#meredith murmurs

[writesvani]

dear me | 07

lawyer! jeonjungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: passive aggression, sibling conflict, jealousy, unresolved romantic tension, emotional cheating implications, verbal conflict, guilt, crying, emotional vulnerability, judgmental behavior, family tension, awkward confrontations, protective sibling behavior, uncomfortable family dynamics, past relationship trauma

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wc: 6,5k // date: 18th of April

CHAPTER SEVEN — The Family Games: May the Pettiest Win; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hi there babies! so here she is, my baby. my fav dear me chapter so far. i reread it like 10 times because it was genuinely so funny to me. this had me giggling, kicking my feet, and also slightly fearing for everyone’s safety. anyways, the note goal for this one is 400 notes, because y'all reached 350 too soon and i cannot upload every 4 days i swear. i'm one mental breakdown and three espressos away from vanishing into thin air.

so yeah. reblog, like, comment and i'm dropping chap 8. pressure me. threaten me nicely. send digital hugs and chaotic energy.

also, we're meeting y/n's family! what do you think about them? who would you let adopt you and who would you block IRL? who’s your favorite dear me character so far? please do say, i'm nosy and need validation like a cat needs to knock things off a table.

“You told Y/n about us moving back?”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the TV. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes trained on Nina. His tone is calm—too calm. The kind of calm that isn’t real. The kind that stretches thin and tightens just before it snaps.

He leans back, resting his elbows on the table, cocking his head slightly, like he's studying her.

Nina doesn’t flinch. She matches his energy with practiced ease, raising her green smoothie to her lips.

“Yeah,” she replies simply, “like days ago.”

She doesn’t look at him when she says it. Her gaze stays locked on the TV screen where a dramatic monologue from Grey’s Anatomy echoes faintly through the room. But she isn’t really watching. Just pretending.

Jungkook blinks once. Twice. “Why, though? I told you I didn’t tell her yet.”

“It must’ve slipped out, Kook,” Nina says with a small shrug, brushing imaginary lint off her pajama pants. “Don’t overthink everything.”

But her fingers grip the glass a little tighter. And he notices.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, stepping closer to her with a softness that feels practiced—familiar.

His hand finds her shoulder, thumb brushing over the cotton of her shirt, before he dips down and presses a kiss to the side of her forehead.

“I just wanted to be the one to break the news,” he groans, dragging the words out like a kid sulking over spilled cereal.

Nina snorts, giving him a playful side-eye. “Don’t be a lil whiny baby.”

Still, her lips twitch into a smile. She doesn’t fight it. Can’t.

Jungkook grins at her reaction, pleased, and nuzzles into her neck. His warmth folds over her like a heavy blanket, grounding her in the comfort of routine.

Meredith Grey’s voice fills the room, talking about life and death and love and choices, and it blends into the background of the morning like white noise.

They don’t talk about you again.

They just sit. Side by side. Pretending it’s all simple. Pretending the little cracks in the routine don’t matter.

And after that—coffee drained, smoothies gone, hearts still humming—they leave for work. Like always.

As soon as Jungkook steps out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him, the breath he’d been holding finally escapes his lungs in one long, drawn-out sigh. It’s almost embarrassing how heavy it feels. Like it’s been sitting in his chest for days instead of minutes. He doesn’t even really know why he was holding it in. Maybe because he didn’t want to start a fight. Maybe because he didn’t want Nina to feel bad, or maybe—just maybe—because he’s tired of pretending things don’t sting when they do.

Because the truth is, he’s pissed. No use sugarcoating it. Nina shouldn’t have told you. It wasn’t hers to say. Not like that. Not through a random DM while he was asleep and she was wide awake, scrolling Instagram and replying to selfies. The conversation wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Not with emojis and half-truths and polite replies. It was supposed to come from him. A real talk. The kind you deserved. The kind he’d been avoiding.

But despite all that, he can’t bring himself to be truly mad at Nina. Not fully. Not when she didn’t mean any harm by it. Not when, in her own way, she was just trying to share something important with someone who used to matter to her, too. Because you did. You still do. To both of them. That’s the part that messes with him the most. She had every right to say something… and he had every chance to do it before her. But he didn’t. And now he’s left cleaning up a mess he made for himself.

By the time he slides into the driver’s seat, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, his thoughts are a tangled mess. The sun is too bright, his head is too loud, and everything feels just slightly off. His phone connects to the Bluetooth system automatically, the screen flickering to life. Your name is right there. Sitting in his favorites. Familiar. Comforting. Complicated.

Without giving himself a second to hesitate, to back out, to make another excuse—he taps your name. He calls you.

“Heyyy,” you drawl out, voice muffled slightly like the phone’s wedged between your ear and shoulder. In the background, something clatters—probably a pan, possibly your soul. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, a little smile tugging at his lips even though he’s stuck in traffic and deeply aware he hasn’t had enough coffee yet. “You at work?”

“No, I’m cooking a five-star meal for Gordon Ramsay in the middle of a battlefield. Yes, I’m at work. What about you?”

“Driving. Headed in now.”

“Dang, don’t die before that hearing you’ve got today,” you say, tone deadpan. “It’d be real awkward if my criminal defense attorney suddenly got yeeted off the highway and left me to rot in jail. Like, how selfish. I’d literally kill you myself again if you were my lawyer.”

He snorts. “Wow. I die and your first concern is you?”

“My concern is your client. Or possibly me if I ever need your services. You’re not special. It’s called survival of the fittest. I’m not made for prison, Jungkook. Do I look like I can win a fight over toilet paper?”

“That’s a horrifying image.”

“Exactly. Stay alive. For both our sakes.”

“You’re terrifying,” he mutters, grinning.

“And yet, you called me.”

“Well, I’m starting to regret that right now,” he smirks into the phone, shifting gears with a lazy hand.

“Oh no. No no no,” you gasp dramatically, like a soap opera star. “You just broke my heart.”

“Did I?” he teases, clearly enjoying himself.

“Yeah,” you say, voice tight with fake emotion. “Like—I’m literally seasoning the duck I’m making with tears. This is heartbreak cuisine. Ms. Kim’s about to eat sorrow on a plate.”

Jungkook laughs. “Tell her it’s my fault. Maybe she’ll take pity on you and finally give you Fridays off.”

“Unlikely. She feeds off human misery. Yours especially.”

“Good. I’m glad someone appreciates me.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’d love to appreciate you if she got to meet you,” you sing-song into the phone, already picturing the way Ms. Kim would size Jungkook up like a five-star meal.

Jungkook makes a noise of confusion. “Isn’t she like... fifty years old? If I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, so?” you laugh, setting down a pan. “The woman likes chicken. Likes ‘em a little younger. Possibly taken. She says she’s kinky like that.”

He groans, dramatic as ever. “How do you know all of this?”

“She’s fifty, lonely, and loves to overshare while I’m chopping carrots. I’m basically her therapist.”

“Damn. Does she have a husband? Or kids?”

“She’s divorced,” you sigh, opening the fridge with your elbow. “But I think she really loved her husband.”

“What happened?”

“He cheated. With a 25-year-old model.”

Jungkook goes silent for a beat. “What the fuck?”

“I know, right? Rich people are weirdos. They collect luxury pens and ruin marriages for fun,” you say, voice light. “She has two kids though. A son and a daughter. But they live in different states.”

“Bet they don’t even call.”

“They do call,” you say, “they visit too. It’s just that she needs someone to share her sex fantasies with 24/7, and unfortunately, that someone is me.”

“You don’t sound like you’re complaining too much.”

“Let’s not mention this ever again,” you mumble, your voice softening, “but I do kinda… have a soft spot for her. She practically raised me since I was nineteen. I’ve been working for her for years already.”

Jungkook swallows hard, one hand tightening around the wheel. He’s quiet for a second.

Because yeah—he might have watched you grow from a little kid into a teenager, seen your life unfold in chapters. But Ms. Kim? She watched you step into your adulthood. Into yourself. She saw the version of you he never fully got to meet.

And it stings, just a little.

He’s kind of jealous of her—for being there, for seeing it. For getting that privilege. But it’s the good kind of jealousy, the kind that makes his chest warm and heavy all at once.

“You really love that woman, huh?” Jungkook teases, his voice all light and teasing.

“Ugh, don’t put it like that,” you groan, even as a laugh slips out of you. But Jungkook is already full-on cackling on the other end.

Yeah, okay—you do kinda love her. Scratch that, you absolutely love her. Almost like a second mom. But that doesn’t mean he needs to say it out loud like that. Makes your cheeks burn. You’re not the kind of person to throw the L word around so easily. At least not about your boss.

“So,” you say, shifting the conversation before your heart has the chance to betray you, “When are you guys coming back exactly?”

“We’re packing right now,” he says, a bit of excitement in his voice. “We’ll officially be back in three weeks.”

“Dang, can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier,” you say, lighthearted. You're joking—he knows that. But there’s a thread woven into your tone, something quiet and just a little heavy. And Jungkook feels it. Hears it. But he doesn’t dare tug on it.

“Yeah, well, like I said last time, I was just waiting for everything to settle. For plans to work out just like I wanted. Sorry you had to hear it from Nina,” he mumbles, a bit sheepish now.

“Don’t apologize, Kook,” you rush to say, too quickly. “I’m glad I know about it. Doesn’t matter who told me.”

But it does. And you both know it.

“I feel so bad now,” Jungkook groans, dragging the words out like he wants you to pity him.

You snort. “Well, as you should, bestie. Clearly Nina loves me more than you do. She tells me everything.”

“Oh, we’re keeping score now?” he asks, dramatic disbelief in his voice. “Didn’t know I was in a polyamorous triangle where I’m losing to my own girlfriend for the affection of my best friend.”

“Fiancée,” you correct, too quickly.

“Huh?”

“You said girlfriend,” you hum, a little too amused. “She’s your fiancée, remember? Ring on the finger, lifetime commitment, all that jazz.”

“Right, right—fuck,” he mutters, and there’s a pause. “Still new to this engaged life.”

You don’t say anything, but the silence is heavy. Almost mocking. Like you’re both pretending that stumble didn’t feel like more than a slip. Like it didn’t hit some nerve you’ve been keeping buried since the day Nina showed you that engagement video.

“Damn dude, don’t sound that excited,” you tease, mocking his tone, “you’re gonna make me wish I could find a guy and get married just to outdo your enthusiasm.”

“Ugh, I am excited,” he groans, but it’s more of a sigh than anything else. “It’s just… different. One moment you’re dating someone and the next, you’re planning a whole future life together. Like—boom. Mortgages. Guest lists. Forever.”

There’s a beat before your voice comes in, softer now, cautious. “Kook…” You say his name like it’s sacred. “Are you second-guessing your decision?”

“No! No, I’m not,” he rushes to say, a little too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just… I feel like we all grew up too fast. Like one day we were joking about skipping class and now we’re—” he pauses, like the words are caught in his throat, “—we’re here. All serious and shit.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah, well… we couldn’t stay kids forever.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet now, almost a whisper. “I wish we could, though.”

“Don’t dwell on it too much,” you say in your best therapist voice. “Everyone’s bound to grow up. Look at all of us.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, suspicious.

“I mean… we’re, like, accidentally functioning adults with actual jobs. You’re a big-shot lawyer who probably says ‘objection’ in your sleep, Nina is out there cutting people open for a living like it’s casual, Yoongi publishes books and complains like it’s a full-time personality trait, and I—” you dramatically pause, “make meals for a rich lady in a midlife crisis who pays me like I’m coding the fucking Matrix.”

“Mhm. We’re definitely thriving,” Jungkook says, deadpan.

“And you and Nina? You’ve basically unlocked the ‘I have my life together’ achievement. Career, love, future wedding registry at IKEA or whatever. Meanwhile, I have a graveyard of failed situationships and dudes who think foreplay is vaguely tapping my knee.”

Jungkook wheezes. “Not the ghost of horny idiots past.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve become a certified sex coach by force. Call me Sensei of the G-spot. Or even a teacher of love."

“Jesus—why does that sound like the title of a cursed, low-budget porn?”

“Because it is, and I starred in it emotionally. And let me tell you—this one guy, Taehyung? If bad decisions were Olympic sports, I’d be bringing home the gold. But he could’ve made solid amateur content. 4K, no cap.”

“I’m actually begging you to stop,” Jungkook laughs. “My brain is trying to leave my body.”

“Too late. The images are already in there. Let them haunt you.”

“So that guy,” Jungkook adds, voice laced with something just slightly too casual, “Taehyung… Were you serious with him or what? Is he the one Nina mentioned?”

“God, no,” you snort. “Taehyung and I were strictly ‘I’m bored, let’s ruin our lives a little’ energy. We still hook up occasionally,” you add with a giggle, the clinking of dishes behind you making it sound even more nonchalant. “The guy Nina meant was Chris. I mean is Chris—man’s still breathing, unfortunately.”

Jungkook hums, trying not to sound too intrigued. “What happened with you and, uh, Chris?”

“Our relationship turned into an instruction manual—confusing, repetitive, and missing emotional screws,” you deadpan. “I mean, I love routines. I love brushing my teeth at the same time every day, watching trash TV on Tuesdays, organizing my spice rack alphabetically. But a routine in a romantic relationship? Bleh.”

He chuckles. “So, what, you just mutually… dipped?”

“We fell out of love. I’ve said it before, but yeah. It was like watching a candle slowly die but you’re too lazy to blow it out. But we’re mature adults now,” you add mockingly, “We wave when we see each other. Very civilized. Very grown-up. Sometimes I even pretend I don’t want to shove him into traffic.”

“Ah, true love’s final form.”

“And Taehyung?” Jungkook asks, trying not to sound too curious.

“UGH,” you groan dramatically, “it feels so weird talking to you about my sex life.”

And yeah, Jungkook feels it too. It is kind of weird. You guys only recently started talking again—like really talking—and now you’re casually breaking into the “so here’s who’s making me see stars” category of conversation. It’s awkward. But like… the good kind. The kind that cracks the ice instead of making you want to drown under it.

“But anyway,” you go on with a sigh, “he’s the only guy I can safely say knows how to do me good. Like, freak level: matched. Energy: dangerous. Results: mind-blowing.”

Jungkook coughs, nearly choking on air.

“Relax,” you laugh, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “I see him sometimes. Mostly during the weekends. Like, Friday nights are for insane sex, Saturday mornings are for pancakes. We keep it simple.”

“Wow,” Jungkook mutters, eyebrows raised as he stares at the road. “I didn’t know you scheduled your hookups like dentist appointments.”

“Kook, I’m organized,” you shoot back. “Just because I’m getting railed doesn’t mean I don’t believe in time management.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I forgot how unfiltered you are.”

“Oh please,” you snort. “I was always like this. You just forgot because you became all lawyery and respectable or whatever. Mr. Courtroom with a fiancée and matching mugs.”

“Excuse you,” he gasps. “Those mugs were a gift. And I am still plenty fun. I’m fun as hell.”

“You’re fun like… brunch with your mom fun.”

“Wow,” he says, mock-offended. “That’s low. Take it back.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “you’re more like tequila number three and bad decisions’ kind of fun. Happy?”

“Much better,” he says. “Though, I’m still stuck on the fact that you’ve got a certified weekend dick schedule. Like—is there a Google Calendar involved?”

You hum thoughtfully. “No, but there is a color-coded notes app. Taehyung’s under red. Red means danger.”

“Red means dick apparently.”

You snort, almost dropping the phone. “Do you want me to start naming the colors or should I save you from a stroke?”

“Oh my god, please don’t. I already know too much. Red is Taehyung, green is probably some yoga instructor who reads your aura while hitting it from the back—”

“Just because I’m getting railed by Taehyung doesn’t mean I can’t have some visual stimulation somewhere else,” you say casually, and Jungkook nearly chokes on his own breath.

“I—wait, what?”

You laugh, the sound way too smug. “Lucas, the guy from yoga? I’m not hooking up with him. I just like to watch. Like, respectfully. From downward dog.”

Jungkook groans. “Oh my god, you’re that person.”

“What person?”

“The ‘I go to yoga to spiritually connect with my body but also stare at the hot guy doing warrior pose’ person.”

You hum, unapologetic. “Exactly. He plays the flute after class. Sometimes shirtless. Who am I to disrespect the art?”

“I hate that I can literally see this man in my head. Like, did he step out of a fantasy novel? Does he braid herbs into his man bun?”

“He does, actually. Lavender. Once jasmine.”

Jungkook wheezes. “I swear to god, you’re collecting red flags like it’s a Pokémon game.”

“Oh, Lucas isn’t a red flag. He’s like… a green flag dipped in glitter. He doesn’t talk much. Probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Right, so you go to yoga, spiritually align your chakras, and ogle a flute-playing fairy man while pretending you’re invisible?”

You grin. “In short: yes.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

There’s a soft lull after that. Not awkward, just full of something unsaid. Something sitting between the jokes and the teasing.

So you change the subject before it gets too real.

“Anyway. Back to your love life, fiancé man. Tell me, do you and Nina also bond over herbal teas and chakra alignment?”

“Only if tequila counts as herbal tea.”

“Oh, you’re still fun. I take it back.”

“Sooo, is it spicy?” you ask, far too invested for your own good. You should be subtle. Keep it cool. Mysterious. Before you accidentally make it weird. But hey—he started it.

“We make love,” Jungkook says, all serious.

“Okay… and?” you press, already raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, and?”

“You make love—and what else? C’mon, give me something. A little spice. A sprinkle of freak.”

“Not all sex needs dirty details,” he says, half-defensive. “Sometimes it’s just… needing each other. Worshiping each other.”

You pause, blink. “Okay, cool cool. So you choke her and spank her at the same time.”

Jungkook chokes on air. “You said that, not me.”

“Damn,” you grin. “Didn’t know Mr. Worship-The-Queen had it in him.”

“Stop.”

“You stop. You’re the one who brought up the emotional part, I’m just trying to balance the chakras.”

He groans. “I should’ve just said missionary and moved on.”

“Missionary with eye contact?”

“Goodbye.”

“You didn’t deny it though!” you shout through laughter. “Jungkook, do you whisper poetry during sex? Tell me you at least moan her name like a dramatic movie scene.”

“Literally why are you like this?” he laughs, and yet… he doesn’t hang up.

“Sooo, missionary with eye contact, huh?” you tease, words laced with just the right amount of smug. You can’t help it. You do tease. And thank god this is a phone call, because if Jungkook could see your face right now? Disaster. You’re not cool. Your cheeks are heating up, your mind just shoved a not-so-holy image of him doing… that—and yeah, you’re definitely spiraling.

Your brain: please do not go there.

Your hormones: too late.

“Ugh, you’re at it again…” he groans, but there’s no heat behind it. “But yeah, I like eye contact. I like the intimacy during sex. Is it so bad a man prefers sex with feelings instead of cold, empty thrusting?” You can practically hear the eye roll.

“Hey, no shame in that,” you say, clearing your throat way too loudly. “Who doesn’t like a little romance with their raunch?”

“Do you?” he asks suddenly.

Weird question. Like… really weird. Why are you even having this conversation? He’s in traffic, you’re at work. And yet… here you are. Having this talk, of all things.

“I mean, yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, as if your entire nervous system isn’t short-circuiting. “If I have feelings for the person, absolutely. If I don’t… I enjoy a little emotionless, hardcore chaos on the side.”

“As you already mentioned,” he says, dry as hell.

You snort. “Listen, I’m just being honest. Emotional sex is great. But sometimes you just want to get absolutely wrecked by someone you’ll never text again.”

“���Are you okay?”

“Emotionally? No. Physically? Always.”

“I hate how much that makes sense.”

“You love it. Admit it.”

He sighs. “You’re lucky I’m not swerving into traffic right now.”

“Kook?” you say, your voice a little softer now.

“Yeah?” he replies, equally soft.

“I think Ms. Kim’s back. I hear her keys jingling like she’s trying to unlock a safe full of state secrets.”

He chuckles. “You gotta go play personal chef slash therapist slash accidental sex confidante?”

You groan. “Unfortunately, yes. The woman probably has a fresh batch of trauma and a craving for duck.”

“Well, bon appétit to both of you.”

You snort. “You’re insane.”

“Okay teacher of love, we’ll talk later?”

“Of course. Try not to crash the car thinking about missionary with eye contact.”

“Please—my therapist says I need fewer intrusive thoughts, not more.”

“Then stop calling me while you drive, dumbass.”

“Touché.”

You hang up smiling like an idiot.

The next three weeks pass in the blink of an eye.

Jungkook and Nina are officially back in Cape May, and to celebrate both love and their return to the city, the Jeons decide to host a get-together dinner. A cozy, intimate thing. Just the people who matter.

They’ve both transferred their jobs too—same careers, different zip codes. It’s a homecoming in more ways than one.

The guest list is lined up with the closest circle: the Jeons, naturally (minus Mr. Jeon, who was thankfully disowned when Jungkook’s parents divorced—no one’s mad about that), Yoongi and Nina’s parents, and your family. That includes your mom, dad, two sisters, and your brother—yes, the whole crew.

When you step through the doors of the Jeon residence, you’re instantly hit with warmth—figuratively and literally. The first people you see are Jungkook’s mom and his brother.

Jungkook’s mom wastes no time. She engulfs you in a hug that could probably fix global warming, ruffles your hair like you’re still ten, and says, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, I swear to God.” You laugh, cheeks burning, and mutter something that sounds like a thank you but could also be interpreted as a dying bird sound.

