows he’s up to something. When Phoenix isn’t looking though, she pushes the beer towards him with a sheepish smile, and Bradley texts Maverick under the table, asking him to bring over water or something (“No, you cannot stay,” he’s sure to add). The bastard doesn’t waste a second making his appearance as he sets a bottle of water on the table with a smirk.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, nearly knocking the table over as she stands and hugs Maverick, who laughs and hugs her back. “I –don’t know what to call you –are you still Lieutenant Mitchell or –?”

“Most people just call me Maverick,” he reassures as he pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest. Bradley is staring him down, trying to subliminally tell him to go the fuck away. “But Pete is fine too.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to call you by your first name,” she admits with a sheepish grin. “Feels weird. But Maverick –okay. Wow –it’s been so long. How have you been?”

“Oh, I’m great,” he promises, but he’s knocking on the table. “However, I think Rooster here wants me to leave, so I’ll let you two finally figure out what’s going on here.”

“Mav,” Bradley groans, shaking his head. Maverick just smirks knowingly and saunters back to the bar, where Penny is rolling her eyes at him. 

When she’s sitting back down, she’s watching Bradley with a small grin on her face. “What’s he talking about, ‘finally figure out what’s going on here’?”

“It’s…nothing,” he promises, but he’s definitely blushing and now he’s significantly less confident than he was ten minutes ago. “He’s just annoying. You know how he can be.”

“Bradley,” she says softly, and she’s giving him that look. The same look she gave him when she’d ask him to be honest, when it was just them sitting on his porch at night. When they would talk about anything and everything as kids –the look that made him fall for her in the first place. “C’mon –I know it’s been a while, but I mean, we’re still us. Still friends. Right?”

“Of course,” he reassures as she reaches over and touches his hand. Friends. Always friends.

“So what’s Maverick actually mean?”

“Just…he wants me to ask you out,” he says, and that’s not technically a lie. Maverick does want him to ask her out. Though he’s wanted Bradley to ask her out since 9th grade. “And I am –you know. Right now.”

She laughs some, shaking her head some as she watches him closely. Like she’s trying to piece together what he’s leaving out. But she doesn’t argue, leaning back in the booth and crossing her arms over her chest with that same smile he used to dream about as a teenager.

“You think you can call off tomorrow?” He asks, and he can tell she’s hesitant. Like she doesn’t know if she should or not. But as Hangman and his girl come back inside, she looks at them then nods finally.

“Yeah, I think I can do that. But I do have to be back for the homecoming bonfire.”

“I can work with that,” he quickly says, smiling at her brightly. “I’ll pick you up at ten sharp.”

“You sure you wanna pick me up?”

“How else am I gonna take you out?”

“I mean, you did ask who was taking me home tonight,” she teases, slipping out of the booth as her friend approaches. Then she shrugs with a grin. “Maybe you don’t need to come over twice.”

He swallows hard, nodding as he slowly stands. Before the counselor can interrupt, he’s grabbing her hand and pulling her back to him, smiling down at her. 

“I can work with that.”

———

Taglist: @bowchickawowowww

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - hole in one

pairing: siren!reader x rafe warnings: some suggestive content.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Rafe knows he’s been played the second Ward asks, "You taking her with you?"

He fucking knows it when he turns around and sees you, leaning on the kitchen counter after tattling to daddy cameron behind his back.

“She said she doesn’t have anyone else to spend the day with,” Ward adds, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t leave her out.”

Rafe glares at you, fuming in silence, as you gawk up at him with your "what, me?" expression and slowly sip your water, another mild day declaring psychological warfare on his sanity.

You wink once Ward leaves the room.

Every summer, it's the same old bullshit punishment—Rafe dragging you to who knows where while pretending he doesn’t want to leave you at the nearest bus stop to get some peace.

He thought you’d do him a favor and dress like a normal human being. Something that wouldn’t make Kelce and Topper’s tongues hit the pavement.

How silly of him.

You step outside as he’s loading his clubs into the back of the Rover.

Wearing a skirt so short it doesn’t cover anything if the wind so much as thinks about blowing. Tight little white polo, unbuttoned enough to show cleavage you don’t need to show. Socks pulled up high enough to be suggestive, and a small pink visor on your head.

You spin your club once, resting it over your shoulder.

“Ready for a hole in one?”

Rafe slams the trunk.

“You could’ve said no.”

“But then I’d miss out on quality time with you. I thought you wanted me to tag along."

“I’d rather set myself on fire, thanks.”

You twirl the club again, this is just so funny to you, hijacking his entire afternoon.

“I can stay in the cart,” you offer sweetly. “Just sit there lookin’ pretty.”

“Don’t act daft, please.”

“You let me join."

“No, my dad let you,” he corrects, moving around the car to open the door. He pauses, staring at you, teeth clenched. “You’re gonna change, right?”

“Into what?”

“Something longer.”

“Why?” you ask. “You think Topper and Kelce are gonna say something?”

“I think Topper and Kelce are gonna try to fuck you with their eyes.”

You inhale dramatically, “Rafe!”

“What makes you think I want to spend four hours watching them stare at your ass every time you bend over to pick up a ball?”

You smile, waiting for that. Then you reach up and pat his cheek as if he’s a child, your palm light and patronizing against his face.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you croon. “Don’t act like you won’t be doing the same.”

His jaw clenches as you touch it. You don’t move your hand, allowing it to linger for a second, your thumb grazing the corner of his mouth, and his eyes drop to your lips, then lower entirely against his will.

Your lashes lift like a curtain, revealing a look that could shake God’s strongest soldier. 

“At least they don’t get to touch.”

“Yeah. Lucky them.”

“I don’t see what you’re so mad about,” you shrug, giving him a little spin. “We’re gonna make such a cute team.”

He stares at you.

“You’re not even wearing shorts under that, are you?”

“Why ruin the fun?”

He’s already considering murder, or at the very least, two forced disappearances and a deep pond behind the club where no one would look. Rafe’s still recovering from his pool day and that fuckass shopping trip he was coerced into. 

That fucking bikini. That kiss on the cheek. You buying that lingerie set.

He's begging someone to strike him down and save him from this particular brand of hell again. He had to spend a long hour in the shower on both days, jerking himself off with his forehead pressed to the tile like a man possessed.

He came so close to seeing God, and now this. You, in that outfit—Golf is not supposed to be sexy; that’s the point. 

It’s his boring, rich-boy escape. The one place no one tempts him, no one flirts (except the old divorced ladies), and no one looks like this in a skirt short enough to be outlawed in all states or in a tiny white shirt that clings to every breath you take.

He has to sit in a car with you for half an hour, with your legs crossed and skin everywhere, and the smell of your overwhelming perfume crawling up his throat.

He yanks the passenger door open so hard it creaks.

“Get in the car.”

You give a little salute and skip past him. 

“Yes, Daddy.”

He watches the way your ass bounces, and he almost throws his keys across the driveway.

Rafe’s nostrils flare, taking a slow inhale through clenched teeth, dragging the rage down his throat until it explodes. His hand curls around the car door, picturing snapping your neck.

He gets in on the other side, and as expected, you’re already reaching for the aux cord.

“Do you think Kelce’ll play caddy for me if I ask nice?”

His head snaps toward you.

You tap your phone screen, unbothered. 

“Someone’s cranky.”

You move in your seat—innocently, of course—crossing one leg over the other, pulling the skirt tighter across your thighs. Rafe has to look away, forcing his gaze out the windshield and blinking hard, hitting the gas harder than necessary.

“You know what?” he speaks suddenly. “I hope they flirt.”

You half-turn to him. “Oh?”

“I hope Kelce calls you baby or asks you to show him your swing. I hope Topper offers to help you line up a putt.” His tone is venomous. “I really fuckin’ hope they try something.”

You raise your brows, amused. “Why’s that?”

“So you’ll leave me the fuck alone.”

“Aww, baby.” You lean in, pity coating your words. “You poor thing.”

Your voice is doing that thing, dripping with honey and venom at the same time, curling around his neck like a silk noose. You turn up the volume on the aux, and some stupid pop song begins to play, your playlist full of garbage that would have made him cringe if it had not been for the way you mouthed every word, tapping your thighs in rhythm as if you were intentionally ruining him.

He hates you for sitting in the passenger seat like a wet dream come to life. Hates the way you snort when your visor slips and you tilt it back. He hates that fucking skirt, that glint in your eye, which tells him you know how long it took him to come the other night and how many times he whispered your name into the steam.

(He came three times. For what? A kiss on the cheek and a pink bikini?)

An hour later, you barely make it through the first two holes before Rafe is mentally rewriting his will.

You’re doing it on purpose. You have to be.

He watches from a few feet back, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek as you stand at the tee—legs spread, skirt riding scandalously high, pretending you don’t know how to hold the fucking club. 

You do. 

He’s seen you play before, years ago, in the backyard at Tannyhill with lemonade in your hand and grass stains on your knees. Now you’re batting your lashes at Topper like he’s your knight in shining Under Armour.

