#and like a half hour later he put down the dishes he was washing and was like. dude what the FUCK i cant stop thinking about how messed up

[salternateunreality2]

AGSZC Deep Cleaning the Biohazard that is Zack’s Apartment

From the @strayheartless vault <3

—

Zack: It’s not a biohazard, that would mean nothing’s living there, and look, my pets are fine! *opens a drawer with a new litter of mice in it*

Genesis: AAAAAAA! Ahem. I mean to say: Zachariah McKinley Fair, a biohazard means it is unsafe for humans, and often involves dangerous non-human organisms. SUCH AS WILD MICE.

Zack: They’re not wild, they’re my fri-

Genesis: Zachariah. If you finish that word, I will firaga them immediately.

Zack: NO! *Hides the mice with his body*

—-

After Genesis’ 5th childish scream, Angeal’s 3rd round of dry-heaving, and Sephiroth and Cloud being found twitching near the entrance, Zack concedes that maybe he has some work to do.

—

Cloud decides to body-double for Zack by riding him like a backpack.

Zack: Maybe this sock is salvageable!

Koala Cloud: Nope, put it in the bag.

Zack: But I wanna- 

Cloud: IN THE BAG, FAIR.

—

Sephiroth is in full-coverage PPE to protect his hair and senses, and is excavating the fridge with gloves. 

Zack: But my pasta is in that tub of whipped cream! 

Angeal, working at the sink and dry-heaving: I MADE THAT FOR YOU LAST MONTH.

—

They have to set up a rotating schedule of visiting Zack's apartment so he's motivated to clean everything at least weekly, but Zack is really grateful.

He never means for it to get this bad, it’s just…he makes friends with the critters! And, well, sometimes he forgets things. And…and sometimes he just gets overwhelmed. He looks at the pile of dishes and knows he can’t do them all today, so he doesn’t do any.

Or he tries. He starts by picking up the dishes in his bedroom, but trips over a shirt along the way. He sets the dishes down to take the shirt to the laundry, but his eyes catch on the dusty blinds, so obviously he has to clean them, but then he looks up and it’s 3 hours later and he’s dismantled the whole window dressing and is cleaning the grooves with a q-tip and everything is worse than when he started.

Zack breaks down trying to explain it, and Genesis is the first to tell him he understands. Genesis and Angeal sandwich him between themselves while Sephiroth puts a hand on Zack’s shoulder and Cloud starts worming his way into Zack’s arms.

—

Zack cleans for each of them all the time, but for some reason, he can’t understand why they’d help him too.

It surprises him when Angeal comes over and just. Does all his dishes. Or when Genesis comes over and "purifies this hellhole of a bathroom" (gives it a decent clean and fills it with good soaps/battery operated candles/fresh towels). Or when Cloud obsessively sorts and folds his laundry, or when Sephiroth puts everything through the wash when he's working from home one day.

Zack doesn't GET that he's done the exact same things for them, like the time he scoured Angeal's pots for half a day, or polished every metallic surface in Sephiroth's apartment, or dusted Genesis' place so thoroughly it gleamed, or put fresh sheets on Cloud's bed, bundled him up, and did all his laundry while he was dissociating.

He doesn't realize the insurmountable task of addressing The Chair is easy for Angeal (it all goes in the wash. It's all dirty enough.), but the same man finds throwing out socks with holes hard (but acceptable when Zack does it for him).

Zack forgets that he folded all of Gen's towels into swans when Gen’s parents were coming into town and is blown away when Gen leaves a simply folded towel on the rack.

He thinks the work he puts into adding color to Sephiroth’s spartan apartment is nothing, not realizing Sephiroth’s heart is warmed by each and every little splash Zack sneaks in.

Zack doesn’t realize that Cloud would rather do all of Zack’s mopping than address the sensory hell that is washing monster gunk off his own boots, which Zack does for him often.

#ff7 #zack fair #sephiroth #cloud strife #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #agszc #adhd zack fair #best boy zack fair #best pupper zack fair

[scoreplings]

also helpful for remembering that my ex is a shithead im better off not having in my life is the fact that whenever i tell anyone how our relationship ended theyre horrified by the way he acted.

#am i embarrassed i put up with that as long as i did? yea #does it make me soooo happy im not putting up with it anymore? also yea <3 #helllppp a coworker asked me about it the other day so i explained it to him #and like a half hour later he put down the dishes he was washing and was like. dude what the FUCK i cant stop thinking about how messed up #that is #LOL yea dude i know. #n i wanna say hes evil but hes not really no one is. he just refuses to be accountable for what he does and makes selfish decisions. #he did not wake up and say ‘today i will make Aj soooo so sad and hurt him’ #he woke up and said ‘i want to date this guy but dont want to stop fucking this other guy. i will simply keep the boyfriend a secret from #the guy im fucking because i know they wouldn’t be okay with it. its a good thing im doing because they’d be sad if they knew!’ #or something along those lines. #dwelling on it is not good i think i am abt to go to sleep instead #makes me sad tho. good part of me hopes he pulls his head out of his ass and realizes he should treat the people who care about him better #selfish part of me hopes he ruins every relationship he has for the rest of his life and dies alone. (<- i dont actuslly want this id be so #sad. i am just mad because i am angry) #dwelling for 1 more second actually LOL he didnt even just keep the boyfriend a secret he lied to my face about it and spent six months #telling me he didnt even like the guy and wouldn’t date because he’d never want a relationship to get in the way of what we had. teehee #and that even if he did like the guy he’d never date him because he didnt want to hurt me like that. and he loved me. LOL. #after he told me he ghosted me for a week and when i finally got him to talk he said he regretted nothing and couldnt understand why i was #upset. hahaaha. and that i should keep it to myself and be happy for him. and that he was just with the guy because he was ‘more available’ #than i was. #teehee. sorry. i am dwelling again i just cannot get over how fucked it all is #and the boyfriend was my other best friend. teehee. and they are still together even though i explained what my ex did. <3 #i cannot wait to move oh my god i need to not see this mf every day at work or im gonna never stop thinking abt it. #whateverrr. i kiss my bf in two days 💚

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Zoro is fuckboy material.

Sanji is boyfriend material.

Shanks is husband material.

Mihawk is BDSM Dom Daddy™ material.

Earlier I refused to elaborate.

Now, I will elaborate no further than the sources below the dotted line.

dottedlinethedottedlinethedottedlineth

Zoro

He'll pull you into a broom closet without any warning at all, turn you around, pull your panties down under your skirt, and have you right there when the mood strikes.

Then he'll catch your eye across the deck half an hour later and give you a little smirk that makes your cheeks flare bright red. You're not sure if you want to either kick him in the shin or go for another round right that moment, if not both.

He's not looking for anything serious because he's just not that good at getting close with anyone or being emotionally available in general.

There's a lot of time between port towns, and you're a good match for each other's physical needs and desires, but not much beyond that.

Sanji

Even if he is a relentless flirt, he's just such a complete sweetheart. It's difficult not to swoon at those subtle little touches at your waist and hips, at his seductive murmur in your ear.

He respects every last one of your boundaries; if you tell him something he's doing bothers you, he's going to back off from it. No protest, no questions asked. He's still going to make it clear that he thinks you're incredible, but he wants you to be comfortable and happy above all else.

He's still as sweet as candy even once he does win you over. Playful and flirty and constantly planning the most romantic dates. Picnics on the beach, preparing candlelit diners just for the two of you, laying out a pallet of blankets and pillows with a bottle of wine under the stars—doing everything possible to make you feel special.

It's difficult to tell where it will go, but he's sweet and doting and fun, and he puts every ounce of effort into treating you like literal royalty.

Shanks

You're his lover just as much as you are his best friend. He doesn't hold anything back from you, good or bad, trivial or important. He wouldn't ever consider keeping a secret from you because the thought simply wouldn't even cross his mind—whatever he knows, you know. If anyone else tells him something in confidence, they tell him knowing that he's going to tell you the second he sees you.

His gestures of romance are more subtle and revolved around camaraderie than worship. If you're cooking or cleaning, he wants to be there, both to help lessen the load and to just be there with you. If he sees you washing dishes, he's right there next to you with a towel to dry them and put them away. If you're cooking, he's helping clean up after you. If you're sweeping the floors, he's apt to just take the broom from you, kiss you on the cheek, and tell you to go take a load off and relax.

Absolutely nothing could ever stop him from being with you. There could be an entire armada of Marine warships between you and him, and he would still find his way to you.

Every hope or dream you have ever had in your life is also his now. Literally all of them. It doesn't matter how long ago it was or how unobtainable it seems—if you still want it, he wants to make sure you achieve it. Does't matter what it is. He's never going to tell you it's silly or impossible or unachievable—he's going to exhaust every effort to find a way to make sure you can achieve it.

Mihawk

Hopefully you didn’t have too many plans of your own, because if you've managed to catch his interest, he's going to make sure that you're his, and probably within the next twenty-four hours or less.

He isn’t completely unreasonable. You will have the option to refuse. But he isn’t going to beat around the bush, either. He's going to pull you against him by your hips, comb his fingers through your hair and grasp it to pull you in and ask you outright if you want to belong to him.

He won't pressure you if you say no. That's your choice. He'll just leave you with a deep, passionate kiss that makes your knees weak, a light brush of his thumb across your lips, and he'll let you go.

But if you say yes...then good luck. You're his now, and he's never letting you go.

#opla #dracule mihawk #mihawk one piece #one piece fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #mihawk x reader #one piece headcanons #shanks opla #shanks x reader #zoro opla #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #sanji #opla headcanons #one piece #zoro #shanks #zoro one piece #shanks one piece

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art. 

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #movie!mike #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's movie #abby schmidt #abby schmidt platonic #mike schmidt angst #hurt/comfort #josh hutcherson

[buckyysdoll]

— 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 —

જ⁀➴ — bucky still struggles to come to terms with deserving the life that you gave him; cw: being parents?, brief mentions of Winter Soldier past, killing etc, bucky’s poor self esteem/trauma :( pairing: post fatws! bucky x f!reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky looked down at the bundle in his arms, swaddled up in a baby pink blanket. Sweet little eyes — his eyes — looked back up at him, and in his hands was a faint, running tremble.

His daughter had all her mom’s beauty, and to look down at her was to look at you, too. Both of his girls, he loved beyond life. The slight tremor spread to his left, phantom limb.

He had never imagined that parts honed for killing could’ve been so gentle as this: to cradle a child, his child, his sweet baby girl in the arms that had only been weapons.

Bucky didn’t think that he even deserved such a chance to prove it was false, either.

That was, until he met you. Until you gave him the life that he held.

Still, it had taken weeks for your husband to touch your pregnant belly — with both hands, with the limb that had only stopped feeling so foreign to his body when you’d shown him how to love it. Because you had — you did — you loved it just like any other part of him; his story was his, and you’d sooner live swathed in his darkness than anyone else’s light.

Bucky often thought back to the first night it had changed. You’d been two months along. And he had cried to feel the baby kick up through the mound of your belly, and to the vibranium.

Almost as if his little girl was saying that it was okay. He was worthy. That no matter what he had done, he was here with her now. Her daddy.

It was seven months later by now, and that sweet little bump was a newborn child. It was two in the morning, and you slept soundly in the bed that you shared and that Bucky had crept from.

At least that’s what he had thought.

A soft gurgle had sounded from the beside monitor, and though she was most likely still sound asleep, Bucky couldn’t resist just one little look. He’d just go and check in on her. For a moment. That was all.

So rubbing his eyes and cricking tension from his neck, he had padded barefoot and half dressed into the nursery.

The one he’d painted any colour but red.

God, he’d spent hours putting that room together by hand — both hands. Day after day, until his eyes had read through furniture manuals to bleed.

You, of course, had helped too; painting walls but getting most of it all on your clothes.

And already, back then it was beautiful: the thought of your future, and the life that you’d made. And she was with you for all of that time, growing soundly and strong in your stomach.

His daughter.

Even now, it still felt like a miracle. Felt like more than he deserved. There were nights when his past still rushed him, and he ran cold with sweat, chased from dreams in your bed.

What if he hurt you? What if he hadn’t truly lost him, and he hurt his own child?

The Winter Soldier may be gone, yes — but how much was left in the man who remained?

And so, that voice came back again and again, all the time. Every day. The one that said that he shouldn’t have this; and that someday, someday he’d see. He’d be washing the dishes, cooking dinner, or walking the aisles of some grocery store — it didn’t matter. There was nowhere in the world where he could escape those thoughts — you do not deserve this life.

Nowhere but for this room. The room where his little daughter slept every night.

Because it was true, after all that he’d done. The people he’d killed, when it should’ve been him. He was never meant for it, should’ve died in the Great War back when he was meant to.

But then he wouldn’t have met you.

Wouldn’t have fallen in love with the woman who’d shared his apartment building, and who’s smile had taken his breath so completely that looking away seemed a crime. And to think he had somehow earned the privilege of the life you’d given him — to spend every night sleeping beside you, and waking up to your face? — was too much.

You, who stood in the doorway to the nursery right then, looking in, your face soft. Of course, you’d noticed his absence like an absence of yourself, and you’d turned in bed, felt for him and reached only empty space.

All warmth, all comfort gone.

But you stood there, now, in his tshirt, arms gently folded over where she had grown; your child who, now sleeping soundly in her father’s arms, was a plain and clear daddy’s girl.

Your eyes met Bucky’s tired ones but his smile was true, and so loving it ached. Love for his wife, for the home that you’d built so far from the hell that he’d long left.

Love for the daughter who yes, had your husband’s devotion.

You wouldn’t change it for the world.

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fics #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james barnes #sergeant james barnes #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes fanfics #bucky fics #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x wife!reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x f!reader #bucky x fem!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x female!reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fanfic

[adriennebarnes]

Little Bit of Food

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N sees a TikTok video of couple where the women serves her partner more food on his plate than on hers. For research purposes, she just wants to see how he would react.

Warning: no translated Spanish, spelling and grammar errors, SHORT

A/N: since I am Mexican and Peruvian, the foods mentioned are typical foods that I grew up eating, I LOVE these foods so much, if any other Latine readers have suggestions of what dishes should be mentioned, comment below and I’ll tag you when I use them in another one shot. Also, sorry if it’s short, I don’t think I can build off a lot of “story material” over a TikTok trend, you know?

Y/N was watching TikTok and she saw a video that was interesting to her.

It was of a couple and a woman served her husband more food on his plate than on her own. The husband insisted that his wife should have more food and that he could eat something later.

Y/N knew that Henry was going to busy at the gym for a few hours so that gave her plenty of time to make one of Henry’s favorite meals that Y/N introduced him to, and that’s bistec a lo pobre. She bought sliced New York steaks from the Mexican grocery store (there’s always a butcher there), also some tortillas and 2 avocados to make guacamole or a sandwich later. When she went back to Henry’s house, she started cutting up tomatoes and onions so it would give the steak flavor. She put the onions and tomatoes aside in a bowl and got out the white rice in the pantry to wash the rice.

Half an hour later, Henry was came through the door sweaty and with a happy Kal.

“Ay hola, Kal, como te fue con tu papi, hm?” Y/N asked, kneeling to pet Kal.

“You call me papi?” Henry asked, drinking water from his sports bottle.

“When I’m talking about you to Kal, yes. Ain’t no way I’m calling you that though, it’s weird because I call my actual dad, papi. So don’t even think about it.” Y/N warned Henry as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink.

“Too late, I’m already thinking about, my lady.” Henry said, kissing her cheek as he hugged her from behind.

“Stop it. I’m making your favorite so please take a quick shower and then I’ll call you when it’s ready. Do you want one or two eggs?” Y/N asked.

“Two please, thanks love.” Henry said, kissing her lips before heading upstairs for his shower.

Y/N began sautéing the onions and tomatoes in the pan before adding in two pieces of steak for Henry, we’ll, one and a half, she cut a half piece for her plate. She got a plate out of the pantry to serve two ‘scoops’ of rice, adding the cooked steaks with tomatoes and onions on top of it, and preceded to fry two eggs on a different pan.

“Toro, food!” Y/N shouted and Kal calming running. “I said ‘toro’, not ‘oso’, you need to practice your Spanish, Kal.” Y/N said and placed Henry’s plate on his side of the table. Henry came running downstairs with his hair wet but he’s dressed in some shorts and a t-shirt.

“Thanks love, it looks amazing.” Henry said, kissing her.

“That’s good, now eat up, you’ve had a long workout.” Y/N said and that’s when she got a smaller plate, served herself a half scoop of rice, her half steak with 3 pieces of tomatoes and onions, and no eggs. When she sat down and said “let’s eat”, Henry looked at Y/N’s plate, then at his own.

“Darling, were you snacking while you were cooking again?” Henry asked, trying to find a reasonable explanation for the lack of food on his girlfriend’s plate.

“No, no, I didn’t snack at all. Eat before the eggs become cold.” Y/N pointed at him with her fork.

“Are you sick? You didn’t have to cook if you weren’t feeling well, love.” Henry said in a concerned voice.

“I’m fine Henry, I went to Fernando’s market today but the steak was too expensive so I only bought 2.” Y/N lied, she buys like half a pound of steak, there’s still 3 or 4 pieces in the fridge. Henry got up and grabbed his keys. “Where are you going?”

“To the market to buy more steak, what cut do you order a again? Med-ee-ya Libra de what?” Henry asked, opening the door,

“No no no, Henry, there’s no need for that, I can survive without bistec, please sit down and eat.” Y/N said, Henry closed the door, put down his keys, and sat back down.

“What about the eggs or the rice? I’m sure you could fill up on that, you told me you ate that when you were younger when there was nothing to eat.” Henry said.

“The last eggs were used on you, Toro. Now please eat before your food gets cold. You want something to drink? I got chicha (It’s a purple corn drink) if you don’t want soda.” Y/N said.