Off to the side, you spot your younger brother dapping up Jungkook’s brother like they haven’t missed a beat. It makes you smile—generational friendships like that don’t come easy.

Then comes Yoongi and Nina’s mom, and she practically bolts toward you like you’re a soldier coming home from war. She’s all over you—kisses, pinches, emotional declarations.

You side-eye the rest of the room for help, but everyone’s too busy exchanging hellos and catching up. The whole vibe is wholesome. Loud. Slightly crazy. The good kind.

“Mom, don’t strangle her,” Yoongi mutters, visibly embarrassed.

“I love her too much to kill her,” she replies dramatically, clutching her chest like a telenovela star.

“Let her say hello to the rest of us!” Yoongi calls out from behind his mom, looking mildly horrified as she squeezes you like a favorite plushie. You’re halfway convinced you heard your spine pop.

“Fine,” she huffs, releasing you with the flair of a comedy character. “But only because I need a drink. Loving people is exhausting.”

You stumble your way into Yoongi’s arms, and he kisses your cheek with a long-suffering sigh. “Thank God you’re here,” he murmurs, eyes darting around like he’s being hunted. “The moms already asked me when I’m getting married. Twice.”

“Great,” you deadpan. “So I’m next in line for interrogation.”

“Yup. You’re my human shield now. I owe you big time.”

Then Nina swoops in with her usual sunshine energy. “Oh my god, look at you matching with your siblings. Did you plan that? That’s so aesthetic of you!”

“No, no—it was totally an accident—”

“Mm, sure,” she sings, clearly enjoying this. “It’s giving family portrait realness. I approve.”

And then he’s there.

Jungkook.

Jeon Freaking Jungkook in a crisp button-down and that soft smirk that’s always two seconds away from a joke or a disaster.

He leans in and kisses your cheek. No hug. No extra second. Just a quick “hello” kiss, like you didn’t once teach him how to do laundry without shrinking his sweaters.

“Wow,” you say, smiling. “So formal.”

“I’m a changed man,” he replies smoothly. “One kiss per childhood friend. No refunds.”

You raise a brow. “Guess I’ll bill you for emotional damage later.”

“Add it to my tab.”

It’s funny. It's casual. It's the kind of greeting that says we've known each other forever—but also maybe we don’t know each other like we used to.

And all around you, chaos reigns—Nina’s dad is already halfway into a wine rant about sulfites, your little brother is plotting world domination with Jungkook’s brother over the grill, and Yoongi’s mom is trying to sneak you another hug like a ninja in heels.

It’s loud. It’s family.

And it feels like home.

You’re deep in conversation with Yoongi and your little sisters, Vicky and Leah, when Nina and Jungkook approach. Nina’s sipping something fizzy, her smile looking real enough—until you notice how tightly she’s gripping the glass. Jungkook looks like he’s walking into a landmine.

“Look at the happy couple,” Vicky chirps, her voice sugary sweet and fake as hell. Her smile could kill a man.

“Hey, little ones,” Jungkook greets, aiming a warm smile at both your sisters.

Leah beams. “Hi, Jungkook!”

Vicky just raises a brow and crosses her arms. “So,” she starts, eyes never leaving his, “you and my sister are suddenly friends again, huh?”

Jungkook stiffens. “Yeah. We’re… reconnecting.”

“Girl, why?” Vicky asks, snapping her gaze to you. “Did we forget how fast he dropped you like a bad habit when he got boo’d up?”

“Vicky,” Leah whispers, panicked.

“What? I’m being real. That’s more than most people here can say.” Vicky waves her hand vaguely in Nina’s direction. “Yoongi agrees with me.”

Yoongi backs away like she just lit a match. “I’m Switzerland.”

Nina finally chimes in, trying for calm. “With all due respect, I wasn’t the reason they stopped talking—”

“With all due respect,” Vicky cuts her off, mimicking her voice in an exaggerated, high-pitched tone, “I don’t remember asking for a single syllable of your input.”

You close your eyes. Jungkook coughs awkwardly.

“Look,” Nina says, surprisingly still composed, “I get that you’re protective. I really do. But you weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.”

Vicky scoffs. “You’re right—I wasn’t there. But you know what I was? A witness to my sister crying over a dude who forgot how phones work. And then you, magically glued to his side the whole time, never once told her anything.”

“It wasn’t my place—”

“Oh please,” Vicky rolls her eyes. “You think being someone’s girlfriend, soon to be wife—whatever gives you immunity? News flash, Nina: girlfriends don’t erase friendships. People do that themselves.”

Now Nina’s smile is gone.

“You don’t know everything, Vicky.”

“And yet I know enough to know that the math ain’t mathing. If it smells like betrayal and walks like betrayal—guess what?”

“Vicky,” you mutter.

“What? I’m the drama? At least I’m honest drama.”

Yoongi claps slowly. “God, I missed this.”

“Shut up, Yoongi,” you and Vicky say in unison.

“Wow,” Jungkook mumbles under his breath, “this reunion is going great.”

“This reunion was going great until you and Miss Perfect decided to crash the vibe,” Vicky hisses, eyes locked on Jungkook.

“Why do you hate me so fucking much?” Jungkook shoots back. “Y/n and I already talked. We’re good.”

“I don’t care about your little heart-to-heart,” Vicky snaps. “You know what? Let’s ask Yoongi. Because despite what he says, he is not Switzerland.”

All eyes turn to Yoongi.

He exhales like someone just asked him to defuse a bomb. “Look… I honestly think both of you were at fault for the fallout. And maybe… maybe it should’ve stayed like that.”

Nina blinks. “Wait, are you not going to defend me?”

“I’m not picking sides,” Yoongi says, calm but blunt. “And, yeah, Jungkook and Y/n did drift when you two got together.”

“Exactly!” Vicky nearly cheers, but Yoongi holds up a hand.

“But,” he adds firmly, “that happens. People naturally spend more time with their partners when they’re in a relationship. That doesn’t make anyone evil.”

“Yeah, but it’s still partly Nina’s fault,” Vicky presses.

“No, it isn’t,” Yoongi’s jaw tenses as he steps forward slightly, eyes sharp now. “You don’t get to throw blame at my sister and expect me to nod along. She didn’t pull some villain move. The distance? It was on both of them.” He points, first at Jungkook, then at you.

There’s silence.

Thick, awkward silence.

And right then, your parents approach the group, laughing about something they heard in the kitchen, oblivious to the nuclear vibes in the room.

Everyone quickly plasters on fake smiles.

But the tension hangs heavy, clinging to the air like smoke.

And the way Vicky glares at Jungkook and Nina as they walk off doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by you. Not by Yoongi.

And definitely not by Jungkook.

Leah tries not to meddle in drama. She really does.

She’s always the one who sees the best in people—stays quiet during arguments, lets the storm pass while she remains the calm in the center of it all.

But when she walks into Jungkook’s brother’s room, just looking for her jacket, and finds Nina hunched over on the edge of the bed, silent tears streaking her face—something in Leah cracks.

“Hey,” she says softly, freezes mid-step.

Nina straightens, quickly wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “Hey,” she lets out with a shaky laugh. “Caught me in my Oscars audition.”

Leah walks closer, slow and deliberate, as if afraid to startle her. She sits down beside Nina gently, their knees barely touching.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Nina shrugs. “Do you hate me?” Her voice is small. Fragile. Almost childlike.

“What? No,” Leah says quickly, hand already rubbing soothing circles across Nina’s back. “Of course not.”

Nina gives a bitter smile, still looking at the floor. “Vicky thinks I’m some kind of devil sent to destroy lifelong friendships… and I just—I don’t get it. You girls used to like me. When you were kids, I was like the cool older friend. What changed?”

Leah doesn’t answer right away. She threads their fingers together and gives Nina’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Vicky is just… Vicky,” she finally says. “She’s always been too protective. She doesn’t know how to admit when we mess up. It’s easier for her to blame someone else, especially someone outside the family.”

Nina stays quiet.

Leah exhales, continuing softly, “But trust me—none of us actually blame you. Not really. Not even Vicky. She acts like it, yeah, but deep down? She knows the truth. She knows what happened between you and Jungkook and Y/n… it’s just life. Sometimes things fall apart. No villains. Just… timing and feelings and miscommunication.”

Nina nods, her eyes brimming again.

“You inspired me, you know?” Leah says. “I chose medicine because of you. You made me want to be smart like you.”

Nina lets out a wet chuckle, blinking fast. “I’m sorry I made things weird,” she murmurs.

“You didn’t,” Leah says simply. “You just fell in love with him.”

Meanwhile, in the living room, Vicky is livid.

You're sitting between your mom and Jungkook, laughing at something he just said—some stupid inside joke from middle school, probably—and she’s watching the scene like it’s a horror movie she can’t look away from.

She swears your eyes are sparkling.

She’s had enough.

With the speed and precision of someone on a mission, Vicky swoops in, plopping down on the couch beside you like a warning shot.

“Stop laughing at his jokes,” she hisses into your ear, her tone low but sharp. “You look like you’re giving him heart eyes.”

You blink, caught completely off guard. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you hiss back, cheeks flushing.

“Me? Nothing. You? You damn well know.” Her voice is still a whisper, but the intensity behind it is blaring.

You gulp.

She’s talking about that night. Years ago.

The one where you were a little too drunk and a little too sad, and in a moment of weakness, you let it slip—how in love you used to be with Jungkook. How part of you never really got over it.

And now Vicky, with her elephant memory and protective little sister instincts, is here to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself—or worse, that you don’t humiliate yourself again.

You open your mouth, ready to retort, to tell her to back off, that you’re fine, that it’s been years—but your mom’s voice shakes the room.

“Vicky! Let’s go and help Mrs. Jeon in the kitchen!”

Vicky rises like a soldier summoned by duty, but not before turning back to you and sending a look—a very loud don’t-do-anything-stupid look.

Then both of them are gone, and you’re left sitting there with Jungkook again.

Alone.

And unfortunately for your sanity, he’s still grinning at you like he never broke your heart.

“I never really got the chance to apologize for Vicky’s little… performance earlier,” you say, scratching the back of your head, eyes flickering anywhere but him. “I’m really sorry, Kook. I’ll talk to Nina too. She didn’t deserve that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, a small, tired smile on his lips. “There’s no need to apologize. I get it—Vicky’s got her version of the story. And I know how she is.” He lets out a breath through his nose. “I just wish she didn’t hate me so much. She used to really look up to me.”

You nod slowly, the corner of your mouth pulling into a bittersweet smile. “Yeah… she really did. You were her role model back then. You were everyone’s favorite.”

He chuckles softly at that, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I think,” you continue gently, “when we stopped being close, it wasn’t just me who lost you. She lost you too. And for her, that felt like betrayal—like abandonment.” You glance up at him. “She doesn’t know how to grieve things quietly. So she gets loud instead.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Well… you were her hero,” you say with a small laugh. “Still might be. Deep, deep down under the layers of rage and sarcasm.”

That earns you a real smile from him—soft, sad, but real.

“You really think so?���

“I know so,” you say, meeting his gaze. “She doesn’t waste that much energy hating someone unless she loved them first.”

“Hmmm, I’ll keep that in mind,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Who knows, maybe she’ll stop hating me one day.”

“Whew, hold up, soldier,” you smirk, elbow nudging his arm gently. “Let’s not get too ambitious. Baby steps.”

He lets out a real laugh, low and familiar. It rolls out of him so easily, it makes something settle in your chest. The tension thins. The air between you shifts back into something softer. Normal. Familiar.

“So…” he leans into the couch cushions a bit more, his arm brushing yours for a second too long. “Are you excited I’m back?”

You glance at him, a smile playing on your lips. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I am.”

He smiles at that. Like he was hoping you’d say it. He’s thinking about something—hesitating—his eyes flickering to your face and then away like he’s trying to piece something together in his head.

“Do you wanna, I don’t know… do something tomorrow? Just the two of us. Like before?”

You raise a brow. “What, like sneak into The House and get drunk listening to The Smiths in your mom’s basement again?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no. But I was thinking more Smiths and The House—less drinking. I start work the day after tomorrow, and I really don’t want to show up hungover.”

You bite back a smile, pretending to mull it over. “Okay, sure. Fine. Whatever you want, Mr. Responsible Adult.”

“Awesome.” His grin is soft. A little crooked.

Your eyes meet. And for a second, it’s calm. Not uncomfortable, not awkward. Just calm.

And in that quiet, something passes between you. Unspoken. Personal. A flicker of an old bond that never really went away.

The moment is soft, humming with something you can’t quite name. Like standing at the edge of a sentence that hasn't been spoken yet. Jungkook looks at you like he wants to say something—like he’s about to reach across the space between you, bridge the gap, touch you, hug you.

And then—

Plop.

Mrs. Min drops herself between the two of you on the couch like it’s musical chairs and she won. She lets out a delighted little laugh, already turning to you with a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

“So, sweetheart, when are you going to give my son a real chance?”

You blink. “What?”

She winks. “C’mon, you know what I’m saying.”

Your brows knit, confusion crawling all over your face as she leans in closer.

“You knowww,” she whispers, dramatically, as if you're filming a soap opera together, “Yoongi. You two would make the most adorable couple. Honestly? Way better than Jungkook and Nina—don’t tell Nina I said that.”

You burst into awkward laughter, trying to mask the what is even happening expression you’re wearing. “We’re just friends, Mrs. Min.”

She waves a hand like she’s brushing away nonsense. “Friends get married aaaaaall the time. It’s your time now. I'm telling you, the wedding would be so stylish.”

You scramble to change the subject—anything to steer away from the you + Yoongi fantasy Mrs. Min is clearly crafting like a Pinterest board in her head.

But as you turn slightly, eyes catching on Jungkook, something shifts.

His smile is gone.

Jaw set.

Fingers curled tightly around the glass in his hand, knuckles almost white. He’s looking at you, but the expression on his face—it’s not the same as before. It's guarded. Searching. Like there’s something behind his eyes that he doesn’t want you to see.

Like he knows something you don’t.

A truth he’s holding onto, too tightly.

And the look he gives you—it swallows you whole.

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @santiiagopopegarcia @jadaocon1 @asyr97 @gukieater @themwordsblog @whatevevrerr @amarawayne @tititania @guwol @reallygenerouskoala @bgfdcvbnjk @kyljjk @whoa-jo @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @upo1313 @polnaraffsrack @tatzzz-25 @orphicepiphany @coletaehyung @bjoriis @epiphany-n @kimyishin @eegyo @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @parkinglot-nights @mar-lo-pap @evrsncenewyork @jjeonjjk7 @minghaosimp @cerulean1riz @anumita-2007 @vantelover1306 @vynmin @nadzzzblog @jnghs @lachimolalajeon @joonwater @choijay-07 @notsevenwithyou @mononoaware16 @sky-23s-world @auroresce @sadgirlroo @arcadiaem

[cameronsbabydoll]

so i heard that when you're suppressing your emotions there's a chance you'll forget your memories or basic stuff about yourself and i immediately thought about scc reader, like imagine rafe and her having a conversation and reader having to ask what he's talking about (even though what they're talking about was 3 days ago) and then rafe realize somethings off about her and he researches stuff and finds out about it (sorry for the long ask)

-🌬

scc!rafe and scc!reader having a conversation and scc!reader doesn’t remember

warnings: some medical talk, and mentions of suppressing emotions

"do you remember what i said about dinner this weekend?"

you blink at him. eyes wide, mouth parted like you’re trying to search for it in your head. but it’s gone. completely.

"i—what dinner?" you ask.

his brows furrow.

"the one with clint and meredith. we talked about it three days ago." his voice sharpens, not mean, just annoyed. "you told me you’d check your calendar."

you try to remember. really, you do. but it’s a blur. you remember wiping the counter. you remember the kids talking over each other. maybe rafe was on the phone? you don't know. it’s just static in your head now.

"i—I don’t know," you murmur. "i don’t remember saying that."

rafe goes quiet.

usually he’d snap. make a comment about how you "never listen," about how he’s got enough to manage at work without babysitting at home. but this time he just stares. watches the way you rub your temple. watches your shoulders curl in.

that night, after you’re asleep — curled around a pillow, tired in a way that no amount of rest can fix — he opens his laptop. types quietly. "memory loss emotional suppression."

he doesn’t like what he reads.

"trauma-based amnesia."

"emotional exhaustion."

"mental fog due to chronic stress."

he scrolls and scrolls. and then sits in the dark for a long, long time.

because suddenly the blank look in your eyes doesn’t seem like absentmindedness.

it looks like someone drowning. silently. and he didn’t even notice.

[kiwriteswords]

If we're talking angst with Aaron Hotchner, I feel like a miscarriage would do good to break his heart (if you're comfortable writing such a heavy topic, of course!)

No words appear before me in the aftermath [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1k|| AN: Well, this took an emotional toll! Sort of inspired by the scene in Grey's Anatomy with Meredith Grey! Also, peep the new 'taglist' banner! I really like how it turned out!

Tags/Warnings: miscarriage, pregnancy, angst, blood, traumatic event, canon typical events, canon typical themes, canon typical language, BAU team member reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, concerned Derek, concerned, Spencer, concerned Rossi

Summary: "Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. You were bigger than the whole sky. You were more than just a short time. I've got a lot to pine about. I've got a lot to live without. I'm never gonna meet, what could've been, would've been, what should've been you."

In the muted light, the BAU team maneuvered through the abandoned warehouse, their breaths visible in the chill air. Aaron Hotchner led with the precision of a seasoned commander, his eyes scanning for danger; his heart, however, remained anchored to you. 

His partner in every sense. 

Despite being married for some time now, the thrill of working alongside you never waned. The team admired your synergy, the seamless dance of mutual respect, and whispered strategies. You bettered each other and for that? The team was grateful. 

As gunfire erupted, chaos threaded through the precision. Aaron commanded, "Cover! Now!" 

His voice was the calm in the storm, but his gaze instinctively sought you out. You moved with practiced ease, though your face was pale.

The exchange of bullets echoed a grim symphony. Spencer and Derek flanked you, moving as one unit. But as the final shot silenced the night, halting the unsub, a different, sharper silence fell over you. 

Clutching your side, you staggered slightly, the color drained from your face not just from exertion but from pain--a deep, gnawing pain that didn't come from any bullet. Your knees felt weak; a sour taste filled your mouth. 

The physical manifestation of your emotional turmoil was evident in your trembling hands and the way your body seemed to sag under the weight of the news. 

"Derek, check her!" Spencer's voice cracked through the tension, his youthful face lined with worry.

Derek approached, his brow furrowed. "You're bleeding... a lot. Were you hit?" His question hung heavy in the cold air.

You shook your head, moisture glossing your eyes, not from the icy wind but from a storm within. "No, I... it's not that."

Across the warehouse, Aaron knelt beside the subdued unsub, his duty momentarily anchoring him to the spot. But his eyes were locked on you, sensing the distress in Derek's tone. The local PD was moving in, ready to take over, allowing Aaron the space to be not just a unit chief but a concerned husband. His responsibilities as a leader momentarily set aside, he moved towards you, his focus narrowing to the palpable tension surrounding you.

As Aaron approached, he noticed the stark contrast of the blood against your clothing, and his heart skipped a beat. The scene around him: the flashing lights, the murmur of the police radios, all faded into a blur. 

Only you and your pain remained sharply in focus.

Always keenly observant, Rossi stepped in, his voice gentle yet urgent. "What’s going on?" he asked, looking from you to Aaron, sensing the shift in the air.

The question was too much. The weight of the secret you harbored now bled out in more ways than one. "Stop," you whispered, the single word a dam against your breaking heart. Your eyes met Aaron’s, and in them, he read a thousand chapters of a story you hadn’t yet told him. Miscarriage. The word stood unspoken, a ghost between you. The pain of loss, the fear of the unknown, and the struggle to communicate it all, hung heavy in the air.

You turned away, a lone figure against the backdrop of flashing police lights, walking away from the puddles that mirrored your desolation. Aaron stood frozen, his instincts as a unit chief battling his instincts as a husband. The words to command, to comfort, eluded him.

Seeing Aaron's hesitation, Rossi placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Aaron, she needs you now more than the team does." His voice was low, filled with understanding and a somber recognition of the personal stakes involved.

Spencer, who had hung back, now stepped forward, his voice hesitant but firm. "She wasn't ready to tell us, Hotch. Maybe... m-maybe she wasn't ready to tell anyone yet?" 

Derek, still close by, looked between you and Aaron, regret coloring his tone. "Hotch, I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was..." His voice trailed off, unsure of how much had been understood, how much had been shared.

"Neither did I." Aaron's voice broke, a rare crack in his armor. He hadn’t known about the baby, about the hope you had nurtured silently. Now, all he could see was the future unspooling, threads of joy unraveled into grief. His internal conflict, torn between his role as a leader and his desire to comfort you, was palpable.

The team huddled in a tableau of shared sorrow, the strong men of the BAU grappling with a pain they couldn’t shield you from. As you distanced yourself, the space between you and Aaron felt like miles. He wanted to chase after you, to erase the hurt, but his feet were rooted, his role uncertain, his heart heavy with the shared pain.

He finally found you in the women’s bathroom at the local precinct, the tiles and walls reflecting a cold he couldn’t shake Locking the door behind him, he stood inside. 

You were at the sink, changed from your original clothes into one he recognized as back up from your go-bag. 