He doesn’t know if he wants to yank the club out of your hands or wrap it around Topper’s neck. He’s so fucking tired of this game, watching you drag your teeth across your bottom lip when you pretend to focus, pretending that lining up a putt is the most serious thing you've ever done in your life.

It’s not. Rafe knows what your serious face looks like, but now you’re doing this thing, your little routine 

"Wait—so I’m supposed to… bend like this?" You twirl the club between your fingers before angling your body forward, slow and dramatic, the skirt is tight across your ass, hair bouncing enough to look rehearsed. 

You’re artful with it. Elegant in the way only something devastating can be.

Kelce trips over a divot.

Topper’s already stepping forward. “Yeah, I can help—here, let me just—”

He should’ve left you at the curb.

“I got it.”

Rafe’s voice cuts through the air enough to make Topper freeze mid-stride.

You glance back over your shoulder, biting your lip to hide the shit-eating grin he knows you’re holding.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I got it.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, continues to storm forward, snatching the club from Topper’s hand like he might take your waist next if he didn’t move fast enough.

Rafe steps up behind you, silent, close. He doesn’t touch you, wouldn’t, couldn’t, unless he wants to lose the last shred of control he has left.

But God, he wants to.

“Feet apart.”

You do what he says, and he watches the hem of your skirt sway.

“Back straight.”

You tilt your hips, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Hands here.”

You lift them—delicate, manicured, obnoxiously perfect—and he guides the club into your grip, his fingers brushing yours.

He doesn’t mean to inhale, but he did. Coconut shampoo and sugar.

Fucking siren. 

The backs of his fingers graze your stomach as he adjusts your stance; it tenses under his touch. Maybe from the contact. Maybe from the game, because that’s what this is.

It always has been. From the minute you showed back up that summer in Tannyhill—grown, glowing, dangerous—with your little sandals and your innocent voice and your habit of walking into every room like you owned it. 

“Keep your head down,” he murmurs, breath warm by your ear. “Don’t make me correct your posture again.”

You swallow, he spots it, and feels the way your back straightens. The way your thighs tense when his fingers ghost near your hip again. Not touching.

Rafe steps back, heart tighter.

“Go ahead,” he instructs. “Hit.”

You glance at him once, eyes unreadable. Then you swing—and miss entirely, spinning halfway in place as the club slices air.

Topper laughs.

Kelce shouts something about “Don’t quit your day job, Cameron.”

Rafe doesn’t move, standing there, watching the little smirk creep onto your face; you’re proud of yourself for making him look like a terrible teacher.

“Funny,” He clicks his tongue.

You don't have time to turn before he steps in again—right in your space—and suddenly his hands are on you, insistent, dragging you back a step, manhandling you toward him. His knee slots between your legs, not politely, and the club almost slips from your hands, forgotten. 

You don't flinch or squeal or scold. You stand there and blink at him with those irritating eyes.

“Do that shit again,” he challenges, gaze locked on yours. “I dare you.”

You tilt your head, “Do what?”

He smiles for the first time today.

“Bat your lashes at those fuckin’ idiots like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing again.” His fingers flex on your waist, thumbs grazing your ribs. “Play dumb again and I swear to God—”

You arch an eyebrow. “You’ll what?”

He doesn’t have an answer he can say out loud.

The truth is, if you so much as look at them again, he’s going to drag you behind the nearest tree and remind you—make you understand—that he knows you better than they ever would.

You can play the little act all you want, but he’s already seen the edges underneath. Felt them. Dreamed about them.

“Didn’t know you cared so much, Rafey.”

His grip tightens, thigh pressing enough to make you move your weight—and he notices it. Catalogues the way your lashes flutter for half a second before you remember to smile.

He leans down, his mouth a breath from your neck.

“Don’t fuckin’ test me.”

He steps back, while you you stand there, chest rising and falling a little quicker now, lips parted, still playing coy, pretending he didn’t rattle you.

You bend over the ball, adjusting your stance. Rafe watches as you swing and hit it clean, the ball sailing exactly where you mean it to go.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutteres, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t say another word as you walk ahead, hips swinging too much for it to be innocent. He stays back, watching, grinning, soaking in his victory over you.

Topper jogs to catch up with you, probably cracking a dumb joke, angling to impress. Rafe doesn’t bother listening, doesn't have to.

He’s too busy replaying the moment your breath hitched, how your thighs tensed when he got too close. He walks slower now, keeping a distance for his sanity. Arms crossed again. Trying—and failing—not to look at you every other second.

At the next hole, you don’t ask for help or look in his direction, but you don’t look at Topper or Kelce either. You’re quiet and focused, which somehow makes him more tense than when you were being a brat.

You line up your next shot, pretending your legs didn’t shake when his thigh was between them.

Rafe feels weirdly proud as he watches you hit another perfect drive down the fairway, no theatrics this time.

The next hole drags.

You don't speak, choosing to sit one out, in the passenger seat of the gold buggy like nothing happened, fiddling with your phone.

Rafe’s not stupid.

He knows silence from you means plotting, so he would rather take the whining, the games. Nevertheless, a win is a win.

He grips the wheel harder, turns the cart too sharply around the bend, catching gravel and tossing dust up behind them. You don’t flinch, continuing to tap your screen, gum snapping faintly in your mouth like a war drum.

He hates that he still notices, knows the flavor even—peach.

Topper yells something from the green. Kelce cracks another joke, probably about his “form.” Rafe doesn’t laugh, barely hearing them, the edge of your thigh is brushing his arm every time the cart bounces. 

You don’t speak, never mind look at him. You don’t do a single goddamn thing except sit there silently, and Rafe eats it up like it’s the first real meal he’s had in days.

It’s kind of hilarious, actually—how peaceful it is with you like this.

That gum is still clicking between your teeth, and he should hate it, but it’s fucking music to his ears.

He cuts a peek your way—quick, sideways, hidden behind the brim of his cap. Rafe nearly smiles, having to bite his lip to stop it.

“Would you look at that,” he drawls, focus straight ahead as he guides the buggy down the next hill, “Someone’s quiet.”

No response. He waits.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Still nothing.

He stretches one arm across the back of the seat; this is the best part of his whole week.

“What—pissy now? That it?”

You chew your gum harder.

Rafe fucking grins.

This is so much better than you tossing your head back and taunting him in front of the boys like you’re the belle of the ball. This is rage, thinly disguised as indifference. 

You cross your legs even tighter, tap your phone harder, and drag yourself a bit closer to the edge of the seat.

“You mad, baby?” He coos, mock-gentle. “Gonna cry?”

Your jaw clenches.

It's fucking delicious.

He taps the brakes again to jolt the cart to see if he can get a little gasp, a snap, or something. You grab the edge of the seat but don’t complain.

“What happened to all that mouth from earlier? 

Rafe slows to dip off the main path, tires crunching, sliding halfway into a dip between the trees where the shade thickens and the noise of Kelce and Topper fades behind them. They’re too drunk to notice, shouting over their beers and stumbling around the green like idiots.

Once he cuts the engine and looks up, there you are.

Brows arched. Lips parted, suspicious.

“…What are you doing?”

“Don’t ever pull that airhead shit again, yeah?”

You scoff, eyes flicking upward.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That fake-dumb little performance you put on back there,” 

“You’re so hot and bothered about it.”

“Do you know how dumb you looked? Pretending you don’t know better so you can watch them trip over their dicks?” A dry laugh scrapes his throat. “It’s pathetic.”

Rafe watches your tongue press the pink wad to your cheek and pop it. He already knows what's coming.

“Thanks for the tip.”

You lean forward, elbows braced on your knees, your shoulder grazing his as you turn your face toward him, the scent of you wafting straight into his bloodstream. 

“Giving me this whole lecture,” you murmur, “It’s cute.”

He scoffs. “You think this is me caring?”

“Mmhm.” You hum, twisting a piece of your hair around your finger. 

“I’m not—” His voice cuts short when your hand—your fucking hand—lands on his arm. It’s the fakest innocent touch he’s ever felt.

You blink up at him again, saccharine smile sharpening as you let your thigh press fully against his.

“You didn’t like me needing Topper’s help?”

“I didn’t like the act,” he snaps.

Your brows knitted in perfect symmetry.

“What act?”

He needs to shove your hand away, start the cart and get the fuck out of this shady hideaway.

Leave you behind in the dust where he can breathe again.

“I know what you’re doing.”

You smile wider, fingertips gliding higher up his arm now, under the sleeve of his polo shirt. Goosebumps follow the path instantly.

“I like it when you get mean,” you whisper, lips parting slightly, the idea of pushing him further is too sweet to hold in.

“Keep touching me like that,” he grunts, face crinkling with impatience, “and I’ll show you just how dumb you can get.”

That’s when the gum clicks again between your teeth and you grin, biting it between your molars. You lean back, finally pulling your hand away, dragging your nails down his arm as you go. 

“Okay,” you say, voice airy. “You win.”

No, he doesn’t.

An hour later, Rafe has no time to shut the front door before Ward calls out from the den.