“Yeah, that’s fine, darling.” Henry said, when Y/N walked into the kitchen, Henry switched his plate for Y/N’s. When Y/N came back with chicha for Henry and soda for her, she saw what Henry did.

“Toro! You weren’t supposed to do that. You had a big workout, you’re bigger than me, you need all the protein you can get from this.” Y/N said, trying to switch the plates back but Henry refused.

“Nope, you cooked all this, you deserve to eat your delicious food. I could find something later.” Henry said,

“But you must be hungry, just eat it, I can make myself some potato quesadillas later.” Y/N said, attempting to get the plate back from Henry but he swatted her hand. “Toro!”

“I’m sorry love, but it’s for your good.” Henry said.

“I Don’t want you to be starving,” Y/N said,

“I won’t starve, my love. Watching you enjoy your food is filling enough for me.” Henry said and Y/N’s heart melted. She got out of her seat to sit on Henry’s lag, placing her hands on his neck to hug him.

“Amor, it’s a prank. There’s more steak in the fridge that I can fry up, there’s a lot of rice on the stove and plenty of eggs. Now please eat while I go serve myself more food.” Y/N said getting off him and grabbing her plate to do exactly that.

“You scared me, love. I was about to head over to the market…where is it by the way?” Henry asked,

“Haha, i can’t even tell you, I just know how to get there.” Y/N said, placing her steak in the pan and she watched Henry eat his meal.

“Delicious! This might even be better than your bistec empanado, did I pronounce that right?” Henry asked,

“Yes you did, Toro, but bistec empanado with sopita aguada is comfort food, along with quesadilla de papas, which I will be making tomorrow, I’ve been craving it,” Y/N said.

“That sounds so good, I have to make sure I work out even more. When I made you my girlfriend, I had no idea you would try to fatten me up.” Henry said and Y/N gasped, flipping the steak.

“I would never, how dare you accuse me. I’m gonna make flan for my friend’s birthday on Saturday so I’m gonna make another one just for us.” Y/N said and that made Henry laugh.

“I love your flan, darling. Your cooking skills put mine to shame.” Henry said. Y/N placed her steak on her place, serving more rice, and began frying an egg.

“I was born with that sazón, Toro.” Y/N said teasingly. She finished frying the egg, served it on her plate, and went to sit down. “Better?” Y/n asked, showing Henry her plate.

“Much better, my lady.” Henry said, kissing her. Kal barked. “Yes bear, you can have some steak too.” Henry said,

The End

Taglist: @warriormirkwood

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavil x y/n #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfiction

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Five: Somewhere in the Crowd There’s You

a/n: here’s chapter five of my purely self-indulgent fun — a little later than i anticipated because i was sick and got a little derailed. we are half way now and things will be heating up in the next few chapters, haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: (10k words); mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

-

-

“You sent too much money.” 

It’s your father’s voice that spills down the other line. Gruff in a way that alerts you your fears aren’t for naught, as he’s likely had many sleepless nights since the last you spoke. You recall days as a child, when your mother had been sick, and your father would stay awake all hours of the night, if only to clean up the house so she didn’t have to. To make sure that her worries were only meant to be on getting better and resting. 

“I…have a business and it’s going well,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip. 

Across the room, Steve’s fluffing pillows and putting a champagne bottle on ice. Your guests will be here soon, likely within the next few minutes, though when your father’s name flashed across your screen you knew you needed to answer. 

“Only a few clients now, but I’m hopeful I’ll pick up more,” you continue, exhaling deeply. “I want you to have it. I know Caroline mentioned needing new shoes. Please let me do this.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Clinical year at school, newly married, and now a businesswoman. How is my son-in-law?”

“He’s…” 

Steve rushes into the kitchen where you’re standing, hands curling around either of your hips to shift you away from the refrigerator so he can pull out the charcuterie board you had commissioned for the evening’s gathering. 

“He’s really great. He’s been busy since we got back from our honeymoon, but he’s doing really well.”

Ever since your moment days ago in the kitchen, after Steve had pushed aside picking you up and opted to send Hopper in his stead, your relationship has taken new form. True to his word, Steve started a new habit of not answering his phone after you're done with your clinicals for the evening. Afternoons now had been spent watching your shows together on nights you didn’t have prior engagements with his coworkers, merely existing in the same room together, becoming…friends. 

Literal friends, in the truest sense of the word. And it’s more than you can ask for, though you can’t lie that even the slightest touches leave you a little breathless. There’s also the kisses to the back of your hand at dinner, the way he curls his palm around the top of your thigh while his coworkers regale a particularly interesting story, the lingering press of his mouth against your forehead when he’s feeling especially doting in mixed company. 

Progress. 

You’re making progress. 

“I actually should go and help him. We have company this afternoon. His cousin and wife are visiting us for the first time since the wedding. Still getting used to hosting gatherings as a couple, you know?” There’s a chuckle on the other end, and you know him well enough to imagine the slow shake of his head. “I love you so much and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

The line clicks, leaving you to witness Steve elbow deep in the sink, washing your coffee mugs from earlier that morning. Your eyes slide to the perfectly operational dishwasher on his right side, though you can’t deny that the sight of your husband, bare arms shifting and moving as he works, is a lovely one. None the wiser of your ogling, you step forward to him, elbow leaning down against the counter. 

“You know, the dishwasher is empty,” you point out. 

“I am perfectly capable of cleaning a few dishes,” he grouses, rinsing a cup and settling it in the drying rack. “I also need to keep moving. Getting antsy now that they’re running late.”

“Hey, Steve?” You step closer, your front brushing his hip. He shakes his head as you do so, a laugh breaking free from his mouth as you grip his arms and still him in his frantic movements. “Put the sponge down. And the plate. The fork, too.”

The three items plunk down into the sink, a loud clatter in your otherwise silent home. Fingers curl around a hand towel and he reaches over to grasp his wedding ring, pushing it back into place against his knuckle. One thing you’ve found, and you particularly enjoy, is the fact Steve’s never taken off his ring. Not once. Even under the false pretenses of marriage, seeing him wearing a symbol of your union, of the vows you shared some time ago now, erupts dozens of bees into your bloodstream. Humming, buzzing, igniting your every nerve ending with electricity. 

“Are you okay,” you ask, hand coming to rest against his back. 

It’s the softest brush, and yet he turns his head all the same, hazel eyes meeting yours, and then trailing up the inside of your arm to where you’re touching. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says unconvincingly, shifting to face you now. That arm drops as he does so, but is replaced by his two large hands cupping your biceps. “Just want to get through this afternoon and then I’ll be much happier.”

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask him why the stress over this afternoon, when his phone rings and the doorman lets him know Theobald and Cami have finally arrived. It’s not the first time you’ve met them. The first had been at your wedding, where introductions to most of Steve’s friends and extended family were done so in a rapid fire manner. They’d been kind enough; as much as one can be in a two minute conversation wherein you welcomed them and thanked them for coming to celebrate your “special day” with the love of your life. 

But now, seeing them there in the flesh, brought a new wave of nervousness into your belly. Theobald Cletus, with his dark hair that resembles Steve’s, with tan skin and the beginnings of wrinkles that crease his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. And beside him, his stunning wife with silky red curls that fell to her waist in ringlets, delicately freckled cheeks, and impossibly green eyes. Ethereal—she looked ethereal and, by your guessing, quite a bit younger than her husband standing with a hand against the smallest point of her back. 

As your mouth opens to speak and welcome them into your home, Cami rushes forward, curling her arms around your shoulders in a frighteningly tight hug that has you wincing and peering over your shoulder to your husband. Steve only shrugs as he steps forward and cups his hand around his cousin’s, only to be tugged forward into a hug of his own. 

“Theobald, you’ve met my wife,” Steve finally says once you’ve managed to extract yourself from Cami long enough to sidle back up to him, his arm settling around your waist, palm curling affectionately around your hip. One of the appropriate touches you’ve discussed, and yet it has your head spinning all the same. 

Just as it does every time. 

“Ah, yes.” His eyes flicker to yours. Darker than your husband’s, corners twitching as his lips curl into a smile. “The new Mrs. Harrington. How could I forget that whirlwind affair?”

Head dipping uncomfortably, you press your palm against Steve’s where it rests against your hip, sliding your fingers between his to lace them tight. “It was pretty crazy, wasn’t it?” Awkwardly laughing, you turn to look to Steve for support. “Should we take this into the living room?”

“Please!” Cami exclaims, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “I would love to hear all about the honeymoon. I want all the details. Should we be expecting any little Harringtons soon?”

Just as you say, “Absolutely not,” Theobald echoes, “My cousin loves kids. Always wanted a brood of them.”

It’s expected, you think. It’s a common question after marriage, no matter how inappropriate. Society says once you’re married you’re to obviously have children next. Frankly, it’s archaic and a ridiculous practice. And even so, Theobald’s words strike a sudden sadness into your chest. This thought that Steve so deeply wants children. A thought you could completely see come to fruition based on his interactions with El and Will alone. They’d been immediately endeared to him. All wide eyes and bright laughter, vibrant conversation, his endless bantering with them. 

Steve Harrington would be a good father to his future children one day with his real wife. Not the woman you are to him for the next three years. 

However, it’s at this moment you rationalize the error in your plans. A real couple would have had these conversations about future children already. 

“Not now, at least,” you giggle airily, curling your arm around Steve’s and tugging him close. His brows furrow as you add, “Right now I’m just enjoying spending time with my husband. I want to be a little selfish for a while yet.”

“Understandable,” Cami agrees, settling down on your living room couch, crossing her legs and revealing a stunning pair of Gucci pumps that likely cost your half of the rent while still living with Robin. “I love our two little gremlins, but they take up all our free time. Constantly running them around to school events, dance classes, sporting events.”

“Sweetheart, the au pair does all of that,” Theobald chuckles, earning a whack in the arm from his wife. “Enough about that. Tell me…how did you two meet? It all happened so fast.”

“As you already pointed out,” Steve warns, hand around yours growing tighter. 

Cami moves to open the champagne bottle, easing the tension in the room with the echoing pop. Glasses are poured and passed around the table, glasses coming together in a soft ‘cheers’ before you bring the champagne flute to your lips and take a large swallow. Bubbles burst against your tongue, eyes training on Theobald’s, just as he passes a look your way. 

A battle of wills then, you think. 

“We met at a party,” you begin, removing your hand from Steve's and gripping the bottom of his chin, shifting him enough that he’s looking at you. “We’d known each other for a bit through our mutual friend, and we’d always kind of danced around one another. In the same spaces always, yet too nervous to make the first move.”

Steve watches you carefully as you weave your tale that isn’t really a tale. It’s mostly the truth, with the romance added in. But it comes naturally. Pours out of you with an unexpected ease that has Cami leaning into her husband’s shoulder, green eyes twinkling as you speak. 

“And then one afternoon, Stevie bought me a drink and walked it over to where I was standing by myself. My friend had just left to use the restroom, and here he stood…all tall, dark, and handsome. We started talking that night and just realized how easy it was to be around one another. I’d never talked so much on a first date, and yeah—I considered that our first date. After that we spent nearly every day together. It didn’t take long for us both to realize we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Some might think it was rushed, but there’s that saying, right? When you know, you know. And with my school starting up again, and us wanting so badly to get married, we thought no time like the present. Now here we are.”

For emphasis, you lean forward. Close enough that Steve’s eyes cross, his mouth dropping a hint at the corners, before twitching upward when your lips press against the corner of his mouth. A tentative press of your skin just barely against his. You linger with your forehead against his, trying not to focus on the temperature in the room, or how it feels it’s creeping higher and higher with every passing moment you remain connected to him. 

“Here we are,” Steve echoes, breath fanning against your bottom lip. 

Were you to even move an inch, your mouths would connect. A thought he must have as well, because he brings his thumb up and taps your bottom lip gently, nuzzling your nose until you hear the excitable clapping of Cami’s hands where she’s sitting on the living room touch. Pushing the hem of your summer dress down back around your knees, you shift and take in the older man sitting across from you. His eyes are narrowed on your face, a twitch not unnoticed in his cheek as he jolts to his feet and suggests Steve and him have a little bit of time as ‘cousins’ on the private patio. Noticing your hesitance at him leaving your side, Steve brushes a gentle kiss against your forehead, pours you another glass of champagne, and promises he’ll be right back. 

With the door closed and the men left to their own devices, you look over to Cami. Cami, the picture of beauty. An image of a woman who walks in this world of the elites and has no qualms about it; steps into it and commands it, whereas you’re still walking around on wobbly legs like a baby deer. Even her clothes look like they were made for her. Luxurious fabrics that ebb and flow with her every movement, high neck of her summer dress leading to a gorgeous diamond necklace falling to the hollow of her throat. 

Across from her, your dress suddenly feels too tight. Gifted by your mother-in-law who insisted she owned her own fashion line, and therefore absolutely must dress her only daughter. A quick phone call wherein you protested her suggestions ended with a ring from the doorman alerting you a delivery of multiple garments had arrived for you. Various dresses for each occasion, pants, shoes, blouses and anything you could imagine ever needing were added to your closet. All elaborate in design, and becoming for a new wife to the CEO of a major contracting company. The biggest the city touted, if you were completely honest with yourself. 

Today you wore an off the shoulder floral patterned dress and the diamond earrings gifted by your mother-in-law as a bridal shower gift. You’d pushed aside the thought of heels for the afternoon; instead opted for a comfy pair of sandals that were maybe in their last season of use, but now they only looked garish in the light beside the Gucci pumps on Cami’s feet. 

Comparison, this ugly weed of a thing, grew up within you against your better wishes. Robbed you of what little air fell in and out of your lungs as you sat there, sipping your champagne. You didn’t care for these preconceived ideas of what a Harrington wife should look like, right? You were your own person, had been long before him, and would continue to be so after him. Yet sitting there, watching her gracefully move about the room, and commenting on the pictures you’d added from the wedding, reminds you of how some people were meant for this life. Some people were raised for it. 

You were not. 

“He looks so in love with you,” Cami trills, fingers running along the silver edge of your photo frame, lifting it nearer to her face for inspection. You know exactly which one it is. Jonathan had told the two of you to look one another in the eyes and press your foreheads together. He’d draped your veil over the both of you, the setting sun basking you both in a golden hour halo. It’s dreamy. A shot so dreamy it’s easy to believe it is of a man deeply in love with his bride. “That new love look. Cherish it. You know how these Harrington men are.”

Actually…you don’t. 

You’re not interested in even asking her what she intends by her words, but when she places the photo back down and turns your way, there’s a glimmer of something wet on her lower lashes. Awkwardly, you clear your throat, reaching over and offering to refill her glass. She heartily accepts, fingers combing through long amber locks as she settles back down on the couch across from you, crossing her legs once more. Again, she’s the statuesque image of perfection; cracks visible in her foundation, yet devastatingly beautiful all the same. 

“You’ve got the best one,” she sniffles, grasping a piece of cheese and a cracker within her index and pointer. “Stevie is a sweetheart. Always has been. Theobald is hard on him, and I always try to tell him to ease up. The late Mr. Harrington was always so rough on his son as it is without Theo breathing down his neck.”

The late Mr. Harrington. 

You knew very little of him. From what you’ve gathered—the very scraps of things here and there, as Steve never really mentioned him—their relationship, while his father had been alive, was a strained one. His parents had him later in life; a quick Google search would show as much. The heir to the company born with a silver platter before him, wanting for naught, pushed into the limelight. 

Still, hearing Cami talk about Steve…with pity—grief tightens like a vice around your heart. Envisioning those hazel eyes of your husband, staring up expectantly at a man who never saw his son’s achievements for what they were. And now, at his young age, trying to make his late father proud at the expense of his own self. 

Long hours, constant meetings, coaching calls. Pushing, striving, hustling.

With a long sigh, you glance toward the outside patio, where you can see your husband with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. His left hand curls around the stem of his glass, hand gesticulating wildly in the air as he talks with Theobald, hair in disarray. Like he’s been raking his fingers through it. Eyes trail his shoulders next, along the contours of sinewy muscle, then further up where you can visibly see the rigidity in his form. 

“Steve is…” 

Your voice breaks, eyes tipping downward to your bubbly drink in hand. Cami’s fingers curl around your wrist, a sympathetic frown lining her pristine features, and you know she’s thinking you’re caught up in your emotions. But in reality, it’s because there are so many things he is, all of which swirl like a muddied mess in your hazy mind. 

“Steve is a good man. He’s the best man. I’m really lucky to have him.”

When you glance up, there he is, grin gracing his features. It’s plain as day he’s heard you; those stiff shoulders slacken. Tension eases from the curve of his mouth, as well as in the grip of his fingers around his glass. Instead his face morphs into elation, feet carrying him over to where you sit so he can once more slide an arm around your waist and tug you close. 

Theobald regards you carefully in the distance, taking in the way you slide into the crook of your husband’s chest, seeking the warmth of him. The comfort of someone in your corner, seated in a room ripe with scrutiny. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers against your ear, just as Cami dives into conversation about her and Theo’s children, revealing photo after photo of their adorable faces on her iPhone screen. 

“We’re the Harringtons, aren’t we?” 

He chuckles brightly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Day shifts into evening.

Conversations drift around lighter topics. Talks of your schooling, your plans for the future, the business you’ve started. A fact which, to your unamusement, Theobald finds more than mildly intriguing when he later corners you in the kitchen as Steve and Cami flip through the photos she had taken at the wedding on her phone (despite Steve’s pitying gazes for you to rescue him). Instead, you’d offered to start cleaning up, knowing your husband and you had dinner plans with another couple from the office. 

“A dog walking business…” He mutters, elbow dropping down onto the counter. “How quaint.”