Your hands mechanically scrubbing under the relentless stream of water, each motion a futile attempt to cleanse away the tragedy that had stained the day. Stained this chapter in your life.

Water pooled around the drain tinged with a heartbreak that soap couldn’t wash away. 

Your focus was laser-sharp on the pink-tinted water, a cruel reminder of the life that was slipping away from you. Aaron paused at the door, the sight of you grappling alone with your pain tightening his chest.

“Let’s take a minute,” he said gently, his voice a soft contrast to the harsh fluorescent lighting. His words seemed to hover in the humid air, too heavy to immediately absorb.

You didn’t look up, your hands moving to your stained clothes, spot-cleaning the blood that had marked it. The fabric absorbed your focus, your fingers scrubbing rhythmically.

It was a task, something you could control when everything else seemed to unravel. 

“I need to get more jeans for my go-bag,” You said as if it was just an item on your to-do list. As if there wasn’t a life-altering moment happening right before your very eyes.

Aaron moved closer, his reflection ghosting beside yours in the mirror, a shared image of both solidarity and separation. “You don’t have to do this right now,” he murmured, reaching a tentative hand toward your shoulder.

The contact startled you, a lifeline you hadn’t realized you were waiting for. Your eyes met his in the mirror--windows fogged with unshed tears. 

“I need to clean this up,” you insisted, your voice as thin as the paper towels you now snatched up, blotting the damp clothes.

He watched the deliberate way you avoided your reflection, focusing only on the stains you could fight. “You’re not alone in this,” Aaron assured you, his tone threaded with the promise to hold together the pieces of a shared dream that had shattered silently.

The paper towels piled up. Crimson. “I was going to tell you…I wanted to tell you…,” you finally admitted, the words spilling out like the water you couldn’t stop. “A-After the case...”

The confession hung between you, a delicate truth that now lay bare in the most unforgiving of lights. 

Aaron reached for your hands, stilling them. “Let’s just sit for a moment. Together,” he suggested, guiding you away from the sink, away from the relentless reminder of loss.

You allowed him to lead you to a small bench in the corner, the cold of the tile seeping through your clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand covering yours. Side by side, you sat in a silence that spoke volumes, your breaths syncing in a slow, shared cadence.

Aaron looked at you, really looked. 

Not as a unit chief or a husband seeking to fix things but as a partner sharing in the rawness of the moment. 

“We don’t have to go back out there today,” he said softly, an anchor in the fluidity of grief.

You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder. The fight to stay composed ebbing away. 

In the quiet of that sterile space, you found a haven, a shared solitude that didn’t push for answers or action, just presence. He’d always had this effect on you. 

“We both wanted this so much." Your voice just above a whisper. 

Aaron nodded, his cheek resting atop your head. "I know," he murmured. His heart ached with the weight of lost futures. "We wanted it," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, acknowledging not only the pain of the loss but the depth of the shared desire that had been growing between you.

In the reflection of the darkened mirror, the two of you sat, a poignant picture of what strength truly looked like, not in the avoidance of pain but in the willingness to face it. 

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[taintedcigs]

— morning routine (modern!s.h. x reader)

pairing: modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: basically, that scene in greys anatomy where meredith snores and keeps waking up derek but instead of them it's reader who just moved in with steve. (and robin duh) idk how to explain it but i tried to give it a spin idk if i succeeded. this is just FLUFFY AND cheesy. and tbh its only modern!steve cuz i added one (1) stupid twilight joke. SUE ME OK!!!!

warnings: just pure fluff. domestic!steve. tooth-rottingly sweet. cheesy af. some kissing. does snoring count idk. steve is an adorable idiot. also makes a dirty joke bc he is immature (and so am i.) kissing. idk. allude to smut but nothing described at all. not proof-read ignore all mistakes cuz i wrote this mess in like 20 mins and cant read it back cuz i cant do it without criticizng everything so im just gonna post okkkkiii bye hope u guys enjoy it (wc: 1.3k+)

⠀ ͟ ͟ㅤㅤ♥︎ㅤ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ͟ㅤㅤ♥︎ㅤ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ㅤ⠀ ͟ ͟ㅤㅤ♥︎ㅤ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ㅤ⠀ ͟ ͟ㅤㅤ♥︎ㅤ

It hadn't been that long since you’d settled into Steve and Robin’s place. You’d initially been nervous about it, about whether everything would work out or not.

But soon enough, things were already starting to fall into place—especially in the mornings.

A perfect routine.

The illuminating rays of sunshine would seep through the cracks in the blinds, glowing the cozy room you and Steve now called yours. And the overwhelming aroma of the coffee Robin always brewed too early, signaling to you that it was time to wake up.

You stirred slightly, mind slowly drifting out of the haze of sleep until you noticed something—rather someone in your periphery.

Eyes fluttering open, you squinted against the soft light, and you were instantly met with Steve’s warm gaze at you, his head propped on one hand as he lay beside you.

“Steve! What the hell?” you exclaimed, groggily shoving his shoulder with a laugh. “Are you watching me sleep, you creep?”

Steve’s lips curled into a lazy, boyish grin, one that you couldn’t resist smiling back at. “Mmhmm,” he murmured, not even bothering to deny it.

“What are you? Edward Cullen?” you teased.

That earns a good chuckle out of him, eyes crinkling at the corners before he mumbles out a “Mornin', honey.”

He leans down to press a soft kiss to your velvety lips before pulling back to gawk at you again, cheeks dimpling adorably.

A giggle bubbles up from your chest as you swat at him, though your heart squeezes.

The most dreamy.

“How did you wake up before the alarm?” you ask, voice still thick with sleep.

Steve shrugs, grin never faltering. “I’m a light sleeper.”

“Something woke you up?”

When he doesn't answer, “What?” you press, brows furrowing.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “’S no big deal,” he assures, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It’s just that...” He pauses, biting his lip to hold back a grin.

“You just... snore.... a little bit.” He squints, pinching his thumb and forefinger together.

You shot upright in bed. “What? I do not!” you protest.

“Yes, you do,” Steve says, grin widening as he clearly enjoys your reaction.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!” he counters back.

“Honestly, it’s adorable that such a tiny person can make such a big sound.”

You gasp, “Jerk!” Swatting at him when he leans in for a kiss. He laughs, dodging your swipe, smile as infuriating as it was endearing.

“You know what’s not adorable?” you shot back. “Those little twitches you do every night!”

Steve blinks, protesting quickly. “I don't do that!”

“Yes you do!” you exclaimed, poking a finger into his chest playfully. “You’re like a human earthquake. It’s scary, Harrington!”

He lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. And before you can say another word, Steve pounces, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his hold. Fingers tickling your sides mercilessly, sending you into fits of laughter as you squirm to escape.

“Stop it! Steve!” you manage to get out between giggles, your attempts to push him away weak from how hard you were laughing.

⠀ ͟ ͟ㅤㅤ♥︎ㅤ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ͟ㅤㅤ♥︎ㅤ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ㅤ⠀ ͟ ͟ㅤㅤ♥︎ㅤ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ㅤ⠀ ͟ ͟ㅤㅤ♥︎ㅤ

Determined to make it up to him, you wore one of those nasal strips every night, for the following week. Convinced it was solving the problem.

Until you wake up, suddenly, and way before your alarm.

And even way before Robin's coffee. To find Steve's spot empty next to you.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you slip out of bed, padding down the hall, curiosity tugging at you.

And of course, there he is, sprawled across the couch. Legs awkwardly dangling over the edge, one arm thrown over his eyes.

Idiot. You could feel a gentle warmth spreading all over your body.

This absolutely selfless, adorable idiot.

“You have got to be kidding me,” your exclaiming voice startles him awake, making him groan groggily.

“You slept on the couch?” You ask, guilt bubbling in your chest. 

Steve hums sleepily, clearly not awake enough to form a coherent response.

“All night?” That poor boy. 

He murmurs something incomprehensible, eyes squeezing shut like he could will himself back to sleep.

“Are those stupid strips not working?” You asked frustratedly, and Steve was quick to shook his head, the motion muffled by his pillow. 

You let out a sigh, narrowing your gaze at him, “If my snoring was always this bad, what the hell were you doing all those other nights?”

Before Steve can answer, Robin emerges from her room, hair a tangled mess and expression groggy. “He usually sleeps on the couch,” she hums, slowly slipping past you to the bathroom. “Sets an alarm and sneaks back into bed before you wake up.”

You blink, processing her words as your head slowly turns toward Steve. He’s sitting up now, looking thoroughly sheepish.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” he says softly, tone so endearing that it tugs violently at your heartstrings.

And that’s the thing about Steve, isn’t it? 

Always putting you first. Always thinking of you. 

You stare at him for a moment, dramatic theatrics melt into something warmer. A smile tugs at your lips, growing wider until you can’t contain it anymore. Walking over to the couch, you kneel beside him as he looks up at you innocently.

Without a word, you throw your arms around him as you begin to smother his face with kisses, one after another, until he was laughing too.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter between kisses, voice filled with affection. “Sweet, but so goddamn ridiculous.”

Steve grins, hands sliding down to hold your waist comfortably. “You know I’d do anythin' for my girl,” he replies, tone thick with sleep and laced with that infamous Harrington charm that makes your heart flutter.

“But, I swear, Harrington,” you warn, pulling back just enough to meet his warm gaze, “if you ever sleep on this couch again, I’m tying you to the bed.”

His brows shot up, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh! I’ve always wanted to try that one!” he teases.

You scoff playfully before adding, “And I’m getting you earplugs!”

Before you can say anything else, Steve suddenly tugs you closer, pulling you onto the couch with him. “C’mere,” he murmurs, voice low and tender. Plush lips pressing kisses all over your face—forehead, cheeks, lips, the tip of your nose—as he rambles sweet nothings in between, each one making your heart swell a little more.

“I love you,” he whispers, words melting into your skin like a promise. 

You can’t help but giggle softly, threading your fingers through his messy hair, “Love you more, you idiot.” 

Steve grins, fingers brushing off a stray strand of hair away from your face. “So…” He trails off, tone turning sly, brows arching in anticipation, “...about that tying up thing?”

You smirk, rolling off of him as you rise to your feet. He doesn’t let his gaze leave yours, chest rising with a sharp breath as he watches your figure. 

Without a word, you saunter out of the living room, hips swaying just enough to leave him frozen in place, staring after you like a statue.

At the doorway, you glance over your shoulder to meet his dumbfounded expression. “Well,” you hum with a sly grin, “are you coming or not?”

His jaw practically drops. “C’mon, pretty boy,” you tease, tone dropping into a sultry hum that makes his eyes darken. “You’ve been really, really bad, and the punishment isn’t gonna be pretty.”

His breath catches, utterly frozen. Then, as if the exhaustion he’d been feeling moments ago has been completely erased, he springs from the couch with a groan. “God, you’re fucking perfect, you know that, right?” he mutters, all with awe and hunger as he reaches you.

Before you can react, he sweeps you up into his arms with an eagerness that makes you squeal. “Steve!” you gasp, laughing as he rushes you toward the bedroom like a man on mission.

Finally, the perfect morning routine. 

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Now that Bradley has you with him, he never wants you to go. But the stress from Meredith and Penny still hangs between the two of you. And the only think that seems to make sense to Bradley could be taken from him.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, smut, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

You were finally in Bradley's arms. Aside from your hangover and banged up knee, you seemed no worse for the wear. Just a little shaken up from those assholes taunting you last night. As he leaned back against his headboard, you were curled up against his chest wearing his favorite sweatshirt. 

"I love you," he whispered again, rubbing the bare skin of your back and waist beneath the sweatshirt. You hadn't returned the sentiment, but it didn't matter. You just snuggled a little closer to him every time he said it to you. 

When your stomach growled, you looked up at him and laughed softly. "Come on," he said, kissing your forehead as he withdrew his hand from your soft skin. "I'll make you breakfast."

Now you were looking at him with concern as you straddled his thighs. "You'll make me breakfast? Sorry, but I'm not going to eat anything you cook."

Bradley tipped his head back and started laughing. "You got me there, Princess. But I can get you a bowl of cereal."

You just shook your head and slid off of his lap, taking his hand in yours. "I'll make you breakfast," you told him, looking back at him over your shoulder as he followed you down the hallway. He'd follow you anywhere today. Do anything you wanted to do. As long as you kept him with you.

He turned on the coffee maker and pulled two mugs down as you bent in front of the refrigerator. Your bare legs and his oversized sweatshirt made him feel weak. You handed him some eggs and the gallon jug of milk. "Do you have cinnamon?" you asked as he set the milk and eggs on the counter. 

"You don't actually have to make me breakfast," he whispered as you kissed his chin. 

"I'm hungry for French toast," you told him, so he located the cinnamon for you. Then he watched you work, helping with everything you asked him to. And when the kitchen smelled like cinnamon, and there were slices of bread sizzling on the stovetop, Bradley handed you a mug of coffee. 

"Can you help me with something on my phone?" he asked softly, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you sipped your coffee and flipped a piece of bread. 

You set down the mug that said Aviators Look Down on Others and glared at him over your shoulder. "If you ask me to delete another dating app, I will rage. Do you understand me?"

"It's not that," he promised.

"Well, then what can I help you with, old man?"

Bradley couldn't help but smile at your words as he ran his mustache along the side of your neck. "Help me change this." He tapped on your contact name which was still listed as Babysitter. He deleted that word as he let his chin rest on your shoulder, making sure you were looking at his phone. Then he typed out My Princess before he opened his photo gallery. 

"It doesn't look like you need my help," you whispered as he scrolled through all of his pictures of you and Noah and the occasional one related to something at work. "Oh wait, yes you do," you said, pointing to the dirty pictures you had sent him. "You need to save those in a private folder, Daddy."

He was beyond delighted that you had just called him Daddy. "That's something else you can help me with," he murmured, scrolling further until he found the first selfie you sent to him. The one where you were wearing your purple crown. He set it at your contact photo and kissed your cheek

"Give me that," you told him after you flipped the pieces of French toast again. He handed you his phone and watched you move all the dirty photos he loved so much into a new folder that you labeled Princess. "And you can enter the passcode when you want to look at them," you said as you saved today's date as the four digit code.

"Why did you make it today's date?" he asked as you spun to face him and pressed his phone to his chest. He grabbed it as you let go and wrapped your arms around his neck. You kissed him hard, devouring his mouth as you sighed softly. Bradley tossed his phone onto the counter next to the mugs and let his hands slide up your sides beneath his soft sweatshirt. 

"Because," you told him between kisses, running your fingers up into his hair and looking him in the eye. "Today's the day you told me you love me."

"Baby," he moaned against your lips, reaching behind you to turn off the stove burners. 

You kept your body snug against his, even when you let your hands trail down to the bottom of his undershirt and whispered, "Daddy."

You peeled his shirt off, finally letting him feel your hands everywhere. "Please. Let me take you back to bed." He had never been intimate with you there, but he'd been dreaming about it for a long time. Hell, last night was the first time you and he had a real sleepover. The first time he got to hold you all night.

Immediately you started pushing him toward the hallway, and he hoisted you up into his arms as you squeaked. "I got you," he promised.

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

There had to be something wrong with you, because you couldn't physically stop smiling. Bradley had taken you to his bed, set you down gently right in the middle of it, and started kissing you everywhere. His sweatshirt was pushed up to your breasts, his big hands squeezing your sides while he kissed the spot just below your belly button.

You were panting softly, and you could tell how wet you were by the way your lace underwear clung to you. But he seemed to be in no hurry, so you just let him keep it up. Lips and mustache found your injured knee, and he kissed all around the bandage before gently guiding your leg over his shoulder. 

"I've been dreaming about this," he whispered against your inner thigh. When his fingers teased along the elastic of your underwear, you thought he was going to remove them, but he just kept driving you crazy instead. 

A soft laugh bubbled out of your lips. "You dreamed about rescuing me from frat boys and having your way with me?"

"No," he grunted, easing his large body over yours, while you kept your leg on his shoulder. You could feel his hard cock rub your core through both of your underwear, and you pressed up against him. "I dream about having you in my bed. Having you all to myself. Don't get me wrong, I love sharing you with Noah," he mumbled, pushing the sweatshirt up and palming your tits with his massive hands. "But when you're like this, you're all mine."

As your back arched off the bed, Bradley's lips met your nipple, kissing and caressing you like nobody else ever had. "Daddy," you whispered before your eyes fluttered closed. 

"All mine," he muttered, licking the valley between your breasts before sucking on one nipple and then the other.

You cried out for him, your hands grabbing at his biceps and shoulders before threading through his messy curls. 

"You're so fucking sensitive, Princess."

You definitely were for him. Because he knew how to touch you. He knew how to love you. He was good at all of it. 

"Bradley?" you gasped after he had worked your nipples into tender peaks. He whispered your name, the bristles of his mustache rubbing you just right. You were clenching around nothing. He hadn't even undressed you yet. And now you were in trouble, because he could tell how far gone you were as he whispered your name over and over again.

You rubbed yourself up against his cock as he pressed his lips to your ear and moaned, "I love you, Princess. I love you."

There was little doubt in your mind that you could cum for him just like this. He loved you. And you loved him.

You were soaking wet as he slipped his hand inside your underwear and groaned. "You make me insane," he informed you gruffly, wasting no time before slipping his middle finger inside you. 

"Bradley!" you cried as he stroked your clit with his thumb and fucked you with one, thick digit until you were propping yourself up on your elbows to get to his lips. You kissed him, and he devoured every noise you made. "I'm so close, Daddy." When you let your head tip back, his mouth found your breasts again. You were close to overstimulation as he removed his finger from inside you and rubbed his fingertips across your clit until you were nearly crying. 

It took you a second to realize that your legs were shaking as he sucked on your breasts. You were about to cum as soft grunts mixed with your deep, erratic breathing. "Oh," you gasped, and then he was mashing his lips to yours, pushing you back against the pillow. "I'm coming," you whined into his mouth. 

Then you were shaking everywhere, his fingers slowing down and applying less pressure until you moaned his name so loudly, you should have been embarrassed. Your panties were absolutely soaked, and it felt like you were laying in a puddle as Bradley tapped your clit with his fingertips. 

When you met his eyes and saw the desire there, you knew what had happened. "Did I squirt again?" you asked softly as you caught your breath. Bradley brought his damp hand up to his own mouth and licked his palm before running his index finger along your lips. 

"You did," he whispered, letting you kitten lick his fingers. You tasted good on his warm skin, and you were no longer embarrassed. Because he looked so turned on right now. You could see his cock straining against the fabric of his underwear, could feel him pulsing against you. When you sucked two of his fingers into your mouth, he started bucking against you, and you looked up at him.

"Don't look at me like that," he rasped, pushing them a little further into your mouth. "You already know you own me."

You moaned around his fingers before he pulled them free and kissed you. Then his sweatshirt was on the floor along with your soaking wet underwear. You watched the graceful way he removed his own underwear as you sat up. 

"Come here," you commanded, and he did as he was told, kissing you and wrapping his arms around you. You told him where to touch you, and he did. You told him everything you wanted, and he did that too. You were already a mess again as his thigh rubbed your core. Already whimpering his name.

"You gonna let me make love to you, Princess?" he asked, spreading your legs a little wider and coaxing you flat on your back. 

"Yes," you whispered when you felt him at your entrance. 

"A little louder," he said, pressing against you with delicious pressure.

"Yes!"

He was steady and meticulous, sure that you liked everything he was doing before he went a little harder. He checked in with you until you could barely answer him, because everything felt too good. Your fingers were digging into his biceps as your lips skimmed along his neck, licking at the salty sheen on his skin. He was chanting your name like a prayer as he moved with such precision, you weren't sure you'd ever be able to orgasm without him again.

Bradley was loving your body with his. He chased your lips for more kisses every time you needed to take a breath. His rough hands were so sure of what you needed as he touched you seemingly everywhere. And interspersed among the sweet sound of your name, he told you he loved you. He used his voice like a tool in tandem with his perfect body until you were squeezing his cock tight.

You felt wrung out and exhausted, barely able to control yourself as your fingers went loose on his arms. You sunk back in the bed, keening for him as your orgasm washed over and through you. And then you watched him, neck straining as his strokes grew shorter and more irregular. You pulled his mouth to yours as he came for you. He tasted so good as he let his hand gently grip the back of your neck, his thumb stroking your jaw. 

"I love you," he breathed against your lips. His voice sounded as broken as you felt as he collapsed mostly on top of you. You held him close with your hands in his hair, and his cock still buried inside you.

"I love you, Daddy."

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

Bradley smiled the whole time you and he argued about doing laundry. You were adamant that he wash your underwear along with the bedding, but he kept telling you he liked the way they looked on his bedroom floor too much to do that. 

Finally you scooped them up and said, "I'm sure if you really want to, we can soak them again," and then took them and his bedding into your arms. "It's not like you don't know how to make me squirt."

Then he watched you parade out of his room, your naked backside swaying beautifully as you went. He just stood there and exhaled as he ran his hands through his hair. He was certain he had the dumbest look on his face. 

You loved him.

"Good thing I like cold French toast," you said with a laugh as he sat down completely naked on one of the kitchen chairs. You were also naked, plating some breakfast which was definitely becoming lunch. 

"I like anything you cook," he mumbled, eyes glued to every inch of your body as you turned and set down a plate in front of him along with maple syrup and two glasses of orange juice. "Mind grabbing my phone?" he asked, watching as you picked it up from where he discarded it earlier. 

