#i won't say but there IS a right answer. to me.

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 What If....

You ask him to leave the uniform on? 🥵🥵🥵🥵

I am feral over this. FERAL. Literally chewing on my own arm because I need to calm down. Your prompts always get me going. I totally blame you for this. Now, I went with a little variety here. We've got Kyle in formal military dress, John coming home from deployment, Johnny returning on break for a quickie, and Simon playing out a pre discussed fantasy. Enjoy!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, CNC, breeding, restraints, welcome home sex, quickies, formal events, semi-public sex, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), sex in a car, dirty talk, brief knifeplay, light degradation

Word Count: 3.3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John’s return is delayed.

He was supposed to come home to you a month ago. But it wasn’t him that notified you about his postponed reunion. Someone from SAS contacted you via the post. The envelope held a singular piece of paper. No apology. Just black ink on a white sheet with an official letterhead. John has always been good about making sure you know when he’ll return. It's something you constantly worry about.

While on a mission, you won't hear from him—this you know. But whenever he is able, John makes an effort to let you know when to expect him or if he's okay.

To not hear from him is odd, and it stirs up all sorts of emotions, pushing your brain toward any number of possibilities. Each scenario appears briefly before sliding into another. They worsen—and then you’re sick, stomach twisted into a tight knot.

That piece of paper is on the kitchen counter. Untouched—but not forgotten. It said yesterday. And yesterday, John did not return.

You’re chewing on your fingernails. Pacing. Stressing.

It's the familiar squeak of the doorknob from the front door that finally stalls your racing thoughts. All that mental energy becomes physical. You're sprinting, throwing yourself at John the moment he enters.

He chuckles—the sound is pleasant and soothing to your heart.

“Didn’t think you’d be home,” he says, drawing you close.

Your answer is to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, and seize a kiss from him that says so much. You need John to know how much you’ve missed him—how worried you’ve been.

His hands on your hips tighten, squeezing slightly as he melts under your kisses. Each one is desperate. Needy. You savor him like you’ll never know this again. John's grip on you is firm, and much stronger than you can resist. He draws you away from him—not enough to create a separation—but enough to talk.

“Slow down, love. Let me look at you.” His hands move to your face, cradling your cheeks. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," you reply. You pull him close again. "Need you." Just a murmur, hardly audible, but John hears it.

He does not resist. He gives in, accepting your love, answering every kiss and touch with one of his own. Hands roam, fingers cling, and yet you're not nearly close enough. You need him on his back with you atop him.

John breaks away, breathing heavy, lips slightly puffy from kissing you. "Bedroom."

You shake your head. "Right here,” you reply, going in for another kiss. “Uniform stays on.”

The middle of John's brow scrunches slightly in confusion, but your fingers are already looping in his belt buckles, guiding him into the living room. That brief moment of confusion morphs into a sultry smirk.

John allows you to guide, allows you to push him onto his back on the sofa. His hands never leave your body, they roam constantly even as you undo the front of his pants and shimmy them down to mid-thigh.

You have him in hand instantly, coaxing him to hardness quickly. The need for him is a driving force, positioning yourself above him, ready to impale yourself.

John's hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your center. "Your—fuck." The sound of your slickness greets him and John groans.

Placing your hands on his chest, John palms the base of his cock, lining it up. You don't slowly ease down. You drop, accepting every inch of him in one go. There is a brief flare of pain from the rapid intrusion, and then it's gone, replaced with the fullness of him inside you.

With your palms splayed wide, you're able to rock your hips, moving up and down his length in a steady movement that has both of you groaning.

"I missed you," he murmurs as you come back down on him. "Fuck—I missed you."

Your thighs start to burn with every bounce. John's fingers dig into your hips, dragging downward before ascending again. With the next roll of your hips, John meets you, thrusting up. It cuts a sharp gasp from your lips.

He grips harder, taking control. You cling to the front of his uniform, fisting the fabric as John brings you down just as he thrusts upward. It is not sweet. It is brutal and desperate. Each connection drags more pleasure out of you until your head falls back and you clench around him.

With a deep groan, John sits up, and effortlessly flips you over onto your back. Pinned beneath him, there is nowhere to go. All you can do is take what he gives.

John buries his face against your neck. "Love you so much."

You hook your heels behind his legs, urging him on. "Love you," you manage to gasp.

It is all sweat and heat. John's lips graze the line of your throat and then your chin. You turn toward him, the two of you meeting as he holds his body against yours, his release flooding your pussy.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle drapes his arm over your shoulder, tugging you against him, the noise of the function receding with every step. Usually when the two of you attend a formal function together, Kyle is in a suit, but this attendance was requested by Kyle's superior officer, Captain John Price.

Instead of a suit, Kyle wears his formal military dress. The uniform is freshly steamed and free of wrinkles. His shoes are polished to perfection. Like this, he's incredibly handsome. You've been admiring him all night, resisting the urge to touch him too much around people he works with on a regular basis.

"Can't wait to take this bloody thing off," sighs Kyle, lightly tugging on the neckline of his uniform.

You rest your head against his shoulder, savoring his warmth. "I think you look rather dashing."

"Dashing?" he laughs.

As the two of you enter the parking garage, you snag his hat, placing it on your head. Kyle's smile widens. He leans in for a kiss, greedily accepting what you offer him. Removing the car keys from his pocket, Kyle hits the button to unlock the vehicle. The SUV beeps, headlights coming on.

Kyle takes his hat back, holding it with one hand instead of putting it back on his head. He offers his mouth again and you close the distance.

"Can't wait to get that dress off you, love," he murmurs against your lips. “Been thinking about it all evening.”

You place your hand against his chest. "I think I'd like it if you leave the uniform on."

Kyle nearly chokes. "What?" he draws back slightly.

With a mischievous grin, you tug Kyle around the side of the SUV. The vehicle is in a corner spot, leaving the two of you tucked between it and a cement wall. There is no camera and no light. Both of you are hidden in shadow.

No one will notice the two of you unless they come looking.

You lean in slowly, offering your mouth. Kyle places his hand on the side of your throat, thumb slowly rubbing against the front of your neck. The kiss is honey-sweet, and tinted with seductive need. You seek another, and yet another until the two of you are gasping for air.

"Not here," murmurs Kyle, drawing back slightly.

Your hand slides downward, pausing at his belt. Kyle whispers your name, but there is no fight in it. If anything, it is lustful. Fingers toying with the belt, you kiss him again, loosening the buckle and then the front of his pants.

Reaching your hand inside, you find him hard and wanting.

"Someone will see," he groans, grabbing your wrist.

"Who will see us?" you reply softly. Kyle's gaze shifts outward to the parking garage.

"No one is around." You start to descend, opening his pants further.

Kyle's attention returns to you. His pupils expand as you take him in hand, painting your bottom lip with a pearly bead of cum. You present your glossy mouth to him, and Kyle brushes the pad of his thumb across it.

You lightly nip at that thumb, and then take him into your mouth. Kyle stifles his groan, but it comes out as a muted whimper. He gently cups the back of your head as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks when you come back up.

This is just a tease. You want his resolve to slip.

Kyle doesn't break eye contact. He is completely focused on watching you. His dick twitches in your mouth, and Kyle grunts.

"Fuck, love. Come here."

With gentle tenderness, Kyle grasps the back of your neck, easing you off him. You extended your legs, leaning into him.

His voice is slightly husky. "I can't wait until we're home."

Kyle opens the rear passenger door and helps you up into the seat. You slide backward to the other end, Kyle following. With a hand on your throat, he pushes you onto your back. These next kisses are rough and possessive. Hungry. Claiming. You open for him, wanting to consume.

His free hand is gripping your dress, shoving it upward where it collects at your hips. Your tongue meets his the moment his fingers slip between skin and underwear. It is brief, and then he's drawing back only to bury his face between your legs.

Digging your heels into Kyle's back to stabilize yourself, you give in, moaning loudly as his tongue swirls a path up and down your sex. He teases just like you teased him. But it is short-lived.

Kyle is desperate for you. He finds your clit and stays put, tongue working quickly to send you over the edge. Your body shudders, a breathy groan escaping you as the orgasm hits. Still on your back, Kyle ascends, one hand pressed to the inside of your thigh while the other finds leverage against the car door just above your head. You lift your hips slightly, presenting your pussy to him.

He takes the hint, thrusting deep.

He does not go slowly. It is skin slapping against skin. It is all low groans and desperate fingers. His body weight keeps you pinned, and if anyone were to open door they'd have a clear view of his bare ass.

"Don't stop," you beg. "Please."

Kyle's answer is to seize your mouth, to force his air into your lungs, to firmly press his body to yours and swivel his hips, pelvis grinding against clit. Your hands fall on his ass, and then he's transformed. An animal. Rutting.

Surely, the car is shaking, but you hardly care. You only want him to finish. To give you every drop of his release.

You feel his muscles tighten under your hands, and then your bodies are sealed.

There is a small pause between then and the moment he kisses you, this time tenderly.

"So much for waiting," you tease.

Kyle’s exhalation is a pleased one. "Just wait until we get home."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

Johnny's smile is devilish. "Came to see you."

"Me?" you laugh. "You just saw me this morning."

"And it wasn't nearly enough," coos Johnny, grabbing hip and waist, tugging you against him. "Missed you the whole time. Couldn't stay away."

Before you can form a reply, Johnny is lifting you up and onto the kitchen counter. He pushes everything up and out of the way, revealing your pussy to him.

"Johnny!" you exclaim.

With one hand on your thigh, Johnny uses his other hand to remove his belt and undo the front of his pants.

"I came home to fuck my wife." You instantly feel your cheeks grow hot. With a sultry smile, Johnny leans in but doesn't close the distance. "Would you like that?"

You nod. "Yes," you reply, voice nearly a whisper. "But—"

"But what?" he asks. You gesture at him. "The uniform? That stays on, love."

Guiding you wider, Johnny circles your clit with the pad of his thumb. The touch is electric, making you shiver as he toys with your sensitivity.

"Look at that," he purrs. "Look how wet and ready you are for me."

You whimper as Johnny tests your pussy with a finger.

"I think this deserves something bigger. What do you think, love?" He inserts a second and you whimper again. "Use your words."

"I want you inside me."

"I am inside you," he teases, pumping both fingers.

You shake your head, gasping as his thumb toys with your clit. "Your dick, Johnny."

"That I can do." His fingers are gone instantly, replaced with the head of his cock. He holds himself just inside, inching slowly until you've taken him to the base. "We'll have to make this quick. Can't be late and disappoint Price."

Johnny lightly swivels his hips, and then he's holding you in place, thrusting steadily. He kisses your lips, then your cheek. Resting his forehead against your temple, Johnny boxes you in, using your pussy for himself.

"You take me so well," he says softly. "Watch. Want you to watch."

Your gaze shifts downward, locking on to where your bodies meet. Keeping one hand on the countertop to stabilize yourself, you bring the other between your legs, fingers lightly playing with your clit.

"That's it," purrs Johnny. "Come for me."

A brief swirl and you're gone, squeezing hard around Johnny. He fucks you through it, grunting as he increases his pace. With a moan that claws up his throat, Johnny seals your bodies together, and his warmth floods your pussy. He thrusts lightly and stills.

A beat of silence, and then you both burst out into laughter.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, shaking his head.

"You came all this way on a break just to have sex with me?" you laugh.

Johnny leans back, grinning sheepishly. He glances down at his watch, smile fading. "Shit."

He pulls out and steps back, fumbling with his pants.

"Are you going to be late?" you ask teasingly.

Johnny tightens his belt and then helps you off the counter. With a quick kiss to the cheek, he heads out the door.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Every light in the house is off. The blinds are closed and it's completely dark except in one particular room.

The deep red glow calls out to you like a siren song. You stride toward it, moving through the hall silently like a shadow. The bedroom door stands open, revealing the blood-tinged space. From your point of view, nothing is out of place. All is calm and as it should be.

But Simon is here somewhere. Lurking. Watching.

This is what you wanted after all. An idea you passed off to Simon with the hope that he'd indulge your fantasy. Clearly, he took it to heart.

Adrenaline spikes in your blood as your gaze focuses on the bed. Attached to each corner are wrist and ankle cuffs. To be immobile and bred at Simon's pleasure is all you asked for, and here it is.

As you step forward, a large gloved hand slides over the front of your throat, squeezing. Simon is right behind you, and you feel every inch of him. Without even having to look, you know Simon is in full tactical gear. Parts of it dig into your back.

The leather of his gloves squeak as his fingers adjust against your throat. With a little pressure, he tilts your head back and you meet his whiskey-brown eyes. It's all you can see of his face. The rest is shrouded behind a balaclava.

"Do as I say," he growls. "Or you'll make this harder on yourself."

His command sends a bolt of need straight to your clit. Already, you feel a growing slickness between your thighs.

"Answer me if you understand."

"I understand," you murmur.

Simon makes a pleased sound deep in his throat. His thumb rubs a gentle line back and forth over the same spot.

His head tilts, lips pressing against your ear through the balaclava. "Then be a good little slut and get on your back."

Using his leverage on your throat, Simon lightly shoves you toward the bed. This time you turn around, facing him completely for the first time. He's dressed in all black tactical gear. Every inch of him is covered except his eyes, and his large frame fills the doorway.

When you take a step back, he takes a step forward. The backs of your thighs hit the bed, and you push yourself up and on, reclining until you're nearly horizontal. Simon saunters, gaze predatory and observing. His gloved hands hover just above your legs, pausing there before he bends slightly, reaching for an ankle cuff.

Simon glances between it and you languidly. You're not sure what his intentions are, not until he grabs your ankle with his other hand and tugs hard. You yelp, surprised, and then you kick out, attempting but failing to free yourself as Simon attaches the cuff into place.

"You said you understood," he growls, as you sit up to swing on him.

Simon snatches your wrist right out of the air. He hops onto the bed, kneeling as he grabs one of the cuffs for your wrists. Still, you fight and still you fail as he latches it in place.

You're not immobile but you're more restrained than before, movement restricted enough that you can't fight back like you want to. Not that you want to escape.

With a fluidity that surprises, Simon removes a knife from his boot and hooks it under the hem of your shirt. A sharp tug and the fabric surrenders to the blade. Simon tears it further, removing the garment completely.

As you use your one free arm to lash out, Simon is already prepared, blocking the blow and forcing it back to the bed. He attaches the cuff and returns the knife to your clothes, splitting your pants and tossing the remains aside.

You're on your back, completely naked and cuffed to the bed.

Simon's hand wraps around your throat, the knife tip dangerously close to your face. "I was going to worship your pretty pussy," he murmurs. "But I think I'll just take what I want."