“How was the course?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, dropping the keys into the dish. He doesn’t answer because you’re already there somehow. Perched delicately on the edge of the couch, toned legs tucked beneath you, that ridiculous little cardigan back on like butter wouldn’t melt.

And your face—Jesus. Head tilted just so, lashes dipped low, bottom lip pushed out in that subtle, tragic sulk you mastered back in middle school.

Rafe stops in the hall, suddenly very still.

You look up at Ward with that look.

“Um,” you start, voice all breath and hesitation. “It was… okay.”

Here it comes.

Ward sits up straighter. “Just okay?”

You shake your head, playing with the hem of your skirt like a fuckin’ child. 

“It’s stupid,” you mumble, then glance over your shoulder toward the door—where Rafe now stands, arms crossed, watching it unfold with slow-burning fury.

He already knows what you’re about to do. Knows this was the plan the second you went quiet on the back nine.

You blink at your dad, who has stepped into the room with a glass of scotch. Great, another fucking idiot.

“Some of the guys were… kinda mean, I guess.”

His dad’s brow furrow.

Rafe’s fingers flex at his sides.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your father said, setting the glass down with a clink. “What do you mean?”

You look at him, “They made fun of my swing. Said I was embarrassing myself.”

There it is. Delivered with such a straight face, Rafe wants to clap.

Ward’s mouth twists. “Which ones?”

You hesitate, prentending you're not dying to snitch—but you fucking live for this, the performance, the setup.

Rafe calls it the final kill.

“All of them. But… Rafe didn’t say anything either. He let it happen.”

Boom.

You turn your eyes toward him then. Big, glassy.

Rafe doesn’t mutter a single word in his defense. If he does—if he so much opens his mouth—he might start shouting and never stop.

Ward's already frowning at him.

“That’s true, son?”

He stares at you, at the girl sitting there with pretend sadness on her face and blood on her hands.

“Sure,” Rafe replies coolly. “Whatever she said.”

The worst part is, you keep going, weaving this gentle lie with your whiny voice and your kicked-puppy tremble, until Ward’s patting your shoulder and muttering something about how “they’re just immature boys” and “you’re too good for that.”

Your brow twitch, not enough for anyone else to see, but he does, that delight behind the curtain

You lean into your father’s side, letting him wrap a protective arm around you. 

“It’s fine. I don’t care. It was just a little humiliating.”

Ward shoots Rafe another look—disappointed, irritated.

He's the asshole, once again.

You ran home to them the second you jumped out of his car and sold the story first. Painted yourself small and trying your best.

He turns on his heel, teeth gritted.

“Where you going?” Ward calls after him.

“Shower,” Rafe lets him know. “Gotta wash off the bullshit.”

You nestle deeper into the cushions, letting Ward pat your shoulder and murmur something reassurin, getting tucked into the moral high ground like a damn bedtime story. 

Rafe’s jaw ticks as he takes the stairs two at a time, shoes thudding against the hardwood, louder than they need to be.

He’s not even trying to hide it—he wants you to hear.

By the time he slams the bathroom door shut, his hands are shaking from rage.

The faucet hisses as he yanks it on; it’s not the humiliation, it’s that you knew he’d let you. You counted on it.

He never calls you out in front of his dad.

He’s up here, dripping water onto tile, body braced against the sink, trying not to break the fucking mirror.

Downstairs, he can still hear murmurs. Rafe wants to storm back down and say it.

And despite that, he doesn’t.

He knows how this game works and he’s starting to think maybe it’s time he finally learns how to play it better than you.

[2000sangel]

RAHHHH tenna x autistic reader who likes video games RAHHHHHHHH

Thanks for requesting !!! I'm not autistic, so I hope I was more or less accurate with what I went over.

Warning for mention/slight description of meltdowns, right after "★ !!" ; feel free to skip that part if you're uncomfortable!

*★*★*★*

Tenna x Autistic Reader who's into video games !! - Headcanons

★ Tenna knows very well about your unmatched love towards video games: you're always the first one who wants to try out the ones he creates! He feels appreciated when you do, like his work is worth something, especially considering how passionate you are when it comes to them.

★ You've got your favorites of course, be it because of their characters, plot, or simply for the sense of comfort that they grant you from replaying them over and over…Tenna knows each one of them by now, and makes sure to add little references to them in his own sometimes, just to see your face light up as you realize!

★ He has super good memory so when you info dump about your favorite games he retains every single information; should you have to stop talking for a while, he'll remind you where you left off, making you grin at how attentive he is.

★ Sometimes it happens that you need some more time spent on your special interest -video games, of course- to self regulate or just because for one reason or the other your interest in them is heightened; at first, Tenna might get nervous because of this, thinking that he's done something wrong to make you want to spend more time on games than doing anything else, but all you need to do is sit him down and explain that it's got nothing to do with him, actually!

★ He manages to calm down over time, and either lets you be and have fun or gets comfortable on the couch next to you if you invite him to watch or play along. He's not the best at games that are modern even though you've explained each concept to him…he holds the joystick weird sometimes, or gets confused on how to save if there's a lot of things going on on the screen already plus many controls, he might even be afraid of slowing you down but you reassure him it's all in good fun, and he's good again!

★!! With you being autistic, sometimes things get a little too much; so much so that even the soft music playing from whatever console you're using might send you over the edge, if combined with other things. Each sound is too loud, each feeling is amplified, and suddenly Tenna is by your side turning off whatever device managed to irritate you and removing anything that could be upsetting for you from your proximity. He's a natural entertainer, and through your relationship he has learned to ‘entertain’ you during meltdowns just the same, just a little differently than he's used to on stage; he's quieter if you're quiet, more reassuring, and brings up topics that he knows you'll enjoy hearing about, and adding to if you're up to it. He validates your emotions by having genuine reactions to what you're saying, the dramatic side of him never really leaving.

★ Tenna, despite not being autistic himself (at least in my headcanons), emphasizes with you if you dislike disruption of routine. He's got quite the busy schedule often, but he likes recordings happening at the same time every time, and having that short hour after lunch to slightly nod off -don’t judge him, okay?-. Most importantly, he likes spending the end of the day with you, finally switching off from his TV Time persona. So rest assured that he'll always be around for an evening watch of your skilled gameplay. <3

[chan-hvgs]

First request lets go!

Ship(s)/characters: Minho x Reader (Soonie,dongie and dori mentioned!)

Word count: 699

Cw: Pet names like: Baby, Honey, ect., mentions food, mentions of kissing and cuddling, tooth rotting fluff.

Honey! I’m Home!

It had been months since you’d seen your boyfriend, and you were getting tired of just facetimes, daily texts and fancams. His side of the bed had long gone cold and all of his hoodies had lost his scent ages ago. You had been tempted to fly to him multiple times but your schedule never allowed it. But finally–finally– tomorrow would be the day that Minho is coming home. You could already feel his arms around you, engulfing you in his scent. Just a little longer.

Minho could hardly wait, he was sitting on yet another plane, headphones hugging his ears, as his eyes watched the clouds outside the windows. But this time, the plane wasn't bringing him to another hotel in a place he didn't recognize, it was bringing him where he had wanted to be for so long. Home. By lunch he would be in your arms, a feeling he had missed so, so much, it was almost tearing him apart, his chest ached with longing. He just had to wait a few more hours.

When morning came, you threw yourself to work, tidying up the apartment and preparing a somewhat presentable lunch. What could you say, you weren't the cook in this relationship. It wasn’t the prettiest but it at least tasted good. You did the dishes and vacuumed around, Minho loved a clean apartment. You had quickly taken a shower and did your skincare before putting on a simple, comfy outfit. You didn't need to do anything to impress Minho, you knew all he wanted was you and only you.

You were laying on the couch, scrolling through your phone when the door creaked open. You immediately jumped up and ran into the arms of your boyfriend, taking him by surprise for a quick second before he dumped everything from his hands to hold you, squeezing you so tight, almost bone crushingly. You smiled at him, pulling away to look at his face, giggling and pecking his lips.

“Honey, I'm home!” he joked, voice wavering with emotion. Squeezing you tightly again, you hadn't realized quite how tight the loneliness had been gripping you until it was chased away by the safety of his arms. You smile happily “Welcome back, I missed you so much!” You exclaimed, giggling as Soonie prowled over, the orange furred cat rubbing up against his owner's legs. You whined when he pulled away, walking towards the bathroom. “Baby, I love you too but I've been in an airplane for hours. I'm literally covered in germs.” You sigh but accept it, allowing him to slip away into the bathroom.

As you listen to the sound of the shower start. You walk to the kitchen, warming up the meal you had prepared, setting it at the table as your boyfriend walked out, Wet hair and dewy skin making your heart throb. He sat at the table and looked at the meal in front of him, smirking mischievously, eye brow raised. “Oh? You attempted to cook?” He teased as you stuck your tongue out. “It tastes good. I'll have you know, sorry I tried to make a good welcome home gift.” You murmured in mock offense. He smiled, looking at you as he took a bite. “Hey how about you leave the cooking to me for now on yeah?” You gasped, grabbing your heart. “Words hurt Lee Minho, words hurt!” He chuckled, taking another bite. At least his actions showed that it wasn't as bad as he was making it seem. You sat next to him, taking his hand that he wasn't using. “I missed you. So much.” He looked up at you, eyes soft. “I missed you too, I promise I'll make up for all the missed time.” You smile, nodding softly. “Sooooo that means all the cuddles I want for the next few days!” He nodded with a small smile, disposing of his empty dish in the sink before taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom.