"Here you go, old man," you said quite loudly. "Can you hear me? Do you remember your pass codes? Or do you need a refresher?"

"You know, I have a bag of Skittles for you, but I think I'll just eat all of them," he said, pulling you down onto his lap and opening up a playlist on his phone. 

"You would never," you gasped. Bradley was laughing, but you actually seemed scandalized.

"No, I wouldn't," he promised, kissing your shoulder as you settled back against him. He played his favorite song, the one that reminded him of you while you cut up the French toast and drenched it in syrup. 

Bradley watched you lick some syrup from your fingertip as you said, "I made a playlist for Noah. A bunch of kid friendly songs. He loved it." You took a bite of food and turned to smile at him while you chewed. 

"That was sweet of you," he rasped as you fed him a bite. "He's crazy about you." Bradley thought back to Noah crying and saying he wanted you to be his mommy. 

"I love him," you said simply, taking another bite of French toast while Bradley wrapped his hands around your waist and caressed your soft skin. 

And it didn't take long until the food was eaten and you were straddling his lap on the chair. You were cradling his hard cock against your pussy while you kissed his neck and dragged your purple fingernails down his chest and along his abs.

"Feels good," he groaned, trying to sit still and enjoy everything you were doing to him. You looked gorgeous everywhere. Every tilt of your head and brush of your lips against his skin had all of his senses screaming for more. When you finally lifted your hips up and let him slip inside you, he was so far gone. You rode him so well with your arms around his neck and your fingers trailing through his hair.

"Oh," you gasped, eyes fluttering closed as you rubbed your clit against his abs. 

"You're so good, Baby," he promised, one hand guiding your hip and the other tracing your nipples. You were a dream. Everything he wanted. Perfect for him. Perfect for Noah. 

You leaned closer and kissed his lips, getting louder with each stroke of your clit against him. And soon you were whining his name and pulling his hair. He filled you with his cum that dripped all over the chair and coated your thighs when you stood. 

He just looked at you there, standing between his splayed thighs with your hands on his shoulders. "I never want to stop being with you," he mumbled, and you leaned down to kiss him.

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

You were a little embarrassed to admit to Bradley that when you got out of the shower, you wanted to take an afternoon nap. After you spent a few minutes picking on him for being old and drinking fiber in his tea with lunch, you yawned so long and loud that he led you to the living room. You were in his soft UVA sweatshirt again, and you stretched out on the couch with your head on his lap. 

The last few days had been wild. You vowed that you were never going to speak to Greyson or his friends again. No more college boys in any way, shape or form. Nobody but Bradley. 

He was currently drawing tiny circles along your neck with his fingertips. You yawned again before you whispered, "You know, I probably shouldn't even be here right now."

He just hummed in response, so you asked, "Where are things at with Meredith? Still scheduled for Wednesday?"

But Bradley was silent for a moment before he said, "I don't want you to have to worry about her. I'm doing enough worrying for all three of us. But yes, Wednesday. Unless Tracy calls and tells me otherwise."

"I'm still going to worry, Daddy. But I'm also going to support you. Noah needs to be with you. He needs his dad who took care of him and loves him. He needs to stay with you."

But those little circles on your neck and his rough fingertips had you drifting off to sleep, and you sensed that was what he wanted. He seemed reluctant to let you be consumed by this. So you slept for a few hours on his warm thigh, only stirring when you really needed to go to the bathroom. He hadn't moved at all, but his hand was resting on your bare hip, and he was watching sports highlights on mute on the TV with the captions turned on.

"Baby," he murmured when you popped your head up and turned to look at him. So handsome. You climbed onto his lap and rested your head against his shoulder. He kissed your forehead and told you, "Penny's bringing Noah back in about an hour."

Your heart soared. That would give you enough time to cook something for him for dinner, and then you could play with him a bit before his bedtime. Before you had to leave. And then your heart sank, because you didn't want to go home. And you didn't want to see Penny. You were still so upset about what happened when Bradley got blindsided by Helen.

"I'll be back," you whispered, standing and heading for the bathroom. You took a few minutes to yourself. There was too much going on. And you thought that if you could sort everything out without Bradley distracting you with his hands and his lips you could make more sense of things. 

You wanted to be here when Penny dropped Noah off. You didn't want to hide what was going on. You wanted to stay and have dinner with your boys. You deserved that much. 

You wanted to help Bradley with Meredith. If there was some way you could aid in court or help him prepare, you wanted to do that. He deserved that much. And Noah deserved everything. 

You sighed and washed your hands, and when you opened the door, Bradley was standing there. "I just remade the bed, and I'd love to spend some time snuggling with you." 

You went with him and curled up against his huge body. He held you close and asked, "When is your graduation? I need to make sure Noah and I can be there."

The first thing that popped into your mind was the scary thought that maybe Bradley wouldn't be the one making plans for his son much longer, but you squashed it immediately. "I'll add it to your phone calendar since I assume you're too old to figure out how to do that," you replied, kissing the tip of his nose. 

He smirked and squeezed your butt so that you were smiling. "I appreciate that, distressingly young girlfriend."

You gasped. "Is that what I am? I thought you said no titles."

"You're my girlfriend," he said with a nod. "Just deal with it, okay? It's been only you for a while now. Your crown lives on my bedpost. I haven't had any other partners. Noah and I are in love with you. You're my girlfriend. My Princess."

You couldn't stop the smile from taking over your face. "Technically I'm Noah's Princess, too."

He sighed and studied your face. "I'm hoping you'll be more than that someday. Now let me put some real clothing on before Penny gets here." With a kiss to your cheek, Bradley grunted and climbed out of bed. You watched his body as he pulled on a US Navy tee shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. 

"Okay, what are you doing?" you asked, crawling across the bed toward him.

He gave you a funny look. "Getting...dressed?"

"No." You pulled him closer by the drawstring on his pants. "As your girlfriend, I'm telling you that you can't wear gray sweatpants around anyone except me. Or like maybe your doctor or something. Because even with underwear, I can see the outline of your dick. It's delicious looking, but no, Daddy."

He blushed. He actually blushed. And you smirked as he yanked them back off again and tossed them at your face. "You wear them, then." You laughed as he pulled on some jeans, complaining the entire time. Then you got out of bed and stepped into his sweatpants. You were sure you looked ridiculous in his too large sweatpants and sweatshirt, but you had nothing else to wear, so you rolled the pants at the waist. 

And then the doorbell rang. And now you actually weren't sure that Bradley would want Penny to see you here. You were about to ask him if that was the case, but he took you by the hand. 

"Noah is going to be so excited that I didn't completely fuck things up with you." He pulled you down the hallway and toward the front door, and before you knew it, Noah and Penny were right in front of you. When he saw you, his face lit up, and he started trying to wiggle out of Penny's arms. 

"Princess!"

You scooped him up as Penny laughed and handed Bradley a bag. "Here's some artwork that we made today. Plus some dirty laundry. We had so much fun making macaroni art with Amelia."

She smiled at you. She didn't look surprised to see you at all as you hugged Noah and kissed his round cheek. 

"Thanks, Pen," Bradley mumbled, digging through the bag. 

"No need to thank me," she replied, wringing her hands nervously now. "I owe you an apology." She was talking to you. Your eyes went a little wide. "I didn't know the two of you were together. If I had known, I would have never tried to set Bradley up. I really shouldn't have done it anyway," she added softly. 

You turned to look up at Bradley. "You told her about us?"

"Yes," he replied, slipping his arm around your shoulders and kissing his son on the head. "Of course I did."

"I should have known, honestly," Penny said, looking at Bradley with a smile. "By the way he said he wasn't using the dating app. And how he seemed calmer. More grounded."

Your cheeks felt warm as you pressed your lips together. "Do you want to stay for dinner?" you asked. "I'm making spaghetti."

"Spaghetti!" Noah cheered, but Penny shook her head. "I need to pick Amelia up from her friend's house. But thank you." And then she was kissing Bradley's cheek and closing the door as she left.

You were alone with your boys. This was all you'd been dreaming about recently. Noah's arms were around your neck, and Bradley was guiding you toward the kitchen, and you had tears in your eyes. 

"I love you," Noah whispered, and then you started crying. 

"I love you, too, sweet Noah."

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

Bradley watched you tuck Noah into bed. You looked so good in his clothing and in his house. You looked perfect when you were with his son. He needed this to be his everyday life. 

You joined him in the hallway and whispered, "I'll get an Uber to take me home if you don't mind me borrowing your clothes."

"Stay," he replied softly. "Please, stay."

You bit your lip and started to slowly shake your head. "Tomorrow is Monday. You have work. I should go to campus and start on my job applications and final few assignments."

"You can do that from here. Use my computer. Please, stay."

You hummed softly. He would be more than happy to beg you not to leave, but you took him by the hand and kissed his wrist. "Okay. I'll stay. Leave me your computer and charger."

Then you turned toward his bedroom, pulling his sweatshirt over your head as you went. "Are you coming?" you asked him over your shoulder. He could see the silhouette of your peaked nipple in the dimly lit space, and he tripped along after you. 

"I'm coming, Baby," he rasped, and your soft giggle as you climbed into his bed had him reaching for you. The room was dark, and his eyes hadn't adjusted yet, but your voice alone was making him hard.

"Come get me, Daddy."

He grunted and slipped his hand down the front of the sweatpants, and you gasped. He took his time. He made sure you were reacting just the way he wanted you to. And when he had you close, he asked, "Does anyone else make you feel as good as Daddy does?"

Your moan was so loud in the silent house that he had to cover your mouth with his. "No," you panted. "No." 

Then he flipped you over onto your knees and yanked the sweatpants down. "Good girl," he whispered, burying his face in your pussy from behind. 

"Daddy," you whined, and Bradley had to push your face down to the pillow to keep you quiet. With your ass in the air, he finished you off as you gushed a bit for him. 

"Fucking hell," he growled as he lapped at your pussy and unzipped his jeans, pulling himself free. With one clean movement, he was buried deep, bottoming out inside you. "Soaking wet." His face was tipped back, staring at the ceiling, trying to keep his composure. 

"Daddy!" you whined, bumping back against him harder, and that was it.

"Not too loud, Baby," he warned, wrapping one hand over your mouth and planting one hand on the bed. He pressed himself against your back and whispered in your ear, "You want Daddy to be sweet or rough?"

"Rough," you whimpered against his fingers before he shoved them in your mouth and slammed into you until he was seeing stars. You were a whimpering mess as Bradley filled you over and over again, and then he came so hard, he was afraid he was going to hurt you. But you seemed fine as he collapsed on top of your back. 

"You okay?" he asked, panting like he'd just run five miles. 

"Yes," you gasped softly. "So good."

"Will you let me fuck you like a sweet princess tomorrow?" 

You moaned softly. "Whenever you want."

He kissed along your neck and grunted. "Daddy needs a good night's sleep, Baby. Tomorrow."

And not ten minutes later, Bradley was sound asleep as you ran your fingers along his chest and told him you loved him. He never wanted you to leave.

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

Bradley is always in a much better headspace when he's with his little family. Don't worry, Meredith is on deck! Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 23

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[undercovercameron]

stamina

summary: you have a tiny bit of an issue that can only be resolved through intercourse. no, really.

notes: hello everybody i have returned after a month and a half and this one just simply popped into my head today! i would say i have no idea why but ive been watching clips of the other zoey on tiktok and they’ve corrupted me… cabin in the woods with drew starkey? till the walls crumble. features: choking kink, explicit language, degradation, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, and generally rough sex. enjoy my darlings

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2859

You don’t know exactly when it started, but your little problem had become a real nuisance.

You just know the first time it happened, however long ago, made Rafe Cameron finally fall in love with you. Hey, it took months of him fighting with himself about you and struggling with a multitude of other family issues, but the day did finally come. It was glorious, you remember that. But this long repeated issue was kind of impeding your sex life. Well, it was affecting your sex life that actually had been affecting your sleep and caffeine and food patterns. It was a big ole circle. You even had been feeling faint due to the excessive cardio.

The issue wasn’t as much an issue as it was one of Rafe’s favorite things about you, turns out. And he wasn’t afraid to show it. Well, make you show it.

You two had dozed on the couch for a little more than an hour, your head pressed to his shoulder and your body curled around the side of his. He had an arm caging you to him, fingers splayed across the curve of your abdomen. Turns out, some documentary his younger sister recommended wasn’t as interesting as you two thought.

The TV makes a loud beeping noise, and Rafe jerks awake at the intrusion. His hand not pressed to your (now exposed) stomach rubs at his eyes, blinking rapidly. Christ. It’s late.

The fire beneath your TV crackles, and he can feel the slight warmth from it on his cheeks.

This was his Aunt Meredith’s house, and she was letting the two of you stay in it for a little while as a makeshift fall break. You’d slept three nights so far in this big wooden mansion, but you could hardly say you felt rested. You always were taking futile catch-up naps throughout the day in front of this lovely fireplace.

Rafe’s movement makes you phase into consciousness, eyes coming into focus as your ears adjust too.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, stretching both his hands up above his head. The hem of his shirt lifts, just a little taste. You blink at him. “What?” His face splits into a grin and his eyes close as his muscles flex and relax.

“You know what.” Your lips twitch and you look teasingly up at him.

“Mm, I don’t think I know what you mean.” His hand brushes the hair from the side of your face not facing him, and he pulls away slightly to thumb at your chin. “Could you explain?”

“No,” you sigh, pulling yourself up slightly with a hand pressed to the seat cushions. Your leg curls once again around one of his as you turn towards him. You relax against the back cushions, eyes on his face. “No.” Your eyebrows raise, challenging.

“I don’t think you want me to have to make you explain,” he mutters, sliding down to a little above your eye level. His eyes stay on yours.

“I don’t think you could if you wanted to.” Your eyes snap back to the TV, pulling your legs away from his. “I’m trying to watch this.” You grab the remote from the ottoman and turn it up. Rafe just watches you earnestly.

You're about sixty long seconds into “watching the documentary” with your feet up until you feel Rafe’s breath on you. His lips meet your forehead, ghosting a kiss to your skin, before sliding down to your temple. You try your best to remain focused. But his opposite hand from you (always his hand) slides up your waist to settle near your collarbone, fingers lightly pressing into your shoulder. His lips migrate to your jaw, and then your neck. You fight a shiver.

You feel yourself tilting your head around to satisfy this position, eyes falling closed briefly before snapping back open. You grip his wrist.

“Rafe,” you say, but what you thought was confident just sounds weak.

He hums, mouth pressing to your neck and getting into dangerous hickey territory, and your eyes just close. It feels so good, this man leaving you breathless and pliant. It makes you so weak.

“You know you want to,” Rafe murmurs, eyes moving up to your face, and he relishes in your intake of breath.

Your fingers find his jaw and cheek and you pull his mouth up to yours, finally kissing him like you need. He makes a noise into your mouth, triumphant, and his hands grip your hips tightly. He moves you, sliding you onto the long part of the L sofa, and follows you with his forehead pressed to yours and his lips so close but so far. You pant up into him.

He slides further between your legs, parting them with a hand behind your knee, and you let out a content sigh when you feel the weight of him. The weight of that.

His hand finds your throat and then he’s leaning over you, hips pressed to yours and kissing away your sounds softly. His hips rock forward into where the seam of your sweatpants is, and your moan is swallowed. You grip tight on the hand on your neck, squeezing your eyes tight. It shouldn’t feel this good, this quick.

You cant your hips up into his, sloppily matching his rhythm, and your cheeks flush when your heart beats heavily in your throat. His mouth parts from yours and slides wetly down to your upper chest, the neck of your slightly cropped sweatshirt pushed away. You just gasp above him, hips picking up. The slide of his pants is so perfect on your clit, and you feel your blood pumps at the place he squeezes you around your middle.

You recognize what he’s doing, now. His fingers press into your abdomen, pushing it up and down and up and down, and you push your hand on top of your mouth to muffle the embarrassing cries you’re letting out.

His head raises from your collarbone, lips wet and pink, and he tugs your wrist down.

“I need to hear you, baby.” And then he’s pulling back to shove your sweatpants off of you and to the floor between the couch and the ottoman. He dips back down, mouth and hand insistent upon you, and he digs a hand into the crotch of your underwear. Your hands flail for a moment, useless, and settle on gripping his shoulder and the arm that pins you to the cushions.

“Rafe,” you sputter, head pushing hard back against the cushions. Your hair is messy and probably tangled with this friction, but you don’t have even half a thought to care. “Please, Rafe, don’t stop.” Your back arches, trying to push your body tight against his. He tries not to grin above you, watching your face contort at his touch. His fingers slide in your slickness, an embarrassing amount, and your throat catches a breath. The tension in your abdomen twists.

“I thought you wanted to watch the show, sweetheart.” Two of his fingertips push past your slit easily and curl. He bites his lip above you, loving the look on your face. You squeeze your eyes even harder, fist clenching in his shirt. Your heart beats louder and louder until—

“And we’re going to practice your stamina, too.” His voice is raspy when he pulls away.

There it is. The issue. Your not-so-issue-but-sorta-an-issue issue. Yes. You had been having trouble—well, stopping. Your libido was extremely high, you had a very sexy man at your disposal who liked to please you, you were confident in your body, so why not?

Why not is because your body was sore constantly. Between your legs was the perfect amount of sore, but still sore. You had trouble sleeping and drank more coffee and energy drinks. Rafe, ever the giver, obliged you always. He liked to fuck. He really liked to fuck you. So it was a terrible, terrible cycle. You were really starting to wonder about your self control. So it makes sense that maybe you should consider working on it.

But Rafe deciding that right now? The second he finally fingers you? It makes your head spin.

Literally, as when you sit up your vision is flooded with spots.

“What the fuck?” You croak, sounding miserable, and your eyes look up at him, almost teary. (Hey— you really like what he does to you.)

“You’re fine, baby, you’re fine. I just want what’s best for you.” He pulls away from your neck, instead smoothing a hand from your sternum to your hips.

“What are you, a fucking counselor?” You grump, eyebrows furrowed, and he just rolls his eyes.

“Better start being grateful, Y/N. You know how I get.”

He settles onto his stomach, keeping your legs loose around him as he bends to kiss you. You kiss back, still annoyed but also still wildly turned on, and you can’t help but curl a hand around his neck and up into his hair. His lips part from yours and start their trek downwards.

His hands push your sweatshirt up when he gets to right above your belly button, and his touch is light on your sensitive skin. You close your eyes in the nice feeling.

His fingers curl around where your thigh meets your ass, pressing tight into the muscle, and you reflexively lift them up and settle them down onto his shoulders. Sneaky. His mouth finds your inner thighs then, biting into the flesh, and you successfully fight a shiver. His breath is hot on the crotch of your panties.

His fingers find the hem of the fabric, eyes settling briefly on yours before tugging your panties to the side and getting his mouth on you.

You immediately moan— figures. You push your head up slightly, wanting to see, and his head shakes between your legs, hair tickling your thighs as you whine. So hot it should be illegal.

One of Rafe’s hands crawls up your flesh to your chest, fingers finding the underside of your tit and cupping it. He squeezes right as his tongue curls into your seam and he shakes his head again. You nearly shriek but slap.a hand over your mouth, no punishment in your future with his hand on your tit and the other gripping your outer thigh.

Well, you were wrong for the second time tonight. First, thinking your loving boyfriend would give you an orgasm when you wanted one, and second when you assume the same very boyfriend wouldn’t do things simply to piss you off or edge you. Rafe reaches up with the hand previously on your thigh and grabs your wrist. He snags the other one and presses them tight against your lower abdomen, eyes fiery. Your blood surges hot in your veins and the tension in your abdomen resurfaces.

You just flex your legs and bring them further up, wanting your seemingly increasingly distant misery to end.

He hums in approval at that, the feeling making your pelvis vibrate; and you try desperately to suck in a breath. It feels so good, you don’t know how to last longer. Your head slowly tilts to the side, a little tired, and your glazed eyes meet the TV screen again.

Your third folly. Thinking Rafe Cameron would let you live any mistake down.

“Oh, you wanna watch it now?” He pulls away, spitting at your pussy, and an eyebrow quirks. You just still, not sure of the direction here. “Okay. Watch it.” He licks you once, twice, and pulls away slowly. You turn your head, wanting to gauge his reaction, but he pushes your head back towards the TV with his hand. You see in your peripheral him pushing down the waistband of his pants. Your eyes flinch ever so slightly towards him, and he smacks lightly at your outer thigh.

“Watch it, since you wanted to so bad.” He pulls his dick out from his underwear and spits into his hand. His gaze is locked on your pink face, waiting for you to react. He moves his hand tantalizingly slowly, knowing you can see the movement. You pant, catching your breath, and he just watches your chest heave.

His heart rate catches when he gets the full sight of you, open and wide in front of him with dirty panties and your sweatshirt rucked up to expose your bare chest. It makes him even harder.

“What are they talking about right now?” His eyes bore into the side of your face, hand moving steadily still.

“Uh-h, whales.” Your voice cracks and you swallow. He doesn’t laugh like you think he will, he just bends down and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Doing so good.” It’s so quiet you think you miss it. He kisses you full on when you tilt up to him, neck straining at the angle.

He finally, finally pushes his weight onto you, dick pressed tight against your pelvis. You meet his mouth again and groan at the feeling, moving your body in a way you hope feels good. His jaw clenches, which is a good sign.