It's all a game—a scene. You want Simon to use you, to fuck you ceaselessly, to do whatever the fuck he wants because he can.

Simon flips the knife and imbeds it into the bed above your head. Slowly, he removes his belt, tossing it aside. When he opens the front of his pants and eases them down a fraction, you nearly groan at the sight of his hardness. Simon palms the base of his cock.

"I won't be gentle," he says, gloved fingers pressing against your pussy.

He rubs back and forth, easing a little more from your body before grabbing your hips and slamming home. There is a brief flare of pain from the intrusion and then nothing at all except excitement.

"Your body is mine," he growls as he fucks you. "And for the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to breed this pussy until I'm satisfied."

You are unable to move, unable to do much but take it. Simon is situated between your spread legs, and you have a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of you. If you want an orgasm, Simon will have to grant it. Begging for it won't get you anywhere. You need to be good, and then he'll reward you.

Simon grunts as he thrusts, pace increasing as he nears his end. Watching him is lovely. His groan is lust-drenched, his orgasm sending a little shudder through him that you feel in your core.

Simon's gaze shifts to between your legs where he slowly pulls out. "What a fucking sweet sight," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His cum pools at your entrance, threatening to drip out. Soon you'll be overly full, a mess between your legs and on the bed.

Already Simon is stroking himself back to hardness. "Think that cunt of yours needs a bit more.

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[whorefordean]

fetch r.c

rafe cameron x reader

enjoy this thing inspired by a tiktok i just saw

summary: reader makes rafe play fetch to find her ring after a fight

unedited//not proofread

-----------

you and rafe had been arguing for the better part of an hour. it had started when rafe refused to take the weekend off for your anniversary after promising that he was yours for the next three days.

"rafe, please. you've been on the phone for two hours," you grumble, tapping your foot impatiently as you cross your arms. rafe waves his hand dismissively as he continues to argue with one of the guys he works with.

oh, hell no.

"rafe, seriously. hang up the fucking phone. he won't leave you alone if he knows you're just gonna answer every time he calls," you say, louder this time in hopes that the guy on the phone can hear.

"not now, baby. i'm busy. goddamn," rafe grumbles between sentences. you groan, stomping towards his desk and jerking the phone out of his hand.

"listen, asshole. mr. cameron is busy with mrs. cameron for the weekend so call someone else," you speak angrily into the cellphone before hanging up and tossing it aside.

rafe watches you, fuming, and he stands up abruptly. he tries to move around you to get to his phone, most likely to call back his worker, but you grab his arm.

"i'm asking for one weekend, rafe. three fuckin days of your undivided attention," you grumble. rafe shrugs you off.

"i'm fuckin busy! stop actin like a clingy bitch!" rafe yells in frustration. you clench your jaw, shoving by him. you make your way through the house, stepping out onto the back porch that overlooks the beach.

you can hear rafe following behind you. he knows what you're about to do, and he's already grumbling about it. it's damn near routine for this exact thing to happen every time the two of you fight.

"come on. don't do this today. please," rafe says, his tone less angry and more defeated now. you slip your ring off and look directly at rafe as you launch it onto the beach.

"have fun," you say, gesturing for him to go find it.

"you can't be serious right now," rafe grunts, crossing his arms.

"don't ever talk to me like that again," you scold your husband while pointing a finger at him. he sighs and nods.

"m sorry, baby," rafe mumbles, resting his hands on your hips and pressing a kiss to your cheek. you reach up and pat his cheek.

"you should be. find my ring then we'll talk," you tell him with a smile. rafe pouts before kissing you again.

"yes ma'am," he mumbles and sets off into the sand to find your ring.

[lumitoiile]

neuvillette : [waltz.]

☆ — fluff; dancing in the rain with a stressed dragon. gn! reader (no pronouns.)

the rain has been relentless. 

while such weather is not particularly unusual in fontaine, the excessive downpour has persisted for almost a week now. day after day, clouds hang low, casting a somber haze over everything. you can't recall ever seeing the city this gloomy in all the time you've kept residency here. 

a cascade of water drums against your umbrella as you stroll through the streets and markets of the city, head turning at the sound of nearby laughter. you spot a group of children splashing through puddles, running around a water fountain with their voices ringing out loudly above the patter of rain. in unison, they chant together, "hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry!"

you pause, watching them curiously. that's right—it is said that whenever it rains in fontaine, the hydro dragon weeps. an interesting thought. you wonder what dread could possibly be troubling that poor dragon so intensely, causing such heavy rain to carry on for so long.

the dreary weather can't help but remind you of your beloved, your neuvillette. the solemn look he's held lately, the tired sighs he lets slip when he thinks you're not watching. you're aware he's always been a busy man, but this feels different. you can sense a heaviness in him, a silent struggle he won't share.

the iudex of fontaine, chief justice, always composed and reliable...and yet so distant, so dismal.

tonight, he lays at your side, resting in your embrace as you press soft kisses to his temple. even as the heavy rain raps against the windows of your home, it's steady rhythm seems to ease—it's morphed into a soothing lullaby, lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

though when you wake hours later, you find his side of the bed cold and empty.

"neuvillette...?" you call weakly, voice raspy with sleep. but no answer comes. a spike of worry prickles your heart and you don't think twice before slipping out of bed, bare feet padding through the quiet halls as you search for him.

it's not long before you find him outside, standing alone with his figure framed against the downpour. he's gazing out into the night, face unreadable and silver hair dampened by the rain.

"neuvillette," you say softly as you approach.

he looks over at the sound of your voice, eyes wide in surprise. "you should be asleep," he says, frowning. "it's late...and far too cold for you to be out here in your sleepwear."

"yet here you are, out in the rain by yourself." you step closer, touching his arm. there's a crease in his eyebrows, and conflict in his eyes. "what's going on, love? don't think i haven't noticed this change in you. whatever it is...i hope you know you don't have to carry it alone."

he looks down to the ground, gaze flickering with unspoken truth before he slowly shakes his head. "it’s nothing you need to worry about," he says quietly. but his hand trembles ever so slightly as he reaches to brush his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a stray drop of water.

"then, if you won't tell me..." you take his hand, offering him a tender smile. "will you dance with me instead?"

"...in the rain?" he asks hesitantly, clearly taken aback as he raises an eyebrow. "you'll catch a cold."

"let me worry about that." you don't give him a chance to refuse, tugging him close into an easy, swaying dance. and with a reluctant smile, he finally relents, letting you lead him into an elegant waltz.

the world around you seems to fade into the background, focusing on him with only the rain as music to guide you. the storm overhead starts to gradually ease, now reduced to a light drizzle.

you murmur softly to yourself as you move together, voice a whisper against the gentle rain. "hydro dragon, hydro dragon... don't cry."

neuvillette stiffens, his steps faltering as he stares down at you. "where did you hear that...?"

another smile finds its way to your lips and you rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat thudding rhythmically against your ear. "some children were chanting it in the market today," you explain. "they say it's been raining so hard because the hydro dragon has been unhappy. i don't know what might be troubling that poor sovereign, but i do hope he finds peace soon..."

his expression softens as he stares down at you. words go unsaid as his voice gets caught in his throat. instead, he tightens his hold on you, pulling you closer as you sway together in silence.

the rain slows, almost as if it’s listening, each drop gentler than the last. he rests his cheek against your head, eyes closing as he melts into your embrace. "thank you," he murmurs, so quiet you almost miss it.

you draw a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before returning to your shared dance. when you pull apart, he looks up at the sky with a newfound calm in his eyes. the clouds begin to shift, parting slightly as the rain comes to an end.

"perhaps he heard you."

© lumitoiile. please do not copy, steal, or edit any of my work.

[alkaline-wtr]

141 x sick!reader headcanon

Description: They take care of you when you're sick. Genre/Warnings: 141 x sick!reeader, fluff, comfort, headcanon

** This is bad, oops. But here is a little bit of sick comfort because, I am sick right now and procrastinating Chapter 6 of 'We Will Survive' Enjoy.

GHOST: Whenever you're sick Ghost jumps straight into his 'doctor' role.

Rather than giving you a hug and rubbing your back soothingly like you hoped he is up poking and prodding you, asking you more questions than you care to answer.

"Yer not warm."

He says placing his calloused palm on your forehead.

"How 'bout yer head, does it hurt? Throat sore? How 'bout here does it hurt when I do this?"

He asks pressing on your side with his fingers.

"Si."

You groan swatting his hand away.

"Can't you just... Will you make me tea?"

Ghost sighs and kisses the top of your head.

"O' course love."

GAZ: The morning you wake up with a scratchy throat and a relentless sinus headache, is when Gaz is quick to take over the daily chores and responsibilities.

Cleaning and cooking are his top priorities. Anything that can keep you in bed and stress free he's on in.

Sometimes you think he's trying to heal you through food and drinks alone.

Bringing you teas, water, and softer food or soups for breakfast and lunch. For dinner he'll order takeout from your favorite place and ends the night in bed with ice-cream and your comfort show or movie.

Gaz is a sole believer in resting both your body and mind during days like this and he takes his domestic duties seriously in order to guarantee you a comfortable and clean space to relax and recover.

SOAP: Soap is known to be a bit overbearing when you're not at your best. Smothering you in affection, fluffing your pillow, and crowding your space on the couch with anything he thinks might help you feel better.

You're restricted to the couch, surrounded by water, juice, snacks, plushies, and even objects of entertainment like a game, or a book to read.

Any move you make to shift into a more comfortable position or get up to use the bathroom Soap is by your side immediately asking what you need or how to help.

You always appreciate his care and concern, but it would be nice to use the bathroom for a couple minutes in peace, without Soap knocking lightly on the door to ask if you want him to run you a bath.

PRICE: Price isn't the type to go overboard and tend to your every need. He'll start the day off giving you a simple breakfast in bed, and some medicine before bed rotting with you the rest of the day.

You both nap on and off all afternoon. He holds you in his arms brushing your hair with his fingers gently and leaving plenty of kisses on your cheeks.

It is a slow and quiet day, the TV plays softly in the background as you laze around curled into Prices chest. Curtains pulled shut to leave the room dark and obscure any sense of time you might have. As far as anyone is concerned the world is on pause and it's only you and John today.

You being sick, means he's sick too. He won't be leaving your side, and you will be resting and recovering together.

[cupidbedsy]

hiii!!

i hope you’re having a good day!

i was just wondering if you could give some of your blog recs?

yes of course!! i love answering this question :)

〚 @sweetestdesire 〛 ; okay i never mean to do this on purpose but somehow brynn is always the first blog i think of when i think blog recs because i think something deep with in me just needs to share my love for her and her fics. if there's anything that should tell you to read her fics is that i was once a brynn fanpage and i would go back to that era ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @sweethischier 〛 ; abby is so sweet and omg i just love her so much. i can never get enough of her and what she does and i always know i can get the best nico contnet from her and i'm so grateful for her ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @toasttt11 〛 ; my lovely toasty! i love toast so much, every time i get a notification that she posts a new fic or au i'm jumping at my phone and clicking the notification as fast as i can when i'm able. i absolutely love all of her au's and her mind is absolutely beautiful ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @19mercer 〛 ; oml rey is such ana amazing person. idk how or when i started calling her reyrey but i wll now always call her that because that's just what i think about when i see her posts. anyway, her au's are absolutely adorable and i love them sm ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @asunsetgrace16 〛 ; audrey is my yapper girl that i love to yap with. it's truly the most random conversations and it's so fun just to have that relationship with her, i wouldn't change it for the world. plus i absolutely love her fics too, they are always the sweetest thing to read ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @lukesvangelista 〛 ; okay shea might be my guilty pleasure in this very moment as i'm writing this. and yes, i have read all of her fics multiple times and i won't stop talking about them ever. if you're not reading her fics what're you doing? ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @rowdyluv 〛 ; cay is the one who supports my thirsting and i couldn't be more thankful for her for encouraging me. she's one of my favorite hype girls, plus just seeing any notif from her makes me smile ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @hhughes 〛 ; omg cami! so so so so amazing, her blog is just scratches my brain in the right way. and not to mention if i even see a blurb from her i am all in and sat down to read it ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @wineauntie 〛 ; ivy's mind is honestly such a wonder to me. i cannot believe all of the things she comes up with and let me tell you, i want to kiss her mind every time a fic comes out. (the quinn and bunny series is all i need in my life, thank you thank you thank you for your service) ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @winterbarnesblog 〛 ; MY GIRL!!! sitting here giggling and kicking my feet just thinking about her. ana and i have gotten so close and i'm so thankful fo rit because she's honestly all-around amazing. and her au's- don't even get me started ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @lovesickhughes 〛 ; oh what to say what to say about liv. i love everything liv does and i may or may not have caught myself staring at her blog for minutes on end bc it's so pretty. she's so sweet and nice and i love her overall! ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @wintfleur 〛 ; roro's fics are the just the thing i need after a long day. i love curling up on my couch and just reading them with a mug of tea, it's so perfect. and plus i do have to talk about her blog vibe because it's just so pretty and amazing ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @heartsaturn 〛 ; truly truly the only girl that i relate to when it comes to being a chicago fan, it is an absolutely different feeling that you can only feel in the city of chicago and i'm so glad i have her to bond of it. she is so amazing to talk to and i love reading everything she writes ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @isaadore 〛 ; isa is an absolute gem and so are her fics. she's always so sweet to me and has helped me with so much and every time i get to talk to her i'm so happy! ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @star2fishmeg 〛 ; there are truly no words to describe how much i adore meg. sitting down to talk with her is so fun and i can gush about her writing if you ask me to at any moment, just go on and on, truly no shutting me up. also she's one of my resident luke girlies so like bonding! ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @luke-hughes43 〛 ; i love meg so so so much. honestly just talking to her can make my day and i love our little ocnversations we have here and there. her au's are adorable and just the sweetest thing ever ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @delilaahh9 〛 ; lilah is an amazing person to talk to her and her will au is absolute perfection. everyone needs a lilah in their life, i'm sure of it. ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @prettyboysinmyheart 〛 ; a is a wonder, and that's that. i cannot tell you how much i love her and how loved she makes me feel. she is always one of the first people to give her support and comment on something that makes yous o happy. so is the sweetest person ever ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @daniiiboo 〛 ; dani's fics are a work of art and i cannot express how much i love them. she deserves all the love in the world and so much endless support ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @wusyanamegirlfriend 〛 ; elise is so wonderful to talk to and yap with! our conversations never cease to entertain me and i could rms me on and on forever with her ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @crazy4smitty 〛 ; i'd like everyone to meet who got me on my will smith shit and i'm never looking back. everyone should go thank her and support her. no but actually, i love reading her au's and her fics and i just get so giggling when i see one ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @thedevilrisen 〛 ; cici is the kindest person ever and she's so fun to talk to. the amount of random shit i say that she supports is actually so impressive if i'm honest. she deserves the biggest thanks for putting up with me and my convos. also her fics *chefs kiss* ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

〚 @anqeliclust 〛 ; okay immediately the first thing i think of when i think harls is how cute her blog is bc it's honestly immpeciable. back to what i actually wanted to say - one of the biggest hype woman i've come to known! she's so sweet and funny and i always love reading her feedback after she reads one of my fics bc it makes me feel so honored ; ꒰ navigation ! ꒱

and any of my other mutuals! i probably forgot some people so blame me and my poor memory

i should really make a post of all my mutuals

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️NINETEEN

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN◾SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN NINETEEN

After manipulating her into saying no to him, he watches with growing admiration how well she is taking her punishment.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Sex toys under clothing. Edging. Orgasm denial. Semi-public oral sex. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 5.9k

EIGHTEEN 🟥 NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY

He has his arm around her waist and his thumb on the dial in the app, the buzzing noise growing louder when he moves it. She's squirming in his hold, nails digging into his arm as she presses her lips together, fighting the sensations pulsing away inside her holes. He's conscious of their surroundings, for now the restroom is empty, they are alone in their stall at the far back, but knowing the amount of people walking around outside, this may change any second, so he hurries things along a little.