Once inside he got into bed and pulled you down with him, holding you to his chest. You hadn't noticed it but the sun had started to set on the horizon, casting the bedroom in a beautiful golden glow, making your boyfriend glow that much brighter, his three cats curled together in between the two of you. You looked up at him, his eyes heavy, causing you to giggle. “Sleep” you murmured “you've worked so hard and you deserve to rest my love.” He smiled, pulling you impossibly closer, mumbling a soft “I love you, so much.” as he slipped into his dreamland. Safe and finally home.

(A/N: Hey! This was my first time writing a request so I'm a little nervous to post it! This was requested by @mariam-ra Thanks so so much for your request, you're so sweet! -🐝)

[fish145]

in sickness and in health

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader | Arranged marriage

summary: After Aemond gets sick, you, his wife, take it upon yourself to take care of him. And he doesn't want you to. Or does he?

warnings: some swearing, insecurities (him), PiV, fingering, sloppy make-outs, Aemond is a little mean, creampie (this is fiction, use protection), not really enemies to lovers but he doesnt really like you......at first

5.6K

Note: hello i am back. also i giggled writing this ngl

MDNI

-----------

Aemond didn't love you. At least, not really. He knew his marriage had been nothing more than a political match, and he always did what was expected of him.

But he didn't love you.

It had been hard for you, at first. Especially the first few weeks. When you were younger, you had dreamt of a loving marriage with a handsome husband. And while your husband was handsome, your marriage was not loving.

It was late, and you were sitting on a chaise in your shared chambers. Outside it was pouring, every now and then a lightning flash drawing your attention. Aemond had left right after dinner, wanting to fly with Vhagar to ‘clear his mind’,

You believed it was just an excuse for him not to spend time with you. 

And now, hours later, he was still gone. You were worried for him, worried that he might get struck by lightning, or perhaps even deadly sick from the cold wind and the heavy rain.

You sighed again, standing up and looking out of the window. It was pitch dark outside. You knew your husband was smart, deadly so, but still…

You turned quickly when you heard the door creak open, revealing him. Utterly soaked to the bone.

His long white hair was curly from the rain, and the cloak he was wearing was dripping rain onto the stone floor.

“Aemond…” you said softly, stepping a bit closer to him. But he didn't reply. He didn't even look into your direction.

He walked towards the dining table, removing his cloak and hanging it over a wooden chair.

His boots were caked in mud, his tunic and breeches clearly wet as well. He walked over to the fireplace, sitting down on the divan. You fidgeted with your hands, moving to grab a soft cloth from your nightstand. 

“You’re soaked,” you said, slowly moving over to him and holding out the fabric to him, “you’ll get sick if you don't remove your wet clothes, or… or at least take a warm bath.”

He didn't accept the cloth, however, deciding the fireplace was far more interesting to look at than you. 

“I am not some weakling to fall ill from the rain,” he replied, standing back up again. He turned his back to you, his hands unclasping his sword belt and hanging it off the side of another chair. “I have ridden Vhagar countless of times in worse weather than this,” he said gruffly, and you weren't sure if he was bragging or simply stating a fact. “I will not fall ill from this.”

His tone was cold and dismissive, his eye scanning his dagger for any imperfections. “Do not worry about me, wife,” he said, and the way he said the word wife so coldly made your stomach drop. “I have no need for your… attentions.” 

He walked over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of wine only for himself. And he still didn't look at you.

You nodded stiffly, turning to sit back down onto the chaise. 

Oh… how he hurt you. You always believed you could handle an indifferent husband. A husband who barely spoke to you, barely showed you any affection. But this? The way he spoke to you, as if you were the most annoying person he’d ever met… it hurt. 

You turned your head again, seeing the way his breeches and tunic were still wet, his hair too. He would definitely get sick in the morning. And a small part of you really hoped he did. 

“You could have said thank you, at least,” you said suddenly, surprising even yourself. 

Aemond paused, his grip on his cup tightening ever so slightly. The only sound that filled the chamber for the longest moment was the sound of rain pattering against the window, the sound of wind howling outside.

Finally, he turned, his cold eye meeting yours. 

“Thank you?” he said coldly, something close to a scowl on his face. “For what? Your unwelcome concern? Your constant meddling?”

He stepped closer, his tall frame blocking the candlelight. “I have no reason to be thankful,” he said, “you are my wife, in name only. Do not forget your place.”

His warning was clear; leave him be, or face his anger. He scoffed, turning away and walking over to the window again.

You stared at his back, barely even breathing. Then, your embarrassment turned to annoyance.

You stared at your husband, seeing his wet clothing.

Oh, he would definitely be sick come morning. And you would have fun saying ‘told you so’ as he lay in bed, unable to do anything.

You stood up, walking over to your husband. You placed a warm hand on his arm, and you could feel him tense for a moment. 

“I’m going to bed,” you said softly, sweetly. “Goodnight.”

You paused for a moment, just long enough to hear him quietly mutter a ‘goodnight’ back.

You turned, walking over to your large four-poster bed where you disrobed and put on your nightgown. Aemond didn't turn to watch, simply staring outside of the window. When he had finished his wine, he decided to join you in bed. He undressed, pulling his soaked clothing off and slipping nude into bed. He lay still on his back, staring at the canopy above. And though he was quite cold, he didn't move closer to you.

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

You felt awfully giddy waking up the next morning. Your husband hadn’t left for training yet, something he usually did at the crack of dawn. 

He was sick, you were sure of it. He had been coughing and shivering all night.

You got up silently, rushing to your closet and putting on your most extravagant nightgown and robe you had. You’d even done your hair and squeezed your cheeks for a lovely flush. 

Aemond coughed weakly, looking a lot more pale than usual. You slowly walked over to his side of the bed, holding the same cloth you had offered him the night before. You deftly wiped his brow, tutting softly.

“Oh, dear…” you said softly, “that doesn’t sound good…” Aemond just opened his one eye halfway, his temperature only a bit higher, but his entire body sore. 

“I am fine,” his rough voice said, clearly not even having the energy to sound as angry with you as he wanted. He looked over at you, seeing the nightgown you were wearing. He had never seen you wear the damn thing before, not even on your wedding night. 

“Do not play nursemaid, wife-” he said in a warning tone, before coughing again. “I have no need for it.”

You just hummed, your head tilting to the side a bit. “I see… shall I fetch maid Alta, then?” You watched as he clenched his jaw at the mention of the maid, the woman anything but gentle with her rough handling of things. He stayed silent.

“I didn't think so,” you hummed simply, “you’ll have to do with me.”

You stood up, grabbing another thick blanket to put on top of him. Aemond stayed silent, mad that his wife beat him. The last thing he wanted was that damned maid taking care of him with that loud voice of hers. He much preferred your gentle touch, though he’d never admit it out loud.

You moved over to the open window, closing the heavy curtains and plunging your chamber into darkness again. “My maid shall fetch the maester,” you said softly, the darkness helping his headache lessen. “In the meantime, rest.”

The heavy wool blanket felt nice around him, the warmth it gave helping the shivering lessen. He watched you move around, the extravagant nightgown billowing behind you. It looked nice, the blush on your cheeks looking lovely as you placed a cup of water on his bedside table.

He would pick you over Alta any day.

“Make sure your maid hurries,” he said with a rough voice, “so I do not need to suffer your attentions any longer.” 

He tried to sound cruel, but he ended up just sounding exhausted and uncomfortable. His body hurt, his head pounded and his throat felt like sandpaper. His one eye closed, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. He tried hard to fall asleep, wanting just a small moment where he didn’t have to feel his painful body. And when he did fall asleep, his dreams were filled with odd visions, shifting between his dragon ride on Vhagar’s back, to visions of your lovely face, smiling down at him and taking care of him with soft hands. 

Yet every single time, he would jolt back awake, being sent straight into a coughing fit that hurt his sore body further. 

The maester established that he indeed had a cold, and the man moved to make a brew for him that would hopefully lessen his sore throat and rebuild his strength. He ordered the prince a lot of hydration, rest and warmth. 

“Thank you, maester,” your soft voice said, and you moved closer to your husband. You wiped his brow again, seeing his tired eye look at you. You leaned closer, carding a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. 

“Told you so…” you whispered sweetly, before exiting the chamber along with the maester, ready to take the brew with you that he’d make.

Aemond watched you leave, feeling a flicker of irritation at your words. You had told him so, but still… he couldn’t help but smile weakly at your teasing, feeling a flutter of warmth in his chest.