“You do it, you want it so bad,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your cheek bone. “Since you can’t ever have enough, baby.”

You exhale through your nose, concentrating, and push your hand down. You fumble for a second but eventually get your hips angled in a way to where he can sink into you. He does, pushing against your hips, and slides easily all the way to the hilt.

He groans openly, eyes closed for a moment, and you choke on a moan. So deep, so fast that it steals the breath from your throat.

On second thought, Rafe’s hand finds its place on your throat as the other braces against your hip.

“So wet,” he says through his apparent awe, bottom lip drooping slightly. You revel in the look on his face. He’s all pink and dewy, it makes you sweat. He pushes forward, a bruising strength in his hips, and you feel yourself be pushed up an inch on the couch.

He follows you and lowers himself slightly, keeping you in place as he jerks sloppily into you, overwhelmed by sensation. You curl your leg around his waist, fingers interwoven in his hair as he dips to kiss you. He pants into your mouth, hot and demanding. You just arch your back, feeling him squeeze hard at the flesh of your waist as you clench around him.

You do it again, loving the reaction, and bite your lip as he chokes slightly in surprise. His hips slow, the sounds of your hurried panting slowing as well, but he goes twice as hard. With the intent to bruise, you think. Probably. He would love that.

His eyebrow arches slightly before he’s burying his face in your neck and really giving you his all. You feel the muscles flex on his back where you press your hands, mouth open and wide and silent. Your eyes roll back into your head as he lets go of your neck and fixes his grasp on your hip.

“Rafe,” you gasp, barely getting a comprehensible sound out. “Yes, shit, baby.” Your man, finally treating you so well.

“Let me hear you,” he says, hot in your ear, and reaches down to rub that one spot he’s memorized the location of. He’s a little too familiar, as we know.

You inhale and exhale shakily, and then you’re silent and your head is pushing back into the cushions. Your body floods with feeling, from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. Your toes curl. You feel like you’re floating.

It’s on the come down that you moan shakily and it turns into a bashful laugh.

“Fuck,” you whine, and his thrust turns into his last as he buries himself up to the hilt and groans in a staccato. You feel him catch your shoulder slightly as he bites the cushion, muscles slowing.

“Fuck.” He desperately tries to catch his breath. He peels himself slightly from you, sitting up.

His vision comes back into focus, and it’s then that he notices the marks on your neck. He thumbs an especially red one, eyes scanning your face.

“Oops.”

“You’re an idiot.” But you smile.

“Hey, we traded,” he says, pulling away completely from you and standing up with a stumble. He winces as he pushes his shoulder blades to meet.

“How’s that?” You ask, thinking you’re humoring him. You sit up, bringing your now cold and damp panties back to where they should lie and pulling your shirt down. You’re just realizing how cold it is in here.

“My back hurts like a bitch, and you have hickeys. Plus I didn’t let you cum so we practiced that. Boom.” He gestures wildly and lets his hands smack back down to his sides. You just stare at him.

“You are the weirdest motivational coach I’ve ever met, young man.”

“Don’t call me a young man.” He turns towards the primary bedroom you’d been sleeping in and disappears into the darkness. “I fuck like I’m 35.”

[dawnoftime22]

a sleepy movie night.

| T.S

Warnings: None! not...proofread?

Summary: The evening was coming to an end, while you had your favorite blonde giving you affection, even as your consciousness grew drowsy during a movie night.

Word Count: 692

Category: fluff<3

| Started on 01/09/2024, 12:09 PM |

| Finished on 08/03/2025, 5:21 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

Request Guidelines

“Fall asleep beside me all you want.”

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

It was quiet. It was peaceful. The evening was seeping through the slips of the orange sunset as the clouds drifted away.

A yawn was starting to softly escape your lips, and you use her chest to hide the sight of your mouth opening. A smile raises on her lips, and she was looking down to see just how much your eyes were growing drowsy.

You can feel her hand going up to the small of your back, holding you close to her as you kept yourself comfortable in her lap. The TV was playing a movie, one that you two were enjoying.

But when another minute goes by, you eventually let your eyelids fall to a close. Taylor had her eyes on the screen before she realizes you're half awake.

The blonde carefully leans down, her lips brushing your ear. "Sleeping now, huh?" she whispers, her voice soft and quiet as she runs her hand up your back.

You smile and open one of your eyes, trying to stifle a small laugh before you snuggle closer to her in her lap. "Mmm..." was all that left your throat as you lightly nuzzle into her.

She giggles herself, but doesn't mind it, pulling you closer to cuddle more. All you felt in your heart was a fuzzy, warm feeling.

You stayed like that just for a few moments, but then you took a deep breath in to soon turn your face out from her neck, seeing the movie as your cheek rested against her.

Taylor watches you, moving a strand of hair away from your face. You were clearly trying to stay awake and watch the movie, but a soft huff with a smile escapes her body.

Another yawn escapes your mouth. You couldn't be bothered to hide it anymore, although still trying to watch the scenes playing out.

"It's okay, sweetheart...we can continue tomorrow..." she murmurs, cupping your hand to turn your face back to her.

You search her eyes. Of course, there was nothing but love and care there, but your mind was trying to find the pieces of disappointment and doubt.

"But..." you managed to say, although she rests her forehead against yours in a manner of quieting your protest. "Shhh..."

Taylor kisses your lips for a short moment, pulling you closer again. Her eyes gazed into yours before she went to rest her chin on top of your head.

"Just go to sleep...we'll have time to continue some other day...okay?" she reasons, knowing the amount of tiredness your body had built up, whether you've been doing mundane tasks, productivity, or just your mind being present, rest was still needed.

You smiled at her insistence, and felt some movements as she picked up the tv remote, quieting down the volume for a more peaceful atmosphere.

"...Mh...love you..." she heard your voice murmur. There was no helping the urge to close your eyes, with the tiredness you felt within them.

Her hands settle back around to your back, one in your hair, and she gave a kiss down to your head. "Love you, too."

You decided on returning it back, letting your lips meet the skin of her neck, before nuzzling again.

She held you closely, soothing your mind and body with the slow motions of her hands. The cats were napping below on the carpet, although Meredith was beside both of you on the couch, purring.

Not much time passes by until your breathing had soon turned soft, and your heart rate steady within the drifting of sleep.

Her heart felt content, and she chooses to instead turn off the TV completely, leaving only the purring kitten beside her making sound.

The slow exhale she breathed made contact with your hair, and she could just about see every strand from how close she was to you.

She stayed with her cheek resting against your head, one hand on your back, and one hand gently drifting away to Meredith's fur, feeling the calming vibrations of the cat's purr as she closes her eyes.

The three of you were asleep peacefully on the couch within minutes.

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

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[eeerrrrewsd]

Crowded Spaces

He’s lowkey my dirty little secret crush

George O’Malley x Reader

“I take it your dates didn’t go well?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Izzie flopped onto her back dramatically. “Mine talked about his ex the entire time. Like, full-on emotional monologue. I think he was five seconds away from asking me for relationship advice.”

Meredith groaned, face buried in George’s pillow. “Mine called me Meredith Grey every time he spoke to me. Full name. Every time. It was like dating an automated voicemail.”

George winced. “That’s… horrifying.”

“Yeah, so now we’re claiming your bed for comfort,” Izzie declared, patting the mattress.

George sighed. He should’ve expected this. His bed had basically become their emotional support mattress.

Then there was a knock at the door.

He turned just in time to see you step inside, looking equally exhausted.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Bad date?”

You sighed. “He took me to a steakhouse and got offended when I ordered a salad. Then he told me I should ‘live a little’ and tried to feed me off his fork. When I said no, he pouted for the rest of the date.”

Izzie made a gagging noise. “Men are so embarrassing.”

You crossed your arms, scanning the room. “Is there any space left?”

Izzie and Meredith glanced at each other, then at the bed, where they had effectively sprawled across all of it.

You sighed. “Guess I’ll just go—”

George didn’t even think before he spoke.

“You can lay on me.”

The words hung in the air.

Your eyes met his, brows lifting slightly in surprise.

“I mean,” he stammered, ears burning, “only if you want to! No pressure. I just—there’s not a lot of room, and, um, I don’t mind, so…”

Meredith let out a muffled snort into the pillow. Izzie smirked.

You hesitated for only a second before shrugging. “Fine by me.”

Before George could process that, you were climbing onto the bed, shifting to settle right on top of him.

His brain short-circuited.

You were warm. And soft. And your head rested against his chest in a way that made his heart pound hard enough that you had to feel it.

“You’re comfy,” you murmured, adjusting slightly.

George made an embarrassingly high-pitched sound in response.

Izzie and Meredith giggled.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to stay normal. “Uh. Good. Glad to be of service.”

Silence settled over the room, the three of you lying there in a comfortable pile.

And if George was maybe hyper-aware of every breath you took, or the way your fingers idly traced the hem of his shirt—well, that was his secret.

For now.

[loafysainz]

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

next chap

Part 11 The Bomb Dropped

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every motion as he called out once more, “MATHEO!” His voice echoed into the distance, but it was futile—his son was already too far to hear him. With a resigned sigh, he turned back toward the house, only to meet Chessy's piercing gaze through the kitchen window.

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that… I don’t know anything,” Chessy muttered flatly before pulling the curtains shut, leaving Carlos to grimace and trying to endure the growing ache in his head.

“Where on earth did he get the idea I was going to adopt her?” Carlos growled softly, the words more for himself than anyone else. A loud, familiar car horn snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned toward the terrace just as Meredith’s unmistakable red BMW pulled into the driveway.

Carlos waved half-heartedly before slumping into a nearby chair, his exhaustion apparent. It didn’t take long for Meredith to bound over, sunglasses perched casually on her face. Without hesitation, she slipped them off, revealing a mischievous smile that could disarm anyone.

“Hi, honey. How are you?” Meredith asked, her tone light and teasing as she perched herself on Carlos’s lap like it was second nature.

Carlos shot her a deadpan look. “Should I answer that?”

Meredith raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “Bad mood? I know what’ll fix that. Whiskey?”

Carlos sighed, closing his eyes in surrender. “Double, please.”

Grinning like she’d just won a prize, Meredith dug into her bag, taking a small red box with an ornate bell inside. Carlos blinked, confusion crossing his face as Meredith rang the bell with theatrical flair.

“Chess! Chess… Chessy! This is what the house needed!” Meredith declared, the bell ringing obnoxiously loud.

Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Excuse me?” chessy appeared moments later, looking less than thrilled at the sound. He glanced between the bell, Meredith’s gleeful expression, and Carlos’s tired face.

“Chessy, could you bring us some whiskey? For Carlitos—make it a double, please,” Meredith said, smiling innocently.

Chessy gave Carlos a look that screamed, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ Carlos, however, just gave her the most pitiful, pleading expression.

“Mercy, Chess. I’ve already got a migraine,” Carlos murmured.

With a reluctant nod, Chessy disappeared into the house, leaving Carlos and Meredith alone. Meredith leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, have you told him yet?”

Carlos groaned, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of the question. “Yes, I already told him.”

Meredith’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “And… what did he say?”

Carlos threw his hands up in despair. “He lost it! He even started speaking French. French! I didn’t even know Matheo could speak another language. Dios mío, I don’t know what’s wrong with that kid.”

Sliding off Carlos’s lap, Meredith moved behind him and began kneading his tense shoulders. “Let me talk to him, strongman,” she said softly, her lips brushing against Carlos’s ear.

Carlos shook his head, still unconvinced. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, honey. He’s… not in the mood.”

Meredith chuckled, unfazed. “Please, you’ve got to have a step-mom and son conversation sometime. Let me handle it.”

Carlos frowned, clearly skeptical. Meredith, however, was already halfway out the door when she paused, turning back with a sly smirk. “Oh, before I go, I like your shirt better unbuttoned.” She deftly undid the first two buttons of Carlos’s shirt, running his fingers lightly over the fabric. “I like the hair on your chest,” she added with a wink before striding away.

****

The news of the engagement was still fresh, and it sat like a giant elephant in Mattia brain. Sitting on the old wooden swing set in the backyard, the air between them was tense, charged with unspoken thoughts. Meredith, dressed impeccably as usual, approached with her signature smile that was equal parts charm and condescension.

She knocked lightly on the metal frame of the swing, the sound echoing in the quiet garden. "Knock, knock," she said playfully, her tone dripping with forced sweetness as she perched on the swing beside him.

The younger boy, arms crossed and gaze firmly fixed on the ground, didn’t bother looking up. “The news of the engagement was kind of a shock, huh?” Meredith said, breaking the silence with a practiced air of nonchalance.

“Basically,” came the short reply, his voice low but firm. He kicked at the dirt, clearly uninterested in making this conversation easier for Meredith.

“You know,” Meredith began, leaning back on the swing as if she were talking to an old friend, “I remember what it was like to be nine. Such a wonderful age. You’re just starting to feel like a man. And, believe it or not, soon you’ll understand what it’s like to be in love.”

Mattia scoffed, finally glancing up at Meredith with a raised brow. “Me? I don’t think so. I don’t even have my molars yet.”

Meredith let out a soft laugh, the kind that felt more patronizing than genuine. “Well, take it from someone who got their molars early in life—being in love is a fantastic mystery. It’s magical, really. It takes a man and a woman and—”

Mattia cut her off with a sharp look. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything while you’re trying to get all mushy, but I already know what mystery my dad sees in you.”

Meredith blinked, caught off guard for a split second before regaining her composure. “Oh, you do, do you?” she said, her voice now slightly more clipped.

“Yeah.” Mattia’s leaned forward, his tone casual but his words deliberate. “You’re young, you’re beautiful, and you’re, well, sexy. And hey, the man only human.”

For a moment, Meredith looked genuinely pleased, even flattered, but then Mattia continued, “But if you ask me, marriage is supposed to be about more than just sex, right?”

Meredith’s smile faltered, her lips thinning slightly. “Boy, your father seriously underestimates you,” she said, shaking her head. “But don’t think for a second that I do, sweetheart.”

Mattia tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Being young and beautiful isn’t a crime, you know,” Meredith continued, her voice now smooth and confident again. “And for your information, I adore your father. He’s exactly the kind of man I’ve always planned on marrying. This is the real deal, honey. And nothing you do is going to come between us.”

Mattia narrowed his eyes. “Hate to break it to you, Angel, but you’re not the only love in Carlos Sainz life anymore. Get over it.”

“If this is the real deal,”Mattia said, his voice steady, “then my dad’s money has absolutely nothing to do with you wanting to marry him, right?”

Meredith’s jaw tightened for the briefest moment before she leaned forward, her eyes cold. “Okay, let’s cut the act. You listen, and you listen good,” she hissed, her tone no longer sugar-coated. “I am marrying your father in two weeks, whether you like it or not. So I suggest you don’t tangle with me anymore. You’re in way over your head. Is that clear?”

Mattia stared at her, unflinching. “Crystal.”

Meredith straightened up, smoothing the invisible wrinkles in her designer dress. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page,” she said with a tight smile before standing up and striding back toward the house.

Mattia stayed on the swing, his grip tightening on the chains. His eyes followed Meredith’s retreating figure, and a small, determined smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t backing down that easily.

prev chap

[taylorsgfz]

Insomnia ♡

— taylor x gf !

summary: taylor suffers from a terrible insomnia and takes the opportunity to write a song about her girlfriend.

That Taylor Swift suffered terribly with insomnias wasn't news to anyone, not even for her most recent fans.

Usually, her insomnias reflected in miserably unhappy thoughts or in new songs for her albums. At that moment, laying next to you - who were sleeping peacefully - Taylor could only smile.

— This happens once every few lifetimes. — the blondie whispered and took her hand to your face to gently caress you.

And as most of her songs emerged, her sentence was the motto for a musical idea. That and the sudden urge to write about her girlfriend.

Taylor kissed your forehead while you were still sound asleep and got up. Benjamin, that was sleeping in your bed aswell, also got up to follow Taylor downstairs.

Olivia jumped from the couch hearing Taylor come down and Meredith lifted her head but was sleeping again in the next second.

The blondie went to the music room in her home and sat on the pouf with her guitar and her notebook on her lap.

She started to write the line she whispered to your ear minutes before and added some rhythm. The lyrics came up in her head and she would ocasionally get up to get to the kitchen and eat or drink something.

You eventually woke up in your room after not feeling Taylor's warmth beside you. You rubbed your eyes a little and yawned a few times before you could make yourself get up to check on your girlfriend.

Meredith got up when she saw you and started to ask for cuddles. Taylor felt a little jealous that Meredith clearly prefered you over her but she couldn't judge the kitty.

— Tay? — you called her when you didn't see any lights on.

Taylor didn't answer but after some efforts, you could hear the guitar playing in the sound proof music room. So you just followed the music while holding Meredith in your arms.

— Hey, babe. — Taylor smiled when she heard you.

— Did I wake you up? — she asked and tapped her lap a few times after dropping the guitar on the floor.

You and Meredith went to sit on her lap then.

— No no, I just can no longer sleep without feeling you by my side. And then I got worried so I wanted to check if everything was okay.

— Everything's fine, babe, I just couldn't sleep for the life of me and I had an idea for a song. — Taylor pointed at her notebook laying on the floor.

You grabbed the notebook and read the loose lyrics that were written. You were still a little sleepy to be able to interpret exactly what Taylor meant but you had no more doubts that song was about you when you read "'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me, honestly who are we to fight the alchemy?".

— Hey, this is about me! — you proclaimed smiling and Taylor just laughed. Then, she planted a little kiss on your lips.

— Do you wanna hear how it sounds?

— Why are you asking? — you left Taylor's lap and put Meredith down. You sat beside her on the floor to hear her sing.

Taylor sang what she had wrote. Of course the final product would be slightly different but that was the sketch. You were quite emotional hearing your girlfriend sing about you with so much passion.

— How does it sound to you? — Taylor asked a little frightened.

You answered by grabbing Taylor's face to kiss her for a hot while. And then you just hugged her.

— I love you. — you murmured.

— I love you too, my love.

THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Greys Anatomy AU-- Lillian at Seattle Grace Pt 1

Perhaps Lillian and the chief were classmates or something, because they go way back, and it's evident to everyone that he's pulling out all the stops to try and engage her interest in Seattle Grace.

Inevitably, Lena starts getting the kind of attention she hates.

Her fellow interns suddenly start speculating that maybe she didn't earn her spot in the program as organically as everyone else. Lexie doesn't join in the ribbing, but she doesn't stop it either. Lena doesn't engage past the occasional searing glare at the interns as she excuses herself from eqch exchange, and makes no effort to defend herself.

Until one night after a particularly bad day of challenging patients, aggravating interns, and dodging her mother, Lena storms over to Meredith's with a stack of files in her arms. Meredith takes one look before tilting her head towards the kitchen, where Lexie is munching on a late night snack.

Lena smacks the stack down on the table in front of Lexie, who stares first at the files, then up at Lena. "What is this?"

"My records," Lena clips with a glare. "Every transcript, every internship and letter of recommendation. From secondary to undergrad to med school. I thought you might want to see them, since you don't seem to believe I earned my spot."

Lexie gives an appeasing, exculpatory grimace. "I didn't say that--"

"You haven't defended me either!"

Never in all the time since they've met, has Lena raised her voice. Shock jolts through Lexie at the sound of it, before her guilt does its best to deflect.

"I didn't think you cared what they thought," Lexie points out.

"I don't!" Lena shouts. Lexie gapes at the outburst, causing Lena to scoff. "Fuck those guys!"

That rankles Lexie. "Then why are you here??"

"Because I care what *you* think!"

The silence that follows sits thick between them. Lexie stares, shrinking a little in her seat, chastised. Lena deflates.

"I care what my girlfriend thinks," Lena echoes, softly now. "Because I love you, and... the thought of you thinking any less of me--"

"I don't," Lexie blurts, rising sharply from her chair. She rounds the end of the table between them, but stops short of reaching for Lena, when Lena pulls away.

"I *don't*," she says again, more fervently. She waves towards the stack of folders. "And I don't need those to tell me how brilliant and amazing you are. I already know."

Lena's lips tremble in spite of herself. "Then why?"

"I don't know," Lexie confesses quietly. "I think I was hurt. That you didn't tell me." She looks at Lena beseechingly. "It's kinda the sort of thing you'd tell your girlfriend, isn't it? That your mom is a super genius surgeon?"

A muscle twitches in Lena's jaw, but she doesn't respond.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Lena folds her arms defensively across her chest, plainly uncomfortable. Lexie almost expects her leave, but to her surprise, Lena responds.

"The day I took my oath as a doctor," she says in a low voice, "I looked into the audience, and didn't recognize a single face."

Shame and pity fill Lexie's chest. "She wasn't there?"

Lena shakes her head. "That was the day I went low contact with my mother.... which turned into no contact, when she didn't even notice that I'd stopped calling."

Her voice cracks on the last word, and Lexie can't help but reach for Lena. Lena finally allows the tender touch of Lexie's palm against her cheek. She leans into the contact, as a tear slips from the corner of one eye.

"I don't know why she's here, or what game she intends to play," Lena murmurs. "But whatever it is, I want you in my corner."

Lexie exhales, stepping close enough for their foreheads to rest together.

"I am," she vows. "Always."