“Tell me why you are being punished,” he says softly, leaning down to her.

Her pleading eyes are big, glistening, pupils dilated. “I... I was...” Her voice is shaking, cut up by gasps and stuttered moans, body convulsing against him under the assault of the vibrating toys stuck in her cunt and ass. “I was ungrateful...” she croaks out. “I was questioning... your... your generosity...”

The comment about why she's even had to pack her old things when he won't allow her to use them wasn't even that fresh on his mind, but she seems to have given it some thought, so why not include it. “And?” he asks, increasing the strength of the buzzing even further.

She howls quietly, pressing her flushed face into his arm for a moment, her whole body shaking badly, then she forces herself to look at him again.

“And... and I... I said no... when you... you wanted to make me... make me come... in the diner...” she stammers, lips quivering, eyebrows furrowed, hips bucking unconsciously against his leg, a frail attempt to relieve some tension.

He tilts his head, watching her, thumb moving up yet another inch. A groan escapes her when she's spasming against him, hands so tight around his arm she's almost cutting off his circulation.

“You denied me,” he says calmly, eyes raking over her shuddering body, down to where her wetness drips down her thighs.

“Y-yes, I did... I did...” she whines.

“You were ungrateful.”

��Yes, yes, I was...”

He hums softly, then moves his thumb all the way down, stopping the vibrations altogether. She gasps, the sudden loss of stimulation making her stumble. A disappointed wail slips past her trembling lips.

It takes her a moment to collect herself, her grip on him easing, her head lowered, her breaths rapid, chest heaving. Then she sniffles, shoulders sagging, and she says: “I'm sorry.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” he replies softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. “But you understand that there have to be consequences, right?”

“Yes, sir,” she answers, inhaling sharply.

“Good,” he concludes and sighs deeply, turning the screen off to slip his phone into his pocket. He lets go of her, leans her against the wall, and gathers the clothes she's exchanged for the new outfit he's bought her. The blouse makes her look a little older, the skirt however pulls a different association to mind. To find this kind of item in a mainstream store like this has surprised him, but he's happy he's found it.

The perfect length to show off her legs (and the welts on the backs of her thighs, a clear sign of his possession for the knowing eye, an unfortunate display of strange horizontal red lines for the innocent bystander), and if she isn't careful or if the wind bullies her too much, everyone will see the leather straps of the harness holding the toys inside her. It was either that or her bare cunt, but again, to the unknowing eye, some people will only see a black thong digging deep between her ass cheeks, while others will know her secret.

He could have just spanked her and be done with it, but he thought a little humiliation (or the idea of it) would be a better punishment. She denied him, too afraid to let go in a public place (and they weren't even that public, in their corner in the diner, she just had to keep quiet, but she's clearly not there yet), and if she's not ready to climax, she will not do so for the rest of the day. That's the plan.

She watches him out of hooded eyes, not daring to move just yet with those toys inside her. He looks her over, then sighs, putting the bag down again. His hands find her flushed face, and he tries to wipe the sweat and tears away, smooths her hair, makes her more presentable again, he even crouches down in front of her, nudging her legs apart and inspects the wetness level between them.

Running a hand over her soaked skin, he deems it tolerable and unnoticeable. Standing up again he wipes the same hand over her rear, teasing the harness. She flinches, but stays silent, looking like she wants to cry some more.

“Hey, it'll be alright,” he tells her, gently brushing his knuckles against her chin to make her look up. “I'll be right by your side wherever we go. You, me, and your two new best friends,” he adds, giving her plump rear a reverberating slap that makes her jump against him with a gasp.

She remains uncertain, timid and possibly also a little cranky, but she'll get used to it. It's not like this is the first time she's wearing them, though the last time has been too short for his liking, not public enough. He'll change that now.

Picking up the bags again, he then grabs her hand and opens the stall door, pulling her after him. She's wobbly, not just because of the cargo inside her, but those shoes seem to cause her quite some trouble too, even though he chose the wedges, giving her more ground coverage instead of those pointy high heels. He guides her to the sinks and pushes the bags into her hands while he quickly washes his. Drying them with some paper towels, he keeps watching her in the mirror.

“Does it hurt? Be honest.”

She shakes her head, swallows hard. “Just feels... weird, full. They move with every step.” Her voice is that quiet hum, kind of defeated, flat. She's probably focusing her energy elsewhere.

“They're supposed to. You'll want to feel them...” He takes the bags from her and grabs her hand again. “Come on, step after step, you can do this. Remember, the more normal you act, the less people will notice you.”

She huffs something of a scoff, and he lets her, smirking at the little pout on her lips. Her hand squeezes his fingers when they start walking, and he takes it slow, guides her out of the restroom and across the parking lot. It's packed, but nobody gives them a second glance. He unlocks his car and opens the door for her, watching in growing amusement how she clambers inside, wincing and whining quietly before she settles on the seat, pressing her thighs together so hard they're trembling.

He leans over her and buckles her in, brushing his nose against her cheek as he does so. “You're doing great, darling,” he praises her, savoring the little inhale that vibrates in his ear.

She watches him when he leans back, and he winks at her before he closes the door with a soft thud. Once he's sitting behind the wheel, he turns to her, tilting his head.

“So, where do you want to go?” he asks, relishing in the confusion washing over her flushed face. “There's a farmer's market nearby, we can look for fresh vegetables for tonight's dinner? But I don't feel like cooking, to be honest...”

“You cook?” she breathes out before he can give her more options.

A laugh escapes him. She sounds a bit too surprised. He may have the means to hire first class chefs and never have the need to bend a finger, but sometimes he prefers doing it himself. “I do, yes, occasionally, if the mood strikes. Maybe I'll show you one day.”

There's a soft twitch to her lips. “I'd like that,” she whispers.

“Yeah?” he repeats, equally surprised now. “Hmm, that does sound nice, doesn't it? You can help me, cut some vegetables, maybe wear a cute little apron and nothing else...” She turns her face away with a little croak, and he chuckles again. “One day, baby.”

She only hums, twisting her fingers into the short hem of her skirt.

“We could also go to the mall, how about that spa treatment I promised you before? Manicure, pedicure, Brazilian wax?”

She stares back at him with wide eyes, and he finds it just a tad too amusing.

“Don't worry, I like you just the way you are,” he says quietly, his hand finding its way to her thigh. He told himself to deny her any touches, but he already knows he can't keep that up for long. He likes to feel her soft skin under his calloused fingers, her warmth, the little shivers.

She blushes softly, licking her lips. He squeezes her leg.

“Some more shopping then?” he suggests, trying to think of more things to do where she has to walk and be in public. He'd know where to go in the city, but they're a few hours outside of it, and he has to take what is being given to him. “I think there's even a cinema in that mall...”

A glint goes through her eyes at that, making him smile. “Mall sounds okay,” she says quietly, her eyes moving from his hand to his face and back, shy, timid, unsure. So incredibly cute and innocent.

He starts the engine. “Mall it is then,” he replies, patting her thigh before shifting the car into gear and driving off the parking lot. At the first red light, he shifts on his seat and fumbles his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the missed calls and going straight into the vibrator app.

“I almost forgot,” he tells her, and she stares at him, hands braced on the seat beside her when he moves his thumb up on the screen, setting both toys on a five. It's mild, but still more than nothing, and she can obviously tell when soft little whines escape her. “No need to keep the noises down in here, baby. Just let go... but remember: you are not allowed to come.”

She swallows audibly and nods. “Yes, sir,” she whispers, sitting stiff in her seat, just letting the pulses go through her now.

He gives her a nod and puts his phone in the compartment between their seats, not without glancing at the accumulated messages. He can't be bothered today, though. He's paying enough people a lot of money to take care of his businesses, they will be able to handle whatever is stressing them out without him today.

By the time they reach the large mall, his mind has nevertheless wandered to the club, and he can imagine the worried faces of his men as they try again and again to reach him. Pulling into a parking spot right in the middle, he grabs his phone and unlocks it, then throws a side glance at the silent girl beside him.

She has her eyes closed, a concentrated look on her face, hands clenched around the edge of the seat. He wants to give her a break, but instead of turning the toys off, he amps them up to a ten. She cries out, her eyes flying open, her betrayed look almost enough to make him feel sorry. He slides his thumb higher, eleven, twelve, then settles on thirteen.

Her body shudders, legs trembling, her lips parted as quiet moans slip past them. She's squirming on the seat, face flushed, eyes watering, her noises growing louder, quicker, eyelids fluttering, eyes twitching, about to roll back – but then he taps the Turn Off button and she deflates almost immediately, thrashing her head against the back of the seat in frustration, a loud groan escaping her throat.

He only clicks his tongue, and her shoulders sag, lips quivering as she presses them into a pout. “Stay here,” he tells her, waiting for her to look at him, then gives her a pointed stare. She nods, her chest still heaving when she relaxes back into the seat.

He exits the car and closes the door, then dials the club. As he listens to the updates, gives orders and confirms settled arrangements, while also easing the worries of concerned employees, he keeps watching the girl, so tiny in his car, fragile, helpless. Taking her punishment like a champ. He loves teasing her, but he already knows he'll give her so much more come tonight. She may not deserve it, but this is about him as well, and he certainly deserves to bury his cock deep in that beautiful little cunt. And that tight little ass. And that even tighter little throat.

Just thinking about it makes him hard, and he has to put a hand into his pocket to adjust himself discreetly. The temptation with this girl. This was about making her take the walk of shame, but it won't be particularly easy for him either. Maybe he won't even wait for tonight.

Once the call has ended, he walks around to her side and opens the door, leans in to unbuckle her and holds out his hand when he straightens up again. She takes it, it's shaking, but her grip is firm as she tries to gracefully get out of his car. There's still a wobble to her steps, she's stiff and literally walks as if she has a stick up her ass, which couldn't be closer to the truth, but she can't walk around like that.

His hand is on her lower back when he leans down to her. “Act normal,” he tells her. She breathes loudly through her nose, looking up at him. “I'm trying,” she whispers. He raises an eyebrow, ready to scold her with an “Attitude, young lady”, but then she grabs his hand and smiles at him.

She is trying. Brave little girl.

He brushes his lips against her cheek, smiling back at her when he leans up again. His hand moves to close around hers, and she's eagerly curling her small fingers around his thumb, giving it a soft squeeze. Together they take the first step away from the car, and she flinches, the next one, another wince, the third one, she's becoming quieter, and by the time they reach the front doors, she's walking more or less normally, still a little stiff (but that could also be because of the unfamiliar shoes), her grip tight (little labored breaths puffing from her nose), her cheeks bright red (which totally suits her anyway), but she's trying.

They've spent the last hour just strolling through the vast shopping mall, casually, mostly window shopping, occasionally he pulls her to the side and shows her something on the various displays, just to let her catch her breath. She's still flushed, tense, her hand sweaty, her legs trembling, but he couldn't be more proud. “You're doing great,” he tells her quietly, feeling her small body shaking against his.

Luckily the mall isn't as crowded on this ordinary Tuesday. There are still a lot of people, but they come and go in groups, and he notices some of them looking their way, but it's nothing new to him. Maybe they've seen his face somewhere before. Maybe they like looking at the girl by his side with her short skirt and beautiful legs, particularly toned today with how she's balancing on her shoes. Maybe they aren't even looking at them after all.

He has no reason to be paranoid right now, she, however, keeps looking around nervously, squeezing his hand or turning her body just in time before someone can see the welts on the backs of her thighs. He's enjoying the sight more and more, it's been a moment of weakness, an unfair punishment, but seeing his marks on her, no matter how they came to be, makes him feel proud (and painfully hard).

If he doesn't take care of this soon, he might attract more stares than her.

But he has to be patient for a little longer, even if the images of her on her knees keep haunting him as they continue their stroll. He could take her right here, back pushed against the store front, caged in by his body, lips strained around his cock, and just the idea of people walking past and seeing them like that makes his cock twitch against the confines of his jeans.

He's never been particularly fond of public humiliation, not like that, it's his reputation on the line as well. Most of the city knows him as a business man, successful, relentless, good in what he does, he's the face of several prominent establishments, from nightclubs and restaurants to bars and even a few exclusive fashion stores, but his main focus lies on the nightclub he uses for far more than selling alcohol to dance enthusiasts.

It's how he came to be where he is now, why he can indulge in pleasures nobody knows about. And he wants to keep it that way. So no making the girl giving him head in the middle of the mall. Too bad. But he'll find other corners, maybe even drag her back into yet another restroom, who knows. He has the whole rest of the day to figure something out.

A tug to his wrist pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks down at the girl next to him, whose cheeks are a little bit more flushed than before. He raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

She bites her lip nervously, shifting from one foot to the other. “I... I gotta...” she mumbles, and even though she doesn't finish her sentence, he understands, opting to let it slide and not make her say it properly.

“Come on then,” he says with a sigh.

Looking around, he then drags her towards the restrooms which are separated here, unlike the mixed one at the department store, and he ponders what would be less strange: a man in the women's bathroom or a girl in the men's. He chooses the latter, and gently pulls her into the long room past the urinals to the stalls in the back. Luckily they are alone for now.

“Need help with the harness?” he asks quietly, watching her as he pushes her gently into the stall. She purses her lips, averts her eyes, but then lifts her skirt, her thighs trembling slightly. He chuckles softly and steps into the stall as well, pushing the door shut.