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

After a moment, you reentered the chamber, holding a warm mug filled with the brew. It smelled quite bitter, but the maester had said it would be good for the prince. 

You sat down next to him on his bed, helping him sit a bit straighter. 

“Drink this,” you said softly, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, “the maester said it will help a great deal.”

He held the mug, your hand supporting it as well, and he started drinking the bitter liquid. It was awful, and he felt his head spin the slightest bit. 

But you stayed close to him, making sure he was alright and that he finished the brew.

“Just a bit more,” you whispered, “then I’ll let you sleep.”

“Stop coddling me like a child,” he said with a strained voice, his words lacking his earlier bite, "I can finish the brew by my damn self.” Even as he said this, he allowed you to help him finish the mug, the warm bitter liquid soothing his throat. He handed you the empty mug, and you placed it back on his nightstand. Then. you helped him back under the warm blankets, making sure he was comfortable. 

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, barely audible. You almost missed it, wanting to call him a child for the way he was acting, but his words made you hold your tongue. 

“Rest,” you said instead, blowing out the two candles and plunging the bedchamber into darkness. You stood up, closing the wooden door behind you. Even though the day was young, you decided to stay inside. Just in case he needed you. And to your surprise, you didn't mind that. -------------------

You decided to go back into the bedchamber in the evening, carrying a warm, watery broth. You set it down on his nightstand, lighting a few candles. Then, you softly touched his arm, looking down at his face. 

“Darling… wake up,” you said softly, seeing his one eye slowly open, "I brought you something light to eat.”

You watched him wake up slowly, groaning softly as he tried to sit up on his own. Then, you shifted to look at his eyepatch, a frown forming on your face.

“That must be giving you such a headache…” you mumbled as your hand moved towards the leather. Aemond tensed immediately, his hand coming up to grab your wrist. “Leave it,” he said, his voice still rough from his cold. “I am used to it.” 

Even though you listened to his tired words, you still persisted, gently removing the leather eyepatch. Aemond clenched his fists, staring down at his lap as he was suddenly exposed. And he hated the feeling. He hated feeling so vulnerable, so exposed, in front of his wife, no less. But still, as you were sitting next to him, not saying anything, he couldn’t push you away. Your presence felt soothing, almost nice. And he didn't wish to part from it. 

You grabbed the warm broth, bringing the spoon to his lips. To your surprise, he didn't complain this time that you were treating him like a child. He simply parted his lips, allowing you to feed him. The broth tasted nice, made exactly right so it wasn’t too heavy for his stomach. 

You quietly looked at your husband, seeing his sapphire eye and the scarred tissue for the first time since marrying him two moons ago. You had only heard stories about it, of how frightening he looked. But now, seeing him so sick and exposed, you only wanted to take care of him, to make sure he was alright.

“The maester told me you are barely using the balm he made for your eye,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence between you two. “He said it helps with redness and… and soreness.”

Aemond’s one eye flicked over to yours, annoyance overcoming him again. How dare you speak to the maester about him? About how he takes care of his own body? It was no one's business but his.

He opened his mouth, wanting to shout at you for your disobedience as a wife, but no sound came out when you gently brought another spoonful to his lips. He sighed, deciding to just eat the broth in silence instead. 

It was just… difficult. No one had cared for him in such a gentle way before, had scolded him for the way he treated his own body. And certainly no one had seen him so vulnerable. 

Suddenly, the thought of you, his wife, seeing all of his scarred ugliness, filled him with a deep, unadulterated dread. He wanted to look the other way, hide his disfigurement from you, but you gently raised another spoonful of broth.

He swallowed before speaking again. “I have been taking care of myself since I was but a young boy,” he stated, "I do not need anyone’s help.” 

You sighed quietly, shaking your head. This man--your own husband--had denied you a lot. The loving marriage you had always dreamt of, any sort of affection, attention, even conversations. He hadn’t even touched you after the consummation.

So you would deny him this. 

You helped him finish the broth, standing up to put the bowl away on the far end table. When you returned to his side, you were holding the balm. 

Aemond tensed when he saw the ointment, his single eye narrowing. “I am not a child,” he hissed lowly, a clear warning in his voice. Even though she had seen it correctly, his scar tissue a lot more red than usual and the skin feeling tight and itchy, he did not wish to be coddled. He didn't need anyone. He didn't need his wife. But even as he thought that, the thought of your gentle touch caring for him even when his visage was so incredibly flawed, was a welcome one. 

He clenched his jaw, searching your face for any revulsion, but he only saw a determined look on your face.

“Keep complaining like that and I'll treat you like a damn child," you replied, catching Aemond off guard.

His wife? Swearing? That was… unexpected.

He stayed still as you swiped some of the balm on your finger, then gently applying the soothing cream to his scars. And he couldn't help but let out a shuddering, relieved sigh. It felt heavenly on his skin, soothing the angry tissue. And your touch was so soft, so gentle, it made his chest ache with something he didn't dare name. 

He studied your face, seeing the concentrated look on your face. Your brows furrowed slightly, the candlelight dancing on your complexion. He allowed his gaze to trail over the bridge of your nose, following the gentle curve of your lips. You looked… lovely. He had never allowed himself to properly look at you, not wanting to either be distracted or perhaps even disappointed. But looking at you now, seeing the way you were so focused on gently caring for him, he felt an emotion bubbling up inside of him. Something he didn't dare name, even if he did not know what it was. 

You pulled back, closing the lid of the balm. “There we are…” you said softly, clearly content with your own work. “Go back to sleep. I’ll bring this with me, so you don’t put it on again.”

He watched as you grabbed his eyepatch, blowing the candles out again. And Aemond felt… a lot better. The warm broth had warmed him up from the inside, having stilled his aches a bit. The balm on his eye had felt heavenly, too, relaxing the angry tissue.

He felt his lone eye slowly close, exhaustion overcoming him. But this time he felt a lot lighter, a lot better. And this time, he slept well. And he dreamt of you. 

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

Two more days passed just like that. You took care of your husband, feeding him and applying his balm. You wiped his brow, helped him drink and even brought his chamber pot so he didn't need to strain himself too much by having to walk to the other room. It was nice, having your presence constantly with him. Even doing the dirty work for him, you did so without complaining.

Every single time he woke up from his slumber, you were by his side, flashing him that sweet, worried smile. He had hated your constant presence at first, but now, if he woke up and didn't see you immediately, he could feel a frown forming on his face. 

By the third day, he already felt a lot better. His body didn't feel as sore, his throat also feeling a lot better. His headache had disappeared completely. By the end of the day, he was strong enough to drink his water on his own. He sat upright, spotting you on a chair next to the bed, asleep with a book in your hand. Aemond stared at you for a moment, the setting sun making your skin glow in the loveliest of ways.

He reached his hand out, grabbing your arm and softly squeezing it. You slowly woke up, eyes heavy and a bit puffy from sleep. For a moment, you both just looked at each other. He watched as you sat straighter, stretching your back and straightening out your dress. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, "I didn't mean to fall asleep.” You set the book down, turning to face him more. “How are you feeling?”

Aemond watched as you stretched and straightened your dress, noticing you yourself also looked quite tired. He realised how selfless you had been these past days, clearly neglecting yourself in order to take care of him. He swallowed heavily, clearing his throat. 

“Better,” he said, his voice no longer rough from his fever, but only a bit rough from disuse. “I believe the worst of it has passed.” 

And he meant it. The fog in his mind had lifted, his body not as sore and feeling a lot stronger. He sat a bit straighter, wincing a bit as he used his muscles. He then looked at you again, his gaze drifting down as he saw how your chest rose and fell as you breathed, the soft swell of your breasts underneath your gown. His gaze moved further down your arm, until it rested for a moment on your ring finger, where he saw your wedding ring. 

It felt strange, having been so cared for these past days. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, looking back into your eyes, “for taking care of me.”

You just hummed, standing up from the chair. You looked at him, a surprisingly playful glint in your eyes. “It was in my vows,” you said, your lips curving up the slightest bit. 

“I shall call for my maid. She will prepare a bath for you,” you looked around for a moment, noticing the bedsheets also needed to be changed. 

“I will have a bath after you.”

Aemond was a bit caught off guard by your teasing words. It had been in your vows, he remembered the spoken words ‘in sickness and in health’ as if it were yesterday. But after the way he had treated you, he hadn't expected you to tease him.

A small smile formed on his lips, and he nodded his head. “A bath sounds wonderful,” he said, “thank you.” 

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

After the bath, he had put on simple linen nightclothes, lying back in bed. The bath had felt wonderful, and the clean sheets were nice as well. But he still felt exhausted.

He watched as your maid entered the chamber, moving ahead to refresh the bath for you. You entered later, wearing only a robe, clearly ready for your own bath. You looked at your husband, seeing some of the colour having returned to his face. “Was it nice?” you asked him, walking closer to him.

Aemond had already shifted underneath the warm blankets, nodding drowsily. “The warmth was most pleasant,” he replied, studying your face. Then, he softly patted the spot beside him, an almost pleading look in his eyes. “Join me,” he said quietly, “just for a moment.”