“It’s extra money,” you say simply, placing a watery glass into the drying rack. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Isn’t it better to make all my money now while I’m younger?”

“That I am. And I would agree,” he murmurs, eyes trailing your profile. “It’s just curious since you know how wealthy your husband is. He’s CEO of the company now, and that’s not even counting the hefty inheritance he got as the sole Harrington son. That kind of money is generational. He could never work another day in his life and be well off.”

“My husband is supportive of my endeavors,” you grumble out, training your eyes on the kitchen backsplash. 

“Obviously,” he agrees goodnaturedly. “He loves you. Everyone can see it. All of a sudden our hard working golden child is leaving the office at normal times, running home to his lovely wife. I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Heat flashes like lava in your gut over the revelation that your ruse is working. It’s hindered by Theobald’s latter statement, mind stuttering over his blasé persona. The question as to whether or not Steve knows what he’s doing. Trying to hide your piqued interest, you harden your expression into one of neutrality. 

As your mouth opens to speak, Cami cuts you off with a shrill, “Theobald, they have to get ready for their dinner. We’ve overstayed our welcome. But I would absolutely love for us to do this again!”

Uncertain if you’re happy or sad about this latest development because you still needed further clarity over Theo’s words, you place the remaining glasses into the drying rack and slide your rings back into place, pressing yourself into Steve’s side as he approaches. For a dramatic flair, you even press your left hand to his abdomen, rings glinting in the light, head leaning against his chest as you wish them a wonderful rest of their evening. 

Theobald gives you one last fleeting look just when his wife nearly strangles you in another bear hug, and claps a hand against his younger cousin’s shoulder. “We will definitely have to do this again. It was nice officially meeting you, Mrs. Harrington.”

The doors slide closed and a sigh spills from your lips. Against you, Steve relaxes, hand rubbing up and down the length of your spine idly, eyes still fixed on the doors across from him. Slipping away from him, you quickly gather the rest of the snacks and glasses from the living room table and drop them down into the sink, pinching at the bridge of your nose. 

“Is he always like that?” You wonder out loud, whirling around to face Steve. 

His head jerks at your words, mouth pulling southward. The solidness of his right hip rests against the kitchen counter. You try to not dawdle on the way his bicep twitches as it rests on the surface beside him, nor as his fingers sprawl around the base of his jaw, keeping his head propped up. 

“He’s usually worse,” he admits. “What did he say to you?” 

“Just commented on my business,” you tell him, deciding to ease in with that before asking what his cousin had meant by ‘hoping Steve knows what he’s doing’, moving to place a plate in the drying rack. “He couldn’t seem to fathom how I would resort to the life of a peasant, when I should be rolling around in your endless buckets of money.”

Snorting, he teases, “Someone’s angry.”

“Yeah, and for once not at you, so I’d be thankful.” Your nose wrinkles as he barks out a laugh, head tipping back in his glee. Mirth bubbles up within your belly at the lyrical sound spilling from your husband, the way his cheeks stretch wide on his face, how the corners of his eyes crinkle in his happiness. “I told him I liked what I do. Is that so wrong? I like having my own thing. Just like you have your own thing.”

Without a warning, he turns the water off. Grips your shoulders lightly, turning you to him. “Theo is an entitled idiot, okay? He thinks he runs the company and the world, and anyone who doesn’t live like him is beneath him. Notice how he’s got this constant look on his face of disgust?”

At that, your lips twitch. Steve coaxes it further by shaking you slightly, earning a giggle. “He does kind of look like he hates everyone around him. It’s a wonder he married Cami. She seems sweet.”

“She is sweet. A saint for putting up with him for all these years, honestly,” Steve says, giving you one last shake until you’re wiping your hands off and slouching against his frame. “What?”

“I want a selfish hug,” you grumble against his shirt, face pressing into a sternum. 

“A selfish hug?” You can hear the questioning lilt, the probing in his kind voice. 

Nodding, you step closer. The tips of your sandals meet his leather shoes, hem of your dress spilling over the dark material. Your head shifts just the slightest, ear resting over the curve of his chest, relishing in the warmth of another body. This. Hugging? It’s not new. You’ve been practicing. As odd as that sounds, and though you don’t want to unpack it, since your argument with Steve he’s come home every day and greeted you with one. You’d say you’re pros at this point. 

“And what might a selfish hug be?” He muses, hands coming up to rest against the center of your back. 

“I just stand like this,” you begin, dropping your arms to your sides, letting them dangle at your hips. “And you hold me.”

You can feel the vibration of his laugh against your ear, but his arms tighten around you all the same, holding you in place. Melting into him, you rest in the comfort of his embrace. Merely focus on the sound of his breath pouring in and out of his lungs, the gentle beat of his heart beneath your ear, the brush of his thumb against your skin, soothing you. 

“You’re too much,” he says, but there’s no weight behind the words. Can feel his mouth curling upward against your ear. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

For the evening. For helping you in a time of need. For holding you now. For holding you tomorrow. You’re not really sure you know what you mean. But all you do know for certain is that, when his arms tug you closer, you loop yours around his waist, and your selfish hug becomes a real one. 

-

Lightning streaks the sky. Bright white illuminates your bedroom, then settles into dark once more. A loud boom echoes, rattling the foundations of your home. Jolts your bed, and thus your body out of it. Grasping at your chest, you try to tamper the frantic rise and fall. The rush of breath forcing itself in and out of your screaming lungs, ejected from your dreams into waking so suddenly. 

Another flash sparks your room in a moonlit glow. Falls dark a second later as you brace for the crack of sound that pierces your ears after. Groaning, you grasp the edge of a fluffy blanket on the foot of your bed and curl it around your shoulders, padding through your home in search of the living room, sights set on watching Netflix until you fall back asleep from reruns of your favorite shows. 

Only upon entering, you find you’re not alone. Already doused in colorful light from the episode of New Girl playing on the screen is none other than your husband. Where you’re standing you can see the frames of the thin glasses he wears, the unkempt bed hair at the top of his head, the hoodie pulled over his body to block out the air conditioned chill in the living room. 

“You’re awake…” It comes out hoarse, the rasp of your voice drawing your husband’s attention. “And you’re watching without me?” 

The mock gasp has him moving over on the couch to make space for you, your rear dropping down into the couch cushion beside him. There’s another blanket across his lap, impossibly soft and a pretty navy color that pops against the pale fabric of your carpet. Getting comfortable, you unloop yours from around your shoulders and drape it across your bare thighs, sleep shorts doing very little to block out the chill in the air. Once satisfied, you lean back and watch the chaos between Jess and Nick unfolding on the television screen. 

“What are you doing awake?” you ask after some time. Wince as another boom of thunder rattles the walls of your home.  

“Couldn't sleep,” he says, breaking off into a yawn. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“From dinner or…?” 

Dinner itself hadn’t been stressful—at least nothing that occurred would have alluded to as much. You’d met up at an Italian restaurant with a business partner of Steve’s and the business partner’s husband. Two older men in their fifties, with graying hair and a kindness that radiated from them. Most of the conversation had been of things outside of work, so you’re uncertain as to what might be bothering him. 

“Not dinner,” he confirms, pausing the show on the TV screen. His head rolls back to rest against the plush cushion, hands coming up to press into his face. Slides his palm down the contours, exhaling deeply. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Oh,” you mutter softly, picking at a nonexistent thread on the edge of your blanket. “That’s fine. I just figured—”

“It’s nothing personal toward you. I just don’t want to bother you with it. Why are you up?” He queries, head turning to look in your direction. 

“You never bother me.”

Steve levels you with a blank stare and you laugh. “I’m not afraid of thunder…but it definitely woke me,” you admit quietly, sounding more than a forlorn without meaning to. “My room gets really dark at night with the curtains, so when it lit up from the lightning I was a little spooked.”

“Understandably,” he says. “Want me to grab you coffee or tea or something?” 

Head perking up, you ask, “Do we still have the camomile? If it’s no trouble, I mean…”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it was,” he says, but there’s no hint of any condescension there, only his increasingly familiar thoughtfulness.

You lean your chin over the top of the couch to catch the retreating form of Steve’s back swathed in his dark hoodie. “Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, starting up your warm drink. “Want anything else? We still have those chocolate covered strawberries from dinner.”

“Do you want the chocolate strawberries from dinner?” 

His grin turns wry. “Maybe.”

“Bring them over, you grown up baby,” you tease, extending a hand so he can place the covered plate in your awaiting palm. 

Peeling back the tinfoil, you rest the tray on the coffee table, hiking your blanket higher around your thighs. Steve’s pouring hot water into a mug that says ‘Future Veterinarian,’ humming a familiar tune as he works. 

“You usually do honey and…a bucket load of sugar, right?” 

Eyes roll. “I like a spoonful of honey in my camomile and nothing else. The sugar is for my iced coffees, thank you very much. Also thank you for making sure Hopper always has it on standby lately.”

“What’s that thing you said to me when we first talked about us getting married?” He taps his chin mock thoughtfully, his other hand twirling a spoon around the inside of your cup. “Happy wife, happy life starts with always knowing her coffee order.”

It’s true, and you hide your lips behind your palm at the realization he’d been listening as he crosses the space between you and rests the steaming mug in your hand, muttering quickly, “Be careful, it’s really hot.” 

“Thank you,” you say as he drops back down into the couch and plucks a chocolate covered strawberry off the tray. “I know you didn’t want to talk about what’s bothering you…but I figure…I don’t know. It’s storming out, we’re both not getting much sleep tonight, we could play a game or something.”

“A game?”

Nodding, you add, “An icebreaker. I know we talk more now, but we could try and get to know each other better. A little look into the person we married.”

Your husband shifts on the couch beside you. Presses his back into the arm rest and stretches out, arching a brow pointedly. Smirking, you do the same. Shift just enough so your back is up against the opposite end, your socked feet just barely brushing Steve’s. 

“Okay. Night out or night in?” you ask. 

“Before…night out.”

“Before?”

“Well, now you force me to watch Gilmore Girls.”

“I don’t force you! And it’s only been a few days. I’m sure it’s an absolute horror of spending time with the woman you fake married,” you gasp, feigning terror. “Just admit it. You like spending time at home.”

His eyes are set on yours as he says, “I like spending time at home.”

“I’d agree for myself as well. Life is so busy as it is lately, it’s nice having a space to come back to.” 

One thing you’re very grateful for on a growing list is the space your new bedroom has given you. Sure, it can get lonely, but it’s an escape from the long days, a haven from stress, a bed to crawl back to when your eyes can hardly stay open any longer after a particularly hard day at clinicals. 

“My turn,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his middle. And no, you don’t allow heat to crawl across your chest at the mere sight of his chest and arms flexing from the motion. “Would you rather go forward or backward in time?”

“And what would be my purpose of going forward or backward? Am I rectifying my mistakes? Seeing the future? Looking to see how my life pans out?”

“I…it’s whatever you want it to be.” He blanches. 

“I don’t really have a lot of regrets in life. I make a choice and however the cookie crumbles is how it crumbles. Exhibit A,” you say, holding aloft your left hand, where two rings glint in the dim living room. “So I probably would want to go forward. But that’s dangerous, because if you go too far forward, you might see things you don’t like. I definitely wouldn’t want to know how I, uh, you know? Check out of here. What about you?”

Steve pauses for a moment, brows drawn in thought. “Honestly? There are things I’d want to change about the past, sure. But I think I’d want to see the future. See if all I’m doing is worth it, you know?”

“You don’t think what you’re doing right now is worth it?” You wonder if he’s talking about the business. Assume he must be, but don’t press any further. 

“I wonder sometimes, yeah,” he admits. 

“Well, what would you be doing if it weren’t what you’re doing right now? To see if something else would potentially be worth it.”

He rubs a hand along his neck, shrugging. “I thought about being a teacher once. My dad thought that was a silly idea. But I’ve always been good with children, and I think I could have been good at that.”

“You are good with children,” you tell him, thinking to Will and El. To the friends you’d met at dinner in the past weeks who brought their little ones. “I don’t think that’s a silly idea at all. Not in the slightest, and I’m sorry if anyone ever made you feel that way. Like your interests were inconsequential.” 

“Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he asks, “Movie night or date night?” 

“Are you asking me on a date?” His eyes grow wide at that. Cheeks darken visibly in the moonlit living room. “I’m teasing you, Harrington. I think there’s a case that those can be one in the same. I would say broader…I love the idea of going out for a date, but I love those inside sort of dates more. They’re more intimate, there’s the comfort of your shared spaces, the fact there aren’t any crowds around you. Only that important quality time with your partner.”

“I don’t have much to contribute there, seeing as I haven’t dated much in the past year. And now I won’t be for another three years.” He chuckles, combing fingers through his hair.  

“Okay, this question is super serious.” You fold your hands across your midsection, inhaling deeply, eyes shut. “Would you rather have a third nipple or an extra toe?”

“Seriously!” 

“I’m very serious, Steve.”

“Extra toe.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck again, wincing slightly as he presses into a spot between his shoulder blades. 

Your lips tug southward. “Are you hurting?”

“Just my office chair, I’m sure,” he grumbles, nonchalant. 

“Get on the floor.”

His brows arch. “Huh?”

“On the floor,” you repeat, tapping the space in front of you on the carpet below. “In front of me.”

“Why?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, long limbs slip off the edge of the couch and settle down where you’ve asked. You move to tuck his hoodie in as best as you can, fingers moving to spread across the slope of his shoulders. He exhales deeply at the first press of your hands in the muscle wrought with tension. A low sigh spills free, head tipping back to rest on the cushion nearest to your knee. Fingers crave to brush the hair along his scalp, to see if he’ll make that same, soft sigh once more. But instead you continue, pressing slowly into his flesh, listening to his cues, figuring out what works and doesn’t. 

“Would you rather have a big family or a small one?” You ask after Steve has gone quiet, thinking back briefly to the moment earlier with Theobald and Cami. 

Steve, with his wishes to be a father. Steve, who wants a huge brood of Harrington babies. Steve, who wants a family. 

And yet it’s not even that. Not the questions as to what he sees for his future. It’s the tangible worry of slipping up in your facade. Of revealing too many cracks in the foundations of your dynamics. That had been the first, and you know if this relationship is going to hold up for three years, communication is a must. Absolute transparency at all times, so as to not muck it all up and land yourselves both in some hot water.  

“Growing up, it was just me. My parents had me a little older in their life. They were already further into their careers by the time I was born. So…it was often just the au pair and myself,” he explains, letting go of another deep breath. 

His body slackens against your knee caps. Warm flesh of your husband pliant beneath your fingertips. 

“I always had this dream of giving my kids the opposite of what I had. Always knowing love, family outings, doing everything with them. Dance class, football, acting—whatever they wanted. And I’d wanted as many as possible. A silly dream of six of them, running all over the world together as a family.”

“It’s not a silly dream. None of your dreams are ever silly, Steve.” 

Warmth pools as Steve slides his hand up and covers yours where it rests against his shoulder. Heart stuttering, you continue, “Your family will be lucky to have you some day. I, for one, haven’t given much thought to that aspect of life. I hope Theo and Cami didn’t find that suspect. I just…”

“Have been busy with school. You’re becoming a doctor, that’s time and hard work. No one can fault you for that.”

“Right. Yeah.”

You resume your kneading, fingers stroking at shoulders, down the sides of his neck, attentive to all the tension. He grows softer beneath your fingertips, head against your knee, his eyes closed. Where you’re sitting you can see the moles on his face, the length of his lashes, the lines of his nose. Pretty. He’s pretty, and it’s always something you’ve known, but being so close—

“Sunrise or sunset,” Steve asks. 

“Hmm, sunrise.” You poke at the middle of his forehead, and hazel eyes meet yours. “That one was simple.”

“I could tell you were overthinking,” he says simply. “We’re not going to be perfect at this marriage thing. But no one expects us to be.”

“I still think we need to get our stories straight at the very least. And I sorta messed that one up with the honeymoon baby thing.” You shrug, palms sliding down a bit onto his upper chest. He’s still sitting there, taking you in with his stare, hand around yours. “Kind of why I suggested this game.” 

He offers you a gentle smile, saying, “Then let’s keep going.”

The conversation continues until the sun begins to change colors. Until the rain has since stopped, voices carrying above the television playing low in the background. You learn Steve’s a romantic; loves movies like the Titanic and The Notebook. And will also admit to enjoying some of the same romantic comedies you do. 

He prefers rainy days, because he enjoys the respite they give from a constantly busy city just outside the walls of your home. He’d rather have happiness than wealth; enjoys chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven for dessert (and you make a note to pick up some stuff to make them on your next planned night together); he’d never had any pets growing up, but he’d love a dog. 

And you tell him about yourself. How you love cozy socks and would prefer scrubs over real clothes; how you also never had pets growing up and would love to adopt and foster as many as possible one day; how you enjoyed fantasy over romantic movies; how you’d watched Titanic about a hundred times in your life and you still cried. 

How you wanted to watch it with him next, and he agreed, stating it would be the next thing you do when you cook together. 

Before long he’s yawning and your eyes are closing. His fingers remain around yours as you knead his muscles, prattling on about your plans for the week, school, your friends. And he talks about his own schedule, his meetings, proposes dinner for the both of you that upcoming Saturday. A cooked meal in, with a movie and some wine. Maybe you tease him a little, because he makes it easy when he blushes that pretty pink, and maybe he grins up at you fondly, eyes hooded in his sleepy daze. 

Eventually, you lay on your side and he remains in front of you on the floor. You’re hardly awake as he drapes a blanket over your form and tucks a pillow under your head, whispering to one another as the sun starts to come up over the city. 

Eventually, both of you fall silent at last, comforting sleep there to find you. 

-

“I want to make it very clear before we go in there that we are not getting a dog. We are donating all the things we bought earlier, and then we are going home and having dinner together,” Steve reiterates for the umpteenth time that day. 