He tries to be quick about it, to loosen the leather straps from around her mound to allow him to pull the dildo out of her cunt. She groans quietly when he does, her silky flesh dragging along the silicone. Her scent hits his nostrils and it's overwhelming, making his cock throb just a bit more. Holding the drenched toy, he tilts his head. “The other too?”

She is still not looking at him, shame burning along her exposed skin, then she shakes her head.

He exhales loudly. “Alright then,” he says and turns around, playing with the vibrator between his fingers. “Be quick about it.”

“You... you're staying?” she stammers, alarm in her soft voice.

“You can't go with me here?” he replies, unable to hide his amusement. “Don't be ashamed, baby, nothing I haven't seen and heard before.”

He can feel her shuffle behind him, then he hears the quiet thud of the toilet lid and a strange tapping sound, and he figures she's creating noises with her fingernails on the wall to distract from other noises, and he just sighs. It's cute how embarrassed she is, and it's probably a natural reaction, especially since they really barely know each other, but these last days should have been intense and intimate enough for her to loosen up around him.

Eventually he hears water flushing, and when he turns around, she's standing in front of the toilet with her head still lowered, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

He opens the door then, looks around, then nods towards the sinks. She follows, quickly washes her hands, before he steps behind her, dildo in hand. Her eyes widen in the mirror when he puts his hand on her back and makes her lean forward slightly before he prods the toy back between her folds right away, right in the open, very noticeable should someone enter the restroom. She squirms, wails quietly, hands clutching the sink, he should have probably prepared her better, but he doesn't have time (and frankly, he likes to see her writhing in discomfort a little too much).

Once the toy is back inside her, he crouches down and fixes the leather straps of the harness, then gives her a gentle slap on her soft butt that makes her jump when he straightens up again. Her breaths are labored, her hips moving slightly as she adjusts to being filled up once more. When she finally meets his eyes again, her cheeks are bright red. “Thank you,” she whispers, licking her lips. He smiles softly as he leans past her and washes his hands, then brushes his lips against her ear while grabbing a paper towel.

“Good girl,” he whispers, watching goosebumps spread down her neck.

He considers pulling her back into the stall and making her kneel and take his cock down her throat, but then refrains, still thinking about finding a better place. Public restrooms are a little degrading after all, even for him.

Taking her hand, he then pulls her after him (and she follows with unsteady steps), back into the loud, anonymous crowd of the mall.

Since first meeting her, he's known she is a quick learner, adjusts easily to whatever he throws at her, not always without fussing, but always submissive enough to meet his standards, and she's trying her best, and as he watches her walk beside him, almost completely normal, almost as if her holes weren't plugged up by a thick dildo each, he considers changing her punishment because she seems to enjoy herself a little too much.

She's cute, how she points to certain things to show him, how she squeezes his hand and smiles up at him, just happy to be spending time with him like this, like a normal couple, and the thought makes him frown. They are not, far from it, and she shouldn't be left in the impression that they are.

She is his, a body to use and do whatever he wants with, her purpose is to please him. And apparently it pleases him to just walk with her, because he finds himself relaxing and leaning into her, searching her warmth, waiting for her big eyes to meet his, for that innocent little smile. It's a strange sensation, definitely not something he's done often – if at all.

And as Mistress' words come back to him, accusing him of having gone soft, he inhales sharply, still fighting these changes the girl next to him unknowingly forces upon him. His hand closes a little tighter around hers as he pulls her towards one of the many cafes, those with the little tables that sit right in the middle of the large hallway, right in the open, with the streams of people having to walk around them, and he doesn't know if it's a good idea or not to choose one of those.

In the end it doesn't matter, and he's guiding her towards a table, pulls her chair out and lets her sit down first, watching the little strain on her face as she does, and she's still squirming on her seat as he sits down opposite her. Their knees touch under the table, and he puts his large hand on hers for a moment, watching her intently, causing her to stiffen, but ultimately calm down.

He's barely leaned back when a waitress comes to their table, a small young thing like the girl across from him, but this girl has a face full of make up, dark rimmed eyes, hair in a bouncy ponytail, and an almost obnoxious smile on her red lips. And she's exclusively looking at him.

“Hi!” she chimes, rocking on the balls of her feet excitedly. “What can I get you?”

He looks at her, a little disgruntled that he didn't even have time to look at the menu and that this young woman doesn't seem to be able to read the room (he has to remind himself that they are in a small town mall and not a five star restaurant), but then orders a coffee for himself, and an orange juice and a sandwich for the girl whose knees keep bumping into his. He thanks the waitress with a smile, an automatic gesture for him, and once she's bounced away again, he looks over the table to find a sight he hasn't expected.

She glares after the other girl, eyes narrowed and dark, a strange tension on her usually soft face. When she looks back at him, the same expression stays a moment longer, before she looks down and bites her lip, breathing deeply. He holds off wondering what that gaze was all about, but when the waitress eventually returns with their order, balancing a tray on her hand, he witnesses again how her kind face turns sour, even more so when the young woman gets a little too close to him when putting down his coffee cup.

The waitress seems to take the amused glint in his eyes personal and giggles annoyingly, even brushes her fingers against his hand when she puts down the other items he ordered, always avoiding acknowledging his table partner. He thanks her, watching his girl out of the corner of his eye when he smiles at the other, then looks after her a moment longer than necessary. Turning his head back to the girl, she can't hide her flushed face fast enough.

She's jealous.

And now that he thinks about it, it's not the first time she's acted a little strange. He thinks back to the diner waitress named Nancy, who he's just treated like he had because he's been in a good mood, not even thinking about it much. For his innocent girl to be this possessive surprises him, it flatters him, and he can clearly think of many situations where he can use this trait to his advantage, but he still has to keep an eye on that. He can't have her throwing daggers with her eyes at every single female he gets in contact with.

They eat and drink in silence, and he watches her closely, determined to let her stew in her new-found emotion for a bit by not touching or talking to her, and when they're done, he waves for the waitress who comes bouncing back happily, giggling, twirling her hair, very obviously flirting with him – and to prove a point, he flirts back, smiles at her, even touches her arm when he hands her his credit card, watching the young woman blush deeply.

As he waits for her to return to finish the transaction, he throws a cautious glance towards the girl on the chair opposite him, and she's fuming, hiding it, but he can see the red spots on her cheeks, her glistening eyes, the way her shoulders are tense, and how she presses her knees together under the table. She doesn't even look at him, just stares into the direction the waitress has vanished to.

Leaning back in his chair, pulling one leg over the other, he gets out his phone, swipes through new messages, reads some emails, but then opens the vibrator app. Without tilting his chin up, he watches her when he slides his thumb over the dial, turning on the toys within her, slowly increasing their speed. An audible gasp escapes her that she quickly muffles with her hand, squirming on the chair, chin pressed into her palm as she leans on her elbow and now finally looks at him, eyes still full of betrayal, now more than ever.

He gives her a wink, she gives him a stare, and he'll make sure to remind her of her place later. The waitress returns, and he lowers his phone, hiding the screen, accepting his card back with another smile that makes the young woman giggle before she wishes him a lovely day, and he returns the verbiage, almost making himself sick with how sweet he sounds.

As soon as she is gone, he stands up and walks around the table, grabbing the girl's elbow a little too roughly. She looks up at him in surprise, but quickly stumbles after him as he pulls her into a smaller side hallway. Turning another corner, he notices the maintenance door and a camera above it, but he doesn't care, turns his back to it and tilts his head as he lets go of the girl's hand and points to the floor.

She falls to her knees almost instantly, although a wince escapes her and she struggles to find a comfortable position, but there's no hesitation when she watches him unbuckle his belt and than eagerly closes her hands around his cock once he's pulled it out. She doesn't even look around, only focuses on him, and he inhales deeply when she starts pressing her lips to his shaft and licks along his heated skin as if it's the only thing she wants to do right now.

Jealousy works for her...

He's never seen her this enthusiastic when sucking him off, and he watches her with growing admiration. She's quick to lather his length in her saliva, then closes her lips around his tip and sucks hard, tongue poking and flicking and lapping expertly, before she presses it against the underside of his cock and takes him deeper, hands braced on his thighs.

“Don't make a mess this time,” he tells her quietly, and she looks up at him from under her lashes, humming around his girth.

And indeed she tries, keeps most of her spit in her mouth, allows herself to swallow around him, pulls back more often to take deep breaths and lick around her lips before focusing back on his erection. Her hands move up to squeeze his base and his balls in a hypnotizing rhythm, and he catches himself groaning quietly at the sensations, hands clenching at his sides, neck rolling as he feels the tension building inside his stomach.

He refrains from gripping her hair and pulling her against him, he wants her to feel the rift between them, the possibility that he may not touch her but expects her to service him nonetheless. It's almost cruel. She's been so good, but seeing her reacting so strongly to him flirting with other women does things to him. It's empowering.

And she seems to feel it, looks up at him while taking his cock as deep as she allows herself without gagging, he feels the teasing grip of her throat, but she never pushes him deeper, focuses more on fondling the part of his length that doesn't fit into her mouth. It's a nice change, and he lets her, watches her with a forcibly neutral expression. She gives her all, licks and laps, nibbles and sucks, squeezes and massages, always holding his gaze even when tears well up in her eyes.

She's in the middle of bobbing her head when he feels the telltale twitch of his balls, and for this last moment, he allows himself to grab her head and pushes her all the way against him, ignoring the gurgles and muffled noises of protest as he comes down her throat, pumping spurt after spurt into her while holding her tightly, and she digs her fingers into his jeans, body shuddering as he robs her of oxygen.

Eventually he lets her lean back, his hand still in her hair, keeping her close, but allowing her to take deep, rasping breaths as she calms down slowly, and without him having to say anything, she continues her ministrations and cleans his length from any excess cum. Once he deems her done, he pries her hands off him and tucks his softening cock back into his underwear, then buttons up his jeans and closes his belt again, his eyes on the girl kneeling in front of him.

She's wiping at her mouth, but doesn't dare to move much. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he leans down and grabs her chin, tilting her head up, waiting. It takes her a moment, but then she mutters a soft little “Thank you”, and he nods, pulling her up into a standing position, his hand finding her warm cheek, his thumb pressing onto her bottom lip. She parts her lips obediently, and he lets her suck on his thumb for a moment, watching her eyes glazing over slightly.

Smoothing her hair with his other hand, he inhales deeply, just standing with her on the empty hallway, the surveillance camera in his back, both of them calming down eventually, even though she is still shivering, the toys buzzing away inside her. When she feels relaxed enough to grind her hips into his leg, he fists her hair and pulls her away from his thumb, and she whines quietly, but quickly gathers herself once more, mumbling a quick “Sorry”. He lets it slide for now, easing his grip before letting go completely.

Looking her over to make sure she's presentable (noticing the redness of her knees and the slight shine to her thighs but ultimately deems it acceptable), he then grabs her hand, takes a step and waits for her to catch up, before they stroll back to the main area of the mall. She looks up at him occasionally, waiting for the praise that never came, and he wants to pamper her so badly for being such a good girl for him, but she has to learn, remember that she's still being punished for disobedience, ungratefulness, and, newly added to the list, unreasonable jealousy.

She really has nothing to worry about in that department. He's found the perfect girl, his submissive little angel, he doesn't need another one, and he's never been so sure about anything before, not after such a short amount of time. It's risky, it's very unlike him to commit to something so fast, and it may not end well. But he doesn't care, for the moment he is (literally) satisfied, holding her hand, feeling her soft skin, those little twitches, the way her legs tremble, and how the sweet scent of her arousal tickles his nostrils...

He just came down her throat – and he can already feel his cock thickening all over again. That's the power this girl has over him. It's addictive. Why would he even look at another woman, unless he wanted to test her limits a little. Oh, he already knows he'll test them again, and again, if it results in her becoming even more submissive to him, grateful for his attention, happy that he chose her after all.

It's cruel and manipulative, but also too much fun to pass up. He'll make her jealous, fuel that possessive spark until it's spreading like wildfire. And when the world is burning around them, he'll hold her in his arms and tell her what a good girl she is. The only one for him.

EIGHTEEN 🟥 NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY

End notes: We're continuing our descent into the dark world of jealousy. Buckle up, it'll get very bumpy in the next chapter which is also the finale of Season Two!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Sunday!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[derww]

DEVOTIONS WEEK DAY 3: ROYALTY/AHARCHY

CW: Corpses

When Zam finally finds him, everything is already over – the Prince stands, clenching and unclenching his fists over and over again, illuminated only by a narrow moonbeam coming through the stained glass window. Around him lie people – torn, maimed, crumbled. Every one of them is dead. The Prince is covered in blood. A sword rests in his hand.

– I'm sorry, – Zam says, because he must always be there for him, and he had no right to lose him, – I-

– Imagine, – the Prince says nonchalantly, wiping his sword, – they found me before I found them. They wanted to end me as they ended my father and mother. Fucking idiots, aren't they?

– Absolutely, Your Highness, – he agrees. There had never been any doubt in him about the Prince's ability to stand up for himself, but it was his responsibility to ensure safety, – they were very naive to think they could just kill you.

There is something nauseating about the number of corpses. He knew there might be double agents in the palace, but something about it left him with the impression that everyone who came to hand had been killed, guilty and innocent. Only now does he notice the horns that are peeking out from under the Prince's crown.

The demonic principle. Zam is embarrassed by the fact that he is not even a bit surprised. After all, he had been at the Prince's right hand since he was quite young.

– They know what you look like now, – he says...

– It's not that important, Zam, – the Prince waves almost lazily. He steps over the corpses, stepping on someone's limbs a couple of times, and turns out to be In front of Zam, – what a hassle, – he grumbles, finding that the blood is tightly embedded in his clothes now, – your cloak? – Zam carefully drapes it over the Prince's shoulders, at least partially covering the ugliness.

– But what now? – Zam bows his head, – the coronation awaits you, – he recollects, – since both the emperor and the empress are dead...

The Prince shakes his head. Those who had lost their rulers needed a friendly, confident and listening king. Not a half-demon who just caused a massacre. He easily came to terms with it, but he was raised as a prince, and he was always thinking about people.

– Zam, – the Prince says at last.

– Yes, Your Highness? – Zam responds. He checks all the passages over and over again to be ready if someone turns up on the approaches, but when the Prince calls out to him, he instantly switches over, staring at him.

– Zam, the people don't know what the heir looks like.

– It's true, – Zam shrugs, – but it won't last long now since the privacy perimeter has been violated. It'll make sense to get ahead of them and make a public statement-

– Zam. – The Prince interrupts him, and he breaks off, for some reason looking at him in confusion. There is always something special in his view of him - attention, dedication, devotion.