You hesitated for just a second, before making your way over to the other side of the bed. 

“Alright,” you whispered, “until my bath is ready.”

Aemond watched as you hesitated for a moment, but moved to settle next to him in bed regardless. And truly, he couldn't blame your hesitation. These past moons of married life, he had never once been kind to you, never tried to initiate any closeness. He had been distant, cold, sometimes even mocking.

He looked at you as you crawled onto the bed, sitting down next to him. You weren’t quite touching him, but still sat quite close. He moved his arm behind you, not quite embracing you, but still an attempt at intimacy. And for Aemond, it was a huge step.

He looked at you for a moment, noticing the way you grew less tense, the way you allowed yourself to relax in his presence, and he felt that unfamiliar warmth bloom even more intensely in his chest.

He cleared his throat, making you look at him. “These past days…” he started slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, “you have been a true wife to me. And I am… truly grateful.”

The words felt a bit forced, a bit clumsy, but they meant a lot. You felt that same flutter in your chest as he did, a warmth blooming on your cheeks.

“You do not need to thank me,” you whispered softly. You looked at him, feeling more drawn to him than you had ever felt before. But before you could act upon those feelings, your maid entered the chamber again.

“I must bathe,” you breathed out, quickly moving away and standing up. But before you slipped away into the other chamber, you shot him a playful smile over your shoulder. And to Aemond, that meant everything. 

By the time you returned from your bath, Aemond had already fallen into a deep sleep. You smiled softly, watching him for a moment. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered after a moment, exiting the chamber. 

You took care of your husband the following days, until all he had left was a soft cough and a little sniffle. Aemond’s mind was a lot more clear now, and while he should feel happy because of that, he actually felt quite annoyed. Because all he could think of was you.

You, his sweet wife that had cared for him so diligently. His wife that hadn't even flinched when you saw his full scar, but instead taken care of it. 

And you, his beautiful wife, that he had only taken once because of his own bitterness. 

He remembered the wedding night. It had been short, awkward, probably not even having felt that good for you. You had let out a few moans, most of them muffled by your own hand. But they had sounded… cute.

Aemond cleared his throat, deciding to get up and get dressed instead of remembering his consummation. He was a prince, and he definitely was not in love.

He had already put on his breeches, reaching for his tunic when you suddenly entered the chamber again.

You gasped softly when you saw him half undressed, quickly covering your flushed face with your hands. “I’m sorry!” you squeaked out, “I-I didn't know you were not dressed yet!”

Aemond didn't feel annoyed however. He felt quite pleased with your flustered reaction. He calmly slid the linen tunic over his shoulders, leaving the top open. 

“Do not worry, wife,” he said simply. “In fact, I am quite… flattered by your reaction.

You slowly lowered your hands, looking at your husband. He looked good. Great, actually. He was no longer sick, and he looked fit and normal again. 

You watched as he walked closer to you, his eye locked onto yours. “In fact, I am intrigued by it. By you.” 

You flushed a deeper red, Aemond caging you in against the wall and him. “By me?” you asked in a whisper, a small smile forming on his lips. 

“Aye… by you, my lady. By your sweetness… your innocence…” he trailed off, a hand moving up to softly touch your jaw.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “My innocence?”

He just nodded again. He leaned even closer, his lips awfully close to yours. You could feel his warm breath, smell the scent of the salts of the bath he had taken earlier. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he rumbled quietly, “for taking such great care of me this past week. I wish to… return the favor. To take care of you.”

You swallowed heavily, shaking your head. “You don't need to thank me-” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding fast in your chest.

Aemond just let out a low chuckle, moving closer. 

“I want to,” he replied in a whisper, finally attaching his lips to yours. 

He kissed you deeply, allowing all of the pent up longing and denied intimacy to finally pour out. He held your waist tightly, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours. He softly nipped your bottom lip, slipping his tongue inside when you gasped softly. 

It was needy and sloppy, and Aemond relished in it. His hands started moving up your body, groping your soft breasts through your gown. You whined into the kiss, your back arching. Aemond groaned in reply, moving his wet kisses down your throat. 

You felt his hips press into yours, a hardness pressing against your stomach. 

Oh, but he felt so good. 

His hands moved towards the back of your dress, undoing the clasps until the fabric fell away and pooled around your feet. Aemond growled softly when he felt your hands hold onto his tunic, and he easily picked you up, carrying you towards the grand bed. 

You felt so hot, and your heart was beating so fast, yet you felt so excited. You couldn't believe your husband was undressing you, making you feel all sorts of things in the morning. It felt naughty, it felt… right. 

“You are exquisite,” he breathed out, staring down at your figure splayed out underneath him. He leaned down again, kissing you deeply. You parted your lips immediately, needing him more than air. His hands slid underneath your shift, before pulling it up and off of you completely.

His hand groped your breast, pinching the nipple until it was hard and straining. He parted from the kiss, taking it into his mouth. 

You moaned out, arching your back at the feeling. “O-oh, yes-!” you gasped, egging him on. He groaned at your eagerness, his cock twitching in his breeches. You were so responsive, so soft. He had never been so turned on in his life. 

“You're mine,” he rumbled lowly, his hips grinding against your naked core. You moaned even louder, the drag of his thick, clothed cock against your aching clit making your head spin with pleasure. 

“Do you feel that?” he panted as he looked back at your face, “do you feel how hard I am for you? How hard you make your husband’s cock?” he smirked, making you gasp out at his words. “Feel it,” he whispered the order, his dark eye meeting yours, “it's yours, after all.” 

He guided your hand with his own, moving it down until it was pressed against the hard ridge of his cock in his breeches. It throbbed at your touch, and you moaned again. 

“Gods,” you moaned out, his lips attaching to your collarbone, “I need you so badly.”

Aemond smirked against your skin, licking a stripe up your throat. “Tell me what you need,” he said, groaning when he felt your hand move over his cock. 

“I need you,” you whined out, "I want you to make me feel good.” You swallowed heavily.

“Please.”

Aemond groaned again, leaning down to press his lips hard against yours. “Then have me.”

He undressed quickly, nearly stumbling, before crawling back on top of you. 

His thick cock pressed against your stomach, spreading pre-cum over your soft skin. He groaned almost as if he was in pain, and he was sure he was going to be in pain if he didn't feel your warm, wet walls clenching around his cock soon. 

His hand nearly trembled as he slid his hand down to your cunt, swiping up some of your wetness. And, fuck, you were drenched.

He groaned out, pressing his head in the crook of your neck as he slid a finger inside of your wet heat. 

“By the Gods,” he panted, sliding his digit in and out of you, “you feel so good, so warm-”

You moaned out, hips writhing under his ministrations. Your nails were digging into his shoulders, moans of his name escaping your lips.

He slid a second finger inside, stretching you out in the most delicious way. And when his thumb pressed against your clit, you weren't able to form words anymore. 

He thrust his fingers in and out of you, making you more and more wet. He wanted to make you come on his fingers, he really did, but he just couldn't wait any longer. 

He slid his fingers out, the wet noise your cunt made making you whimper.

He reached down, grabbing his hard cock and lining it up with your sopping wet core. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, my dear wife,” he groaned softly. He teased you just for a moment with the tip, just enough for him to hear those cute, needy whines again. And then, he slid inside of you, his thick member stretching you out. 

“Aemond-!” you moaned out, your head dropping back against the pillows. This was different, so different from your consummation. This was hot, and needy and it felt amazing.

“My wife,” he panted into the crook of your neck. He stayed still inside of you for a moment, allowing you to adjust. He lifted his head, pressing a needy kiss to your lips. 

“You take me so well,” he panted, sliding out until his tip remained inside of you, before filling you again. You moaned out, and his strong hands guided you to wrap your thighs around his waist. And when you finally did, he started fucking into you. His rhythm was steady, deep, aimed to pleasure you as much as himself. He groaned out, kissing you as his hips slammed against yours, the bed creaking underneath you. 

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he rambled, probably more to himself than to you. “Gonna fill this pussy up-”

You held onto him, Aemond feeling your body tighten and coil underneath his. He moved his free hand down, rubbing harshly at your clit, wanting to make you come undone so badly. 

“Come for me,” he panted against your lips, his lone eye meeting yours. “Let me fucking feel it-”

You gasped out, whining and mewling as the knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter and--

He stared deeply into your eyes, kissing you hard when you finally came--hard.

Your back arched off of the bed, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around his cock, nearly forcing him out. But he pressed himself harder against you, moaning your name as you came. 

“Fuck, fuck-” he panted, slamming himself deep into you one last time, staying deep inside as he came hard, painting your insides white with his thick cum. 

“Gods-” he panted, his voice nearly a whine as he was overcome with pleasure. Your nails digging into his shoulders only made his pleasure last longer, and after what felt like ages, the final waves of both of your climaxes finally ebbed. 

He collapsed onto the bed beside you, holding your trembling form close. For the longest moment, neither of you talked. You just curled up against your husband, breathing in his scent.