“We are not getting a dog,” you repeat, mock stonily, looking your husband dead in the eyes. 

Clearly unamused, he shoves at the arm you have jokingly curled around his forearm, but there’s no malice there. Only a gentle huff of laughter as he opens his car door and rushes around the other side to help you out. You never need him to, but he insists every time. Even offers an arm for you to grab as you hop onto the sidewalk. Once back on solid land, summer dress dancing around your kneecaps, Steve walks around to the back of the car and lifts the box of pet food, blankets and toys you’d picked up while at the pet store. Today, you decided, you wanted to give back to the local shelter in your new town. 

And maybe you had an ulterior motive of trying to realize a dream of your husband’s by making him fall in love with a shelter dog in a way where his only option is to bring them home to live with you forever. But he’s been adamant all morning—so certain today’s events will not lead to four legs becoming part of your odd little family.

Inside, you’re greeted by one of the workers. A woman named Chelsea rushes around the counter to collect your donations and asks if you’d like to walk around a bit. Steve’s reluctant at your side, sunglasses peeled off and tucked into the neck of his shirt, but he comes along all the same as you grip his palm within your own and drag him along behind you. 

You pass dozens of kittens and cats. Young and old all alike as you go. Some who meow as you pass, and others who linger in dark corners of their confines. It breaks your heart seeing so many, wanting to adopt them all, knowing you’re unable to. Sensing your unease, Steve squeezes your hand tighter and listens for the both of you while Chelsea speaks and your mind wanders. 

“Down here are all our adoptable dogs.”

It’s a sight you never get used to. Dogs barking as you pass, bodies brushing against their cages, yearning for attention. You linger by Chelsea as you walk, rubbing noses and ears and backs. Tongues glide over your palm, wet noses brush your skin, dark eyes hold yours through metal bars. Somewhere in the midst of introducing yourself to all your newest furry friends, you find Steve’s hand is no longer in yours. Turning on the heel, you find him crouched low to the ground, fingers curled inside metal bars, softly speaking to the animal hidden within. 

“Oh,” Chelsea mutters, shock evident in her tone. Steve looks up to her imploringly, then glances back at the dog inside. “That’s a new arrival. A ten month old male Bernedoodle. He’s a black tricolor puppy. His previous owners got him as a gift, and turned him over when he started getting bigger. They’re a smaller breed, but have a lot of energy and unfortunately you see a lot of this happening. People buy luxury pets and drop them off when they become too much. He’s been very timid since he arrived.”

“He just lost his family,” Steve says to no one, swallowing thickly. The woman at your side doesn’t speak, only watches as your husband continues to gently coax the puppy forward. “Hey buddy. I’m Steve. Wanna come over here? No?” 

“Should we…” the woman beside you begins. 

“Yeah, let’s give them a moment,” you mutter, a little breathless as you turn around and face the other direction, quiet footsteps carrying you further away. 

But you still hear it. 

Still hear Steve’s voice in your ears. A sad, “I know what it’s like. Feeling left behind, left alone. Especially from the people you want to love you most. But you don’t need to be afraid of me. I get it.” 

There’s an echo of soft paws padding against a tiled floor. And the soft exhale from Steve. “There you go. See, I’m your friend. I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

And when you and the shelter worker turn around, you find Steve with his fingers in the puppy’s fur, that pink tongue of his brushing over the inside of your husband’s wrist. That resolve in Steve’s eyes crumbles, your heart shattering along with it as you press the heel of your palm to your sternum. 

He turns to Chelsea and asks, “Can we take him out? Just for a minute?” 

Chelsea passes you a knowing look and that minute Steve requests turns into an hour in the yard outside of the shelter. The puppy seems hesitant at first, lingering near Steve’s thighs as you stand nearby. But once Chelsea hands Steve a frisbee and ball, it’s as though the puppy is sparked to life once more. Soon enough he’s frolicking around the field, playful yips streaking the summer silence as he retrieves his toys and rushes back over to Steve, paws pouncing playfully against your husband’s designer jeans. 

But he doesn’t care. 

No—you haven’t seen him light up like this in the nearly three months you’ve been married. The joy illuminated his features. The crinkle of his eyes at the corners. The belly laughs as the puppy eventually knocks him to the ground and demands belly rubs on the grassy floor below. He falls in love before your eyes. With no warning, impossibly fast, and so suddenly it comes as no shock to either you nor Chelsea when he asks about adoption. 

As you sit in the lobby with the puppy on a leash on the floor, you turn to Steve, grinning widely. “You said we weren’t getting a dog.”

Steve pats his new fur son’s head and grins as the dog tips his head back to look longingly into his new father’s eyes. It’s sickeningly sweet, and does things to your insides that makes you feel hot all over. You chalk it up to the shoddy air conditioner system, tugging at the neckline of your dress to let the air chill your slick skin. 

“I couldn’t leave him,” he says, brushing fingers along a furry ear. 

“He picked you.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Fond. Smitten. He’s so in love it’s ridiculous, and all you feel is affection. 

Affection. 

Towards your husband. 

New. But maybe not so scary. 

You lean down to pet the puppy’s neck. He jumps up and scrambles up with his front paws against your lap, licking a broad stripe along your chin. “Steve, we have a puppy.”

Your first pet. 

His, too. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s only staring at you. You swallow. “I guess we do.”

A few questions and references and a small adoption fee later, and you’re both the newest proud parents of your still presently unnamed new puppy who pokes his head in the front seat as you drive to the nearest pet store in search of all the things you’ll need to make his transition as simple as possible. 

Steve, ever doting as he is, grabs the leash as soon as he helps the little guy out and greets you as usual on your side of the vehicle. You spend the better half of the afternoon purchasing things for him. A dog bed, food, toys, a new collar with his name and address engraved into it. 

Charlie Harrington, you both eventually decide, when the cashier asks how you’d like it engraved. 

Charlie Harrington, who the doormen at your apartment building immediately fall in love with as you later walk in, you holding the puppy’s leash this time, and Steve trying his hardest to carry all the things you bought. 

Charlie Harrington who bounds happily into your home and immediately starts sniffing around in his new space, excited to simply be around people who love him in such a short span of time and want to play with him like he deserves.   

“I’ll get started on dinner, if you want to show your fur child around the house,” you tease, laying out Charlie’s shiny new bowls on the floor, and the basket of toys and bones you got for him in the living room, right by his bed beside it. 

“You are a sneaky woman,” he jokes, coming up behind you in the kitchen. 

Heat blooms where he rests his hand on your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s something he’s done before in the confines of your home, with no one looking. So casually, and yet stark in contrast to the riot of butterflies that stir to life in your stomach. 

“And why might that be?” 

“Played that ice breaker game with me, found out I never had a pet, and then brought me to a shelter…where I then got a pet.” 

You shrug, turning on the stovetop to let the water boil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you’re welcome. Now go—play with him. I know you’re itching to. You’re like a little kid on Christmas right now. It’s kind of cute, Harrington.”

“Thank you.” 

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, his face pink from your compliment, before rushing into the living room where you hear Charlie barking as he’s once again joined by his new best friend. You reach over to tap Steve’s phone, where Spotify is already open from the car ride, and hit ‘play,’ Leon Bridges the background music to your cooking in the kitchen and Steve’s laughter as he crawls on his hands and knees to rub Charlie’s stomach on the floor. 

Perfect. 

It’s about as perfect as a day could be. 

And later, as you sit together in the dining room, with Charlie sitting patiently in the corner, and talk about the evening, you start to think maybe being married to Steve Harrington for three years will be a little more difficult than you imagined it would be. 

Because the feelings stirring in your chest are beyond that of friendship. 

No—there’s a suddenness to the clarity of your realization that you like your husband. And the sinking reality that this is merely transactional. 

In three years you’ll go your separate ways. Just as you both intended months ago at that coffee shop table. 

“You’re overthinking again,” Steve points out, reaching over to center your engagement ring on your left hand. His thumb lingers over the diamonds. “I was telling you about the benefit gala in a few weeks.”

“Oh,” you mutter tiredly. “Sorry. Yeah, uhm, I’ll go. Obviously. It’s part of our arrangement.” 

“If you don’t want to go with me…”

“No, I’ll go,” you say, taking a sip of your wine glass. “Black tie dinner event, I’m assuming?”

“Buy yourself a new dress kind of event, yeah.”

“Okay, yeah.” 

You nod. 

It’ll be October. 

Approaching four months into your agreement. Time is already flying. 

“Our first big event as a couple outside of our wedding,” you state plainly, gathering your things and Steve’s as you rise to your feet. He grabs the wine glasses and follows you down the hall to your kitchen, dumping all your dirty pasta plates inside. “Anyone I should know or be aware of when we’re there?”

“It’s a lot of partners in the company. Some celebrities, actors, musicians, models. Eddie will be there—he’s been invited. It’s a little bit of everyone. This time they’ve organized donations for a shelter for homeless youth in the city.” He hands you your wine glass, peering into your eyes. Noting your lingering hesitance from your overthinking once more, he continues, “I can cancel you as my plus one. Say you’re not feeling well—”

“No,” you place a hand on his sternum. Pause when you realize what you’ve done. He trails his eyes south where you touch. You don’t move away. “I love the purpose of the benefit. I want to be there. I-I want to go with you.” 

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. You could reach out and touch the outline of his jaw like this. The lines of his perfect nose. “Because I want you there with me.”

You don’t miss the way his stare lingers on your face, or the timber of his voice. The darkness in the depths of his eyes. How the weight of his chest against your palm as he pushes forward has it stuck as a barrier between the two of you. Mere inches of separation. 

It’s confusing, maddening, and terrifying all the same. 

Two years and nine months. 

You’ve got this. 

-

-

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x reader #fake husband!steve harrington #steve harrington modern au #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x fem!reader

[itsbubbleteataro]

The Radio Host and The Reporter (pt 3)

Parings: Human!Alastor x Human!fem!Reader

Warnings; Alastor being Alastor, murder, gore,

Part two Part four

NOT PROOF READ

When the sun rose the next day you were filled with excitement. Keeping your blinds open to ensure you would wake up with the sun you stepped out of bed. You stretched as you stood up, yawning as you exited the room. You started to make some coffee as you threw together a breakfast of eggs and bacon.

Playing your breakfast and taking your coffee you take a seat on your chair looking over your notepad figuring out how to word your next article. Taking bites and sips here and there you pick up your pen, enjoying a morning of silence while you make some corrections.

After finishing up your coffee and breakfast, you go ahead and put your dishes in the sink, rolling up the sleeves of your white silk nightgown before starting on your dishes.

Cleaning out your mug, pans, and plates you put them away, raising to your toes to place away the items that are located on higher shelves. Taking a step back you close your wooden cabinets.

Brushing off your nightgown, you run fingers through your hair, finding it to be too messy for your liking. You head over to your closet, placing a hand on your cheek in thought. As much as you would love to go out and gather more information, she does need to set to work on actually writing the article out instead of having strewn about notes.

Walking back to your table you scoop up the notebook, placing it on your desk next to your typewriter. You had purchased the typewriter not long after you had your first article published, in fear that your father would end up reading the original papers and figure out it was you all along.

Walking back to your closet you pull out a nice looking dress and lay it on your bed. You then pull a matching coat and hat out and walk towards your coat hanger by the door, hanging them up so you could grab them before you left. You return to your closet and grab a pair of tights and placing them next to your bed.

You walk into your bathroom, you go ahead and start the shower water, wanting to be fresh as possible before your date. You flush red at the thought.

"Oh get a grip girl! Why are you doing so much! He's just helping you out as a friend, I'm sure there's nothing more to it"

You shake your head and puff out your cheeks with a huff. You go ahead and strip yourself of your nightgown, throwing it into your bin of laundry for you do at a later date. Extending a hand to test the water before you go ahead and step inside, quickly washing your hair and body before stepping out after shutting the water off. You wrap your hair up in a towel and wrap yourself up in a bathrobe.

You walk back to the living room, knowing that you're the only one in the home, there's no reason for you to have to dress any more conservative. You turn the radio on just loud enough for you to hear it in your room while you work.

You flick through the channels, subconsciously landing it on station that Alastor works. Deciding you like the music that plays you go ahead and sit down at your desk in your room, beginning to write away on your typewriter.

Meanwhile at the radio station where Alastor works, he found his thoughts too occupied as he looked down at his script. He had about a half hour before he had to go on air and yet his thoughts were filled by you.

The way you had kept up with him on the dance floor the night before, the way you smiled. How your eyes reflected in the low lighting on the speakeasy. The shadows interest in swing music. The way you always had your hair up in a neat updo fitting ever so snugly under your hat fitting in with the trends. The way your laughter filled the room, your bright smile. The way you blushed when he kissed your hand, all of it filled his mind.

He could not make heads or tails of why he was thinking of you, nor of the way his heart seemed to beat faster around you. Alastor couldn't tell if he liked the feeling or hated the feeling. So far it seemed to be more akin to the feeling of a hunt. Ah yes a hunt. He had gone on one last night. It had been a good one as well.

He had used the heart to make a wonderful gumbo, even using some of the liver as well. Yes the feeling in his chest whenever he thought of you was that of a hunt. Something of adrenaline. Perhaps after taking you out on the town this afternoon the feeling would fade, surely it had too.

Meanwhile you finally looked up from your work, seeing that the sun had moved sighed. You had been working on your writing for a few hours now. Getting up from your seat you unwrap your hair from the towel and strip yourself of your soft bathrobe in order to get ready.

You pulled your stockings on first followed by your undergarments. You turned your vanity to go ahead and get your hair and makeup done. Your hair was pulled up into a faux bob and your makeup was done similar to it was when you had gone out, minus the bright red lipstick. Turning back to your bed you tug on your dress.

You can feel butterflies forming in your stomach at the thought of the time ticking closer to when Alastor would pick you up. You gently pat your cheeks.

"Oh don't get yourself in a tizzy girl just close your head(1). Just because you think he's the cat's pajamas(2) don't mean you can go around carrying a torch(3) for him! Oh pull yourself together! It's just nerves, nothing else"

You go to pull your shoes on, a pair of casual boots with a slight heel on them. As if on que, a knock rings off your door. Scrambling to your feet you pull your door open to a smiling Alastor. Returning his smile you pull on your coat and place ur hat on your head and head out with him.

"My what a wonderful day for a stroll, wouldn't you agree Cher?"

Asked Alastor as he took a look over at you. He quickly looked away, feeling heat rising past his neck. Again that feeling worked its way into his heart. Again he just told himself it was something akin to the adrenaline he feels when he hunts. Yes surely that was it. Surely he was incapable of loving a woman other than his mother he reasoned. Surely that was the reason his heart was beating wildly in his chest, not because you looked so beautiful, so innocent as you smiled up at him. Surely he wasn't admiring the way your eyes seemed to scan the area as if you were a newshawk(4) on the hunt for the next story.

Yes he told himself it was just nerves or adrenaline. Surely it would fade after the afternoon together. Surely it had to right? It would he told himself as he looked down at you, having looped your arms together strolling down the lane. He didn't miss the way your eyes lit up when spotted something you liked. Or how you would stop to smell the flowers as the two of you strolled through the park.

Yet in all of his observations about you and the area, he failed to notice how fast the time seemed to pass, only really noticing after you had pointed out how low the sun had started to set and that you were getting hungry.

Without a second thought he lead you to his favorite restaurant. It's nothing too special, but the way your eyes light up as you scan the menu for items you like just seems to do something to him.

He ordered his usual, venison steak while you ordered a serving of jambalaya. He made a mental note of how your eyes shone as you took your ur first bite. He felt a new emotion burning in his chest. He wanted it to be his cooking that made your eyes sparkle, not some random chef's cooking.

He quickly turned down to his meal, cutting into it and taking a bite. What was that? What was that thought that entered his head. He's never had such thoughts before and that says a lot considering his well, hobby.

What was this new emotion? It wasn't like the feeling he had chalked up to adrenaline and nerves, it was more ugly feeling. Gods he was driving himself up the wall(5) trying to figure out the emotion.

You noticed how he seemed to be glaring at his food.

"Is everything okay Alastor? What's eating at you?(6)"

You asked, placing your spoon down and folding your hands in your lap. Tilting your head you watched as Alastor looked up to meet your gaze, his eyes softening away from the gaze to an emotion you haven't quite learned to read yet.

"Right as rain my dear, just thinking about some trouble makers at work is all"

Alastor fibbed smoothly. You nodded taking his answer much to his enjoyment. He figured he would simply ask his mother when he saw her the next day as being wrapped in his thoughts was starting to diminish the quality of the date.

The two of you finished up your meals, and had a short argument over who would pay. Alastor won of course, saying he was the one who had asked you to join him this evening, on top of being ever the gentleman. After Alastor had paid he escorted you to your humble home.

"My dear I very much enjoyed myself on this fine evening. It would do me a great pleasure if you would accompany me on another one later on"

Alastor asked as you had your back to your door. You quickly nodded your head accepting his offer before bowing your head and unlocking your door and closing it behind you.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, still you denied that you had any sort of feelings for him. Yet you couldn't deny the heat that rose to your cheeks when he had asked, or the way your heart had nearly tumbled out of your chest during dinner when his gaze had softened when he looked at you.

Taking your hat, coat and shoes off you scurry to your bedroom, changing into a silk white nightgown before taking your hair out and flopping onto your bed. Your thoughts swirled through your head. The way his hazel eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his hazel skin made him look oh so handsome in the lighting of the sunset. The way his pin straight was starting to return its naturally curly state by the time he had walked you home.