[itsloriel]

Stormy Seas and Starling Murmuration by Kevin Meredith

[cooperkxight]

"I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

Meredith’s brushed Galleth’s shoulder in her soft murmur. She missed the touch, being touched, heat against her body, and with Andrew sounding sleeping, she initiated. A modest nightgown that hugged her form, a collar deliberately placed to reveal her naked shoulder.

"I want your company this night, if you’ll have me."

Galleth's breath hitched in his throat as Meredith sat beside him, her closeness to his form shrouded only by the appearance of more skin and the presence of the revealing looking nightwear.

His ear flicked at the offer, the tips red and heated to match the flush on his cheeks and the fur across his body that stood upright.

His fists clenched on his lap, almost AFRAID to touch her in return. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel as though he was using her, using her to shield the pain of loneliness that he too suffered.

".... My... Company?" He breathed out, his eyes wandering back up from her bosom and to her eyes. It perhaps sounded like he needed her to elaborate, but she needn't, he knew exactly what she meant. But perhaps what he needed more was reassurance.

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 36 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is finally happy, and he knows it's because of you. The way you want to try new things with him in bed makes him feel wild. And the way you love his son makes him feel calm. But when you read a piece of mail before he's ready for you to see it, your reaction has him feeling something new.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut, anal sex, butt plug, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley anxiously awaited for his appointment with Tracy to begin. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign that she asked him to stop by on his way home from work, but he was here now. And he had his checkbook with him. 

"I owe you some money," he said when she finally called him back.

"Sure, but we have other things to talk about," she said, ushering him over to her conference table while she opened up a Red Bull.

His stomach lurched. "It is about Meredith? Is it bad?" He was finally starting to be able to enjoy every day he spent with you and Noah. He didn't have to worry about things constantly, because you were happy to help him with his son and his house. When he got home with Noah the other day, you were changing that lightbulb on the front porch that he'd been meaning to get to. And you kept trying to help him pay his mortgage. 

"Yes, it's about Meredith. Just have a seat."

Bradley sat and looked at her expectantly. "Has she been released or something? Do I need to call my girl?"

"No, no," she said, waving him off as she took a sip. "She's been sentenced."

Now Bradley's heart was really pounding. Tracy had told him that Meredith would most likely get five to fifteen years for the fraud charges. Five would be devastating, simply because Noah would still be a minor when she was released. Fifteen would be ideal. Noah would be over eighteen and a legal adult. A fight for custody or money would be a moot point. And well, if Bradley had another child with you, that would have nothing legally to do with his ex at all. 

"Please tell me this is good, Tracy. I just want to solidify my life right now exactly as it is. No more messing around with protective orders and broken windows. My kid is happy, and I am happy."

She smiled and said, "You're about to get even happier. Fifteen years." 

Bradley was out of his seat with his fist in the air immediately. "Hell yes! Any chance at parole?" he asked. 

"There's always a chance. We'll keep an eye on things." 

She and he talked for a bit after that, and he felt his body ease back comfortably in the seat. Bradley wrote out a check and left it with Tracy, and then she handed him a folder full of information on adopting a stepchild in California. And a second folder with a preliminary copy of his updated will.

When he got home with his checkbook in his hand, he found you and Noah in the kitchen, and both of you were wearing more peanut butter than the carrots on the cutting board in front of you were. But you were laughing, and so was he, and the house smelled like dinner was cooking.

"I'm home," Bradley said from the kitchen doorway, and you spun in surprise. 

"Hi, Daddy," you said as you rushed for him with your messy hands held out at your sides. "You're already done with Tracy?"

"Mmhmm," Bradley hummed, leaning down to kiss you as Noah brought him ants on a log. "Fifteen years," he murmured, and you leaned in for another kiss with a soft, pleased laugh. 

"Really?"

"We can talk more later," he said, keeping one arm around your waist as he lifted Noah up and opened his mouth for the messy carrot stick. He kissed Noah while he chewed and then said, "Thanks, Bub. Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah. We did a puppet show," he said before squirming out of Bradley's arm to go make a bigger mess. And that left Bradley holding you and his checkbook. 

"Casey asked me to say hi to you when I picked Noah up," you whispered with a little grin on your face as you reached for the checkbook. "I told her I would if my mouth wasn't otherwise engaged this evening."

Bradley snorted. "You didn't."

"I did," you confirmed, waving his checkbook in the air between two fingers before tossing it onto the counter. "Who are you writing checks to, old man? I already told you, everyone uses payment apps."

"Tracy," he said. "I'm pretty sure she's older than me."

"Nobody is older than you, Daddy," you whispered, and Bradley took your wrists and guided both of your hands to his mouth. He watched your lips part silently as he licked the healed scar on your palm before sucking your thumb into his mouth. You squeaked as he cleaned the peanut butter from each of your fingers individually as you stepped a little closer to him. 

"Who you calling old?" he asked before kissing your palm and squeezing your hip. He made a show of switching to the other hand as you rubbed your core against the front of his pants. Your eyes rolled back as you moaned for him. "Shh," he scolded. "Behave." 

But you were only wearing thin scrub pants, and Bradley didn't actually want you to behave. One glance at Noah proved that he was absorbed with emptying a large canister of raisins onto the counter, so Bradley finished with your hand and then palmed both of your butt cheeks at the same time. He squeezed, really enjoying the feel of you as he whispered, "Are you wearing it?"

"No," you gasped. "I just got home from work!"

Bradley shrugged. "You've been wearing it around the past few days. Here and there."

You glanced at Noah over your shoulder before you whispered, "It makes me horny. I can't wear it to work! I'll get fired!"

Bradley chuckled and then he tightened his grip on your ass and said, "Go put it in."

Your teeth immediately sank into your lip. "Now?"

"Yeah," he replied softly. "Like my good girl."

You scampered off to the bedroom, saying, "Take the casserole out of the oven," as you went.

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

You knew to take your time with your silicone plug now. Use lots of lube and relax. As soon as you finished inserting it, you were practically moaning for Bradley to put his cock in your pussy. You were kind of addicted to the way it felt when he and the toy were both inside you at the same time. With a few deep breaths, you eased your underwear and your scrub pants back up your legs and made your way back to the kitchen. 

Bradley and Noah were sitting at the table with the casserole dish, and when you met your boyfriend's eyes, he was grinning. "Well?" he asked, reaching for your hand. 

"You know it, Daddy," you replied, and even though you weren't trying to, your voice took on a needy edge. 

He grunted softly, his eyes half lidded now as he patted the chair next to him. Noah was already eating his dinner, and thankfully he didn't seem to notice the way Bradley was looking at you like you were for dessert. You eased yourself onto the seat and whimpered softly as Bradley leaned in and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to your lips. 

"I love you, Baby," he murmured before brushing your cheek with his nose. "I can't wait to take you to the lake house next weekend. We'll pack your little toy."

He started kissing along your neck, and you didn't think you'd make it through dinner at this rate. Your nipples were hard, and he was barely even touching you. Desperate for a distraction, you tried to reach for the casserole without rolling your hips too much.

"Daddy?" Noah asked. "Can we get a dog?"

"A dog?" Bradley asked, his attention shifting slightly from you to his son. "I already got you a Mommy, isn't that enough?" You snorted with laughter, but Noah was undeterred. 

"I want a dog."

"Noah, if we get a dog, somehow it will end up being my responsibility. Maybe when you're older," Bradley said. But he was pouting, and he looked like he was going to cry. 

"Daddy," you whined softly with a little grin. "I always wanted a dog, too." 

Now Bradley was looking back and forth between you and Noah, before settling on you. "Are you really going to do this to me right now? You could probably get away with murder at the moment, Princess."

"Isn't that always the case?" you asked sweetly as you shifted a bit in your seat and served yourself some dinner. 

Bradley groaned and held his forehead in his hand. "Can we talk about this later?" he begged, glancing at you between his fingers. But you were busy smiling at his son. 

"We'll work on it, okay sweet Noah?" you whispered. 

"Okay," Noah agreed softly before he started eating again.

But teasing Bradley about the dog definitely backfired on you later on the couch. Noah wanted to watch a Disney movie, so Bradley sat in the middle of the couch with your head resting on one thigh and Noah's on the other. The Princess and the Frog was playing, because Bradley insisted you deserved a princess movie. And everything was perfect. His hand was heavy on your side, stroking you through your clothing in the most delicious way.

When the movie was nearly finished, Bradley murmured, "Noah's asleep," as his hand skimmed along your hip. Then inch by inch, his fingers worked their way along your butt until he was cupping you with one big hand. Then you felt him prod you through your clothing, running one long finger across the base of your toy. 

"Fuck," he grunted as he very gently pressed it further into you. Full. You were so full. After days of wearing it for an hour here and there, you thought maybe you were ready for more. 

You looked up at Bradley over your shoulder and wiggled against his hand. The way he slowly shook his head and licked his lips made you feel like you were in control of this. But you supposed you always were. Then he eased his hand up to your lower back and teased at the waistband of your pants and underwear before dipping it inside. 

Rough skin on yours had your eyes fluttering closed. "Look at me, Baby," he whispered, and you clenched for him. "Look at me while I touch you."

You did as you were told, but he subtly let you know you were still in charge. His brown eyes were sincere and open as he cupped your rear end, moving the plug incrementally. Pushing, pulling, tugging and teasing. When you whimpered, he pushed his fingers forward to your pussy. 

"Daddy," you gasped as he pushed his rough fingers through your folds.

He spanked your pussy lightly until you were afraid you'd start getting loud. "Go get yourself in bed," he instructed. Then he withdrew his fingers and licked them clean. When you rolled onto your belly, your cheek and hand rubbed against his cock in his pants. "I'll come take care of you in a minute."

"Yes, Daddy." You kissed Noah's cheek and then leaned down to taste yourself on Bradley's lips. Then you ran into the bedroom and tossed all of your clothing into the hamper, replacing all of it with a new matching bra and thong you paid for with his credit card. "Damn it," you whined. The toy was making you squirm for release, and you were half tempted to touch yourself. You were nervous, but only slightly, because you knew Bradley would do whatever you told him to. So you grabbed the lube from your drawer and settled onto your beautiful, new bed. 

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

Shit. You were already touching yourself when Bradley walked into the bedroom. Black lingerie, your purple plug peeking out, and you on your back with your fingers in your pussy. "Jesus Christ," he groaned, ripping his shirt off and tossing it on the floor. You looked so young and innocent, even with your ass full of that toy. Bradley couldn't believe the words he was about to speak out loud. "Will you let me fuck you in the ass?"

Wide eyed and writhing around on your back on the bed, you nodded at him. "Yes." He was determined to do this just right. He never wanted to hurt you. He always wanted you to feel good when you were with him. Carefully he removed his jeans and joined you on the bed with his cock hard in his briefs. 

"You've been teasing me with that toy all night," he whispered, pressing a feather light kiss to your lips and pulling away so you'd chase him for more. "Time to see if you can handle something a little bigger."

You whined for him as he kissed down your body. "You're a lot bigger," you gasped when he nibbled on you through your bra. "You'll go slow?"

Bradley hummed against your skin, stretching up to kiss your neck. "I'll do whatever you want. Anything you want. And if you tell me to stop, I'll stop."

"Okay," you whispered. "Just go slow."

He could hear the slight edge of apprehension in your voice, so he took your face in his hand and kissed your cheek. He wanted to be sure this was a good type of nervous, not a bad one. "You are under no obligation to do this, Princess. You already give me more than enough." 

"I know," you replied, meeting his lips with yours.

But he pulled back and forced you to look him in the eye. "Tell me one more time that this is what you want. And tell me that you trust me."

You nibbled on your lip before you said, "I always trust you. And I want to try this. Now make me feel good."

Bradley was grinning as he slipped his hand down your belly and tucked it inside your black underwear. The swirl of his fingers on your clit had you gasping, and soon he pulled your underwear off. You were already wet when he put his mouth on you, and then Bradley thought about edging you to make you squirt for him. But your fingers were rough in his hair, and he knew he would be too far gone to be as gentle as possible if he did that. So he took his time, burying his nose and mouth in your sweet pussy, and licking you everywhere until you came for him. Then he licked all around that plug and admired the tight pucker of your hole wrapped around it.

"Fuck," he gasped, placing a kiss to your inner thigh. He was going to find out just how tight you were. As you rode the little jolts of pleasure still going through your body, Bradley carefully wrapped his arms around your back and got you onto all fours. "Try it like this?" he asked, caging your body in beneath his.

Your words were a little incoherent as you bucked back against him, and he could feel the base of your toy against his cock through his underwear. Oh hell, he needed to pull himself together. He needed something familiar to calm himself down. Bradley unclasped your bra and pressed his chest to your back, watching the strap slide down your arm. Your hips were rocking back, and he moved in unison with you, planting his left hand on the bed and rubbing your tits with his right. 

He kissed along your spine and moaned, "You'll put me in an early grave, I swear it." Your soft giggle had him dragging his lips along your shoulder until he was kissing your neck. "I love you, Baby."

"I love you too, Daddy," you whispered, and it was the sweetest thing. So Bradley stood on his knees behind you, admiring the way you and that toy looked as he spread your legs wide. When he slid his underwear down, his cock bounced up to tap you, nudging the plug and making you groan. He didn't know how this was going to work as he pumped his hand along his girth before slipping himself into your pussy. And that was the familiar thing he needed, clearing his mind as you whined, "I feel so full. My toy and my Daddy."

Bradley smirked and rubbed himself against the base as held your hips. "Just wait," he warned playfully. The pretty curve of your back had him running his hand up and everywhere along your silky skin. Your hair smelled like wildflowers when he kissed your back. And then you were begging him to do it. 

He reached for the lube and drizzled it all over you before coating his cock liberally. Then he fucked your pussy with steady strokes as he carefully eased the toy out of you as you gasped. Your perfect hole gripped along the plug, and Bradley had to count to ten to calm himself down. "Baby," he groaned, tossing the toy aside. "You ready?"

"Yes."

His cock was shiny and slick, resting on his palm, and then he was pressing himself to your asshole, convinced you were going to tell him to stop. You were so tight, he had to bite down on his lip as he pushed. And then you were whining, "More. More," as you squeezed the tip of him so much, he was afraid he'd black out. 

"Princess," he growled, head tipped back as he pushed slowly. So slowly. He was dizzy from it, the slow pace driving him to the edge. "So tight. Holy hell." And then you turned to look at him over your shoulder. Your eyes were glazed over with need, and your lips were parted softly. 

"Feels good," you gasped, and he reached out to run his thumb along your lip. You kissed him. You were perfect. He pushed himself a little deeper, and you kissed his thumb again. He looked down to see himself buried inside you as you licked his thumb. 

"God damn it," he cursed, and you squeezed him a little tighter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He dipped his thumb into your mouth and whispered, "I can't last like this. Too fucking good. So tight." He was shaking his head, but you were nodding and swirling your tongue along his thumb. He withdrew an inch and thrust, and you started keening. 

If Bradley managed even ten strokes inside your ass, it was a miracle. He went slowly, but it was too much. And you were loud, spurring him on with his thumb tucked between your lips and pressed to your tongue.

Every time you tightened around him, he knew he was going to cum. He was just biding his time for a few more seconds, and then it was too much. He tried to keep his movements steady and fluid as he came inside you, but they were a little jerky. He was grunting your name over and over, trying to get himself under control. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice rough as he slipped his thumb out of your mouth. 

"Mmm, yes," you moaned. "It only hurt a little, and then it felt good."

Bradley brought both hands to your hips and stroked you as he started to gently withdraw from your body. And then his jaw went slack as you were puckered around his tip. It was going to look so pretty, he just knew it. 

"Baby," he whined when he pulled himself free. His white cum was at your opening, and he watched that first droplet as it slid down to your pussy and dripped onto the bed. You were oozing with his finish, and he was transfixed. 

You said his name and made to roll over, but Bradley kept you still with his big hands on your thighs. "Shh," he coaxed as another long drop fell to the bed. And then he licked you clean as you mewled and whimpered. He lapped up every bit of his cum as it leaked out of you, and he cleaned up your pussy as well. 

"Bradley," you whispered as he gently rolled you to your back. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he settled on top of you, careful to keep his full body weight from hurting you. The fucked out, exhausted expression on your face made him smile.

"You did so good, Baby."

"I know," you agreed. "I liked it."

His lips were ghosting over yours as he asked, "Do you need anything? Want me to get a shower ready for us?"

"In a couple minutes," you replied easily. And then Bradley rolled you both to your sides and snuggled you against him with one big hand on your ass.

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

You were just trying to get through your day at work on Thursday. You just needed to make it to Friday morning when the three of you would be driving up to the lake house to meet Mav, Penny and Amelia. But two of your coworkers were out sick, and you had to pick up all the slack. You even had to text Bradley and let him know you wouldn't be able to pick Noah up or start dinner. 

Bradley Daddy Bradshaw: Take your time. I'll make sandwiches for dinner. See you at home.

Once you had all of the exam rooms cleaned and disinfected, Dr. Kelly found you and said, "Go home. Enjoy your long weekend with your family. That little Noah is the cutest thing."

You laughed and nodded. "Oh, he knows he's adorable. It's getting to be a problem. See you next week." 

Then you made your way to your car and thought about how you and Noah were most definitely going to wear Bradley down, and soon enough you'd have a dog at home. You'd even been working on a shortlist of names for when that fateful day arrived. You picked up a few pet themed coloring books on your lunch break, and when you pulled into the driveway, you took the bag from the front seat. 

The mail truck was just pulling up to your house; he must have been having a late day, too. You walked to the curb to meet him, and he handed everything to you with a wave. As you walked up to the porch, you picked your envelopes out of the stack and left Bradley's separate. Great, your student loan statement was here. You couldn't wait to see how your last payment barely put a dent in things. 

"Hi," you called out as you walked through the living room. "Sorry, I'm so late." But when you looked into the kitchen, Bradley was still in his uniform, calmly making a turkey and cheese sandwich and cutting it into little triangles while Noah colored. 

"Nothing to be sorry about," Bradley rasped, and you kissed his shoulder through his shirt. "I'll make your sandwich next." But you'd already moved on to Noah, smothering him in kisses while he laughed. 

"Check out this dog themed coloring book," you said loudly, earning a glare from Bradley as you set it down in front of Noah. "Isn't this little brown puppy on the cover just adorable?"

"I want a dog," Noah whined as he opened the cover and got to work. You were betting you'd have a dog by next month. 

"Relentless," Bradley groaned, and you wrapped your arms around him from behind. "Did you have a good day?" he asked. "Ready for the lake?"

"Yes. And definitely." He tried to hand you a sandwich on a plate, but you said, "Let me go through my mail first before I forget. I want to make sure I log in and make my student loan payment tonight before we leave in the morning." You took the sandwich from him and noticed that he looked a little timid now. "What's wrong?"

"Well. Nothing's wrong," he said quietly as you bit into the sandwich and then set it down again to open up your envelope. But he had you distracted, and you realized too late that you had opened a piece of his mail from Tracy by mistake. You skimmed along the page and you gasped as tears welled up in your eyes. 

I, Bradley Bradshaw, a legal adult of sound mind and competency, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament (hereinafter, “Last Will & Testament”) and do hereby revoke any and all wills and codicils heretofore made jointly or severally by me.

In the event I shall die as the sole parent of minor child(ren), then I appoint as guardian over minor child(ren)

You stopped when you read your name and dropped the papers to the floor as you burst into tears. "Bradley," you gasped, and he looked up from where he was putting mayonnaise on a slice of bread. You bent to pick up the papers, but you were so emotional, you could barely see, so you just sat on the floor next to them and looked up at him. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, kneeling down and cupping your face in his hands. "Princess, tell me what's wrong."

You swiped at your tears with your hands and whispered, "You trust me that much?"

"What are you talking about, Baby?" he asked, and then he reached for one of the papers on the floor. "Your student loans?"

He was about to realize what you had read, so you quickly said, "I didn't mean to open it, I tore into the wrong envelope. I thought it was my student-"

Bradley silenced your sentence with a kiss as you sobbed. When he released your lips, you could still feel his nose on your cheek as you tried to get your breathing under control. "Yes. I trust you that much. If something happens to me, I know you'll take care of Noah."

You threw your arms around his neck and pushed him back onto his butt and climbed into his lap. "I would. I really would."

He held you close and softly said, "I was planning on telling you this weekend. The paperwork isn't finalized yet, but I can call Tracy's office and have it completed at any time."

You kissed him and said, "Call first thing tomorrow morning."

"Okay. I'll call first thing tomorrow morning." He was smiling as you let your forehead rest against his. 

"Why are you on the floor?" Noah asked, leaning over the table to look at you both. 

Bradley scooped you up as he stood and set you down on your feet, but you kept your arms around him. "Mommy was just being silly, Bub. How about you put the crayons down and eat your sandwich." Then he kissed your hair and said, "You better eat your sandwich, too."

You took your plate and the mail to the table and sat down across from Noah. You watched him sip his milk through a straw cup and then eat all of the cheese out of the sandwich first. He was perfect. And you'd never have to be without him. Bradley trusted you with his child more than anyone else. And you knew he wanted to have another one.

As he sat down next to you with his own sandwich and a beer, you opened your student loan envelope and started to read. But you could feel his eyes on you as he sipped his Heineken. 

"You okay, Daddy?" you asked softly, wiping at at stray tear.