“My princess,” he panted softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That was… amazing. You are amazing. I cannot believe how… how blind I have been.”

A soft smile formed on your lips, his words making you feel lighter than you had felt in ages. You looked up at him, seeing that same smile looking back at you. He kissed you softly, covering you with warm blankets. 

“I’m just glad you see me now,” you whispered in reply. 

He held you even closer.

[thepixelelf]

Oh Baby, You Part 56 - Again, Again

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note: I'm literally so sorry 😭

Mingyu exhales as he looks at his phone, then lets his hand fall to his knee. Orion, at the bottom of the slide, turns to him with his arms in the air. “Again, Uncle Gyu! Again!”

Uncle Gyu.

It’s not the first time that name has made him feel things, not in the least, but lately, it’s like every utterance of uncle digs some hole in his chest deeper and deeper. His heart sinks in that hole, and he’s not sure where it’s going. Somewhere dangerous, surely, if Minseo’s assumptions are correct.

She’s rarely wrong when it comes to him. That’s why he barely talked about the scandal with her when it first broke out — both she and Mingyu’s mother are much too good at reading him.

So then why would he come here today, and with Orion in his arms, no less?

When he asked you if he could watch Orion today, he kept telling himself it wasn’t for any specific reason, and yet…

Here he is. 

Orion scrambles up the playground, but this time, Mingyu sits with Orion between his extended legs. He slides down with the gleeful boy, and once they reach the bottom, he scoops him up into his arms. Orion giggles uncontrollably, which makes Mingyu unable to resist giving him one strong toss into the air.

“Again, Uncle Gyu! Again!”

Mingyu smiles, but he chances one look to the side and sees Minseo sitting at the picnic site. Her arms are crossed, and she looks both annoyed at the fact that he left her last message without a response, and confused at the drop of Mingyu’s expression.

“Is something wrong, dear?” his mother asks as he walks up to them both.

Too perceptive by far.

She goes to feed Orion half of a grape, and when Mingyu doesn’t answer her question, she looks up at him. “Mingyu?”

“Mom.” He swallows. Holds Orion a little tighter. “Minseo… I have to tell you something.”

=

You collapse to the gym floor, cringing at the thought of what else has touched it, but unable to do anything except lie there. 

Appearing in your line of sight, Jihoon bends over you. “You okay there?”

Chan shows up too, his hair dripping with sweat — which narrowly misses you, thank god.

You let out the roughest groan of your life. “Neither of you told me beating you up for an hour would make me feel like I was beat up for eight.”

While Chan holds his hand out to help you up, Jihoon shows off another one of his stupid smirks. “You’re out of shape, MT.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” You pout with your eyes scrunched shut, refusing to pull yourself up. Chan uselessly drags your lifeless body across the gym floor. “Nooooo…” you whine, “...I’m gonna lie here for the rest of eternity. I’m gonna melt through the floorboards if I have to move another muscle.”

Jihoon snorts. “Dunno if Wonwoo’s into goo.”

“Is anyone into goo?” you retort with a grimace.

After dropping you next to the pile of everyone’s stuff, Chan shrugs. “There’s a kink for everything. I bet Wonwoo would still love goo you.”

“That settles it, then.” You starfish on the floor, then peek one eye open at him. “You really think so?”

“That there’s a kink for everything?”

“No— Chan— Wonwoo.”

Jihoon sits down on a random piece of equipment, hunched over his phone. He doesn’t look at you while he says, “If you’re doing that thing moms do where they feel less attractive after having kids, then you’re dumb.”

“Obviously that’d be stupid.” You pout and cross your arms, glaring Jihoon down even though his eyes are glued to his phone screen. “I didn’t actually give birth.”

“Not just that.” Jihoon meets your eyes, and your chest suddenly goes tight. His face holds so much regret that it steals your breath. “I can’t know what it must’ve felt like for you, but MT… I swear, Wonwoo didn’t let you go just like that. He… in his heart—” Jihoon grimaces. Seems he’s better at the gushy stuff when it’s set to music. “He didn’t want to believe any of it. But the evidence… and when I— fuck. Look. He loves you okay? I know he told you that already, but…”

Sitting up, you pull your knees close to your chest. “...But what?”

Jihoon exhales, looks away, then glances at Chan, who shares his grim expression now. Your brows furrow as your eyes flit between them both.

“But what, Jihoon?”

He meets your eyes again. “I feel like you’re afraid to believe it.”

“Afraid…?” You hug your legs even tighter. “I… Is…” A sigh escapes you as you deflate, and Chan crouches down next to you to put a hand on your shoulder. Your next inhale trembles. “Is that so wrong? I mean, what if— what if I believe it, and then…”

Jihoon bites the inside of his cheek, jaw stretching. He knows.

“I believed he’d trust me back then. Or, I guess, I had that hope. And— and—”

“You’re scared to hope now because it might hurt you even more if things go badly?” Chan offers, his thumb rubbing little comforting circles on your shoulder.

With a pronounced sniffle, you pout at him. “No need to nutshell it so succinctly.”

Chan just gives you a smile, and you can’t help returning it. Deciding you don’t want to wallow anymore, you rub your eyes and get to your feet. “Hey, Jihoon,” you say after clearing your throat. “Wanna meet the little boy you’ve been buying all those gifts for?”

Although surprised for a second, Jihoon breathes out on a smile of pure gratitude. “I’d love to.”

=

As Jihoon pulls up in front of Mingyu’s house, Chan having left for home in his own car, your expression sours.

You know it’s only the afternoon, and there really shouldn’t be any lights on in the first place, but the entire house seems… empty. Even from the outside.

“So this is where Mr Geomsoft lives, huh?” Jihoon muses as he gets out of the driver’s seat and joins you on the lavish front walkway, unaware of the sinking feeling in your chest.

Please. Fuck, please no more surprises. Not again.

Trying to remain calm, (Because panicking might jinx things to be even worse, right? Right?) you push your finger on the touch sensor doorbell.

And nothing.

You try again, and again, and eight or nine more times before Jihoon stops you with his hand physically blocking yours.

“Call him,” he says, no nonsense, concern mixed with determination written into his features, and you oddly wish you had this guy on your side during every other freakout you’ve had so far.

Three missed calls in, and you switch to a different strategy.

“Hello?” Jeonghan answers after only one ring. “Is something going on?”

“That’s what I was hoping to ask you. Did something happen? Mingyu’s not home.”

“He’s in, ah… what was that town called again…”

You blink. “He’s out of town?”

“Yes, visiting his mother and sister for the weekend.” Jeonghan seems to sense your shock, wherever he is. “Why? What is it?”

Completely lost, you meet Jihoon’s concerned gaze once again. He has his arms crossed, listening to everything, and his jaw clenches. Without a word, he gently leads you back to his car, and after he deposits you next to the passenger’s side door, he takes your phone.

“Jeonghan, right? I need you to tell me exactly where Mingyu is. Now.”

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oby tagging 1, 50/50: @shiningstar-byulxx @shuabby-woowoo @90s-belladonna @xavi-in-kpopland @kachren @xmessaroundx @chwevernonlover @kwanisms @dalamjisung @1ntaktak @crazywittysassy @butterfliesinthenightsky @ddaengpotate @dorrysstuff @ckline35 @vanishingboots @potatofrieswithketchup @minhwa @oncecaratorbit @sugacookees @royal9 @doodlelibrary @myjaeyunn @yksthings @jundundun @amosmortese @jaeskz @seungmintree @woozarts @my-chaos-in-stars @yoonychoik @ksywoo @kellesvt @candidupped @sharkipoonis @wooahaeproductions @capsiclesworld @hellodefthings @sunshineshouchan @calumsfringe @caratinluv @pinkysinnerbaby @winterwallacehenderson @jvhoons @woo8hao @sxftiell

[nogutsnogloria]

summary: pope comes home from a job that went a bit sideways. you’re there to take care of him and he’s there to take care of you as well.

andrew pope cody x reader

warnings: mention of minor injury, violence, dead bodies, swearing, codependency, hurt/comfort. pope becoming maybe a bit ooc but i think love can change a man right?

you’ve gotten to the point where you can’t sleep without him. you know he barely sleeps but he lies there with you while you sleep. this is why you find yourself pacing in the kitchen, every surface has been scrubbed at least three times. you tucked lena into bed hours ago. yet he’s still not home from his job he left for yesterday morning.

you know what he gets up to when he goes to work but he spares you most of the details. still it’s hard for your mind not to wander when it’s almost two in the morning and you haven’t heard from him all day, not even a reply to your text asking him when he was coming home. you decide that a shower should be a distraction hoping that by the time you’re all cleaned up he will be home. you were wrong. he’s only been gone sixteen hours but you miss him. you just want to see him before bed, so that you know he’s okay, but you have to get up to teach in the morning and there’s no way you can deal with 25 six year olds without at least some sleep, you calculate you can get maybe three hours with having to fall asleep without being in his safe, strong arms. you give up on your all-nighter attempt, checking on lena one last time before heading to your shared room.

you finally crawl into bed and shiver because the sheets feel cold when it’s just you under the covers. you let out a little childish huff and roll over to his side burrowing yourself into his pillow. then you let your mind make up all kinds of crazy scenarios and solutions. maybe he just doesn’t love you anymore and has left you with lena-no that’s actually insane. he’d leave you but no way he’s leaving lena behind. maybe you can put a tracker on him-no that’s somehow even more insane, he’s a grown man not a new puppy. maybe you should download a police scanner app and see if there’s any talk about anyone being arrested, or worse a body found dead on arrival-now you are just being mean to yourself, why can’t you think happy bedtime thoughts?

right when the spiraling is getting a bit out of control, you hear keys jingling in the lock. he makes you promise that you leave the doors locked when he’s not home. you pull the covers off to go meet him at the door to give him a piece of of you mind.