You groaned, rolling on to your side. You had other things to worry about, you had another article in the works, one that was almost done on top of that. It was a huge one, about all the recent missing people, suspecting a killer may be on the lose. You had to shift your focus away from the sweet lovesick thoughts of Alastor over to your work. You had to think of something for your next work. You got up from your bed and walked over to your notebook, scribbling down the name of a radio host who just happened to be Alastor's co-worker.

He was on your list to investigate and over dinner Alastor did say that there was trouble in his station. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a look, right?

As Alastor turned away from your door to start his walk back to his cabin on the edge of the bayou, his thoughts swirled. He stared at the ground infront of him as his feet carried him. The troublesome feeling hadn't left him. Instead the feeling seemed to grow. His control on his shadow slipped, causing it to break away and stop, its head turning towards your home.

He stoped when he felt his shadow wasn't with him. He looked at it, taking in the soft smile it had spread across its face as it looked at your home. He shook his head, his shadow snapping back into place. He had to control it for a little bit longer. Just until he got home, then he could let it run lose.

What in the world was this feeling? The way it made his neck and cheeks burn when you flashed him a gentle smile? The way your eyes looked at him with such concern for his well being when you asked if he was alright or when you had wished him safety the first time he walked you home. He was torn between wanting to capture that look in your eyes forever and never wanting to see you worry so ever again.

He pushed open his cabin door and shut it behind him, releasing his shadow letting it run wild. He feeling wasn't adrenaline he quickly ruled out. Again he'd have to speak with his mother about it. She was the only person in the whole world he trusted with such information on himself. His shadow stayed by the door, its lovesick grin never leaving its form as Alastor made his way to his bathroom to freshen up before bed.

He stepped out of his shower, his hair returning to its natural curly shape. He changed into his sleepwear, his shadow comming along. Thoughts of you swimming through his head as he laid down to rest. He supposes he may not mind the thoughts, as long as they don't interfere with his hunts or his work. He rolled over to his side, placing his glasses away on his nightstand before drifting asleep.

The next day after work, he went straight to his mother's home. The two sat on her couch, sipping hot tea. He explained his feelings, something that he had always struggled with while his mother's grin grew wider with each word he spoke.

"Well Alastor, if you were to ask me, I'd say what you are feeling towards the dame(6) would be love"

Alastor did a spit take, coughing, as his mother pat his back and gave a hearty love. She was overjoyed, her son finally finding love, something she was beginning to think was impossible.

"As soon as you start courting her I would love to meet her!"

"Mother"

Alastor wined. He relented, agreeing anyways as it was his mother. When he returned to his home he formed a plan, his shadow excited for the new changes coming into his life, even if its master hated change.

Many a date later, the two of you were sitting at a more fancy restaurant, the two of you dressed accordingly. As you cut into your steak, Alastor asked a question that would change the direction of your very life.

He took your hand after you had placed down your knife. Rubbing his thumb over your knuckles you looked up at him, swearing you could see red dusting his cheeks.

"Mon Cher, there's something I can deny no longer. I would like your permission to court you if you would be so kind"

You set your fork down as you gave your response,

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

"Close your head" - shut your mouth

"Cats pajamas" - slag for thinking someone's cool

"Carrying a torch" - to have feelings for someone

"Newshawk" - reporter

"Driving up the wall" - going crazy

"Dame" - a woman

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #x reader #(y/n) #human alastor

[bigassmoonchild]

(Slides a 20 into the ask box)

How do the boys react to dealing with a stubborn S/O who will deliberately do things if they have asked multiple times just to get the other hand

Rubbish need taking out already did it

Washing up need do already drying

Like real petty

( not based on real life events of today .......)

god, i love this. i will always take a 20, but my writing will be free for today <3 (this may not be based on things i've had to deal with as well, woopsies. i'm also absolutely having a stroke trying to type this, i can't spell today??)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

he tried his best. you couldn't put it past him, he really did try a lot. you were just also incredibly petty, but sometimes he really did lack in these types of things.

'si, can you wash up the dishes for me?' you asked one night, slipping away to take a shower after he gave a sound of acknowledgement. he hadn't really been paying much attention, focused on the little puzzle you had brought for him from your family.

it was 500 pieces, so you really couldn't blame him. you had your own fixations, and god forbid someone try to take those from you when you were in the middle of it.

half an hour later, you came back out. 'simon, please don't forget the dishes,' you called out to him and disappeared for some time. he wasn't sure how much time had passed before he rubbed his face with his hands, trying to wipe away the frustration of not being able to get the pieces to fit together.

he finally stood up to stretch and go to do the dishes. when he walked in, the sink and counter were spotless, the dishes sitting in their drying racks. his brows furrowed, a little confused.

he glanced in the bedroom, seeing you sitting there while reading. 'lovie, did you wash the dishes?' he asked, watching as you gave him a faint nod. he hummed, getting ready for bed and not entirely thinking about it.

when he left for his run before you woke up, he made a note to himself to put the dishes away. he unlocked the door, sliding his running shoes off and taking a quick shower before coming back out to the kitchen.

there you stood, the dishes all put away and his tea being made, your coffee cooling down on the counter. he gave another little hum, giving you a quick kiss on the temple as he finished off his own tea.

you glanced at the kitchen, squinting a little at the rubbish. 'si, could you take out the rubbish for me?' you asked and he nodded at you, watching as you stood and took your own shower. you came out and went to the garbage, pulling it up out of the bin.

simon stood, grabbing the bag out of your hands. 'lovie, you asked me to do this. I'm going to get to it,' he whispered and pecked your lips, tying it up and taking it out. when he came back, he washed his hands. 'you just need to give me a little more time to do these things,' he told you and you nodded.

'i'm just so used to exes not ever really doing them. it's easier for me to do them and make sure they get done,' you whispered to him. he pulled you into a hug, resting his chin on your head.

the two of your sighed deeply, your arms finding their way around his back. 'it's okay, sweetheart,' he whispered. 'i'll try to get them done when you ask, but i just need time to get things done,' he kissed the top of your head. 'when i'm home, i can take time to get things done. it's nice for me,' he added. you nodded carefully.

Captain John Price:

honestly? he was probably the best about getting things done when you asked. sometimes, though, especially right after a mission he would lack at it. you tried to understand, but it was getting tiring.

'john, i really need you to clean the cats littler today. rubbish gets picked up tomorrow,' you said to him and he glanced up at you from the couch.

'i've got it, honey,' he told you and you nodded, bidding him goodbye for your work day. john had just come home from a three month mission, and found himself drifting on the couch as he watched shit tv.

hearing his phone buzz, he checked it to see a text from you. litter needs to b edone! we might need to get some more before cleaning it. he responded with a simple 'of course, honey'.

drifting once more, he briefly heard the door open and close, felt your lips press against his head and the blanket lay over him. when he woke up fully, he saw you walking back into the room and going into the kitchen. the water ran and he heard you turn it off. probably washing your hands.

he stood up fully, placing the blanket on the back of the couch and going into the bathroom where the litter was. it was clean, and the cat (mr. muffins you'd lovingly named him, but he rather liked to call him dipshit) was blinking up at john.

walking out to the kitchen where you were standing, he wrapped him arms around you. 'i would've done the litter, just fell asleep a bit too long,' he whispered and you hummed to him. he helped cook dinner, choppign some of the vegetables and adding them to the pan when you'd needed.

he made sure to wash everything he'd used, placing them on the rack to dry. he served himself a plate and yours as well, placing them down to ensure you had the warmer food. the two of you ate, quietly talking about things that had happened during the day. 'i think dipshit took another tumble off the bookshelf,' john told you and you laughed long and loud.

shooing you off to take a nice, long shower, john washed the dishes and put them off to the side to dry. he crawled into bed with you, holding you close to him while you drifted off.

he woke up late the next morning, finding you in the kitchen sipping on some coffee. the dishes were put away, and you gave him a little smile.

cupping your face, he pressed a kiss against your lips and looked you in the eye. 'if i start something, i'm going to finish it,' he whispered and you nodded softly.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick:

'kyle, there's some clothes in the wash. i need you to move them over to the dryer in an hour!' you called out while walking out. it was the day you'd go out with your sister and enjoy yourselves. take some time away from everything and just relax.

he called back to you, 'i've got it, lovely!' and you left. you called him, explaining that today was going to run a little longer than normal. you also double checked to make sure that he was going to swap the loads over, and he gave you a little confirmation.

he didn't have it. to be completely honest, he forgot all about it until well after you'd been home. 'how was tonight, sweetheart?' he asked and you told him all about what your sister had said. some new information about the latest guy she was dating, something about her friend having a kid.

'oh! did you swap the load over? have you got it up here already?' you asked and his eyes widened. 'kyle, seriously?' you asked, sounding exhausted. 'it was one thing i asked of you today,' and he sighed deeply.

shaking his head, he looked down at you. 'i'm sorry. i forgot all about it, and that's my mistake,' he moved around you to go do it himself.

'no,' you huffed, placing your bags down. 'i'm going to go do it, it'll probably need to be rewashed because it might smell bad,' and you disappeared into the laundry room. he was annoyed, he understood that it sucked to try and have a relaxing day just to come home to more things to do, but you really needed to give him some leeway.

he was going to fix it, but you had to jump in and do that. neither of you talked that night, just going to sleep in silence. it felt wrong, to go to bed somewhat angry, but he wasn't sure what to say.

the next morning, you both sat at the table, drinking your drinks in silence. 'i'm sorry,' he spoke up finally. you just gave him a little grunt, not looking up at him. 'seriously, i'm genuinely sorry. i really just forgot, i didn't mean to give you more work,' he told you and you sighed deeply.

'i'm just really tired of picking up the slack where people forget or don't realize. i don't find it difficult to realize what needs to be done around the house, i juts need you to try harder,' you told him. he nodded, not promising to be perfect but promising to try. 'that's all i need,' you whispered.

Johnny 'Soap' McTavish:

when you walked in the door, he pulled you into a tight hug. 'hi, baby,' he whispered into your hair and pressed a kiss against it. you gave him a little greeting, allowing him to pull you over to the table. he'd set up a little after work snack for you, knowing you'd be hungry.

you gave him a little kiss, thanking him for the food. 'if you go for a run, can you bring the rubbish out?' you asked, giving him another kiss as he nodded and went into your shared room.

he put away the few clothes he'd still had left to put away from his mission, coming back out to see you putting the dishes away. for some time, the two of you sat together watching one of the shows you'd been watching together.

after the episode ended, you turned to johnny. 'don't forget about the rubbish,' you hummed to him and hopped into the shower. he took his time getting ready for the run, sitting on the bed with his clothes set out while he waited for you to be done.

you walked out and he pecked your cheek. 'needed to piss a river,' he whispered to you, briefly hearing you mention the rubbish once more as you walked away to your shared office. he knew you'd be doing an art project, one he wasn't allowed to look at.

quickly leaving the apartment, he took his time on the run. it was something he did to clear his head, something he did to relax. he spent a good thirty minutes on the run, looping around the different blocks of the area you lived.

when he came back around to the apartment, he found you outside tossing out the rubbish. 'oh, forgot all about that. woulda done it after the run,' and you shook your head, sighing deeply.

'i reminded you three times, johhny,' you whispered to him, walking back to your shared apartment in silence. it was quiet for a little while, the two of you just sitting there. he felt bad, of course he did, but he never meant for him to forget.

'i'm sorry, baby,' he said to you, hand reaching out for yours before you pulled away. johnny sighed deeply, groaning harshly. 'really? the silent treatment?' you groaned as well, standing up.

turning to look at him, you shook your head. 'i asked you three times. i just needed the one thing done, that's it,' you told him. he pulled you in for a hug.

pressing a kiss against your head, he rocked the two of your side to side. 'i really didn't mean to forget,'

#simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mctavish x reader #task force 141 #call of duty x reader #no use of y/n #simon ghost riley x reader #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #ghost mw2 #price mw2 #gaz mw2 #soap mw2 #slight angst #cod mw2 #modern warfare ii #call of duty

[rookiesbookies]

Soap’s Wedding under the cut

My masterlist is pinned on my account.

Tooth-aching Fluff

Soap’s wedding was a huge deal with 141. Price immediately stepped up as a father-in-law for Soap’s beloved Fiance. In reality, he had been waiting for this moment with no kids of his own and his group of strays he took on.

Soap sat at the feet of his fiance, his back to the couch she was sitting on as she played with his mohawk. While Price argued with them about being allowed to pay for part of the service. Of course, her family has offered to help pay for a large sum of it, they had been saving for it since she graduated college, however she didn’t want to burden the Captain with their wedding for any reason other then an invitation.

“Captain, while I appreciate the offer, are ya sure? I ain’t ya bloody kid.” Soap interjected, Price went a bit ridgid at the comment. A pang of sadness in the back of his mind at the thought.

The look in Price’s eyes gave Soap’s sweet fiance all she needed to know. She leaned forward to Johnny’s ear and whispered something as she rubbed his shoulder.

“John Mactavish-Price Jr at ya service!” Soap chirped up. Price let out a chuckle and shook his head as planning continued.

Gaz was ADAMANT about handling both the bachelorette and bachelor parties. For the fiance he rented the party room of nice restaurant. Something classy and what he felt the woman about the put up with the sargent for the rest of his life deserved. Gaz’s girlfriend insisted on decorating the bachelorette party as she didn’t trust Gaz to do it.

For Soap? They rented the pub next door. Declaring it the party and giving any poor lad who walked in a shot or a beer in them. He knew better than to get a drunk Soap far from his fiance because he’d just end up calling her the whole time.

Half way through the parties, Soap ended up calling his fiance, blabbering and slurring about how much he missed her. So she and the girls got to go food for the guys from the restaurant and headed over. She found Soap laying all over poor Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who was trying to nurse a whiskey in peace, as Soap cried about not having his lass with him.

Gaz and Simon enjoyed watching her console him, cooing about how she was right there. This Soap was a far cry from the vibrant celebration Soap they had seen an hour ago. At first he didn't even recognize her through his squinted eyes. Until she had gotten him to straighten up.

Price sat there the whole time chuckling. Soap had never been a sappy drinker until he had someone to miss, he nudged you with a laugh. “With how he’s acting I may be walking him down the aisle instead of your father walking you. Its bloody obvious who’s wearing the pants here.”

“Hope he picks a pretty dress when you take him shopping,” she retorted with her own giggle, Soap’s arms around her waist and his face content in her neck with a soft smile. He was blissfully unaware of their jokes.

Soap waited a long while to pick his groomsmen. Everyone knew who they would be.

Price was the easiest ask, Soap did it while holding your hand right before Price offered to help pay. His fiancé asked Price’s wife if she'd be a maid of honor a moment later when they were washing dishes from the dinner.

Gaz and his girlfriend were the next to ask. They had come over for drinks and Gaz had his arm slung around his girl’s shoulder and a beer lazily in the other. It had been a heated debate over soccer (or ‘football’) and Soap shouted, “I wasn’t expecting one of my groomsmen to be disagreeing with me like this!” Or something dumb like that and Gaz immediately shot up to give him a bro hug. Soap turned to his fiance, “I told you he’s see the right side eventually.” Soap’s fiance rolled her eyes.

Asking Ghost to be Best Man was going to be tough. Especially when Simon doesn’t do warm and fuzzy in the traditional warm and fuzzy way.

The original plan was to have dinner with him but when Soap realized Simon wasn’t on base or at his apartment this week. Which meant there was a GIRL.

Soap figured this out while drinking and getting touchy with his fiance, so obviously the next course of action was calling an uber and showing up at Simon’s location with a giant sign and a boombox. Right?

Soap was shirtless, his pants were unbuttoned but zipped. His fiance held the sign that read “BEST MAN?” painted in white on cardboard clearly torn from a large box. She was in her pajamas while Soap played SexyBack by Justin Timblerlake, when that at full volume didn't get Simon out, he played the Scottish National Anthem. He sang it as loud as he could until Ghost’s situationship came to the window and opened it giggling. Simon wasn’t has amused.

“JOHNNY. COULDNT YA HAVE WAITED TILL THE MORNING.”

“YOU HAVE A WOMAN AND YOU’RE GONNA NEED A DATE, SIMON.”

“IF THE MUSIC ISNT OFF WHY THE TIME IM DOWN THERE IM YANKING YA BLOODY HEAD OFF, JOHNNY.”

The music was indeed off why the time a shirtless Simon got down there and introduced his situationship to Soap’s fiance. Simon almost referred to her as his girlfriend but hesitated and just said a friend. Johnny and his Fiance knew better than that with how the way the girl awkwardly stood and was sweating told them that something rough and sweat had happened that night and it wasn’t sparing.

When the actual wedding itself rolled around, the two had done basically everything out of order. Soap need for detail oriented everything made somethings take too long, the adhd nature of his fiance made others go to fast. It took them a week to decide on a song for their first dance because Soap wanted Scotland forever and his fiance wasn’t having it.

Lot of things like that.

Honestly Soap panicked about her dress, worried even the littlest thing could be wrong and he couldn’t even see the dress. Believe it, though, he begged and pleaded to be allowed to check it for problems before the wedding.

When he saw her come down the aisle, it felt unreal. He felt as though he could pass away then and be content. Johnny almost realized the tears coming down his face. It was a beautiful blue and white dress, the colors you can both chosen and the Scottish flag colors he had slipped passed you. The most beautiful blue sash on the most perfect gown for his perfect girl. It was relief. True relief.

Even Simon let tears fall, his face not adorned by his mask for once as it was shoved in Price’s jacket pocket. Gaz whole heartedly sobbed with no remorse. Price wiped a single tear from his eyes before standing strong and putting his game face on.

As the night continued so did the festivities until it came time for the newlyweds to depart. They didn't make it to the hotel before Soap’s hands were up her skirt and she was holding his tie.

Let me know what you want to see more of, my asks are open. To basically everything.