He waits for him to continue, but instead, the Prince takes off his crown. Without it, his protruding red-maroon horns are even more noticeable, making it unable to confuse them with anything.

– Zam, – he repeats, holding the crown in his hands, – the empire needs a symbol of hope, and it's not me. Demon-maniac is an image for a pocket killer, not for the ruler of them all. Will you become the new emperor?

Zam looks very similar to the deceased emperor and empress – blond and tan, with elegant features that do not correspond to his training in any way. He was not a simple man and was barely a year older than the Prince, but he had a kind face. They looked like two opposites – light and shadow, sun and moon.

And... He starts talking, but stutters and stops. Thousands of thoughts and questions swarm in his head, but as soon as he stops himself, he understands everything. This is a sophisticated puzzle that comes together in a single movement. He falls to one knee.

– Yes, Your Highness. – he answers, bowing his head, and still warm metal touches the top of his head. He looks up and notices that Mapicc is smiling.

– Welcome, my prince.

[defectivehero]

Ur reading is always so much fun! I'm excited to see what you have for the bingo 👀

I have a request! Would you consider "They'll come for me" or "Dragging themselves along the ground" with a villain whumpee?

Good luck with the rest of ur writing!! I'm excited to read it all eheh

ahhh thank you so much! I'm excited to write it too, tbh! and yes yes yes! i can do that. mwahahhahaha Ψ(`_´ # )↝

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: They Will Come for Me

"They will come for me," the villain maintains. The truth of the matter settles unpleasantly at the pit of their stomach. They know damn well no one is going to rescue them. This isn't a fairy tale—there won't be a royal figure to dash in and save them. This is the bleakness of reality: cold iron bars, a gnawing hunger digging at their stomach, dried blood crusted along their skin. The villain pushes these sensations aside, attributing their spiraling thoughts to their increasingly unpleasant confinement.

"You don't even seem to believe that," the hero points out helpfully. There's something almost close to worry on her face and it makes the villain sick.

"They're coming back," the villain repeats themself.

"Do you want to know what I think?" The hero hums. It's a rhetorical question; the villain isn't safe enough to weaponize satire and find a witty way to snap back at their enemy. Instead, they just stare at her blearily. The hero paints a sympathetic smile over her lips, a hand rising to grip the bars between them as she crouches down to meet their eyes. "I think you're going to rot down here. Because they left you, and they're not coming back."

The villain remains silent. They convince themself they're trying to save their strength—their silence is not born out of resignation. They pull their knees closer to their chest and curl in on themself, still warily watching the hero as she paces outside their cell.

"I'll cut you a deal," the hero offers after a moment. She continues walking back and forth across the villain's vision.

"No." The villain interjects.

"You didn't let me finish." She says.

"I don't trust you to be truthful." The villain remarks.

"I am being truthful," the hero sighs. She stares at them for a moment, before evidently abandoning the notion of compromise. "But, fine." She shrugs. As she begins to depart, the villain realizes they've just thrown away what could've been their only way to escape. They hear the plea fall from their lips before they can stop it.

"Wait." They implore her.

The hero freezes in the doorway. The villain doesn't need to see her expression to know she's wearing a sharp-toothed smirk. Their enemy swivels back around; indeed, she's grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Damn it. They've played right into her hand.

"Yes?" She asks.

The hero's going to make them say it. The villain grits their teeth and promptly abandons any semblance of dignity and pride. "What's the deal?" They question.

The hero stares at them with a scrutinizing gaze. She seems to be puzzling out the details in her mind. After a moment, she breaks through the silence. "If your little friends come for you within... let's say... a week," the hero offers, "I'll let you go without a fight."

The villain stares at them in disbelief. That doesn't sound believable in the slightest. Surely there's something they're missing here. And while they don't want to think about their friends failing, they have to ask. "What happens if they don't come?" They ask uncertainly.

"If they don't rescue you, you'll remain here." The hero answers smoothly.

"...For how long?" The villain hears themself ask.

The hero studies them. "For as long as I deem it necessary." Forever, then, the villain thinks to themself darkly.

"What's the catch?" The villain demands, after few moments have passed and they've failed to find an immediate risk to this 'deal.'

"There's no catch," the hero says, contrary to their suspicions. "Trust in your allies, and everything will work out. Right?" She looks at them expectantly.

"Right." The villain responds, their mouth dry. It's such a simple thing, yet it feels like an impractical feat. All they need to do is wait for the others to rescue them. So... why do they feel so uneasy? They shake their head and withdraw into the caverns of their mind, suppressing any doubts or reasonable suspicions.

One day passes. Then two. Three, four, five. There is no sign of a savior for the villain to latch onto. The villain's hope begins to morph into despair; they start to dread the sound of the door swinging open at the hero's grip. At first, they had relentlessly monitored the rise and fall of the sun through the sunlight cast across the floor. But after the telltale mark of five days passes, they begin to abandon the notion. They know it's foolish to give up hope with two days remaining, but there's an inexplicable conviction brewing in their chest: one that renders any of their previous expectations to static.

The next time the hero enters the room, the villain doesn't bother with their typical fanfare. "How long has it been?" They cut right to the chase.

The flat line set across the hero's lips is all the villain needs to get their answer. Yet the words their enemy utters are even worse. "It's been a month."

"A month," the villain repeats hollowly. Their ears are ringing. How far will the hero go to ascertain her victory? Why would she choose such a blatant, easily disproven lie?

The hero pays them a sympathetic smile. "We had this same conversation yesterday." She admits. She's staring at them with concern, as if they're a fragile ornament just moments away from breaking.

The villain doesn't believe her. They say as much, in many rather unsavory words. The hero doesn't seem affected by their anger or irritation; rather, she is frustratingly calm. She leaves them silently moments later.

The villain waits until she's gone to take a slow rattling breath, before burying their head in their hands. Their heart is roaring in their ears. Surely the hero is lying. She's messing with their perception of time to instill fear in them. Surely the villain will be freed soon.

Their head is spinning. The blood on the floor is so dark it appears black. The truth of the situation is staring them in the face, but they can't accept it. They can't accept the scars set into their skin; the noticeably more brisk air surrounding the space; the length of their fingernails, which they always file extremely short.

"They're coming back for me." The villain whispers to themself. "They're coming back."

Maybe if they repeat it enough, they'll start to believe it.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

Bad Things Happen Bingo Masterlist

I know this isn't necessarily the straightforward way to write this trope... but ah well. I just like the idea of "they will come back for me," being stated as a way for the villain to reassure themself, rather than a genuine threat or warning to the hero.

anyway, thanks for reading! <3

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[buckets-and-trees]

UM, HOW FUN WAS GETTING TO LIVE THROUGH THE DOCUMENTATION OF YOUR REACTIONS TO THIS CHAPTER?!

Thank you for taking me on that journey with you! 🥹

When I had this idea, it was all about Steve and reader. When I started writing it, I realized there would have to be other characters in their orbit constantly, and that's been kind of a fun challenge. I rarely care about shaping the ensemble - at least not with this much of a focus - but it's so many layers of story elements! Campaign team/barely any time to ever be alone, let alone alone time with each other. Campaign team in relation to the reader getting to know people - and some of them know about the arrangement, but most don't, and how that plays into things. Plus how they act toward each other around other people. I'm glad they're parts of the story that are standing out rather than just feeling like we're getting through them to get to a plot point.

And the kisses! Can you believe that wasn't even my original intent with including that scene? 🤣 It was getting Steve to do a TikTok/build up his feeling like the campaign is so showy + reader having another regular moment with Bucky and Sam, and then when I was in the middle of it, I was like, 'oh, wait... this is perfect...' Especially a dramatic kiss and then something more real. 🥹

And the debate prep scene was one that I've really been waiting to get to because it - again - was doing so much for me in terms of the plot development for them. Reader going after Steve instead of Bucky or Sam, Steve being pushed, Steve somewhat losing it, Steve saying some really poignant pieces, and Reader recognizing his frustrations and soothing that a little bit, but also calling him on stepping up and not falling into blaming others because he has to harness that ability (and logistically his right by his role) to captain this ship.

...

And then Josh Connor.

Okay, first, I didn't remember that I named that reporter Andy so I dom't think it's in relation to Andy Barber... (truthfully, I was thinking about a possible Andy x Reader in relation to this campaign, so... I think I was just picking a normal name)

And then Josh.

👀

I won't answer ALL your questions there because... I think you don't TRULY want to be spoiled, plus so much of it will be answered at the beginning of the next part. But I will say that of course Pepper knew.

And because I managed a diabolical mention that went under the radar...

I wanted to leave the tiniest breadcrumbs so that when we got here, it would likely be a 99% shock, but something I knew we were moving toward the whole time. MWAHAHAHAHA!

DON'T REVOKE OUR MARRIAGE LICENSE! I think the way things will unfold will be acceptable. No one will need to sharpen any knives, but there might be some wringing of hands because it's not nothing obviously.

Love you endlessly, and appreciate all your sharing here! 🩵

Red, White & True: DC, Tampa, Athens [5/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 6.1k Summary: Late September means things are only accelerating as election day grows closer. Steve is picking up momentum in the polls, and things heat up on multiple fronts before you hit a bump that may shake up the progress between you and your husband.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: You get another West Wing cameo in this chapter (but totally unnecessary to have ever watched the show). This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[SEPTEMBER 26 - WASHINGTON, DC]

The late September sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the campaign's official DC headquarters, casting long shadows across the bustling office space. You're leaning against a desk, watching with amusement as Peter Parker, the youth outreach coordinator who's also become the campaign's unofficial creative director of the TikTok segment of the social media team, attempts to explain the concept for the video to Steve.

"Okay, Cap," Peter says, his enthusiasm palpable as he holds up his phone. "We're going to do a quick transition video. It's super easy, I promise!"

Steve stands in the middle of the room, looking slightly uncomfortable but determined. He's dressed casually in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a stark contrast to his usual campaign attire. The goal is to remind the voters that Steve is relatable to the everyday American at the end of the day.

Steve nods, a mixture of bemusement and determination on his face. "Alright, Peter. Walk me through it."

Peter's face lights up. "Okay, so you're going to start in your casual clothes, then you'll spin around. As you spin, we'll cut and you'll change into your suit. When you finish the spin, you'll be in full Captain America mode, then we’ll have you spin and change one more time, and we’ll end the video with you in your presidential get up."

"And this will... resonate with young voters?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

You can't help but chuckle. "It's about showing your versatility, Steve. From everyday guy to national hero to the next president in the blink of an eye."

Steve shoots you a playful glare. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one spinning like a top."

Peter positions Steve in front of the camera. "Okay, Cap. Just spin naturally, and we'll take care of the angles and editing.”

As Steve prepares for his first take, Bucky saunters into the room, a smirk playing on his lips. He sidles up next to you, crossing his arms as he watches his best friend awkwardly position himself in front of the camera.

"I'm sure Steve must be loving this," Bucky murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, suppressing a chuckle. "It's written all over his face."

Indeed, Steve's expression is a fascinating mix of determination and mild discomfort, his brow is furrowed in concentration.

The rapport that’s been developing with Bucky over the last few weeks has also been nice. It’s its own brand of friendship, and it’s not rock solid yet, but it’s growing.

"Alright, Cap," Peter calls out, phone at the ready. "On three. One... two... three!"

Steve begins to spin, his movements a bit stiff in the first take.

Peter's enthusiastic voice cuts through the air. "That was great, Cap! Let's try again,” he encourages, not leaving a beat for Steve to feel awkward or like he’s done it wrong. You can tell his approach will make all the difference with Steve.

As Steve prepares for another take, you can't help but admire his willingness to step out of his comfort zone. It's one of the things that's made him such an effective candidate - his ability to adapt and connect with people across generations.

"Okay, this time, try to relax a bit more," Peter suggests. "Just have fun with it!"

Steve spares a glance at you and Bucky, then takes a deep breath, shaking out his arms. "Right. Fun. I can do fun."

Bucky snorts beside you. "This ought to be good."

As Peter counts down again, Steve starts his spin. This time, his movements are smoother, more natural.

"Perfect!" Peter exclaims. "That's the one. Now, let's get you into your tac suit for the next part."

Steve nods, heading towards the makeshift changing area set up in the corner of the room. As he disappears behind the partition, Bucky leans in closer to you.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Steve would be doing social media stunts," he says, his voice a mix of amusement and pride. "He's come a long way from the kid who could barely talk to girls in Brooklyn."

You smile, picturing a young Steve Rogers, all skinny limbs and earnest determination. "I bet he was endearing," you say.

Bucky chuckles. "Oh, he was. A real charmer. Couldn't string two words together around a pretty dame, but he had a heart of gold." He pauses, his expression growing more serious. "It's good to see him like this, you know? Engaged with the world, trying new things and connecting with people again. For a while after the Blip, I worried he’d ride off into the sunset forever before the sunset was even really here. We’re out of the century we were supposed to live in, but we’re still here, y’know? Didn’t think it would be this, but it’s not all bad. Pepper wasn’t wrong in choosing him for who he is inside.”

You nod, understanding. “When I met with her about the campaign, she’d sent me the policy materials, the plans, the opposition research detailing his strengths and weaknesses as a candidate, and I was on board to take any position she offered me on the campaign team. I never imagined working on a presidential run, but her vision, her approach? I knew I wanted to be part of it.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. “I thought… wait…” he’s mulling over what you said. “So, when you came in, you didn’t know she wanted you to marry Steve?”

You laugh and shake your head, “Oh, no! Because that would have been crazy! Who would agree to that?”

Bucky's eyes widen slightly at your revelation. "But you just... agreed on the spot when she proposed it?"

You pause, considering how to respond. The truth is, it had been a whirlwind decision, one that you sometimes still can't believe you made. "Not exactly on the spot," you say carefully. "But...pretty quickly, yeah. It was a lot to take in, but something about it just felt right, you know?"

Bucky nods slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I get it. Steve has that effect on people. Makes you want to follow him into any fight, even if it's not your own."

Before you can respond, Sam walks in, eyebrows raised at the scene before him. "How’re things going here? I hear we’re starting a dance troupe?"

Bucky chuckles. "Social media campaign. Apparently, the kids these days like watching people spin around and change clothes."

Sam shakes his head, a grin on his face. “Glad I’m not going to miss it.”

“I’m suggesting you go in as back up dancer.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Barnes! You know I’d do it!”

You laugh at the easy banter between Steve’s two best friends, but then the man himself emerges from behind the partition, now clad in his tactical suit. The sight of him in the red, white, and blue outfit isn’t new, but as it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him dressed as Captain America in person, it unexpectedly takes your breath away a little.

Steve takes his position again, looking more at ease now in his familiar uniform. "How's this, Peter?" Steve calls out, adjusting the shield on his arm.