“is your phone broken or something? you know i was really- andrew oh my god?” even in the dark you can see he’s limping, holding his side with a gash bleeding on his cheek. you rush to his non injured side so that he can lean on you. “do you need the emergency room?” turning on the lights in the kitchen you sit him down on an island stool. “no, no hospitals” he says and you can tell he’s in a good amount of pain from the way his voice is strained. “okay, what happened? what hurts?” he looks at you deciding there’s no reason to lie.

“the kid messed up the recon, missed a guard that must have had some sort of mma training. he got me good a few times in my side and a left hook to the cheek, but i think i got him worse.” he adds trying to ease the tension. it doesn’t though. your frown is still present and he hates that he’s caused it.

you go to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and open it up on the counter beside him. then stand in between his legs to get started on cleaning up the cut on his face. he reaches up to where your brows are pinched from the frown on your face and says “im not worth all this worry.” that earns him a pissed off look and he thinks he can work with pissed, he has no idea what to do when your sad because he tries everything to make sure you never are. but you still aren’t saying a word just going to undo the buttons on his shirt. any other day with any other circumstance he’d probably be excited about this. you pull the shirt gently off his shoulders and place it on the counter beside him.

you gasp when you see what has been hiding under the shirt. it’s a good sized bruise taking up the majority of his side, angry and red with purple starting to bloom around it. you skim your hand down it with your gentle touch that he feels himself leaning in towards. you bite your lip trying to swallow the lump in your throat and head to the freezer to see if there is even something big enough to ice the space. there isn’t but you grab an ice pack anyways and wrap it in a towel and go to gently hold it on the bruise his hand covers yours and his palm brushes back and forth against the back of your hand hoping he can soothe you just a little, even if it is useless at this point. your head is down so he can’t see your face but you sniffle so he lifts your chin with his other hand to make you look at him and his heart starts to crack at the unshed tears threatening to spill out over your lash line. “hey-hey i’m okay, it’s all superficial. nothing a little ice and rest won’t fix.” he slides the hand that isn’t cupping your jaw under your shirt so he can rub soothing circles up and down your back. the hand on your chin reaches up to wipe at the tears that have now fallen from your eyes. you wipe your tears as well in a self conscious way and take a shaky breath.

“talk to me, please. what’s happening in that beautiful head of yours.” his voice is so tender with love that it causes new tears to roll down your cheeks. he’s desperately trying to capture your eyes with his own that are trained on the ground. “i’m supposed to be making you feel better.” you finally speak. “you are, being able to come here and have you as apart of my home has its own healing powers, but your breaking my heart a little here princess.” he notices the corners of your mouth slightly turn up at your nickname, but he still needs you to tell him what’s wrong.

you’ve seen him with the occasional black eye and have kissed his bruised knuckles all better before. what is really happening here? he can tell that your thinking carefully about what you want to say so he keeps rubbing the skin of your back to let you know that he’s here. “my brain was playing the worst case scenario game tonight.” you say finally, your voice seeming so small. pope can feel himself pouting at that and looks around. he notices that the kitchen is sparkling clean. that lena’s toys in the living room have been put away in the most organized fashion. that the laundry in the basket is folded with army precision. you were trying to do anything to keep your mind busy tonight.

he knows you’ve spent a good amount of time and effort with real therapy to deal with the demons in your head that tell you everything wrong about you - which is absolutely nothing if you asked him. he also knows that the voice of doubt is always be the loudest on the worst days. “i thought maybe you weren’t coming home to me tonight.” there it is. the truth he was seeking. “when you didn’t call or text, i don’t know, i couldn’t stop all of the things that could have happened to you, or that you decided you were just done with me in general. i’m sorry i feel so stupid saying this out loud.” your shaking your head refusing to look at him.

he takes the ice pack your hand is still holding to his side and places it on the counter behind him, so that you have no distractions. next he’s takes your face in both of his hands so that he has your undivided attention. “first of all, you are anything but stupid.” he had to shut that thought down immediately. “secondly, there is nothing in this world, any scenario where i am not coming home to you, i will drag myself by my fingernails if i have to.” you look into his eyes “you can’t make that promise.” you say with a sniff. he runs his thumb along your cheekbone. “today was a one off, i told the guys i can’t do the dangerous shit anymore. i have way, way too much to lose, and also to live for now.” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and then pulls you in for a hug, you being so careful not to hurt his side but he makes sure to squeeze you extra tight, letting you know he’s not broken. you place a kiss on the shoulder you’re tucked into and he releases you. then you place a feather light kiss on his bruised side and his bandaged cheek. “i think my lips are kind of sore too” that gets a laugh from you that heals everything in him. “you are actually the worst” but you lean in to kiss the stupid grin on his face anyways. “let’s go to bed” he murmurs against your lips. you nod and let him lead the way. grabbing the ice pack to take with you. he heads into the bathroom while you climb into bed.

you can hear the shower running, but pope is quick with it. heading into the bedroom with a towel around his waist, he replaces it with a pair of boxers and climbs into bed beside you. “i won’t be able to sleep with you all the way over there” he whispers in the dark. in all honesty there is maybe three inches between you but you usually fall asleep in each others arms. “i don’t want to to hurt your side” he reaches out an arm to pull you in and places a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping both arms around you. “looks like i’m going to need a hand to hold the ice pack there. mine are a bit full” you snort another laugh for the second time tonight, then sigh “you came to me tonight all beat up. yet you spent that last little bit of today making me feel better. i really don’t deserve you.” you can feel him shake his head above you. “having something good to come home to healed me before i even put my keys in the lock. as soon as i got in my truck at smurf’s place to come back here, most of the pain was already gone. i will say it a million times until you believe it, but the real truth is that i don’t deserve you, you and your goodness in my home, in my bed. you and lena are the best part of my day, i will never screw up coming back to this. it’s everything and more that i never knew i needed.” you snuggle in closer to him and he is back to rubbing your back under your shirt until he feels your breathing even out letting him know you’ve fallen asleep. he closes his eyes as well to rest.

[xmultimusesx]

At the mention of it getting loud in the morning once she opened up the shop, the man shrugged "Don't bother me none" He spoke before shaking his head with a small chuckle at her chest cavity comment "Ain't gonna make ya not sleep on ya bed....couch is better than outside" Remmick moved to where she had nodded towards, kicking his boots off and setting them out of the way - least for a vampire he had some manners, then again she was allowing him to stay and seemed decent despite knowing he could easily tear out her throat if he felt like it.

Moving onto the couch, he paused sitting down "ain't gonna wake up to yer cat try'in to claw me ain't I?" he raised an eyebrow and looked around for the feline knowing she still wasn't the biggest fan of him which didn't shock him. Cat scratches would heal within an hour at best, but he was tried and his body could feel when it was getting closer to needing sleep.

A few hours would do, enough to put his dried shirts back on to help her in the shop. He shifted to lay on the couch, arms folded over his mid section as his blue eyes closed - his breathing was soft like any relaxed person's would be of course. He would be fast asleep come sunrise, only shifted to lay on his side when she had to open up the shop but other than that he slept

Bump in the night (CLOSED RP Starter)

@boundinmybones liked for a starter from Remmick from here

Months had passed since the incident in Delta, Mississippi - only thing the public knew was that the smokestack twins had opened up a juke joint that night, resulting in the disappearances of every single person who had attended - minus smoke who had be found dead among clan members. Everyone's guess was those that had vanished that night met an ill fate at best given the shoot out that clearly happened, and the only survivor Sammy Moore had fled and refused to say what happened.

The person though who truly caused that nightmare of a night had actually survived - how was anyone's guess, but remmick managed to get away though it took months for him to heal enough to pass as human again and to travel. He wanted to see his people, he wanted to feel the culture lost to him but that was the closest he had come to death since being turned, and he refused to go through it again. Besides despite the connection was weak and broken off - he could still sense Mary and Stack were alive, and no doubt watching over sammy given he was family.

The sun had gone down enough that Remmick was able to move around within the small town he'd come across. He looked mostly normal - minus the chest would that was for the most part healed up and looked like scaring for the time being. He wore his white tank top though to hide it under the blue shirt he had on - sitting outside within the sleeping town, softly strumming his bango and singing quietly despite he was listening out for the person close by that he heard