#bc soap would #cod x reader #call of duty #john soap mactavish #captain price #ghost cod #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #johnny mactavish #soap x reader #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap call of duty #soap mctavish #soap x you #soap x y/n #john mactavish #soap mactavish

[bruisedboys]

honeybody — “call me, even if it’s the middle of the night” w neighbor!eddie brock!! i’m not sure where exactly my brain was taking me with this but it feels right in my heart

roma!!! this was so fun to write thank youu so much for the ask. eddie brock hottest man alive

fem!reader x neighbour!eddie brock (no venom lol sorry)

Eddie’s been watching you for an embarrassing amount of time. He can see you out of his kitchen window, and although he’s supposed to be doing the dishes, he keeps glancing out the window in hopes of catching another glimpse of you.

You’re re-painting the side of your house with a fresh coat of paint, perched on a ladder that doesn’t look too safe, if he’s being honest. Paintbrush in hand and a paint pot balanced precariously on the ladder rung next to your hip, you’re very immersed in your work. Which is lucky, otherwise you probably would’ve noticed his staring.

Eddie finishes washing the dishes (which took him about an hour, what with all the spying on you) and he’s about to go and see you — purely to check the stability of your ladder, of course, nothing else — but before he can work up the courage there’s a yelp from outside followed by a thud that sounds suspiciously like Eddie’s too late.

He races to the nearest window and peers out and his heart drops when he an empty ladder. Soon enough he spots you, lying on your back in your well-tended grass. He doesn’t think. He’s out the door in a matter of seconds.

“Y/N!” He calls, rounding the fence that separates your houses. The heap on the grass that’s you lifts it’s head. “Y/N, are you alright?”

You sit up just as Eddie reaches you, rubbing the back of your head, dazed. “Eddie?”

Eddie doesn’t have time to think about how pretty you look right now. There’s a paint splotch on your cheek and the same colour is speckled all over your fingers. He gets to his knees in the grass.

“Hey, are you okay?” His hand finds your shoulder. “Did you fall?”

You giggle. “No, I just decided I’d lie on the grass for a bit,” you deadpan. “Yes, I fell, Eddie, but I’m fine.”

Eddie doesn’t even half believe you. His hand slides to the space between your shoulder blades. “Are you sure? You were pretty high up.”

He realises a second too late he’s exposed himself. You seem to realise the very same thing.

“Were you watching me?” You ask, squinting at him, but you’re smiling at least.

Eddie backtracks. “What? No, I just— I saw you out the window, and—“

“I’m joking, Eddie,” you laugh. “Help me up, will you?”

He helps you, wondering how on earth you manage to be so pretty and funny and sweet all at the same time. He feels dizzy when he stands, even though you’re the one that fell off a ladder.

Once you’re standing you try to take a step but your success is short lived. The second you put weight on your left foot you’re hissing in pain.

“Ow,” you groan, toppling sideways into Eddie. He catches you, thankfully, one hand gripping your forearm and the other around your waist. He’d think about how close you are to him but he’s too busy worrying. He can think about it later.

“What’s the matter?” He demands, panicked now that you actually look like you’re in pain, your face all screwed up and your hand clinging to his elbow.

“My ankle,” you explain, pointing in the general direction of your foot. “Hurts.”

Eddie, heart racing, manages to get you to your porch and sit you down on one of the chairs. He props your foot up on the little table you sit at to read in the mornings. (Not that he watches you read in the morning. He just happened to notice it a few times.)

He assesses your ankle and deems it sprained. He takes you inside and puts you on your couch while you complain.

“Eddie, seriously, you don’t have to do this. I’m fine, I can—“

“Do you have ice?” He interrupts your pointless rambling as he straightens up from helping you into your seat.

You frown at him, all fake offended. It’s awfully cute. “No. But I have frozen corn. In my freezer in the bottom drawer.”

Eddie leaves to find your frozen corn and when he comes back he finds you slumped on the couch, looking tired and defeated. You’re both silent as he lifts your foot onto the coffee table and presses your pack of frozen corn kernels against your ankle. When he finally looks at your face you’re smiling at him, droopy eyes and all.

“Thanks,” you say. “Feels nice.”

Eddie chuckles. “Mhm, I bet it does. You know you should be more careful. You’re lucky it’s not broken.”

You rolls your eyes, a smile on your lips. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m not kidding around,” Eddie argues, “Really. Next time just ask me and I’ll come over and paint it for you.”

There’s a silent promise in his words. Yeah, he’ll paint your house. He’ll do whatever you want him to do. All you have to do is ask.

“Okay,” you say, your voice taking on this soft, sweet tone that feels both familiar and foreign all at once.

Eddie straightens up, deciding if he stays here any longer he might fall in love with you. As if he hasn’t already.

“Keep it elevated,” he tells you. “And keep the ice on it. I’ll come check on you in the morning, okay? But call me if it gets worse. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

You grin at him and give him a tired salute. “Thanks, Doctor Brock.”

Eddie grimaces at you. “Don’t ever call me that again, please.”

You giggle. “Sorry. Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles back, totally lovelorn. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

He finishes the paint job for you. And he brings dinner over, even though you tell him over the phone that he doesn’t have to. It’s safe to say he’s fallen even harder than you.

#★ mal writes! #eddie brock #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x fem!reader #eddie brock fic #eddie brock blurb #eddie brock drabble #eddie brock oneshot #eddie brock imagine #eddie brock au #eddie brock fanfic #eddie brock fanfiction #⟡ 4k celebration!

[neverwanttofallasleep]

A Need That Goes Unspoken - Chapter 3

Word count: 4,797

For pairings, warnings, and disclaimer - see Masterpost

thank you again @writingcold for your support x

a/n: please bear with me if the next few chapters take a bit longer to get out. life is happening - sorry! i will definitely finish this story and i'm still writing as we speak. just gotta make more time x

(this chapter contains explicit sexual content!)

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long while. You turn to view every angle of your body, just to double-check you haven't got anything twisted or any strings tucked in. Although you and Sam are seemingly in some kind of ceasefire, you’re reluctant to give him any ammunition to tease you. You think you know where you stand, but one wrong look, or in this case one nip-slip, and you might be back to being the recipient of his juvenile bullying again.

Last night, Alex had practically force-fed you some grilled salmon and vegetables, and fussed over how much water you were drinking, before Eloise had given him the stink-eye and told him to back off. As you tried to help clear the plates, Josh shooed you away. Everyone was at your disposal, offering you cups of tea or medicine or shoulder rubs, which you bashfully declined. The only offer you did take up was a cigarette with Jake, which you held between your shaky fingers as the two of you hid sneakily around the side of the house.

You’d decided that after this, a shower would do you some good. Relax your muscles, wash your hair. Rinse the adrenaline and sweat from the accident off of you. Jake had agreed.

“I think a shower is a good idea.” He’d hummed, plucking the smoke from your fingers and taking a drag. “Ellie always encourages hot water after a sickness or injury.” He smiled dreamily. “She’s gonna be such a good nurse.”

You grinned. “Of course she is. You picked a good one, Jake.”

He smirked, looking you dead in the eyes as he handed you back the cigarette. “Honestly, I still can’t believe she picked me, y’know. Three years later and I still feel like the luckiest guy on the planet.”

You shook your head as you exhaled the smoke. “She’s as lucky as you are. You two were meant for each other.”

He frowned. “It’s gonna be harder this year. She was only like half an hour away when I was at home. Now I’m gonna be all over the place while she’s stuck in Saginaw.”

You petted his arm reassuringly. “You’ll visit each other. And you’re both living your dreams. At least she’s not dropping out like Alex.”

He huffed a laugh. “God, yeah. I’d never want her to do that. I’ll just miss her.”

You felt so warm for Jake. When you were around him and Eloise, you could feel the love rolling off them in literal waves. It was like watching a romance novel come to life.

Jake had taken the smoke from you again. “Stop hogging. Alex’ll have my balls if he catches us.”

You’d giggled.

He’d stomped on the butt a minute or so later, and peeped his head around the corner to check for your aforementioned brother before waving at you to follow him back into the house.

Josh, who was washing the dishes, had given you a ridiculously obvious stage wink as you both returned inside, but luckily, Alex was back in the garden with Danny and Ellie.

Phoebe gave you a soft smile from her post by the sink, dish towel in hand. “How are you feeling now, Y/N? Better now that you’ve had something to eat?”

Phoebe is the sweetest living creature. Like an angel, or a faerie, plucked from the sky and put onto earth. She looks like one too. Long, golden curls flowing down her back, always jingling with sparkly jewelry and radiant in floaty summer dresses. She definitely doesn’t act like she’s 17. You believe she was surely reincarnated from an old soul, ridiculously wise beyond her years.

She and Josh have a special relationship, which is unsurprising for three reasons. One, everyone loves Josh. Two, everyone loves Phoebe. And three, Josh, despite his chaotic theatricality and the fact that his head is often stuck in the clouds, is a fierce protector of his brothers, Danny included. Anyone that enters the Kiszka orbit must first go through Josh, and he can be a force to be reckoned with, when he wants to be. 

This is true for Jake, too, in a different way. He’s a quiet observer, and he’s too kind to ever really show contempt for anyone. Despite his shyness, he’s extremely attentive, always noticing things that others miss. He’s the calm to Josh’s storm, which makes perfect sense, when you think about it.

Both twins (and you assume Sam, although you weren’t paying any attention to him) took a shine to Phoebe the moment they met her, which was, coincidentally, the night Danny met her, too. You knew that for a fact, because you’d been there. It was at one of the band’s gigs in a dive bar, about eight months ago. Alex had dragged you along, sneaking you both through the back, much to your dismay. Once you heard them play properly, though, you had to admit they were quite good. Phoebe had been twirling around to the music like some sort of Stevie Nicks-esque goddess, and Danny couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He’d offered her a drink and introduced her to his brothers, to their great delight, and the rest is history.

Despite your being estranged from Danny and the Kiszkas and not getting to see much of her, the times you have spent with Phoebs are imprinted on your brain like a tattoo. She is endlessly kind, creative, sweet, and smart. You envy her, but you love her.

You’d nodded in response. “Yeah, dinner definitely helped.”

She’d smiled sweetly at you. “Let me know if I can do anything for you, babe.” 

“Thanks, Phoebs. Still sore, but, you know. I’m actually about to have a shower, so hopefully that’ll help.”

Josh had gestured his head toward the bathroom as he pulled the plug from the sink. “Sam’s in there now. But we’re gonna head back outside, so it’s all yours next.”

You’d nodded.

Jake grabbed a couple of seltzers from the fridge and Josh followed him outside like a little puppy. Twins, you’d smiled to yourself. Like magnets. 

Phoebe dried the last plate and stacked it next to the sink, hanging up the towel neatly, humming to herself. Not a care in the world. As she went to follow the boys outside, she turned back to face you, where you were still standing dumbly in the middle of the kitchen, off in your daydreams.

“Things still tense with you-know-who?” She’d asked you. Her voice is lilty, like a wind chime.

You shrugged. “Yeah, think so. Who knows, maybe we’ve trauma-bonded.”

She’d giggled. “Nothing brings people together like fear.”

You heard some semblance of truth in her words. Knowing Phoebe, she probably wasn’t being sarcastic. She has a very optimistic view of the world.

“I’ll be outside if you need me.” She’d smiled, and flitted out the door.

You’d sat in your room until you heard the sound of the bathroom door open, and the door to the bunk room close. You grabbed some fresh pajamas and strode across the living room, reenergised from your food, and anxious for the steam to relax your aching muscles. 

As you went to grab the bathroom door handle, the door next to it opened, too. You saw Sam properly for the first time since he left the truck. His hair was wet, once again, and he was wearing pajama shorts and a white t-shirt. He didn’t look great, if you were honest. He had circles under his eyes he was moving very stiffly, as you imagined you were, too. You made steady eye contact, and held it for a moment, unsure how to proceed.

“Are you okay?” You’d whispered.

“Been better. But I’ll live.” He turned his body further toward you and gave a weird, small smile. “You?”

“I’m fine. Alex has been fussing over me but I’m really okay. Just a headache and sore all over.” You gestured to the back of your head. You were word-vomiting, because you didn’t know how to navigate this. This might have been the first civil conversation you and Sam had shared in three years, if you didn’t count the one in the truck earlier. 

You’d looked him up and down. “Did you get hurt?”

He gave an extremely small, reluctant nod. Barely a tip of his chin. “There wasn’t a headrest on my side.”

You’d felt your face drain of color, and you gasped. “Your neck! Sam, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He frowned. “Couldn’t really feel it at the time.”

You were feeling so, so guilty. “I’m so fucking sorry.” You’d had to hold back the urge to place your hand on the side of his neck, to soothe him in some way.

“It’s alright, Y/N. Wasn’t your fault. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

You’d shaken your head. “I know. But I should’ve been paying more attention. Braked earlier. Checked to make sure you were alright after. I was so useless.” You felt a tear beginning to slide down your cheek, and now you had another emotion to contend with. On top of feeling like the worst person on the planet, being the one person Sam disliked so much, and also getting him into a car accident and giving him whiplash, now you were embarrassed for crying in front of him.

“We’ll be fine.” He’d tried to smile at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He’d padded away to the fridge to get himself some water as you quickly shut yourself in the bathroom. You were so conflicted. There was a part of you that wanted to scold yourself for worrying about Sam. He was going to be fine, just like you. No blood, no permanent injuries. Just a shitty thing you went through together, and that didn’t change the fact that he was a dick to you. But another part of you wanted to comfort him, share his pain. You did, after all, go through it together. And you did, unfortunately, still care about him, and want for his safety and happiness. You hated that. He obviously didn’t give a fuck about you, so why did you give a fuck about him?

You’re thinking the same thing now, as you stand in the same bathroom, staring at yourself in your bathing suit. Yesterday was horrible, but it’s over. You’re still sore, but it’s starting to fade. Would you and Sam go back to being mortal enemies now that a new sun has risen? You hope not, but at the same time, why wouldn’t you? Would it feel more normal if he started picking on you again? It’s not like you’ve made any kind of incredible, emotional breakthrough. You checked on each other last night, did your due diligence. Maybe that’s all it was.

A moment later, you get your answer.

“Can you hurry the fuck up in there? Some of us also need to use the bathroom.”

Your face immediately drops into a sneer. “Can’t you go upstairs?”

“No,” comes the reply, affronted.

You huff, pulling your dress back over your bathing suit, and swing open the door.

“You need to learn some patience.” You spit at Sam. God, maybe the prospect of a truce and then having it pulled out from under your feet was making you more fiery than normal.

“You need to learn how to be faster in the goddamn bathroom.” He fires back, looking you up and down with a nasty smirk. “This isn’t a fucking sorority.”

“Fuck you, Sam.” You growl and push past him, back to the safety of the sunroom.

Christ. Ceasefire over. This is war.

You get a hard ‘no’ from Alex as you begin to pull the cooler out of the back of Jake’s Jeep.

“Don’t you dare. You’re not carrying anything.” He scolds you, attempting to pry your fingers from the handle.

“I’m fine.” You groan. “Sam’s carrying a chair.” You add under your breath, not wanting to draw his attention.

“Sam’s not my sister.” Alex clips back. “If he wants to end up in a neck brace, that’s his prerogative.”

You smirk at that, finding the image of Sam in a neck brace crudely satisfying.

You relent, dropping your hand, and begin the short trek through the grass onto the sand.

You fucking love the beach. Like, insanely love it. If you had to pick your top three places on earth, it would be, in order: the beach, the Eiffel Tower (having never been, but you’ve always wanted to), and the Frankenmuth library.

The beach at Oscoda, on the shore of Lake Huron, which is so expansive it could easily be mistaken for an ocean, is your absolute favorite. You must’ve really blocked it out of your memory, because looking at it now, it’s even more beautiful than you remember. Sparkling blue water, almost-white sand, the little pier stretching out into the shallows. There are small children splashing about and parents sitting under umbrellas. It’s like heaven.

You hear Josh call from behind you. He and Sam are pulling things out of the cooler onto one of the picnic tables under the trees, which must have a perfect view of the water.

“Drink, Y/N?”

“Just one!” Alex calls from the car.

You roll your eyes, and Josh winks.

“Yes, please. Did we bring seltzers?” You ask, and he grins, pulling one out and walking toward you.

He hands you the drink and you both turn back to look over the water.

“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” He muses.

“I forgot how much so.” You reply dreamily.

Josh smirks at you cheekily, tugging at the hem of his tank top. “Race you in?”

You shriek and giggle as you slide off your sandals, whip your dress over your head, dump it onto the sand and your unopened can and sunglasses on top of it, and sprint for the water. Josh is barely a hair behind you, and as you both splash deeper into the waves, he grabs your waist and pulls you under with him.

You spend an extremely pleasant moment fully submerged, the ice-cold water piercing your skin in the best way possible, before emerging and whipping your hair back out of your eyes. Josh does the same.

“Oh, it’s so much warmer today!” He exclaims.

“Warmer?” You reply, shocked. “It’s freezing!”

He shakes his head. “It’s perfect.”

You grin, splashing each other and swimming around.

In your peripheral, you see Jake and Danny running for the water. They came with the girls in Ellie’s car, while Josh drove Jake’s, and must’ve arrived minutes after you, but they’ve certainly wasted no time. They shove each other as they approach, and eventually Danny’s sheer size causes Jake to tumble forward under the waves.

You all laugh as he pops back up, performing a much more impressive hair flick than Josh.

“This is what summer’s all about!” Danny declares. He paddles up to put an arm around your shoulders. “So glad you came, Y/N. Wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

You blush. “Thanks, Danny. I’m glad I’m here too.”