Peter gives him a thumbs up and starts the countdown. This time, Steve's spin is confident and fluid, ending with a slight smirk that's pure Captain America.

"Nailed it!" Peter cheers. "Okay, one more outfit change and we're done."

“Hang on!” Sam calls out. His eyes light up as he looks between you and Steve, a grin spreading across his face. "We've got a golden opportunity here."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Sam rubs his hands together. "Picture this: Captain America, in full uniform, getting a kiss from his lovely wife. It's the perfect Instagram moment!"

Steve's eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Sam, I don't think-"

"No, no, hear me out," Sam interrupts, warming to his theme. "We've been pushing the whole 'relatable Steve' angle, right? Well, what's more relatable than a guy getting a kiss from his wife? Plus, it ties in the Cap persona.”

Peter's face lights up at the suggestion. "Oh man, that's genius! The engagement would be off the charts!"

Steve looks slightly uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and you don’t know how to feel about it either. "I don't know, guys. Isn't that a bit... much?"

Bucky chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, give the people what they want."

“Et tu, Brute?” you direct this to Bucky, not at all surprised at the enthusiasm from Sam and Peter, but genuinely shocked he’s jumping on board as well.

Sam turns to you, his expression a mix of excitement and mischief. "What do you say? Want to break the internet with a kiss from Captain America?"

You hesitate, feeling a mix of emotions. On one hand, the idea of kissing Steve - even for a staged photo - sends a flutter through your stomach. On the other, you're acutely aware of the artificiality of the situation and the potential implications for the campaign.

You glance at Steve. His expression is unreadable, but you can see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Sam, sensing your hesitation, softens his approach. "Look, I know it might seem a bit much, but think about it. We've been working so hard to show Steve as both the hero and the everyday man. This could be a perfect blend of both."

Peter nods enthusiastically. "I think a good candid shot would be a great way to humanize the campaign. Show that even Captain America has a soft side."

You look back at Steve, and he gives a small nod. You see a mix of emotions in his eyes - uncertainty, but also a hint of something else. Trust, perhaps. "If you're okay with it, I am."

"I’m good," you agree, your heart rate picking up slightly.

Sam claps his hands together. "Great! Peter, get ready with that camera."

As Peter positions himself, you step closer to Steve. He reaches out, gently placing his hands on your waist. The tactical suit feels cool under your fingertips as you place a hand on his chest. You can feel the slight tension in his muscles.

"Ready?" Steve murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, managing a small smile. "Let’s do this," you reply once more because this is its own ‘public appearance’, and so the customary exchange only seems fitting.

Steve’s hands move from your waist around to your back, and he takes a deep breath, looking into your eyes.

You stop breathing for a moment, suspended there in his arms.

“Kiss her, punk!” Bucky shouts, and the electric moment is broken, but you both laugh, and then Steve dips you dramatically and kisses you soundly as you clutch his shoulders. The three men cheer enthusiastically and cat call you when the kiss goes on just another moment or two.

As Steve stands you back up, you both burst into laughter, the tension of the moment dissolving into genuine mirth and camaraderie. His arm is still around your waist, steadying you as you regain your balance. The warmth of his body radiates through the tactical suit, and you find yourself leaning into him slightly, your soft, round body pressing into his hard muscles.

"So, Peter," Steve calls out, his voice still tinged with amusement, "did we nail that shot, or do you need us to try again?" There's a playful glint in his eye as he says this, and you can't help but grin up at him.

Peter, looking slightly flustered but undeniably excited, nods enthusiastically. "Oh yeah, Cap! That was perfect! The internet is going to go crazy over this!"

You start to step away, ready to return to your spot by the desk, but Steve surprises you by gently pulling you back, his arm wrapping around your waist once more. The room seems to fall away as he gazes into your eyes, a softness in his expression that you've rarely seen before. Time slows as he leans in, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

His touch is feather-light, his calloused thumb brushing across your cheekbone with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The scent of him envelops you - a mixture of leather from the suit, a hint of aftershave, and something uniquely Steve.

Your heart races as Steve leans in, his breath warm against your lips. For a moment, you forget about the cameras, the campaign, everything except the man in front of you.

Steve's lips brush yours, soft and tentative at first. It's different from the performative kiss moments ago - this feels real, intimate. You respond instinctively, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. The kiss deepens, and you feel a warmth spreading through your body.

Suddenly, you're jolted back to reality by the sound of a throat clearing loudly.

You and Steve break apart, both slightly breathless. The room crashes back into focus, and you're acutely aware of the others watching. Sam has a knowing smirk on his face. Peter looks like he might explode from excitement.

"Well," Sam says, breaking the silence. "I think we've got more than enough material for social media now."

You step back from Steve, feeling the heat creep up your neck. Steve clears his throat, looking slightly flustered himself.

"Right," he says, his voice a bit rough. "I should, uh, go change for the final spin shot."

As Steve disappears behind the partition again, you catch Bucky's eye. He gives you a subtle nod, his expression unreadable. You're not sure what to make of it, but there's no time to dwell on it as Peter starts setting up for the final shot.

You return to your spot by the desk and try compose yourself. Your lips still tingle from the kiss, and you can't shake the memory of Steve's touch.

Bucky sidles up next to you, his voice low as Sam and Peter talk next to you. "That was quite a show," he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You glance at him, unsure how to respond. "It's all part of the job, right?" you say, aiming for nonchalance but not quite hitting the mark.

Bucky gives you a long look, then nods slowly. "Right. The job."

Before you can say anything else, Steve emerges from behind the partition, now dressed in one of his presidential suits - a sharp navy number that accentuates his broad shoulders. You can't help but admire how he carries himself. He exudes a quiet confidence, as ever, a perfect blend of the everyday man and the leader of the free world.

"Alright, Cap," Peter calls out, "let's nail this final spin!"

Steve takes his position, and as he begins to turn, you find yourself holding your breath. The transformation is mesmerizing - from casual Rogers to Captain America to Presidential Candidate, but all of them undeniably Steve.

[SEPTEMBER 27 - TAMPA, FLORIDA]

The campaign has rented out an entire floor of a hotel for debate prep, transforming the spacious suites into makeshift war rooms as Tampa provides some key and convenient access to key southern cities by plane. Maps, charts, and policy briefings cover every available surface, and the air hums with the energy of a team on a mission.

Jake Sullivan, Steve's chief strategist, has pulled out all the stops for this crucial phase of debate preparation. He's brought in Amy Gardner, a seasoned political operative known for her sharp wit and take-no-prisoners approach. Her presence adds an extra edge to the already intense atmosphere. You watch as Amy commands the room, even though she sits rather casually in an armchair ten feet from Steve, who stands behind a makeshift podium.

Her presence adds an extra edge to the already intense atmosphere. You watch as Amy paces the room, firing off rapid-fire questions at Steve, who stands behind a makeshift podium.

"What's your plan for addressing climate change?" Jake asks, his voice stern.

Steve responds confidently, "We need to transition to clean energy sources while also supporting workers in traditional energy sectors. My plan includes..."

Amy cuts him off, her tone brusque. "Too long. You've got 60 seconds max. Hit the key points and move on."

Steve nods, taking a deep breath. "Right. Clean energy transition. Support for affected workers. Immediate action on emissions reduction."

“Too succinct,” she says.

Steve frowns, clearly trying to find the right balance. Squaring his shoulders, he goes again. "Our climate plan has three key components: First, an aggressive transition to clean energy sources like wind and solar. Second, robust support and retraining for workers in affected industries. And third, immediate action to reduce emissions across all sectors. This isn't just about saving the planet - it's about creating jobs and securing America's energy independence for generations to come."

Amy nods approvingly. "Better. Now, pivot to how this contrasts with your opponent's stance."

Steve's brow furrows in concentration. "Unlike my Republican opponent, who continues to deny the reality of climate change, my plan acknowledges the crisis we face while also prioritizing American workers and innovation. We can't afford to stick our heads in the sand any longer."

"Decent," Amy says, her tone softening slightly.

“Only decent?”

“You didn’t address the Democrats’ policy. Your battle is to convince enough voters in America to break with over two hundred years of choosing between red or blue.”

You can see Steve is fighting back a sigh of frustration.

"Mr. Rogers, your opponent claims your lack of formal political experience makes you unqualified for the presidency. How do you respond?"

Steve takes a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "My experience may not be traditional, but it's been forged in the crucible of protecting this nation and its values. I've led teams through impossible situations, made tough decisions with global consequences, and always put the American people first. That's the kind of leadership experience that truly matters."

Amy nods, but doesn't let up. "Good, but tighten it up. You need to hit harder on your unique qualifications. How do you respond to critics who say your experience is outdated?"

"I'd say that my unique perspective allows me to see both where we've been and where we need to go," Steve begins, his voice steady. "I've seen this country at its best and its worst. I understand the challenges we face because I've lived through similar ones before. But I also understand the incredible potential of our future because I've seen how far we've come."

You can’t help but feel inspired by that answer, but Amy's eyes narrow, her expression sharpening. "Not bad, but you're still playing it too safe. Your opponents will come at you hard. Let's ramp this up."

She stands and begins pacing in front of Steve like a shark. "Mr. Rogers, your critics say you're nothing more than a science experiment gone right. How can you claim to represent the average American when you're literally superhuman?"

Steve's jaw tightens, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "I may have enhanced abilities, but my values and my heart are as human as anyone's. I grew up in Brooklyn during the Great Depression. I know what it's like to struggle, to feel powerless. The serum didn't change that part of me."

Your heart swells, but again Any interjects again.

"Weak," she says, her voice cutting. "You're not connecting. Try again."

Your mouth drops open slightly. That was powerful. You know it was.

Steve takes a deep breath, his knuckles whitening as he grips the podium. “I’m not a monkey on a unicycle.”

“Well, what a great start. No one wants a monkey in the White House,” she deadpans.

“I don’t need this. We did just fine in the first debate without you,” Steve nearly growls.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were aiming for just fine, I thought you wanted to win.”

Steve's eyes flash with a mixture of anger and frustration. The tension in the room is palpable, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. You can see the muscles in his jaw working as he grinds his teeth, trying to maintain his composure.

"I'm not here to play games or put on a show," Steve says, his voice low and controlled, but with an undercurrent of steel. "I'm here because I believe in this country and what it can be. I've fought for it, bled for it, and yes, even died for it. So don't tell me I'm not connecting."

Amy opens her mouth to retort, but Steve cuts her off.

"I've seen this nation at its best and its worst," Steve goes again, his voice growing louder, more impassioned as he speaks. "I've watched it rise from the ashes of the Great Depression, triumph over fascism, and push the boundaries of human achievement. But I've also seen it torn apart by fear, prejudice, and greed."

His eyes blaze with an intensity that seems to electrify the air around him. The room falls silent, everyone transfixed by the raw emotion in his words.

"I may have been enhanced by science, but my heart, my values - they come from growing up as a scrawny kid in Brooklyn who couldn't stand by and watch bullies win. They come from the men and women I fought alongside, who gave their lives for the ideals this country stands for."

Steve's fist comes down on the podium with a resounding thud, causing several people to jump.

"I'm running for president not because I think I'm better than anyone else, but because I believe in the promise of America - a promise that's been broken too many times for too many people. I've seen what this country can do when we come together, when we fight for what's right. And I'm here to tell you, we can do it again."

Steve's voice rings out, filled with passion and conviction. The room is dead silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

"So no, I'm not a traditional politician. I don't have decades of experience playing political games or making backroom deals. What I have is a lifetime of standing up for what's right, of putting others before myself, of believing that we can always be better. I'm running because I believe in the power of ordinary people to do extraordinary things when given the chance."

He pauses, his chest heaving slightly as he looks around the room. The silence is deafening, everyone ensnared by the raw power of his words.

"That's what this campaign is about," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "It's about reminding every American that they have the power to shape this nation's future. That their voice matters, their dreams matter, this country over politicians and political agendas. It’s not a show to me.”

Steve strides away from the podium and walks out, and no one stops him. No one even moves until the weighted door to the suite swings closed again. Jake and Elsa begin conferring. Amy seems unconcerned. You’re sitting with Bucky and Sam, who exchange a look, and Bucky moves to stand, but you’re quicker.

“Let me go after him,” you find yourself saying, surprised at how fast you were to seize this situation, almost like a natural instinct.

You hurry out of the room, scanning the hallway for any sign of Steve. You catch a glimpse of his broad shoulders disappearing around a corner and quicken your pace to catch up.

"Steve!" you call out, your voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor.

He stops, his back still to you, shoulders tense. As you approach, he turns slowly to face you. The fire in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a weariness that tugs at your heart.

"Hey," you say softly, closing the distance between you. "That was... intense back there."

Steve runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. It's just..." He trails off, shaking his head.

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Amy was pushing hard. Maybe too hard."

He looks down at your hand, then up to your face. “I’m fine.”

“I think you’ve told everyone you’re fine every day of your life, Steve Rogers, and no one needs to exist like that.”

Steve cocks his chin slightly. “But the President of the United States should have it together, shouldn’t they? People want a leader they can trust.”

You smile, but it’s not a happy smile, and his expression matches yours.

“Can I ask…?” you venture cautiously.

He nods. “Wife privileges. You can ask whatever you want. Wife duties, probably, to ask me questions I don’t want to hear.”

Wife. A flutter flares in your stomach, but you force yourself to concentrate on the moment, furiously tamping down your reaction.

He resumes walking down the hallway, but more slowly this time, and you fall into step with him as you pursue your curiosity. “A monkey on a unicycle is an oddly specific and highly uncommon comparison to bring up. Is that some reference from your time?”

Steve huffs and his eyes fill with a mix of nostalgia and resentment as he begins to speak. His voice is heavy with emotion as he remembers his past. “I used to sketch a lot when I was young. We didn't have much during the depression, but my ma always managed to scrimp and save enough to buy me a notebook for Christmas or my birthday. It stuck with me up through joining the Army.”

His expression turns somber as he continues, "And after the serum changed my body but I was put on tour to encourage people to buy bonds, it just felt...underwhelming. Discouraging. I knew I could be doing more, making a real difference. But I did what I could - I knew raising money still helped.”

You reach the end of the hallway and stand next to each other, looking out the window.

“When they sent us out to Europe to entertain the troops, it only got worse. The last day I performed, for the 107th regiment, I was heckled and booed off stage."

Steve's hands clench into fists at his sides, "I drew a silly picture of a monkey riding a unicycle; it felt like that's all I was worth to them - just another pawn in their production."

You want to reach for his hand, but it doesn’t seem like the moment. So you simply continue to listen.