"Just read your mail," he replied. When you looked back down at the paper in your hands, you saw that instead of nearly ten thousand dollars, your balance due for nursing school was zero.

"What did you do?" you gasped, looking him in the eye. 

He just shrugged and bit into his own sandwich, smiling as he chewed. "Paid off your loans. Your interest rate was so high, you'd still be paying on them by the time you're my age. Which is dumb when I have the money to take care of it now."

"Bradley!" Your eyes were welling with tears again as you said, "You didn't have to do that!"

His voice was stern as you crawled into his lap again. "I trust you with Noah, one hundred percent. The money doesn't matter as much as that."

You let your head rest on his shoulder as you straddled his thigh, and his big hand was rubbing your back. "You still didn't have to," you whispered. "But thank you. And now I can help you with your mortgage and bills instead."

"You just save your money, and we'll figure it out later."

But you already knew you'd talk him into letting you pay for something. And the rest could go into a savings account for school for Noah. And anything leftover could be used to plan for the exciting future you were going to experience with the two of them. 

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

Daddy keeps on winning now. And Princess doesn't have to worry about the things that shouldn't matter. Next up, the lake house. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 37

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[bed-chemist]

❝ therefore i am ❞

A/N: if you want to know what's going on in my personal life, read my past couple posts. i'm not going to go to much into it but i'm back. unedited so ignore any mistakes. i hope yall enjoy. ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

─⋆♡ chapter summary: the president’s daughter deals with the aftermath of the club. michael becomes unrecognizable.

─⋆♡ main tropes: Michael B. Jordan x Fem!OC, Rome Flynn x Fem!OC, Damson Idris x Fem!OC. Bodyguard x Princess, Secret Service x First Kid, forced proximity, forbidden love, tolerated enemies to lovers, college romance.

─⋆♡ chapter warnings: angst, 18+ black!writer, language, torture, blood, hostages, fighting, threatening, weapons, physical descriptors (brief), characters affected by symptoms of anxiety or depression, lmk if i missed something.

series masterlist ✰ faceclaims ✰ libby’s cabinet ✰ spotify playlist ⋆ word count: 6.4k ⋆

I’m never drinking again.

The pounding in my head makes me feel like a military missel just rocketed itself into my temple. I groan, wincing slightly at the raw sensation in my throat. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the soft light from the sunrise.

I look at the clock to the right of my nightstand and I am happy to see it’s only 4 a.m. I typically have weekends off from President’s Daughter duty, so I’m grateful for the extra time to sleep in.

I don’t even remember getting up here if I'm honest. Deciding to deal with it later, I slowly shift in the bed. I allow my eyes to close again, flipping to the other side. I sigh, trying to get comfortable when the nausea kicks in.

I inhale a sharp deep breath when I feel a warm hand creeping under my shirt. I moan and melt into the soft circles being rubbed into my back by the physical heating pad. Wait, did I go home with someone? 

My body immediately fills with panic thinking about the possibility of a stranger being in my bed. I almost scream when I pry my eyes open and see a sleepy Meredith peering back at me. 

My eyes widen and my breathing quickens. I mean, I’m into girls and guys, so it’s plausible we hooked up. “Did we?” I ask, nervous to lift the blankets to see the state of my clothing.

“No,” Meredith sighs, returning her hand to its place on my back.

I groan, shifting in Meredith's hold. “What the fuck happened?” I whisper, burrowing my face deeper into her armpit.

“That prick Teddy roofied you. Apparently, he and Vanessa had a bet. She’s definitely not hanging with us anymore. You don’t remember anything?” Meredith inquires, continuing to rub my back.

I inhale a sharp breath. “No, but I feel fine.” Then, I exhale, pushing on the mattress to sit up. I rub my eyes, attempting to clear the sleep out of them. “How did we get here?” I ask the blonde.

“Michael came to tell us you were leaving and I was ready to be done but Kendall wanted to go hook up with someone,” Meredith pauses and I grimace, attempting to shove the bile down my throat. “Vanessa wanted to stay so I left my guards with them, figuring Michael would keep the two of us safe,” she continues.

I pat the bed for my phone and sure enough, when I find it, it’s dead. “And then, get this. It’s the best part. He made me hold you in position while he shoved his fingers down your throat. You ate a lot tonight, girlie,” the events of the night flow into my eardrums through Meredith’s excellent storytelling.

“Wait,” I pause Meredith mid-story, “He didn’t tell you I was roofied until we were gone?” I ask, quite frankly confused as fuck.

I lift the blankets off of me, sliding out of the bed. Picking up my robe from the footboard bench, I shrug it onto my body. “Mmhm, said something about taking care of it himself,” I hear Meredith murmur.

When the words register, the blood drains from my body. “Oh, no. Mer,” I curse, quietly.

My body slowly turns around in an attempt to keep myself calm. “What?” Meredith tilts her head and asks.

I put my hands out on the duvet in front of me, leaning into the mattress. “Did you tell him about Vanessa and Teddy?” I ask Meredith. Hopefully, she didn’t and Michael is in the next room asleep. If she did, the worst-case scenario is he’s already killed them.

A puzzled look washes over Meredith's face and she looks up at the ceiling as if the answer is up there. “Yeah, he wouldn’t stop asking questions on the way back,” she tells me and my world shatters. “Do you know you snore?” she continues, unphased.

My dinner from last night threatens to come up as I think of what to do. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. What do you do when your Secret Service wants to rightfully kill someone who hurt you? “Mer, he’s an ex fucking mercenary assassin,” I snip.

Meredith's brows kit together and she licks her lips. “What’s that mean?” she wonders.

I look at Mer with a blank expression covering my face. I expected a billionaire's daughter to be a know-it-all. “Meredith, are you serious?” I grill.

Mer puts her hands up in defense. “What? I’m not in college,” she reminds me.

I nod, taking a deep breath and looking down at the crisp blue fabric. “A mercenary is someone paid to fight. Paid to kill,” I sigh.

“So?” I hear Meredith ask.

My hazel eyes connect with hers again. Meredith blinks rapidly, slightly leaning forward with intrigue. “You don’t give an addict the key to the drug lockbox,” I explain.

Mer's eyes squint and I can barely see the sea swimming around her pupils. “Wait you don’t think he’s…” she trails off.

My hand instinctively reaches out and wraps around Meredith's wrist as if she’s one of my little siblings. “Get up. We’re going to find him,” I demand, effectively dragging her out of bed.

Meredith stumbles a bit like a baby deer once her feet are placed on the floor and I start moving quickly, leaving dust in our trail. “Relax, Libby. He’s probably in his room,” she calls behind me.

I fling my bedroom door open, walking us out into the shared living room. “Mer, you gave the trained assassin whose only job is to protect me the coordinates to put a bullet through two people's heads,” I tell her over my shoulder before lifting my hand to knock on Michael’s door.

My knuckles rasp on the old oak wood before I press my ear to the door, listening for any movement. No shuffling is heard behind the door, so I try knocking once more. All I hear is my breathing bouncing off the solid material.

I turn around slowly, wide-eyed and fearful. Meredith seemingly reads my body language and her affect changes to match what I presume mine is. “Oh shit. I did didn’t I?” she asks for clarification.

Brushing past her, I grab my spare robe from the living room closet. “Yes. Now put this on,” I scoff, throwing it towards her chest.

Meredith cringes with shock washing over her face. She hurriedly puts her arms through the sleeves, pulling the fluffy garment on. “What are we going to do?” she panic shouts.

My hands begin to shake and I tuck them into my pockets. “I don’t know! Stop screaming! It’s 4 am!” I bellow.

Tears collect in Mer's eyes and threaten to spill over her lower lid. “You’re screaming back!” she screams.

“Because I’m stressed,” I explain, returning my voice to my normal level. I shut my eyes, taking slow soothing breaths that fill my lungs with the crisp winter air. “Okay, deep breaths. He couldn’t have found them, picked them up, and killed them in two hours,” I rant, trying to stay in my delusional world.

The sound of our bare feet scurrying towards the door echoes off the tile floor. “I think you’re underestimating your man,” I hear Meredith jest under her breath before I pull open my door.

When we exit the hall, the first person I see is a random security guard. He tilts his head and squints his eyes at us before reaching for the inner lining of his suit pocket. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I warn him causing him to freeze.

I slowly creep towards him until we’re standing toe to toe. “I’m just going to my sister's room. You don’t need to tell anyone. Understand?” I flirt, slowly reaching up to grab his hand that’s near his jacket.

His eyes widen and he turns a scarlet red. His palms begin perspiring, effectively moistening my hand. Seemingly speechless, he just nods before I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. Once his hand is placed back by his side, I release it now that my skin is covered in the man's sweat. Tipping my imaginary hat to him, I link my arm with Meredith who has been standing by, pulling her down the hall.

When we reach the door, I greet the secret service agent outside her door with a smile. Great, another fucking loophole. “Hey, is my sister in there?” I ask as sweetly as possible.

He doesn’t look down at me and Meredith. Instead, he keeps his head focused forward towards the rest of the corridor. “Yes,” the older man deadpans.

I roll my eyes, deciding to forego asking for permission. I’m already here, all I need to do is get into that room and talk to Agent Idris. “Great,” I brush past him, reaching for the door to her common living space.

It’s a lot different than my serene blue castle. The room is covered in a dark plum shade that matches beautifully with her skin tone. Although it may be depressing to look at during your first visit, the hue of the purple sparkles like a gem bringing light into the room.

My sister is a heavy sleeper, so I don’t worry that my knocking will wake her as my hand lifts. I bang on the door like a cop, pausing to listen for shuffling, but I hear nothing. “Agent Idris, are you in there?” I call through the door before reaching for the handle.

I slowly crack the door open in case he’s just sleeping. When I look in the dark and cold room, it’s empty. I swear under my breath, slowly shutting the door behind me. When I turn to face Meredith, she looks dejected. 

I grab Meredith's hand pulling her out of the joint sitting room between the two rooms. “That was just our first stop. I figured he’d take him,” I encourage her.

We exit my sister's living area, shutting the large door behind us. “Have a good morning,” I bid the agent goodbye, hoping he won’t speak a word.

He quickly tilts his head down in a moment so quickly, I almost miss it. “You too, Ms. Washington,” he mutters.

My feet nearly stick to the group as we scurry to the next location, Huddy's room. When we get to the door, I repeat the same steps with his night door guard. “Is Hudson awake?” I ask kindly.

This time the man looks down at me and shakes his head. “No,” he answers.

I smile, pulling my lips between my teeth to look mischievous to the man in front of me. “Good. I need to prank him. Can I?” I ask with hope.

He pauses for a moment, looking at his watch before looking back up at me. He seems skeptical, but I’m hoping he buys it. After what feels like forever, he finally mutters, “Sure.”

I mutter a thank you in reply before entering my brother's living area. This time Meredith thinks she knows where she’s going, and she heads straight for the door on the right. I grab her arm, softly pulling her backward. The layout is flipped from both my sister's and mine, so I understand how confusing it could be. It’s covered in red, but none of the reds match. Some are faded while some are bold. It’s like a bachelor pad for a man who doesn’t get any pussy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has navy sheets on his bed right now.

My hand lifts, repeatedly pounding on another agent's door. This time I’m surprised to see Agent Flynn’s face. “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

Agent Flynn leans against the door frame, sleepy wiping his eyes. “What are you doing here? It’s like 4 in the morning,” he grumbles.

Trying to save your friend from making a mistake that’ll land him another 4 years with another president’s bratty daughter. Without me. “I think something’s wrong with Michael,” I sigh.

He reaches in to flick the light on in his room. “What do you mean?” he yawns.

I flinch slightly and my pupils adjust to the change of ambiance. “After the dinner, we went out to the club and I got roofied tonight by some rich kids at the club. He asked Meredith for all their info while I was passed out then dropped us here before taking off with Agent Idris,” I try my best to cover all the information tonight.

His eyes widen, seemingly registering what I’ve said. “Shit,” he swears, turning away from the door to enter the brightly lit room. It’s nice compared to my brother's decor. At least someone has taste. “Shit, why don’t they tell me anything?” he asks, grabbing his phone from his bedside table.

Meredith and I survery the room with curiosity, but neither of us dare to cross the threshold into the space. My attention turns back to Agent Flynn, whose fingers quickly tap the screen before he lifts it to his ear. “Who are you calling?” I question him.

“Damson. Mike’s not answering,” Agent Flynn responds.

My heart quickens and my stomach fills with demonic butterflies. Don’t throw up, Lib. Don’t throw up, Lib. Don’t throw up, Lib. “Do you think they’re,” I prompt Agent Flynn to answer.

Agent Flynn's body tenses, instantly giving his answer away. He looks like he needs a hug. “Yes. You better pray your little friend didn’t just nail a coffin,” he snips.

My stomach continuously bubbles and I scratch my hand with furor. The fuck are we going to do? “Two,” Meredith chirps behind us, correcting the man. 

My face mirrors Agent Flynn’s, twisting in confusion. When I turn around, Meredith is standing there unphased by the word she just uttered. “Mer, that’s a little insensitive,” I point out.

Her cheeks turn maroon and she looks down at the floor beneath her. “Sorry, but they deserve it,” she grumbles.

Agent Flynn snickers and I whip my head towards him. He puts his hands up in defense when I narrow my eyes at him. “What? I like her,” he smirks.

I stuff the urge to hit him down into the pits of hell, refocusing on the task at hand. “So where are we going first?” I ask Agent Flynn.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “We?” he asks.

I nod furiously. “Yes, we. How can I trust you’re not going to just let them kill them anyway?” I chastise.

He crosses his arms, standing firmly in place like a statue. “Because, unlike Dammy and Mike, I despise killing people,” he counters.

We stare each other down until a few moments pass. The silence is uncomfortable and it makes me want to squirm, but I won’t be the one to give in. Just when I’m about to say fuck it and go back to bed, Agent Idris groans, “Fine. I don’t have time for this. Let’s go,” he commands me and Meredith to follow him.

We exit Hudson's apartment and into the grand hallway. As we walk by guards, Agent Flynn friendly tips his head up to each of them.“Where are we going?” I ask, barely keeping up after his long stride.

“To find them,” he grumbles, taking a right towards the stairwell.

Meredith increases her pace, able to keep up with Agent Flynn’s due to the length of her legs. “Don’t I need actual shoes?” I ask him, putting my hand on the cool banister as we rush down the first level of stairs.

Agent Flynn looks up at me and his amber-colored eyes sparkle in the dim light. “No, we’re just going downstairs,” he informs us.

We get to my parent’s living area and before opening the door Agent Flynn turns around. He puts his finger up to his lips, motioning for us to be quiet. He quietly turns the nob, opens the door, and sticks his head out before entering the area. Once he’s determined the close is clear, he motions for us to follow him down the next set of steps.

I hold my breath and pray that my clumsy nature doesn’t make an appearance. All that’s heard in the small stairwell is the sound of our feet connecting with the stone steps. Once we get to the entrance hall, Agent Flynn silently greets his coworkers, refusing to haul his quick pace.

Although we’re bolting, I feel like I can breathe. There are only two more flights to go and we haven’t been stopped yet. 

We make our way towards the next staircase when Mer asks, “There’s a basement?”

“Yes but,” I begin speaking before realizing, I’m also confused about the concept of the basement. I knew about the Navy Resteraunt and the Secret Service headquarters, but not about anything else that happened down there. And since I’m sure no one else will tell me, Agent Flynn is the perfect person to explain. “Agent Flynn, wait,” I call after him.

“We don’t have time,” he grits between his teeth.

I scurry in front of him, stopping him from walking any further on the ground floor. “Agent Flynn, you will stop right now and explain!” I shout like a baby, crossing my arms and stomping for effect.

He looks down at me and smirks. “Rome,” he states.

My brows furrow and I know I’m going to have wrinkles when I’m 50. “What?” I ask.

He steps around me, heading towards the last staircase. “My name is Rome. If you’re going to yell at me, use my first name. Although I rather you be yelling under different circumstances,” he taunts, jogging down leaving Mer and me in his dust.

Mer looks at me and shrugs before following him. Rolling my eyes, I trail after them. “Michael’s gonna kill you when he hears you said that,” I call down the staircase towards Rome.

“Not when he sees you down there. Then, I’ll be dead,” he corrects.

When we reach the bottom floor, I flinch feeling the cool concrete floor beneath my feet. Rome opens the door for us, motioning for us to walk ahead of him. I’ve never been on this side of the basement. The windowless grey space sucks any life out of the area, as opposed to its warm and wood counterpart.

Meredith and I come to a halt and turn around to face Rome, unsure of where to go. He allows the heavy metal door to shut behind us before he clears his throat. “This is the side of the basement is.. How do you say it?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“A torture house?” Meredith squeaks.

Rome clicks his teeth, pointing at the blonde. “Bingo. Used by the highest clearance. Us, the military,” he elaborates. 

“Highest clearance including my mom?” I ask, and Rome’s hazel eyes soften with a nod. “Has she used it yet?” I press on, curious about the state of virginity in the space after the election. I purse my lips, accepting his answer.

“I’m not answering that question,” Rome grumbles before turning his back to us. He leads us down a hall I’ve never been down before. The tight space surrounding us heightens my claustrophobia. My heart starts pounding, so I reach out and grab Mer’s hand for some sort of stability. “You alright?” she asks.

We pass various doors that I don’t dare to ask what’s behind. “Yeah, ’m fine. Just don’t like small spaces,” I confess before we take a right.

At the end of the hall, a huge metal door stands between us and something I’m not sure I’m ready to see. My feet drag while Rome quickly walks the rest of the way, unlocking the door before turning around to face me. “Are you sure you want to go in?”

I lightly throw my hand up in exhaustion. “Yes, Rome. Her friend is in there, for fucks sake,” I point out, gesturing towards Mer.

“Former friend,” Meredith squeaks out before I lightly squeeze her hand. “I mean, best friend,” she attempts to clear up. 

Rome looks back and forth at us before clearing his throat. “Libby,” he starts, putting his hand on my shoulder and separating Meredith from me. “When Mike gets like this, he’s like a robot. He turns off his humanity to get to his goal and he only listens to the people he cares about. I’m not sure how he’ll react when he sees you,” he warns.

The ice in my toes spreads throughout my body, creating icicles on my nose. He’s warning you because he could see you, and he could kill you. No, Lib, he wouldn’t do that. I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my robe, pulling it tighter around me. “I’m going to choose to have faith on this one. Now open the door,” I demand, looking up at the towering goofball.

He puts his hands up in surrender before turning and pulling the door open. The room is empty, similar to the rest of the hallway. It lacks anything but a metal chair. I rush forward into the space and just when I think I’ve got the wrong room, I look to my right and gasp.

Agent Idris is leaning against an oak table on one side of the room with his arms crossed. Behind the table sits a sobbing Vanessa. Her black mascara stains her cheeks and she’s practically bursting out of her dress. 

She flinches and I turn my head, curious to see what she’s looking at. My jaw drops as I watch Michael land another blow to the brunette man’s face. What was once pristine is now dripping with blood. His hands and feet are tied to a chair and he wiggles, attempting to squirm away from Michael’s fist.

I’ve never seen such vitriol and it’s displayed every time Michael flexes his back muscles to swing. The sight is gruesome, and I close my mouth, attempting not to vomit.

“Oh my god,” I hear Meredith say behind me. The sight is gruesome, and I close my mouth, attempting not to vomit. “I can’t watch,” I hear her add before she shuffles out of the room.

“I’m going to go with her. Make sure she’s alright,” I hear Rome say and I nod before the door closes moments later. 

I wave at Vanessa, testing if it’s a two-way mirror. My theory is correct and she doesn’t move a muscle. My attention returns to Michael, who’s now kneeling in front of the man, nodding as the man spits out a few words. He’s interrogating him, but there’s got to be a better way to do this. Especially when the kid’s dad is a billionaire. 

There’s a button with what looks like a speaker on top of it on the wall. I let my fingers trail over the cool metal before pressing down on the circle.

Vanessa’s sobs fill the space, flowing through the impossibly small device. There’s a gasp before I look up. A sinister grin takes over Michael’s face as he stalks over to his weapons, covered in blood. Michael has decided to move on to the next best thing, a bat. He grabs the wooden spear from the wall, allowing the tip of it to drag on the floor as he walks back over to my perpetrator.

Time slows as I watch him lift the bat, positioning it to rest on his shoulder. He squares his feet firmly in place; I know now is the time. If I don’t stop him now, he’s going to kill him. “Michael,” I utter and he freezes in place. “It’s me,” I choke out the best I can, but it feels like my throat is on fire.

His eyes squint toward the glass as he lowers his arm, walking closer in my direction. “Lib?” he questions with confusion.

His face twists as if he’s on some faraway planet and my voice is his only map to earth. Tears collect in my eyes, threatening to spill over my bottom lid. “Yes. I’m okay. You can stop,” I try to convince him that the route he’s taking isn’t the best.

His once-focused face turns vacant and he begins shaking his head slowly. The pace of his head increases until he’s shaking it rapidly. “No, no, no,” he murmurs as he begins to pace. “Libby wouldn’t be here. She-she’s asleep,” he stutters, talking to himself.

My head nods, even though subconsciously I know he can’t see me. “I am here, Michael,” I emphasize, trying to find the crack in his brain. “Can I come in?” I ask.