You look back toward the table. You see Alex and the girls heading toward your group, their feet just barely in the water. You’ve managed to get quite far from the shore in a short amount of time, but you can still just make out Sam, sitting at the table, sunglasses on. You wonder if he’s looking at you, before shaking the thought away. Why would he? Perhaps to make a mental list of things to tease you about. You scowl.

You all spend an enjoyable amount of time splashing around in the cool water. After a few minutes, you become completely acclimatized, and it now feels like a very pleasant temperature.

Danny and Jake get Phoebe and Eloise up on their shoulders and the girls have a very impressive chicken fight, with Ellie ending up getting thrown off, laughing all the way down. As he pulls her up out of the water, Jake complains that Danny has a height advantage, to which Ellie wraps her petite arms around Jake’s neck and says, “You’re the perfect height for me, baby. Wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Jake looks absolutely smitten with that, and they begin kissing, while Danny and Alex cat-call, and Josh makes fake gagging noises.

“Okay, food and drinks time!” Phoebe proclaims, and everyone follows her, trudging back toward the shore.

You hang back, wanting to enjoy the serenity alone for just a bit longer. You lay back and float, closing your eyes, and letting the gentle current pull you around a little. You think about Sam. You try not to, but that just makes it worse.

You hate that after all these years, less than two days in his proximity has brought back all these feelings. You want to hate him, because he hates you. But you can’t. You can’t erase the memory of the boy who gave you his ice cream when yours fell out of the cone, the boy who helped you ride a bike for the first time, the boy who let you have the bottom bunk even though he was scared, too. He’s still in there, and you saw a glimpse of him yesterday, when he put his hand on your knee and waited for you to breathe normally again. You’d never admit it to anyone, hell, you can barely admit it to yourself, but you know you’d do anything for another glimpse.

You hear Alex and Josh calling your name from the table and you bring yourself upright again.

“Coming!” You call back, as you begin to wade your way back into shore.

You catch Sam’s eye as you walk through the sand, sliding your sandals back onto your feet. At least, you think you do. It’s hard to tell with his sunglasses on. He has a very strange look on his face.

“What, no snarky comment?” You snap at him. “Not gonna tell me I have a wedgie or something?”

He schools his expression into something disdainful, and does something extremely childish. He pokes his tongue out at you. 

You have to bite back the giggle that threatens to burst. You won that round.

You sit down at the table next to Danny and run your eyes over the spread in front of you. Another one of Josh’s famous cheeseboards, this one supplemented with fruit and cured meats, too. Your mouth waters. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot something, and you break out into a huge grin.

“Josh!” You exclaim, reaching for the jar of pickles. “Thank you! When did you even get these?”

Josh gives you a funny look, glancing around the table before giving you an equally enthusiastic smile.

“That’s my little secret.”

You grin as you twist the top open and pull out a spear, taking a huge, crunchy bite. You hum with contentment, your eyes slipping closed.

“Fuck, yeah.”

Everyone chuckles. Well, almost everyone.

Your little group spends a very pleasant couple of hours down at the beach. You all take another dip in the water, sunbathe a bit, and polish off the snacks. You help Danny and Phoebe build a ridiculously lopsided sand castle, before the water rises and a small wave pulls it all down.

Every time you try to sneak a glance at Sam, his eyes are on you, accompanied by a scowl. You quickly look away. He’s quiet and stays under the trees for most of the outing, and you can only assume he’s trying to behave in front of his brothers, while making his mental list of ways to torment you later. He’s impossible. 

As you help Josh pack up, you can’t help yourself. You sneakily stare at Sam as he walks, alone, down to the water and submerges himself. You try not to look as he reemerges, face to the sky, as the water streams in tiny rivulets from the tips of his hair down his golden chest. You wish he didn’t look so damn good. And you wish you didn’t feel a pang of guilt and empathy when you notice how stiffly he’s still moving.

You let yourself dry out in the sun on the back porch when you return home. The girls sit by your sides, towels splayed out underneath you, as you let the rays warm your face and body.

Alex wordlessly places a bottle of sunscreen on the decking next to you, and you give him a dirty look.

After a little while of tanning and gossiping, Jake appears at the back door, drinks in hand.

“Ladies.” He offers, holding the glasses out for the three of you.

“Did you make us cocktails, baby?” Ellie exclaims as he leans down to give her a kiss.

“Sure did.” He brushes her hair back from her face. “Anything for my girl. Girls.” He blushes.

Their love-fest would almost be nauseating, if it wasn’t so damn perfect.

After your reluctance to come on this holiday, and the traumatic events of yesterday, you’re actually surprised at how happy you feel to be here, now. Sam could sulk in his bedroom and give you dirty looks all he wanted, but you’re resolved not to let it ruin your trip.

After another late dinner and a few rounds of beer pong in the backyard, everyone starts to say their goodnights and head off to their respective rooms. There seems to be a sleepy, sunkissed aura around the house. You do your rounds, thanking everyone for a lovely day (except Sam, obviously, who’s been mysteriously absent since dinner and presumably already in bed).

You decide it’s finally time to shower and wash the sand out of your hair, so you grab your pajamas and pad quietly through the dark living room. Not a second after you’ve shut yourself in the bathroom and pulled your dress over your head, there’s a knock on the door.

“Occupied!” You call.

The door opens anyway, and Sam steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it, eyes on you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You whisper-shout at him, covering your bathing suit with your arms.

He doesn’t reply, and you cannot, for the life of you, deduce the look on his face.

“Sam, this isn’t funny. Get the fuck out. I’m trying to shower.”

He’s silent, but he takes a step toward you, crowding in on you in the small space. You feel your pulse begin to quicken, a sneer plastered on your face. You feel… afraid? What is this?

“What are you doing?” You say again, but again he doesn’t reply. He is staring at you with so much intensity, you start to feel claustrophobic.

“Why were you staring at me at the beach? Have you been cataloging horrible things to say to me?” You smirk, mostly to yourself. You know you were right.

He doesn't respond, but you see a flicker of a smile on his mouth. He’s so close to you now. Your toes are almost touching.

“Why do you hate me, Sam? What the fuck happened to us?”

He takes a step closer to you, but he still doesn’t say anything.

You feel your heart begin to race. Is he about to hit you? Scream in your face?

“What are you doing?” You ask quietly, for a third time.

He steps even closer, his knee bumping your thigh as he plants a foot between yours.

“Sam, what’s going on?” Your voice is barely a whisper now. You feel a strange fluttering in your throat.

Sam does something completely unexpected. He places a hand on your chest, pushing you back until your ass hits the bathroom counter. You just stare at him. He lifts other his hand to your chin, ghosting his fingertips across your bottom lip. You let out a small gasp. In the millisecond that your lips are open, he crams his two middle fingers into your mouth.

“Can you just shut up for. One. Fucking. Second?”

Your eyes are wide as saucers, staring into his. You nod.

He breathes a deep sigh, as if what he’s about to tell you is physically painful for him. As if he hasn’t physically restrained you. “I was staring at you at the beach, because…” he frowns, and runs his eyes down your body. “Because you look so fucking hot in that bathing suit."

You take in a sharp breath around his fingers. You don’t know how to react to what he’s saying. He thought you were hot?

“Did you wear that just to spite me?” He’s almost growling at you.

You shake your head. Your saliva is starting to drip down your chin, but something about it is obscenely erotic. Your heart is hammering in your chest. You don’t have a single clue what is transpiring between the two of you at this current moment. All you know is that you don’t want him to remove his hand. He’s completely invading your senses. Everything is just Sam. Sam. Sam.

“I fucking hate what you do to me.” He breathes, looking down at the floor.

You just stare at the top of his head. It’s as if he’s forgotten that you can’t respond. You can feel the redness burning in your cheeks, sweat beading on your neck, heartbeat thundering under his palm. Your arms have dropped, limp by your sides.

He looks up at you again. You can see that his breathing has sped up. His pupils are blown wide. Is Sam Kiszka turned on by you?

“You are so fucking beautiful.” He says it like he’s angry about it.

You don’t even recognize the sound coming out of you when you whimper, and he withdraws his fingers from your mouth. They’re dripping with your spit, and he slides his hand down to wrap them loosely around your throat. His eyes flick between yours, and for a split second, he looks earnest.

“Do you want this?”

You don’t even take a second to think before breathing, “Yes.”

His mouth crashes down on yours, hard. It’s all teeth and tongue, and before you can even blink, you’re reciprocating. What the fuck is happening? You’re so turned on, every part of you that connects with him is tingling.

His grip on your throat becomes tighter, and his other hand slides down your stomach to grip at your hip, his long fingers digging into your skin. It hurts deliciously.

You flail your arms until one of your hands is knotted firmly in his hair, the other gripping the nape of his neck.

You make a small noise into his mouth and he hums in agreement. Roughly, and without ceremony, he slides his hand down to palm at your breast, as his lips drag across your jaw and down your neck. He bites down, hard. You whimper.

“Fuck.” He murmurs into your skin.

You can feel his erection pressing into your hipbone, and in a startling moment of clarity, you realize that you’re kissing Sam. Your Sam. This can’t be real.

He slides the hand on your hip around to grab a handful of your ass, as the other pushes into the front of your bikini bottoms. He roughly circles your clit with his fingertips as he brings his mouth back to yours, sinking his teeth into your lip. You clench your jaw to keep from whining.

You grip his forearm as he continues to touch you, sliding his fingers through you before pushing them inside. He pumps relentlessly as his thumb takes over your clit, his eyes darting between yours.

You moan, throwing your head back and lowering your arms to grip the edge of the counter. Fuck, this feels so good.

You want to touch him, too, but you can’t. You’re too wrapped up in your own bliss.

You feel yourself begin to clench around his fingers and you lean your face down into his neck, moaning breathily into his ear.

“You gonna come for me?” He grunts.

You make an affirmative noise in the form of a whine as you unravel, your limbs shaking and teeth sinking into his collarbone.

You lean against him, panting, for a few moments, before he abruptly removes his hand from you. He wipes his fingers on his jeans and steps away.

“Do you want -” You begin, but he cuts you off.

“No.” He frowns, turns, and leaves.

You lean back into the counter, pulse still racing, legs heavy, as you try to piece together what’s just happened. Sam just gave you the fastest orgasm of your life, and then walked out, with no explanation.

What the fuck was that?

@ohgodthefeeling-gvf @profitofthedune @sinarainbows @klarxtr @jakesgrapejuice @gretavangroupie @mackalah @clairesjointshurt @writingcold @alwaysonthemend @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @hi-hi-hello11 @dont-go-home-without-me @gvfpal @freefallthoughts @m0uthfl13s @violet-hayes @godly-sinsx

Message me if you'd like to be added/removed from my tag list!

#greta van fleet #sam kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #this is fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fic #jake kiszka #sam kiszka x reader #sam gvf #gvf smut

[jinisnuggets]

ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕜'𝕤 𝕄𝕪 𝕃𝕒𝕤𝕥 ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖

Pairings: Vampire Roommate Seonghwa! X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Genre: Angst, Some fluff, Smut, Vampire AU

Warnings: Seonghwa vampire!, Yn has an ex, bit suggestive, brief mention of cockwarming, big dick seonghwa, swear words, quick sex.

Synopsis: After a long day of knowing nothing about Seonghwa, you arrive back home in disappointment only to be greeted by one of your roommate's deepest… darkest… secrets…

Seonghwa and you have been roommates ever since college, you really can't complain about it, Seonghwa has always been such a kind person and he always did anything for you.

He never questioned you and stayed by your side every moment, he was such a sweetheart. Food was always ready when you came back from work, the dishes were washed and organized in their place, and the house was sparkly clean. How could someone just be so perfect?

***

"Seonghwa?" You called for the 3rd time in a row.

You were starting to grow concerned as your roommate didn't answer your calls, you texted him but you were left unread, you even called him but the phone went straight to voicemail.

Was he perhaps out somewhere where service was bad? Being the weekend, it didn't make sense for him to be at work, you both were off on weekends so if one of you wasn't home it meant there had been plans, but you guys always told each other so why hadn't he said anything this time?

The more you thought about it the more your head spiraled, your head hurt.. just nothing about the situation made sense, absolutely nothing added up.

You texted Seonghwa what you were originally gonna tell him in person but couldn't as you couldn't get ahold of him. If nothing bad happened to him he'd see the message eventually.

"Hey Seonghwa, I don't know when you'll see this but I left some food in the fridge, I have plans with the girls today and will be out for a while. I'll see you later at home."

You put your phone in your bag and sighed, knowing your roommate would text back immediately after reading the text, so you didn't bother to silence your phone like you normally did, you made your way out and picked up all of your friends.

Of course they questioned you about Seonghwa who they normally referred to as your "boyfriend". You didn't end up telling them that you hadn't seen him that morning, but instead just said that he has been good and everything was normal between you two, although the more you talked about him the more concerned you grew.

"You know Yn, I sometimes feel kinda off about him." One of your friends said as you looked in the rearview mirror to look at them.

"What do you mean?"

You said in a calm voice, half shaky from fear of what they were about to say.

"He just sometimes seems odd, when we hang out at your place he normally doesn't come down until an hour or two later to greet us. His hair is always messy and he looks tired, he's out of breath and sweaty, we also normally hear loud sounds coming from his room."

Your heart stopped as you listened to your friends words, everything added up to one thing. Messy hair, tired, sweaty, loud sounds. What did this mean? Was Seonghwa seeing someone? How had you never noticed?

You felt your chest tightening as you started to come back to reality. It felt difficult to accept the fact that Seonghwa might be dating someone already, someone who wasn't you. It's all you ever imagined…

___________

You met Seonghwa in college, when you were both assigned to a dorm together, your first initial thought of him was how handsome he was, how could someone be so gentle and perfect?

You guys became best friends quickly, you guys stayed up playing games, building Legos, watching movies, everything seemed ideal. Although you had a boyfriend at that time, Seonghwa was like your older brother who you loved dearly, you guys were just friends. That's what you thought all up until your boyfriend dumped you.

Those cold words that you cried over for so long, but no matter how many days and months you cried, Seonghwa was always next to you, gently rubbing your back and encouraging you as you cried. He never stopped you, all you remember is his deep, soft voice saying everyday:

"Cry all you want, I will be here every moment of it.."

You realized during those hard times how much you loved Seonghwa. He wasn't like a brother, he wasn't just a best friend, he was like your boyfriend to you… since those days, you looked at Seonghwa, all you could think of is the reason why you liked him, everyday he was a reminder to you, on why you fell in love with him.

His kindness, gentleness, everything about him was just perfect, he never argued, never yelled at you, never got mad at you, all he ever did was listen and encourage you. The more you thought about it the more he seemed a bit too good to be true…

Now, hearing all the possibilities, your head starts going blank. How could Seonghwa already have a love interest without you noticing? Your heart broke into a million pieces as you closed your eyes and accepted the truth.

"Yn? Are you okay?"

Your friend questioned in a concerned pitch, feeling uneasy by your sudden silence.

"Yeah, I'm fine… so what's the plan?"

___________

As you clicked open the front door and entered the house, you were uneased by the sudden wave of silence.

"Seonghwa?" You called, half expecting a response from the familiar voice, but nothing called back to you.

You suddenly started growing angry, how could you have been so stupid to have never noticed something so obvious? How could you have been such an idiot to think that someone you were so close with would feel the same way as you did? How could you have been blinded the entire time by a lie..?

You walked upstairs, making your way to your room to pick up some clothes so you could take a warm shower, but you couldn't help but grow curious to look inside Seonghwa's room, the door was closed.. you walked closer to it, just when you put your hand on the doorknob you hesitated… would Seonghwa be mad if he figured out you looked in his room? You put all of your thoughts aside, squeezed your eyes shut and threw open the door.

Immediately, you felt a wind of cold air, shocked to see the window was wide open, the light of the moon illuminating the room, no one… no one was to be seen, but you felt as if there was another presence in the room with you.

You turned around, maybe it was all your imagination… and you were just being paranoid… after all, you weren't in the right mind at the moment.

"You're back?"

Frozen… at the familiar voice coming from behind you… You grow afraid to look back..

Seonghwa's room is in the second story of the house… No one was in that room with you just a few seconds back…

"I thought you took a while… I didn't end up having time to prepare dinner tonight.. what if we order something instead?"

A hand was placed on your shoulder, cold… so cold… this hand didn't feel like a living human's.

"Yn?"

"You… where did you go… today…?"

You couldn't hide the fear in your voice… fearing for his response… slowly turning around to face him..

"I was just enjoying the sun…"

Messy hair.. tired.. sweaty and out of breath.. perfect…

Seonghwa was smiling… he looked pale… really pale…

"Are you okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost.."

His calm, soft voice grew from comforting to terrifying…

"I think I did…"

Seonghwa's expression changed from a smile to an upset look, he suddenly looked mad…

"I'm not a ghost… Yn…"

You walked backwards.. as he moved closer to you..

"No- Not you….!"

You hit the back of the wall, Seonghwa was dangerously close to you…

"But I'm not alive either…"

Laughs came out of his mouth when you noticed… his mouth…

Fangs…

Fangs that he never had before…

Seonghwa grabbed your arm, so tight that it hurt… he dragged you over to his room and locked the door..

"Seonghwa… what are you going to do…?"

"You know too much.."

You now suddenly felt threatened, like if Seonghwa was about to kill you…

Seonghwa took out his phone and softly spoke.

"What would you like to eat today?"

You looked at him confused, but clearly uncomfortable.

"We can eat something simple like ramen… like the old days…"

Every word he said made a chill run down your spine..

"I'm not going to hurt you… you can speak."

…

"Well then…"

***

"Fuck!"

How did this happen? You were being pressed up against Seonghwa while he was inside of you, absolutely destroying your insides.

Seonghwa was still well put together, his hair was messy yet pretty, he still had his shirt on while his pants were half down, but he had completely tricked you…

"Princess, would you mind bending towards me?"