“That ended up being the last day I performed a show. I found out part of the company had been captured, stuck behind enemy lines. I disobeyed direct orders, found the men, saved Bucky. After that, everything finally changed, and we got to go to work, doing good, fighting Nazis and Hydra.”

A slight smile tugs at Steve's lips as he finishes his story, "I never wanted to feel like that monkey again. But the closer we get to election day, the more this feels like just a production.”

You stay silent for a moment, mulling over the pieces of his past and the feelings he’s just shared. This isn’t an easy conversation, and it’s not the conversation you thought you would have coming out here, but you’re grateful the two of you are having it together.

You aren’t by any means a seasoned politician either, but you had seen and had to at some points play at politics in your own work. “It’s all a show, there’s no denying that. But you’re not the monkey unless you sit back and let that be the reality.”

“How do you figure that?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before responding. "Steve, you knew from the beginning that this campaign would be a production. You agreed to it - all of it. Including," you gesture between the two of you, your voice softening, "this arrangement. Marrying a woman you'd never even met before."

Steve's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passing through them. You continue, your voice gentle but firm.

"You didn't do all this just to be a figurehead or a puppet. You did it because you want to be president. You want to be the one steering the strategy, calling the shots, making real change." You pause, making sure he's really listening. "This campaign isn't just about winning an election. It's preparation for the presidency itself."

You turn to face him fully, your eyes never leaving his. "This campaign, as frustrating and exhausting as it can be, is its own kind of preparation for the presidency. Think about it - you're dealing with conflicting advice, responding to the platforms from the candidates and how they overlap and differ from your own, connecting directly with the people across the country, making tough calls on what is and is not a priority.”

Steve listens intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considers your words. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, processing this perspective.

"You're right," he says finally, his voice quiet but firm. "I did agree to all of this." He runs a hand through his hair, a habit you've noticed he has when he's deep in thought. "I just want it to mean something. To be more than just sound bites and photo ops."

You nod, understanding his frustration. "It does mean something, Steve. Every interaction you have, every speech you give, every policy you propose - it all matters. You're not just going through the motions. You're shaping the conversation, influencing people's thoughts and beliefs about what this country can be."

Steve's eyes meet yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper there.

"She’s right, Rogers,” a voice behind you makes you both jump and turn.

“This isn't just about winning,” Amy emphasizes. “It's about learning how to navigate the complexities of leading a nation, finding your presence as the leader of the free world, as commander in chief, winning the trust of the American people.

“The debates, the press conferences, the tough decisions you'll have to make as president - they won't always be fair or comfortable. That’s why I pushed you. You won’t answer every debate question like that, but I needed to know you could go there. That’s the kind of president America wants, but they don’t know it until they see it. If you can shake them to their bones, you’ll change hearts and minds.”

Steve smiles at her half in kindness, half in disbelief. “You say all of that pretty casually.”

Amy shrugs and returns the smile. “Because it’s true. I’m done beating you up now that I know you can go the rounds. If you want me to leave, I will, but I’m game to stay if you’re game for slightly less intense verbal sparring.”

“Oh, I can do this all day.”

[SEPTEMBER 28 - ATHENS, GEORGIA]

The campaign plane hums with activity in the minutes before take off. This cabin is filled with members of the press corps, their laptops open and fingers poised over keyboards, eager for any morsel of information they can turn into their next headlines.

Steve looks almost relaxed. His tie is loosened and sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The energy from the successful event you just wrapped up at the University of Georgia still lingers in the air. This was the fourth event of its kind - a town hall format called College Q&A limited to students and granting them access to dialogue with Steve. You can't help but feel a sense of pride as you recall how he connected with the students, his earnest answers and quick wit seeming to win over even the most skeptical audience members.

It’s become routine that Steve always takes questions from the press corps when he boards the plane before heading to the campaign team cabin, and he’s truly at ease with them in this interaction.

“We’ll take one more,” the campaign spokesperson announces to let both Steve and the reporters know it’s almost time for take off.

“Andy,” Steve calls on one of the familiar faces - the reporter from The Washington Post.

“Yes, Captain, do you have any response to Jeff Connor’s comments about your relationship with Mrs. Rogers?”

Steve's whole demeanor immediately turns serious, his jaw clenching. "I haven't heard Connor's specific comments, so I can't respond directly. My relationship with my wife is personal, and it's not up for debate or speculation."

He pauses, his eyes scanning the cabin before continuing. "What I will say is that she has been an incredible partner, both personally and for this campaign. Her intelligence, compassion, and dedication inspire me every day to be a better person and a better leader."

Steve's gaze softens a fraction as he glances in your direction. "I'm grateful she agreed to take this journey with me."

The press corps erupts with follow-up questions, but Jake holds up a hand. "That's all for now, folks, you know they won’t take off until we’re all seated and we don’t want to miss our take-off window. Thank you."

You, Steve, and the rest of your staff head into the first campaign cabin, and as soon as the door is shut, the atmosphere shifts. The professional masks slip away, replaced by a mix of concern, curiosity, and irritation. Jake immediately pulls out his phone, you assume to get the quote in question.

Elsa, your communications director, is already pulling out her laptop as she settles into a seat across from Steve. "That was the perfect response back there. Quick and heartfelt. It'll play well, especially given the context of Connor's comments."

Your personal aide Sophia is already handing you a tablet to read the quote. "Here, ma’am. It came out during the Q&A, and everyone got wind of it as we were boarding the plane."

You take the tablet, your eyes quickly scanning the headline: "Jeff Connor Speaks Out: 'I Hope They're Happy Together'" The article features a quote from Connor: "I wish them both the best. Marriage isn't easy, especially in the public eye. I just hope they've found happiness together."

You pass it over to Steve and then chew on your lip, pulling out your own phone.

It only takes him a moment to read as well. "Thanks,” Steve's brow furrows as he loosens his tie further and passes the tablet back to Sophia. “This seems fine, unless I’m missing something. But who is this guy, and why would we care what he thinks of our marriage more than anyone else?"

A beat of silence falls over the cabin. You can feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on you, a mixture of surprise and shock in their gazes.

“Okay, I’m clearly the only one who doesn’t know,” Steve concedes, a shade of irritation bleeding through his tone, “Anyone care to enlighten me?”

You take a steadying breath, then look up at Steve and say, “Jeff Connor is my former husband.”

next part: coming 11/29

I'll just say that I've been waiting for this chapter in the story almost from the beginning. 😌

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[laswells-ashtray]

Okay, I heard you were running out of ideas for Sergeant Price and Mac and HOPEFULLY this is the last idea you get before you get a break from the two knuckleheads. Anyhow: colorblind John. Whether it be from an injury, or he was born with it, Mac finds it funny either way to fuck with the boy.

I could imagine that one day John is sitting around in Mac’s office messing with a color cube he had on his desk and getting happy when he had ‘solved’ it. On instinct the Captain looks over because for one, he’s never been able to solve the bitch, and for two, John’s excitement had him wondering if he’d actually been able to solve the bitch.

To his surprise, the cube was still switched around, even looking a bit worse for wear in some circumstances and yet John just grinned at Mac with the proudest, most cockiest grin ever, and that’s when he realized that his Sergeant was colorblind.

How had he never seen this before?

Each time John would take a colored pen from his desk to do a word search or when he’d color in his brain books and the pictures would turn out a colorful mess, he’d always thought that John was fucking with him and was just doing it to mess up his stuff.

Oh how wrong he was, and how hilarious this situation is.

I could also imagine that, from then on, when John went to do anything involving color, he’d ask him what color he was using, and each time John would answer with the wrong color.

He realises and for a second he feels bad, was he wrong to just assume that the boy was deliberately fucking up? He can't bear to tell him that the Rubik's cube isn't solved because he looks so damn proud and hell, sometimes when your toddler points at a distorted blob they drew and tell you it's a giraffe, you just have to agree.

He decides to further test this revelation, purely for science before he outright tells John that for his entire life, he's been colouring the grass red.

So, he waits until John is in his office one day and makes himself seem busy with a stack of papers in front of him. He sits four files in front of John. And four post-it notes with little notes. One blue, one green, one yellow and one pink. Each file has a coloured scribble on the top right corner in a corresponding colour. He casually asks John to put the right note with each file. It should be easy, right? Each file has a colour at the top for each note and Mac is just so busy with useless paperwork that the brass is hounding him about.

He feels bad because the lad is willing to help, John might be an arse but he's a good guy and he'd never say no to helping Mac. He'd just say yes reluctantly.

He feels even worse when John finishes the task and hands it over happily, asking if Mac has anything else he could help with. He got the blue and yellow notes right, the green and pink not so much.

"John, I have a question and I want you to answer me honestly. Can you do that for me, lad?"

"Yeah, what is it?"

"What colour is this?"

"Red, why?"

"Son, I love you and I admire your confidence but that's green."

"What? Are you taking the piss?"

"Son, I know your dad was a drinker but was he never sober enough to maybe comment on your drawings when you were a wee laddie? Maybe tell you that your colours weren't quite right?"

"Mac, what are you on about?"

"You're colourblind. Colourblind as shite, actually. I'm surprised you actually managed to join the army."

"..."

"I won't tell because if I do, you're fucked and other than this you're a mighty good fuckin' soldier but from now on if anyone asks, your favourite colour is blue because you can identify it easily and no discussing other colours. I'll label the red and green pens I keep in the drawer for you, alright?"

"Alright."

[acecardexe]

JOYRIDE- ROOMATE!JEFF.TK x FEM!READER

Summery: You and jeff had a compromise. Don't go to each other's side of the room. But the mess and smell in his side of the room was building up like mold and you've had enough.

Warnings: . cussing,implied nsfw, Jeff is a perv (he steals some clothes of yours..)

A/N: got severely lazy at the end (╯︵╰,)

You and jeff weren't exactly the best of friends, but you were roomed up with him so you both had to just suck it up. So you made a truce, don't go to his and he won't go to yours. It's simple. Very foolproof..

That is until his room started looking like a birds nest with the smell of dead raccoon, you told him to clean up but he would just ignore you, insult you or glare at you or just simply give you excuses

Today you have HAD enough. While he was out doing whatever he was doing. You made sure he would be out for a while, just so you can clean up his room, you weren't going to do too much of a deep clean, you were just going to clean up enough that it wouldn't feel like you lived next to a trash can.

After an hour you finished a quarter of his room and moved over to his bed, clothes stacked on top of it that smelt like blood and sweat, you put it in the laundry basket and stripped the sheets, when a small black fabric fell out the dirty pillow sheets.

"The fuck is this..?" You mumbled to yourself, and picked it up. To your ever surprising horror, you found your lacy black panties that you were looking for everywhere you even asked Jeff but he just made a disgusted face and asked why he would have it.

Suddenly the door opened and in came the devil himself, Jeff. He stopped seeing you on his side of the room, anger flashing on his eyes. Until he looked at the price of fabric you were holding and he gave you a weird look And was quick to give you and answer

"That's not yours."

"it has my name on it."

You could hear him swear under his breath, as he realized he couldn't get out of the situation. He grumbled "what are you doing on my side of the room anyways?!" You went quiet, but frankly in your head cleaning someones stinky ass room was better than stealing someones underwear and god knows whatever he does with it. "Cleaning." You simply responded as if it was the most obvious thing and that it didn't look like you were raiding his side at all.

"Right." He said not making eye contact with you, The tension and the awkwardness level was so thick you'd need an axe to cut it. If Jeff wasn't a psychopath he would be red at this point, but unfortunately, or fortunately he isn't. He couldn't even argue that you were on his side because he was on your side as well. How else would he have your panties.

You decide the best thing to do is leave, "anyways, I'm going to wash your shit since you won't", you picked up the laundry basket with the dirty clothes you found in his room and headed to the door.

"Hold on" he held out an arm to stop you from getting out. "What if you tell this to someone else huh?" He shut the door.

"I- excuse me? What?" I stopped putting the basket down and crossing my arms

"I can't have you doing that now." You furrow your brows, it's not like Jeff had the best reputation in the mansion, he was feared but people knew he was also disgusting. So why did it matter if I blabber that he did shit with my panties, I'll throw that out anyways now that I know where it's been.. Or probably been.

"I'm not going to say anything" you huffed, rolling your eyes, desperate to get out of the room that was getting hotter every second. He grabbed you by the waist and growled

"Yeah as if you can keep your mouth shut, I guess I'll just have to fix that"

"The hell does that-"

His lips crashed into yours in a forced aggressive way as he pulled you closer and pulled you up onto your bed. it was going to be a long night.

CP MASTERLIST

[jesuis-assez]

We know that Lucy calls Tim babe (I refuse to use past tense I’m in denial lol), if you could have your way, what would Tim call Lucy as a pet name? #ChenfordChats

Hmm... I think I'd melt if he called her 'Baby' or 'Sweetheart' I have a soft spot for those ones. I don't know what that's about. I don't want to go there 🤣

And if I think of moments where those terms of endearments could've been used:

6x04:

When he rushed to the hospital and comforted her by touching her head ever so gently. Him softly telling her, "My god, you didn't have to take my hero suggestion so literally" If we were to replace "my god" with "sweetheart" or "baby" ?? 👌

6x06: ( Everyone put your pitchforks down and hear me out ) 🤣

If he said "I'm sorry, baby" or 'sweetheart' right before kissing her forehead. Although, I'm not sure how it would have fit exactly in the scene. But, I wouldn't object to it. It actually was one of my favourite scenes of theirs in season six. It had everything for me. It ripped me apart emotionally and left me wanting more. I loved it, no sarcasm here. I'm being genuine.

The scene itself is already packed with so much angst. But, then there would be them holding hands, " I'm sorry, [term of endearment]" and a forehead kiss in there. We're already on the ground dying and that would just finish us off.

In 6x03:

Lucy is over preparing for her detective exam with Tim being so amazing and supportive.

What he said here was truly enough and It doesn't matter so much that a sweetheart wasn't at the end of him saying 'yourself', but I would've loved it even more. I thought him saying that to her was a huge thing to say, coming from someone who ALWAYS needs to feel in control.

Because Lucy was so far in her head with it. So much that she had been projecting all of her self-doubt onto Tim. She couldn't see that he was being supportive, because it's not like her parents were ever supportive of her career. She's never had that support.

Yes, Lucy. And not even yourself, either.

That's what she was doing. Listening to that voice in her head telling her that she isn't good enough. That she's not ready and she can't do it. And Tim being her number 1 supporter was there reminding her not to do that. After all... he had taught her not to.

And to see her going back into that mind-set, to see Lucy filling herself with all that self-doubt again? To second guess herself again... It must be hard to watch someone you love, spiral like that. To try and help them through it and no matter what you say or do, it only pushes them further to burning out.