His right hand begins beating the outside of his thigh and I know there will be a bruise tomorrow. It’s almost as if he’s trying to pull himself back into his body. “No, you shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have done this here. You shouldn’t be down here. You shouldn’t see–”

“Michael,” I cut his disorganized ranting off. He stops pacing, turning to face the glass. “You’re my guard, my secret service, mine. Whatever you do I do too, remember?” I emphasize. 

We made a deal. If we’re in this shit situation for 4 years, we’re in it together. Meaning, no making things harder on the other person. And this is the definition of making things harder.

Michael’s face begins to soften and my heart slows. I found him, he’s coming back. “No, you don’t understand,” he murmurs, seemingly ashamed of his actions.

I swallow thickly before saying, “I’m coming in,” as a warning before releasing the metal button. 

Michael’s muted pleas fall on deaf ears as I move quickly to my left, pulling open the heavy door to the torture chamber. He’s in front of me in seconds, and the sight of his blood-stained front makes me nauseous.

“I don’t want you seeing this,” he coldly grits through his teeth. His body tenses, shielding me from the sight behind me.

Those weren’t the terms of our deal, fucker. “Oh, so you were bold enough to do it but not in front of me?” I grill.

He inhales a sharp breath, bringing his nondominant hand up to scratch his scruff. “That’s not what I mean. You just got drugged and no girl should see this,” he explains before his eyes wander down to my feet. “Damn it, Lib. You don’t have any shoes on and you’re fucking naked,” he snips.

My hands go down to my robe, gathering the fabric and adjusting it. “I’m not naked and I’m fine. Best sleep of my life,” I express, crossing my arms in from of my chest and attempting to shield my undoubtedly hard nipples from him.

He rolls his eyes, stepping out of the way to bring Damson and Vanessa into view. “Did you guys get what you needed?” I ask the guard.

He nods, standing from his relaxed position on the table. “They sang like a canary in the first 5 minutes. Trying to get some pictures of you in a compromising position to sell to the blogs,” he recalls.

I raise my eyebrow at the man. “So you let Michael beat this man within an inch of his life?” I question him, voice laced with annoyance.

Damson shrugs, unphased. “What? It was fun,” he chuckles.

Rome enters the room, startling me a bit before I return my focus to Damson. Shaking my head at his antics, I open my mouth to scold him when Vanessa cuts in, “I’m sorry, Libby. I–”

“Shut the fuck up,” I spit in her face, effectively shutting her up. I bend down slightly so we’re on the same level. I want to make sure she understands every word I’m saying. “You don’t get to call me that. Matter of fact, don’t even speak. You’re not in the position to,” I fume in her direction.

Rome whistles before murmuring, “Damn.”

Vanessa sniffs, unable to wipe the snot since she’s bound to the chair. I revel in her this way. Thinking she could fuck me over. Karma is a bitch. “Stupid cunt,” I grumble.

I turn around to face the three men, deciding it’s best to pretend she’s not there so I don’t get worked up. Michael silently surveys my face and my brows knit on my forehead. Why is he looking at me like that? 

Rome clears his throat before asking, “What do you want to do?” 

What do I want to do? It’s not like killing them would go off without a hitch. Both of their parents are very prominent figures. The best thing to do now is to use them as an example. 

Hell, Teddy’s almost dead and I’ll just act like I don’t know her when people ask. She’ll fade to black and I’m sure the message will be well received all over the city. “Let them go,” I command.

Damson kisses his teeth and his upper body curls. He looks dejected that he couldn’t press on. “But we were just getting to the good part,” he groans.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Is he complaining about not being about to kill someone? “And you’ll get your good part if they ever try this again,” I placate.

I nod at Rome, signaling for him to untie Vanessa. I watch as he swiftly unties each notch in the knot. Each rope falls to the ground one by one until she’s standing from her prison. “Thank you so much, Liberty. I’m really sorry, again,” she professes.

I scoff at her fakeness. She’s never liked me and she's only pretending to for her mortality. “I’m only letting you go because I’m not a woman hater. Take this as a warning. You tried, but you failed. Try again, I won’t stop them next time. I will let them kill you, Vanessa,” I promise her.

She nods before slipping back on her club heels. She looks at me, awaiting her next instructions. “Meredith can probably take you home. You have to talk to her now too,” I gesture towards the door, beckoning her to leave.

She nods, allowing her gaze to fall to the floor before she scurries out of the room. I reach into my robe pocket, quickly texting Meredith an update so she has a full grasp on the situation, although she’s probably standing right behind the glass pane.

I’m highly aware that this is a strange place to start a friendship, but maybe it’s the start of something long-lasting. “What about him?” Rome asks, pointing to the barely human face crumpled over in the metal chair.

“Call clean up and have them take care of it. It’s almost 6,” Michael instructs before grabbing the bottom of his blood-soaked shirt. He seamlessly lifts it over his head, showing his perfectly sculpted physique. His abs could easily handle a week's worth of my laundry, irritating the stains from the fabric.

He pulls the top from his body, allowing it to fall to the floor. I’m rendered speechless, feeling it inappropriate to drool in a situation like this. Damson seemingly notices me staring and he clears his throat, causing my eyes to shoot up to the light in the ceiling.

I spin on my heels, unsure of what to do. Once we leave this room, we’re not going to be able to discuss this. There are mics and cameras in every room but the bathroom. I know some camera angles have changed to give me some privacy, but every entrance and exit is being recorded. No one moves in The White House without the Secret Service knowing. 

I almost jump when I feel a hand on the small of my back, being brought back to reality. My eyes connect with Michael’s when I lower my head and his once black irises have returned to brown. “You need more sleep,” he simply states.

I nod, unsure of what to say to the boys. A cheery goodbye doesn’t necessarily mesh well with social norms. Michael doesn’t allow me to deliberate, lightly pushing me forward towards the door.

I conceded, turning the need to think off by following his lead. He opens the door for us, ushering us through the entryway. As we walk through the empty viewing room, I look to the left one last time at the scarlet scene. My stomach gurgles, and I snap my eyes to the floor. “You sure you okay?” Michael asks, opening the next door for me.

In the grand scheme of things, I feel fine. But if I say that after being through a traumatic situation, he’s going to lock me up and throw away the key.  “I’m more concerned about you,” I disclose genuinely as we walk down the hall.

He shrugs, seemingly unaffected by his actions. “I’m fine. This is what I do,” he grumbles.

“Used to do,” I correct.

“It’s my job,” he argues and I remind him why I hate him sometimes. It’s like talking to a child.

“I don’t think revenge killing was in the position description,”

The walk back up to our apartment feels like it takes forever. The winding staircases and onlookers dare to swallow me whole. I’m not sure a barefoot and clotheless president's daughter with her shirtless Secret Service agent paints the best picture. 

My endless suggestions that Michael at least be checked out by the nurse fall on deaf ears. So when we enter the living room of the apartment, I point at the couch commanding him, “Sit.”

He raises his eyebrow at me but doesn’t make any moves to put his bottom on the cushion. “If you’re not going to let me take you to the infirmary, you’re going to let me clean you up,” I explain.

His eyes search mine for deception and I sigh, annoyed with the consistency of this game. “Fine,” he finally gives in, moving to take a seat on the couch.

I leave the room to retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom, filling a cup by the sink with warm water so I can rinse his hands. When I get back, Michael is patiently waiting for my return, anxiously flexing both his hands.

Taking a seat next to him, I bring his hand into my lap to calm his fidgeting. “Stop doing that. You’ll keep opening and breaking the skin,” I worry.

“I was trying to see if it was broken,” he counters and suddenly I feel like an idiot.

“Oh,” I mumble, twisting his wrist to examine his hand. “Is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head, slinking down into the couch cushions with a sigh. He looks exhausted. Large brown circles darken the spot beneath his eye and I feel a pang in my chest. “No, probably a hairline fracture,” he speculates and I can tell he’s trying to ease my anxiety.

I pick up the washcloth, dipping it into the cup of water. We sit in silence for a few moments until he winces. Something’s wrong with his hand and he fucked it up because of me. 

I quickly clean the rest of his hand, eager to rid the thick sexual tension between us. This is the longest he’s ever touched me and it intensifies the fire in between my thighs. Not right now, Libby. You’re bandaging his hand. “You’ll see the doctor when we wake up,” I demand once we’re finished.

Snapping the first aid kit shut, I scoop the remnants of the bandage wrappers up with my hand. “We?” I hear Michael's question.

I nod, having already made my decision. I just need to stick to it. “Yes, we. You haven’t slept in like 24 hours,” I point out before standing from the couch.

I toss the trash into the pale blue bin on the other side of the room. “I’m fine,” Michael reassures.

“Yeah right,” I scoff before going into the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I make sure to wash my hands before relieving myself one last time for the night. Once my hands are scrubbed once more, I apply some vanilla lotion to keep them from drying out.

When I exit the bathroom, Michael hasn’t moved from the couch. He watches me cross the room over to my door with laser focus. “Come on,” I beckon him to join me.

He shakes his head and his body becomes cement. “I’m not sleeping in the bed with you,” he objects.

I roll my eyes at his combativeness and part my lips to say, “I’m not asking you to sleep. But I can’t trust that you won't just leave again.” and kill someone.

He shakes his head but he still doesn’t make a move. Fuck, what do I have to do to get you in my bed? It shouldn’t be this hard. “I wouldn’t,” he reiterates.

“Then come, for me. Call it suicide watch,” I rephrase, hoping it’ll do the trick.

The tick of the clock fills the room and several seconds go by before a glimmer of interest sparkles in his eyes. “Fine,” he concedes, standing from the couch.

He crosses the living area until he’s standing just inside my bedroom door. I shut the door behind us, locking the door just in case Jo didn’t get the memo to not wake me up early this morning.

In the soft light of the early morning room, I shed my robe and Michael sheds his pants. Grabbing a scrunchy from my vanity, I attempt to tie my unruly hair back up underneath my bonnet. When I turn around, Michael stands by the side of my bed patiently waiting for me. He holds the corner of the duvet up for me to climb in. 

Once I’m hugged by my warm vanilla fragrance, I watch as he walks over to the other side of the bed, replacing Meredith for the night. 

My eyes blink rapidly at him, trying to adjust through the night. “Go to sleep, my lady,” he chides. 

Not having any energy to argue, I sigh, turning my body away from him and allowing myself to get comfortable in my bed. As soon as I’m settled, my body begins to give in to the exhaustion of the night’s activities. 

I begin to doze off before I feel Michael’s hand snake up my side. I hum at his warm touch, scooting back into his body. “Stay, please,” I request in a daze.

“Okay,” I hear him husk before sleep envelopes me.

Taglist: @cherrellek feedback, next part

[dawnoftime22]

the cold and sickly kisses.

| T.S

Warnings: R being sick (having sore throat / cold), medicine (pills), maybe some clingy R

Summary: The moment you felt sick, nonetheless, Taylor stayed taking care of you, and sending you to sleep by reading a book.

Word Count: 1.9k

Category: Fluff

A/N: its ironic the world is making me be sick the moment I'm trying to work on my music 😞

| Started on 01/07/2024, 11:35 PM |

| Finished on 11/04/2025, 2:07 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

Request Guidelines

“every cuddle and kiss, give me it whether while sick or healthy.”

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

The birds were chirping gently from the bedroom window.

You were laid in bed asleep, beside Taylor, and she was reading a book, keeping you close to her. You could feel her fingers threading in your hair, while her other hand kept the pages open.

Since the book was bigger and looser, it made it easier to read as she slowly eased your body to relax.

Meredith was beside her, the cat purring gently as it curled up, the fluffy tail tucked comfortably against herself.

With the passing time, you were starting to move more, stirring from your sleep. You had been deep in slumber for the past hour or two, peaceful and undisturbed, and Taylor made sure to keep you safe in her arms.

Noticing the movement below, she looks down, realizing that you were awaking. A smile raises on her lips, and she slows down her movement in your hair even further than she already had. This was one of her favorite moments to watch, to keep and ingrain in her mind for her memories; the times you wake up and she could just gaze. The vulnerability, yet safety of it all.

You took a deep breath in, opening your eyes to see a silhouette of the blonde, blurry before you blinked away the sleep.

She was about to speak, when your familiar voice reached her ears, sleepy, and full of what she deemed cute. "Tay...?" you had whispered, turning more to her.

She hums softly in response. "Yeah, baby?" With the way she answered, you were sure you were still dreaming. But here you were, having your head rested in her lap.

"'M cold," you uttered quietly. Your throat had an odd feeling within it, but you try to think its because you had just woken up. Or hope.

"Come here then, honey," Taylor whispers, urging you closer. She had paused her reading, closing the book to put aside, and to gently pull the covers up.

Afterwards, she shifted down to get more comfortable, her back fully against the mattress. You cuddled up to her, nestling within her arms.

When you breathed in, you felt a yawn creeping to escape, and you let it, using her chest to hide your face. The warmth of it seeped through her shirt, and her heart squeezed itself out of love. "I don't know why I'm so tired today..." you had mumbled under your breath.

She thought about it for a long while, her nose getting itself buried in your hair. "Mmn...maybe your body just needs its rest? Probably been built up over the past few weeks."

You sighed softly, slumping against her. "Yeah, but I woke up sleepy today, then took a nap...and I still feel sleepy," she heard your murmur, and stayed quiet in her thinking.

Eventually, she asks the question thats been on her mind ever since she saw the exhaustion on your face, but she laces it with the gentlest tone. "...How does your head feel?"

You looked up at her, knowing she was probably looking for an answer between feeling it physically, or mentally. "Fatigued?" you considered, then sighed, trying to make it clear you didn't entirely feel down, just under the weather. "But I'm not like...tired tired."

Her face softens, and she gently pushes back a few strands of your hair since as it was all up in your face, and you didn't mind it.

"You know, now I think about it...I do feel like a sore throat is coming," you had added in. And there it was, the confession of an upcoming dreadful few days for you, but a caring one for Taylor.

She gazed at you, her fingers brushing through your hair before she settled the back of her hand to your forehead, her knuckles lightly making contact. "You're coming down with a cold, baby?"

"I hope not...or well, I mean, not a cold, but probably just a sore throat." You pouted, cuddling closer into her. She gave you a kiss atop the head, knowing full well it was still miserable either way, since being sick still came with the tendecies of your body turning weak for rest.

"Do you want any medicine, sweetheart?" she asked, giving it a try, even if she knew you didn't lean towards taking it when being sick a lot of the time.

You contemplated it, your lips pressed together slightly. "No...? I mean, maybe some, but no disgusting liquid, please." The sentence was somewhat agreeable. Something you weren't sure of, but you knew your sickly body needed some caring attention of healthy things—even if disgusting.

Her lips curved into a smile, and she nodded. "Okay. Stay here, 'kay? I'm gonna go get it." Although yet, to your dismay, she started to get up, cupping the back of your head so she can carefully place you on the bed and out of her lap.

"But..." you started, trying to protest in regret of realizing that she had to leave in order to get the very thing that'll make you feel well.

"Shhh, close your eyes. Count some numbers or something baby. Just for a couple of minutes," she said, urging you by also momentarily closing off your vision with her hand, to then walk away mindlessly as if she had done some disappearing act magic trick. What a way to distract you.

"Tay..." you called out, complaining slightly when you had your vision back, but she was already out the door, making you pout, blinking, to then close your eyes anyway.

It was quiet, the winds of the ceiling fan gently humming away, but the bed was also growing cold and lonely. Oh, the tragedy...but the least is, you had a cat purring beside you.

After a few seconds, you felt the bed dip down, and you instantly opened your eyes, seeing the blonde back in your vision.

"I'm back. Wasn't I fast?" She questioned, holding a glass of water in her hand, and a blister pack that had the pills in the other.

You nod, an unamused look on your face, mixed in with the pout still on your lips. "Mhm. Sure. Totally like the flash or something, baby," your response came, teasingly as ever.

She laughs, putting the glass down on the side table, then helped you up from your lazy position. "Sit up...there we go, just for a bit."

When she saw you blinking and in static for a bit, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "You okay?" the blonde asked, and you tried getting the fuzziness out your brain.

Eventually, you somewhat nod with a breath in. "Just a little dizzy. Probably from all the time I spent in bed," you murmured, leaning into her shoulder, and she gently pulled you closer.

"Yeah...that happens." She pursed her lips, her hand gently patting your back to then rub up and down so she could soothe you. You melted slightly against her, closing your eyes.

You felt the disorientation start to fade away, and you let the air fill your lungs, letting it go after a short while. "It's a little ironic. Sick, and I need to stay in bed, but also, I can't be in it for too long. Doesn't make sense," you had mumbled under your breath.

She smiled softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Maybe we should hang out at the couch," she offered.

You pondered on it, turning your head to rest your cheek against her chest. "Maybe...but I wanna be in bed right now." Your voice was small, slightly raspy from the sore throat. She looked down at you, searching your eyes carefully.

"Mmn. Okay then." Taylor accepted it, although she turned her body to reach out for the glass of water, handing it to you with the blister pack. "But at least have these so you can get better, baby."

You took it, using your nail to pop out the pills. "Thank you." Soon, you drank the water with the medication, downing it easily, and wincing slightly as it went through your throat, but the feeling that came after was more relieving than you've been for the past day.

Once you got a couple more slow sips of water, you hold the glass out to Taylor, and she took it, putting it aside. "Better?" Her arms went back to wrapping around you, and she watched as you turned back to laying down on the bed.

"Yeah..." you breathed out, but reached out for her with a look she couldn't deny, and nothing cohld help the smile adoring her face as she gratefully sat back with you, pulling you in her lap.

"Good," she whispered back. You buried your face into her neck, your arms wrapped around her. She embraced you gently, her chin resting atop your shoulder.

The warmth in the air was familiar. Comfortable. But you leaned back after a while, looking up at her. "Come here..." you murmured softly, reaching your hand up to her cheek, so you could bring her closer for a soft kiss. You could only thank the water you drank earlier that didn't make you feel as icky anymore.

Taylor melted into the kiss, her eyes fluttering closed as she presses herself closer. A hum of contentment escapes her, and eventually, she leans back with the corners of her lips raised.

You looked into the sea of her eyes. "I actually don't want you to get sick..." She heard you murmur, and tried resisting from squishing you into a big hug that would steal your air.

"But I already kissed you," you said defeatedly, leaning your forehead against hers. You looked so cute to her, that she had to giggle.

"Too late now," she commented softly, placing a soft boop to your nose. "Plus, you know my immune system is better, right?"

Her words made your lips turn up in return, and you hugged her tighter. "Yeah, yeah, okay...it is true, sometimes you're like a literal superhuman." Taylor laughed softly from her loved soul, registering your statement.

"Mhmn." She nodded in agreement, knowing it was right, and you flushed. Nonetheless, the back of her index finger lightly brushed your cheek, as if to soothe you.

You leaned into it, closing your eyes. "You're the best, you know that?" you whispered softly under the breath you let go. The cloth of her shirt was soft like a cloud, and you let yourself sink into it.

"Well, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't take care of the one that has my heart?" she questions back, her hand trailing off to be in your hair again.

You smiled, the red in your cheeks growing to a deeper color as you burrowed yourself into her chest. She squeezed you gently, needing to get her love out instead of putting it behind anything.

You cleared your throat slightly, trying to banish the mucus stuck in it, but it almost felt glued to your system. So instead, you just tried cuddling her closely as the feeling dissipated with a couple shifts in your position.

The quiet needed to be relished in, so for a moment, she just sat there, with you, snuggled close. The importance of peace filling up the very moment of your free day.

But of course, she had to soon lean down, her breath touching your ear like a ghost's touch, except she was right there. "Go to sleeeep..." she whispered, knowing all too well the medicine earlier is sending you off into a dreamful state.

You inhaled shortly, turning your face slightly out her chest. "I caaaan't...I just woke up." you whispered back, your tone just as playful, and the both of you giggled.

"I do want to though, I feel too sick right now..." you made sure to add in. Taylor looked at the time, it being 6:17 PM, and you had lunch just earlier, so there was time enough for a nap without missing anything.

She let her mind wander for a while, a small soft hum escaping her. You felt her leaning back, possibly getting more comfortable against the pillows and having you pulled up more to her chest. You of course took the pull gratefully, resting closely to her collarbone like it was your place to be. Which, she of course was.

"Okay, do you want me to read you the book I was reading?" she asked, grabbing the leather bound book that was deep in the color of red.

"...What is it?" you asked softly, looking at the cover, and seeing the golden text with framed designs and decorations.

"Narnia. I just started on the first few pages," she said, stealing a moment to kiss you on the head, and your eyes brightened at the name of the title in the meanwhile.

"Yeah, please..." you whispered, eager to hear her reading the comforting story out to you with that soothing voice of hers. Even if she was a singer, ready for a song or anything—for you, her voice was home. And most of the time, it held reassuring words of comfort, but sometimes you would fall asleep just listening to her.

She nodded, opening up to read the pages of the book. "Good. I'll start over since I'm not far."

"'Chapter 1, Lucy Looks Into a Wardrobe.'" Her voice was soft, starting quiet, but enough to understand and hear so she could lull you to sleep.

"'Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy.'"

"'This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air-raids.'"

"'They were sent to the house of an old Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post-office...'"

Not long after a while, she had looked down, and there you were, eyes closed and sleeping peacefully against her chest. Although you were sick, she still found it the most precious moment, and helped you to be in a more comfortable position.

With a smile, she continued reading, but in her head instead, so she doesn't wake you.

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

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