I focused heavily on season 6 for examples. Even if he were just to say, "Are you okay, baby?" I am aware that he said 'baby' to Isabel before (When she got shot in the head) but, that doesn't mean shit here 🤣 It's obviously a term he has been comfortable with using in the past. I don't see why he wouldn't use it again, unless he were to come up with something specially for Lucy. (What I am hoping for)

If he were to actually use 'sweetheart' that would also fit well for Lucy, for how kind-hearted she is and has been to him.

I do hope that Tim might use something that we've never heard before. *fingers crossed* for this one. It won't matter if he doesn't. I'm ALMOST sure whatever endearment he comes up with (if he even does) some of us will probably pass out on the spot *raises hand* Me. I'd-- I'd do that. Ok, I might (very unlikely)

But what most likely would happen is what usually happens. I'll either be internally screaming or I'll sit there on the spot inaudibly screaming 'Ahhhh' while pointing.

I'm hoping it would be something that's unique to their relationship. Or at least Lucy. I'd be so on board for that! I am a sucker for those kinds of nickname/endearments, too.

Y'know, something similar to when she was his rookie and he would incessantly call her 'boot'.

Thank yooooou for sending me this ! I may have put waaay too much thought into this. I'm incapable of answering without talking extensively about it. This ask was a lot of fun 💖🤭

[schumi-nadal]

Wow, I didn't think that post would get me even more hate to be honest 😅

First of all, I wasn't talking about ALL Carlos fans but about some "fans" (you can't call them like that, not after the really harsh words I received) who came into my asks when i asked nothing: I never was mean about Carlos, i didn't even defend Charles. I only posted 2-3 things related to this Charlos gate or whatever the fandom is calling it.

Here are some of the posts in questions:

After the first one, I received insults (anons and non anons, I don't know what is worst, that's what I was talking about them being younger and not knowing how the Schumi era and baby Shumi era were, (the non-anos were 17-18) because people misunderstood it (or understood what they wanted to understand).

After one or two more posts after the end of the race, it escalated very quickly, I received death threats! That's very serious! How can it come to this for a FUCKING sport? There are more serious things in life!

So, yeah, I was quite pissed after that.

Also, I didn't even defend Charles in my post, rereading now and I undertand I may have sound like I did but I'm French and I may have translated word by word what i wanted to say (it's a bit complicated but we sometimes use "you" to talk about people + ourserlves in some sketchy expressions). Anyway, what he said was definitely inappropriate and very "childish" in a way. Those words should had been spoken in private with his team and Carlos, not in front of million of people; and I think if FIA penalised swear words, they should start looking at those kind of statements.

Also, for those saying that I would be the kind of person to insult their favorite driver(s), you don't know me, you can even check my blog if you have nothing more interesting to do (lol), I never insulted anyone like some people do in f1blr. We can dislike or even hate a driver with our whole being, that's ok, for each their own I guess. We can't love everyone, you have the right to defend your favs, that's our choice too, but don't go and roast people when they didn't even say something wrong in the first place. (again, i hope those anons are reading it)

I never got haters before today (just one a few months ago with tennisblr but it was more a troll more than anything else) I usually don't interract a lot because I don't like conflicts but receiving multiple insults for something I can't control: I'm not Charles, I can't control what he says, I'm not a Carlos hater neither, i'm just here, blogging and reblogging stuff I love, mostly sports, sometimes with my particular sense of humor.

Nobody is perfect for sure, and I'm sorry if some of you thought I was just calling out Carlos or defending Charles. He may be one of my favourite drivers, just like other drivers can be yours: all of them are not flawless and we may continue to like them or not after different sorts of situations, that's up to us.

To finally finish my thesis (sorry if you're still reading), I didn't know that I would be so stressed on tumblr one day (call me a sensitive person) but this website is my sanctuary, I hope it will stay like that for a very long time but you can't be appreciated by the whole world, I lost some of my mutuals and i accept that. This morning's messages went too far and that's not normal to say thing like that, no matter how peacecul I am, I had to call them out. Also, on my other fandoms, you can share thought without (or almost) getting attacked verbally, that's sad that it's not the same anymore here, but yeah, football is the same.

You can choose to answer or not, I won't block anyone because I don't feel the need to, opinions can be shared but respectfully, I would be happy to talk more if some of you are up to.

So, I don't know what to add, have a great end of the season, everyone!

i don't know if everyone who reblogged or commented can see it when I reblog it so i'm tagging y'all: @midesastremanifiesto , @janesurlife , @gaypoetsblog , @katarf1a , @chaitalinath , @danieldrivesfast , @landhoe-norris , @eightsixtiism

One thing is funny about being insulted by all those Carlos "fans" (won't call them real fans tbh he deserves way better than toxic people): I was already watching F1 that they were not born, if you think that Charles was shitty today, just remember we had Michael Schumacher as the most dramatic queen ever and Sebastian Vettel was a little Gremlin at some points. REAL FANS WERE NOT FIGHTING FOR THAT!

[silverynight]

Feral

When the kakushi arrive at the scene, it's still chaos; the parts of the demon left are disintegrating under the sunlight.

There's a baby, a little pup secured on a rock and a very feral omega, making sure nobody touches them.

They have never seen Kamado Tanjirou like that before; his eyes are white, but he's not acting sweet and confused like the other times his inner omega takes control of him.

"Tanjirou-san?" One of them tries, getting closer, but the omega growls and bares his teeth as he moves right in front of the pup.

He's protecting the baby.

"You're hurt. We just want to help!" Another kakushi says, just to be snarled at by the redhead.

He's bleeding.

"We won't touch the pup!"

Tanjirou growls at the mention of the pup; he takes the little one in his arms, without looking away from any of them, and nuzzles against the tip of the baby's nose, making him giggle.

They don't know what to do or how long the feral state is going to last; Tanjirou is a very strong slayer, there's no way any of them can manage to tie him up and take him to the butterfly estate.

How do they make him go back to normal?

"Nice! You got rid of the thing with your bare hands, huh?" Despite being a tall and strong alpha, Shinazugawa doesn't make any sound until he speaks. He startles a few kakushi because of that.

Tanjirou answers with a growl and the wind hashira grins in response.

He looks like he's enjoying this.

"He's–"

"I know he's feral," the white haired alpha cuts the kakushi off. "It's okay. I'll take care of this."

The kakushi don't like where this is going, but it's not like they have any other choice.

What surprises them is that he leaves his katana on the ground, but flexes his knees like he's about to jump; his hands are curled slightly like he's ready to use them.

"If any of you touches my sword, I'll kill you."

The omega notices the change in the hashira's demeanor, and he snarls as a warning. He leaves the pup back on the rock and prepares to attack the alpha.

Tanjirou doesn't recognize Shinazugawa, although they're not sure if it would change a lot if he did; rumor has it those two had a long talk and a fight a few weeks ago and now they're kinda friendly towards one another, but they're not sure if that's true.

Just a month ago, Shinazugawa seemed to hate having the omega around.

"Tanjirou!" The alpha smirks. "Show me what you're capable of!"

And then he jumps at the omega who immediately attacks back. Their "fight" is not very difficult to follow, even for the kakushi around; they're not using breathing techniques or anything, mostly because Tanjirou's rational thoughts are gone and they have realized that Shinazugawa doesn't want to hurt him.

He's just trying to pin the omega to the ground, making him submit, but it's quite a challenge considering Tanjirou's inner omega probably believes he's protecting his pup.

However, Shinazugawa is still a hashira and a prime alpha.

Finally, the wind hashira gets the omega pinned against the ground, and it looks like the fight is almost over when the baby starts crying.

They have no idea where Tanjirou gets his energy from, but he growls again before headbutting the alpha above him.

Shinazugawa ends up on the ground too and even though there's a clear red mark on his forehead now; he grins like he's having the best time of his life.

Tanjirou rises from the ground with a jump, but something happens then... he blinks a couple of times before freezing on his spot.

Then the kakushi notice the protective scent the alpha is releasing.

"What... happened?"

Everyone around releases the breath they were holding before they notice Tanjirou's pretty eyes are no longer white, but their usual shiny red.

However, Tanjirou is still a very caring omega who loves taking care of little ones so the first thing he does is to check on the crying pup. He cradles the baby in his arms, nuzzles against their face, and hums a lullaby for them.

"Is he alright?" A kakushi asks.

Tanjirou nods, looking at the pup with so much love already, anyone would think they're his.

"She's fine, just hungry."

It's a little girl then.

That's when Tanjirou notices that everyone has recoiled significantly, right before he sees Shinazugawa rising from the ground.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt any of you?"

The kakushi assure him he didn't, and the wind hashira just laughs.

"Like you could do something like that," the alpha snorts, red mark visible on his forehead.

Tanjirou notices it too, but knows Shinazugawa well enough not to make a comment about it.

"Thanks for helping me snap out of it," the omega mumbles instead, a little bit embarrassed.

"It was my pleasure," the alpha smirks, and they can tell he absolutely means every single word.

"What happened, Tanjirou-san?"

The omega presses a kiss to the pup's forehead that makes her giggle; he pulls her against his chest like he wants to protect her from a non-existent threat or perhaps just the memory of it.

"Wait, are you hurt? Let us–"

"That's not his blood," Shinazugawa cuts the kakushi off, still smiling and looking at the omega like he's the most beautiful thing in the world at the moment.

"I arrived too late," Tanjirou mumbles then, face twisting with guilt and regret, even though everyone around is sure none of what happened is his fault. "The demon had killed this little one's entire family, and when I saw him trying to reach for her, I completely lost it. I... I don't remember the rest that well..."

Judging by what they found when they arrived, it was a brutal fight. The demon probably suffered quite a lot.

"I think we can find her a home..."

Tanjirou takes a step away from the kakushi who says that, before pressing the little one protectively against his chest.

His scent changes slightly and they just know that the omega got attached to her.

"I'm going to keep her," Tanjirou says, almost fiercely, like he's daring them to tell him not to.

Nobody does that; they like the omega too much to say something that could hurt him.

"I'll help you take care of her," Shinazugawa says then, surprising everyone; he doesn't seem the type to have fatherly instincts, but he's still releasing that protective scent from earlier. So maybe he does have those instincts after all.

"Really?" Tanjirou blinks in surprise, but he doesn't look opposed to the idea. He even lets the alpha get closer to the pup.

Shinazugawa reaches out, trying to touch the pup's forehead with his fingers when she moves her tiny hand and wraps it around his pinky.

The alpha looks almost in shock, but he doesn't move his hand away.

"She likes you!" Tanjirou says, absolutely pleased. His scent turns really sweet out of the sudden; he seems happy with the alpha, and when Shinazugawa realizes that, he lets out a loud alpha purr.

"You know you should... I mean, I think it'd be better for her if we smell like mates," the wind hashira says after a while, unable to hide the attraction he feels for the omega.

But of course, Tanjirou doesn't notice.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah..." Shinazugawa clears his throat, turning slightly pink for a moment. "At least let me scent you."

The omega nods and tilts his head slightly to the side, exposing his beautiful throat.

Shinazugawa stares at it for a moment; his lips part in awe, and they all can see his sharp teeth. For a second, it looks like the temptation to bite and mark is too strong, but the alpha manages to control himself before he nuzzles against Tanjirou's neck.

They both purr when their scents finally mingle.

Tanjirou still smells good, even though there's another scent surrounding him, like a neon sign they have only seen in the Red light district, that tells other alphas to back off if they don't want to get teared apart.

Shinazugawa looks way too pleased.

"Come on, let's get this little one to the butterfly estate," the alpha says as he carries Tanjirou in his arms. "So you can feed our pup."

The omega blushes at his words, but nods and doesn't even try to walk on his own; he must be tired or perhaps he feels more safe in the alpha's arms since he's busy carrying the pup.

Maybe it's both.

"Those two are going to end up mating, right?" A girl asks her fellow kakushi.

"It certainly looks like it."

Which means there's going to be trouble because Shinazugawa looks like the possessive type and Tanjirou is way too popular among alphas.

Although they're sure the baby is going to be very happy with her new parents.

***

Patreon

[shatcey]

1 day left

It's just my feeling, and it doesn't have any proof, but I wanna say it anyway.

At the "Villains Wanna Tease Little Robin" event, there was an exchange of phrases that won't let me go…

Do you see? He was sad when he said that.

I mentioned once that Ally gave us several layers of information. The first words. Which usually have a double meaning in themselves. The second intention. Why is he doing this? Because everything he does and says has a purpose. And the last layer… his emotions, his desires. And he wasn't used to listening to them. So I think in this scene he would like it to be untrue… but…

Maybe I'm wrong… Maybe that's what I wanna see… But Ally has the aura of a stable person, a family type. A man who will be with you til your last breath…

And the fact that he's been with Elbert for over 20 years only proves it. Ally doesn't get annoyed, answering the same question over and over again (great parent). And he still continues to support Elbert and help him (perfect husband). I'd say he's really good at long-term relationships.

But you have every right to disagree with me…

See you tomorrow, Ally…

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

🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

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

[pseudowho]

Hi, just want to say that I've been reading most of your writing for Higuruma (I love him I love him I love him, it hurts so much to want him, your work has been satisfying my needs) but I kinda got myself to learn bits and pieces of your marriage life. My boyfriend and I are planning to get engaged next year and hopefully married before 2027.

The thought of it scares me but I know I want to settle with him. All the signs are there, I prayed and I gotten my answer right in front of my eyes, but the uncertainty of our finances and future terrifies me. So, how was it like with your and Mr Haitch? How did you know he was the one for you and how did you handle your anxieties?

Well, I spoke to him about it. The thing is with marriage, is that you're making a bet that your spouse will fully understand and support your vulnerabilities without feeling threatened. You make that bet, and it either pays off or it doesn't. If it doesn't, what then? Is this the person you're absolutely happy to be with? Is this the person who understands and wholeheartedly supports you? I'm someone who voices my anxieties to my spouse-- with @mrhaitch, I don't regret it.

Financial worry is real. Finances are also up and down, throughout the marriage. People think that it will be one continually improving upward trajectory, but it won't be. Ultimately, if you keep waiting for 'perfect finances perfect life perfect this perfect that' before getting married, you'll never get married. The point is, you're saying you know this person is the one who will be by your side, good or bad.

There will always be uncertainty in your future. Don't you want that uncertainty to be hand in hand with someone you 100% trust?

Just a thought.

Maybe not helpful.

I knew @mrhaitch was the one because he was the only one I could be 100% myself with, and he only loved me more for it. Because he was safe. Because he filled in the gaps of my weaker traits, and I did for him. Jigsaw puzzles!

Good luck. You'll do great.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

(p.s. glad you love my Higuruma pieces. I also love, love, love, adore him.)