You went from fearing for your life to Seonghwa's length being pushed inside of you harshly..

"Seonghwa..~ please… calm down I'm sorry~!"

"It's gonna take more than an apology to make up for this princess..."

He suddenly fastened his pace while pushing his full cock inside of you. Fuck he felt good, you'd be lying if you said that you had never imagined doing this with Seonghwa, you have and for years.. but imagining it is not at all similar as reality, Seonghwa was big, like huge, not just that but his girth was almost unrealistic, nothing like you had imagined.

"Seonghwa! Stop!"

You yelled, clearly not actually desiring him to stop but actually the complete opposite. After he was in you couldn't imagine him being out.

"Hwa! I'm so close! Stop!"

"Be good and cum for me princess.."

He whispered in your ear before biting it..

That's all it took for you to obey him immediately, he knew you were embarrassed but he quickly went down and licked it all out of you.

He slipped his cock out of you which made you let out a small whimper of pleasure, Seonghwa placed his dick on your stomach before allowing himself to let it all out too.

Seonghwa leaned down and kissed you, you felt all his emotions through one simple kiss, all of this was worth it after all. He slipped his dick inside of you and let himself lay down over you.

Ding Dong-

"Get up… food's here."

#kpop #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa smut #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x y/n #yn #x yn #fanfiction #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez au

[storiesofsvu]

A Dangerous Game Ch 10

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol consumption, mention of smut, a hint of foreshadowing if you squint, just two idiots in denial. As always, would love to hear your thoughts/comments/what you think is coming next! even on anon! i love talking about my fics with ppl who are enjoying them!

You felt a small weight hit the bed and you stirred in your sleep, not wanting to open your eyes yet, holding onto the dreams before you felt something nuzzle into your hand accompanied by a purring and you realized it was Sergio. He settled into your side right as Emily rolled over, still half asleep herself but her arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you to her and you let out a happy sigh before drifting back off to dreamland.

It was only a couple of hours later when Sergio was nudging against your face, little meows getting louder until he finally licked your nose and your eyes scrunched open. You glanced at him, frowning for a moment before he meowed again, this time louder and you let out a quiet sigh, scooping him up before you slipped from the bed.

*

Emily awoke when the sun was fully infiltrating her bedroom, she smiled at first while she stretched and then she realized you weren’t in the bed beside her and she frowned, sitting up she glanced around the room. Your phone was still on her bedside table, and your clothes from last night were still strewn across her floor so you clearly hadn’t gone far. As she fully woke up she could smell coffee wafting through the air, then your voice broke the silence of her apartment. She couldn’t help the small smile that broke across her lips, shifting from the bed to grab some cozy clothes to toss on before leaving her bedroom and wandering down the hall. She paused in the entry way to the kitchen, leaning against the wall to take in the view in front of her. It was clear you had silently raided her closet, a grey FBI tee and pair of pyjama shorts covering your body. The smell of food wafted through the room, a bowl beside the stove while a pan preheated, though you weren’t paying much attention to that at the time. Sergio was up on the counter, getting all the love and scratches as you cooed, giggling when he nuzzled his face against yours.

“Thought you didn’t like cats.” Emily greeted with a tease and you nearly jumped, glancing her way.

“I just said I liked dogs better.” You replied with a sheepish smile, “I gave him half a can, hope that’s alright. Little guy wouldn’t stop screaming earlier.”

“Guess I’m immune to it now.” Stepping forward she wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek before turning to Sergio, “it’s rude to wake up guests.” She scolded, scooping him up with her free arm, “and you know you’re not supposed to be on the counter.”

With an offended meow he jumped out of her arms, padding away to his food dish and you slipped out of her arm, moving to wash your hands before returning your attention to the stove. Emily crossed the kitchen to the coffee pot, pulling down a mug to fill up, adding in her preferred mixings.

“Hope it’s okay I raided your fridge.” You said, scooping a ladle of batter out of the bowl to drip onto the pan in medium sized circles. Behind you Emily chuckled over the first couple sips of her coffee, arm wrapping around you again, this time her lips hit the side of your neck.

“Fridge and closet.” She murmured, “sticky fingers over here.”

“I was hungry!” You defended, “and I didn’t want to put on yesterdays clothes.”

“Could always walk around naked.” She suggested with a smirk and you laughed.

“That was the original plan but Sergio kept staring.”

“Perv.” She scolded in his general direction before kissing your shoulder, “anything I can help with?”

“Bacon’s in the oven, chocolate chip pancakes on the go, if you want anything else? Eggs?”

“Nah.” She squeezed at your hip, moving to the fridge, “I’ll cut up some fruit though.”

Emily flicked through her phone, selecting a soft playlist to echo through the space as the two of you got to work, easily moving around each other in the kitchen. Every so often you’d have to peek through a couple of cupboards before she’d pull down exactly what you were looking for, or she’d purposely brush against you as she reached around you to get something. Soon enough breakfast was done and she was refilling your coffee, mixing it just how you liked it while you shifted everything onto the breakfast bar and took a seat. You murmured a quiet ‘thanks’ to Emily when she slid you your coffee, sighing happily as you took your first sip before digging into breakfast. Her free hand found yours on the table top, fingers tracing the lines of your hand while the two of you ate, chatting every so often.

“This is fucking delicious.” She complimented over her first bite.

“Secret ingredient is putting syrup right into the batter.”

“Kay, that’s it, you need to wake up here every weekend. Because this is perfection.”

You felt your cheeks heat, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable as you smiled over at her, a tiny laugh on your lips and you felt a warmth spread through your chest that you knew had nothing to do with the coffee. You’d not only had one of the best sleeps in weeks, if not even longer, able to sleep as late as you wanted, curled up in Emily’s arms with no worries of a knock at the door, a phone ringing with a new lead, you had all weekend to simply drink each other in. Instead of waking up alone and having to drag yourself out of bed for a pot of coffee and a pop tart you actually had the motivation to cook, to share something with someone else, and it was an incredibly nice change. Sergio headbutted into your leg, rubbing against you while he meowed before pouncing up into your lap and you chuckled.

“I already fed you mister.”

“Careful.” Emily warned with a grin, “he will steal your bacon.”

She watched as you cooed down at him, scratching behind his ears while he rubbed against your hand, nudging his way up to boop against your face. Compared to the wildly professional, bad ass you were on crime scenes, or even the still somewhat cautious woman you were around the rest of the team, you were surprisingly adorable right now. Sure, she’d seen you relaxed before, but nothing like this. Though it probably didn’t help that you were in her kitchen, dressed in her clothes, being affectionate with Sergio after making her a homemade breakfast. You were incredibly at peace, happy and living in that moment, not a care in the world, not a worry about what was coming next and Emily couldn’t help but smile at that thought. Sergio popped up on his hind legs, his paws up on the table and you let out an offended noise, grabbing him around the waist,

“Sir.. we talked about this. I already fed you; you don’t get bacon.” Picking him up you plopped him back down on the floor much to his disappointment before you turned back to your breakfast. “Did you have plans today?”

“No.” Emily replied with a happy smile, “the plan was nothing. Maybe pick up a couple of groceries later but I was gonna leave everything for tomorrow.”

“Your fridge is looking pretty empty.”

“I’m not used to staying home this often!” She defended with a laugh, “I kept waiting for an out of state case to pop up.”

“Tell me about it.” You practically rolled your eyes and Emily chuckled.

“What? There something about out of town cases you prefer?” She teased with a brow raise and you were all of two seconds from throwing a piece of strawberry in her direction.

“As if they haven’t become your favourite.” You placed you cutlery on top of the plate, pushing back from the island to stand.

“Hey, none of that.” Emily interjected and you looked back in her direction, “you cooked, I’ll clean things up.” She nodded toward the couch, “pick something to watch.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” You smiled, placing the plate back on the counter as Emily moved around it, kissing you gently.

“Thank you for breakfast.”

“Anytime.”

*

Hours later and the two of you were tangled in each others limbs on Emily’s couch, you’d managed to go through a handful of episodes of That 70’s Show and had moved onto movies, neither of you wanting to move. Em was on her back, braced against the arm of the couch while you laid on her chest, curled on your side to see the tv. Both of you had dozed on and off throughout the day, a blanket tossed over your bodies, Sergio occasionally jumping up for a cuddle and honestly, it was the best way either of you could have thought to spend a weekend. The movie finally came to an end and you let out a groan, stretching out your body as you shifted so you could see her, patting at her side,

“It’s getting late, you need to get groceries.”

“I’ll go tomorrow.”

“No you won’t.” You chuckled, “and you know it. Besides, what about dinner?”

“Isn’t that what takeout’s for?”

“If you show up to work with no lunch on Monday you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“And I again, remind you about the blessed thing we have now called delivery.” She laughed, her hand smoothing back a piece of loose hair.

“You gotta stop wasting your money Prentiss.” You teased, sitting up and offering her a hand, “c’mon. I’ll even drive. Show you a couple easy bring to work lunches.”

“Fine.” She half grumbled, “but only ‘cause you’re cute.”

“You think I’m being demanding? You only have one can of cat food left. Sergio would nag you until the end of time.”

Emily chuckled, taking your hand and letting you drag her off the couch because you were right, and as much as she wanted to stay on that couch with you, the weekend was also for getting stuff done. At least this way she got to do some of it with you. She’d always thought of grocery shopping as something rather uneventful, especially at the hours when you couldn’t get free samples but today she discovered a whole new side of it. You admitted you also needed to pick up a couple of things, using a basket within her cart to keep yours separate. Neither of you needed a lot, you never wanted to have a fully stocked fridge to then immediately leave for a case and have it all go bad. You picked up some frozen stuff, some dried goods, anything fresh you could easily whip up in the next couple of days to toss into containers and into the freezer if need be. The two of you stayed close while you shopped, stealing kisses, laughter breaking through the quiet of the store as you pursued the aisles without a care in the world who happened to see.

By the time you got back to Emily’s both of you were starving. She popped a nice bottle of malbec while you set about cooking some fresh meatballs, letting her take control of the pasta. Music flowed through the air while you chatted about various things, a lot of it related to food, dishes that either of you liked to make, ones that travelled well for work lunches and your go to’s for fancier meals when you wanted to impress. You ate dinner at the island, this time sneaking Sergio a couple bites of meatball, wrapped in a happy domestic glow before the two of you started on dishes, making sure the kitchen was tidied up. You let out a soft sigh, glancing around the room,

“I should get outta your hair.”

“What?” Emily glanced up from where she was refilling wine glasses, “oh c’mon, I can’t let you drive now.”

“Em…” You laughed, “I’ve had one glass.”

“Not after you finish this.” She slid the glass toward you with a soft smile and you huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t want to take up your whole weekend.”

“Thanks to you I got half my errands done.” A hand closed around your wrist, pulling you to her and you couldn’t help but smile as her lips met yours, “if you need to go, go, but you’re more than welcome to stay another night.”

“Good.” You smiled, kissing her gently, “cause I really didn’t want to put pants on yet.”

With a laugh, she swatted at your ass, picking up the bottle of wine as the two of you made your way back into the living room to make home on the couch. You skimmed through a few streaming options before the two of you settled on a movie to watch to end the day off with. Emily sat beside you, tossing a blanket out over your legs extended onto the coffee table or pulled up under you while the movie played, her arm resting on the back of the couch, occasionally coming to play with your hair or tickle at the back of your neck. You hadn’t realized you’d chosen a movie with such romantic undertones, or maybe it didn’t and it was just your imagination running wild after spending half your weekend at Emily’s. Either way you felt a soft sigh leave your lips as the credits started to play, throughout the movie Emily would briefly hold you tighter, her lips meeting the top of your head, there were stolen glances and laughs, little kisses during more boring moments. It started auto playing onto the sequel and sighed once more, letting it move through your entire body and you felt Emily’s hand squeeze at your arm. You’d shifted once again so you were lying on her chest,

“You alright over there?” She asked softly, hand rubbing at your body and you paused for a moment, putting together your words.

“Is.. is it really that much of an issue?” You shifted your head so you could catch her gaze in time for her brow to furrow while she looked down at you, “co-worker involvement I mean. Does it really affect things as badly as they make it seem?”

Emily let out a breath, she could read between your words, knowing that you were asking because the downfall for a unit chief would likely be more than an agent, no matter what you wanted, you needed to make sure her career wouldn’t be ruined and because you were hesitant. She’d known that from the start. There was no way you would’ve come up to her in that bar all those months ago, and once you’d know she was your superior you kept your distance, you always made sure she was comfortable with whatever was happening.

“The bureau…. Just likes to cover their asses.” She groaned softly, her hand coming to brush hair off your face, “there’s protocols, agents involved with witnesses, lawyers, each other, relations to victims or unsubs, they have to be removed from cases so they don’t jeopardize them.”

“I almost married a lawyer; I remember the rules.” You rolled your eyes and Emily felt her heart jolt in her chest, making sure to tuck that into her back pocket to unpack later, “and honestly it’s bullshit. Will was in the field with us a few weeks ago!” You pushed up to sitting, “not only is he married to JJ but they have kids together? The director in Seattle never would have let that fly.”

“Different states, different directors, different opinions.” Emily offered and you huffed out a laugh.

“Then.. maybe this isn’t so wrong.” You glanced up to her, a curious look on your face and she nearly melted.

“You think it’s worth a shot?”

“I think there’s nothing wrong with friends with benefits.” You finally admitted, “I mean, are you really going to jump to save me just because you’ve seen me come? Over someone like JJ or Morgan who you’ve known for a literal decade?”

“Way to be blunt.” She laughed.

“And hey… our rule was nothing could happen while we were at home.”

“Are you about to find some loophole that this is my home not yours cause it’s my house?” She laughed again, stroking at your cheek and your lips split into a grin.

“No… technically…. I live in Alexandria… you live in Washington. If I’m at you’re place, I’m not in my home state. If you’re at mine, you’re in Virginia.”

“Well that is quite the interesting loophole you’ve found there.”

“Thought you might like it.” You leant in, kissing her and she sighed happily against your lips, “so?”

“I say we cut the crap.” Emily chuckled, “like you said, no harm in friends with benefits. What was the point in saying we could only hook up while out of state? If anything it had us focussing more on each other than actual work.”

“Exactly.” You laughed, a quiet shriek leaving your lips as Emily tugged you into her lap, her lips capturing yours once again.

“That also means I get to make you come as many times as I want and it doesn’t matter if we’re stuck here.”

“You’ve got until noon tomorrow Prentiss, then I’ve got shit to do.”

“I guess I better get to work then.”

____________

@ssa-sapphic @mickey-gomezz @momlifebehard @emilyprentiss4life @softgamerking @httpjupiterbby @somethingimaginative17 @temilyrights @alexxavicry  @mysticfalls01 @anya-casablanca @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @aliensaurusrex @alcabots @7thavenger @ladysc @rustyzebra @ilovemycrayons @mandy-asimp @thegrantwater @leftoverenvy @kades95 @disneyfan624 @dextur @m00nkn1ghts @augustvandyne @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @msvenablesbitch @its-soph-xx  @going-gray @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess  @kdaghay @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @awolfcsworld @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4nat @midnight-sapphic @scorpsik @thisisraes @prentiss-theorem @unsubologyy @strongsassysexysloane @svushots

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #a dangerous game

[little-svt]

Makeup wearing | Angst + Comfort

Wc: 2.2k+

Taglist: @pastel-princess-please @kiki-woo @fishsquishh

Celebrity

It felt like the two of you had been waiting for this event for longer than you’d been together. That wasn’t the case of course, but there was nothing more important to Jihoon. More than his career and his relationship with you, than the critical decision to finally go public with you. The announcement of your attendance to the biggest awards show in the Korean entertainment industry had been released to the public just a month before and each day since had passed incredibly slow, anticipation flipping back and forth from excitement to nauseating anxiety and back again. He’d shield your eyes and ears from those spreading hate so you would only be surrounded with the rosy glow of all his fans and friends who supported the two of you wholeheartedly. Anything to lessen the pressure.

It had helped, he had helped. But with the day finally upon you, honestly it hadn’t felt real. A good morning kiss from Jihoon and another before he left for work as usual. But it wasn’t as usual, you both had a big day ahead of you. The pressure still monumental.

“Today’s the day. Still sleepy, baby?” He’d shared a thoughtful smile with you when he stopped by for his final goodbye kiss for the day, your eyes still closed, not quite awake yet.

He’d let you sleep in a little longer, knowing you had a million alarms and the two of you had planned everything down to your eye makeup for this event. It would be okay… everything would be fine. As he collected the rest of his things, closing the door quietly so he wouldn’t wake you, Jihoon’s mind wandered, thinking unwillingly, dolefully of all the support they’d lost. It was worth it, without a doubt. But still, he hadn’t taken even a second to mourn, looking away, scrolling past, putting down his phone as to not expose you or make you any more anxious than you already were. So you’d never have to worry that he might regret his choice for a single second. Jihoon wanted this, to share his world with you, and you with the world. It was time.

Waking up without him was more common than you liked but at the same time, both you and Jihoon liked your ‘You time’. You took your time getting up, stretching and basking in the sun a moment as you open the curtains in your room on your way to the bathroom. Then onto the most important meal of the day, you chopped fruit for your cereal and took your place in front of the television and put on your latest favorite show.

When you finally opened your eyes for the morning, the curtains were shut, leaving the rooms comfortable, dim darkness. Perfect for sleeping until noon, you learned as you picked up your phone, rolling over to find the bedside next to you, made up neatly as usual. Jihoon was a little too good at sneaking out without waking you. But you appreciated it. Sleeping in when you could wasn’t rare, but it was always a treat.

Taking your time, a little before noon you finally rolled out of bed, opening your curtains and standing in the warmth of the rising sun just a little longer before starting your morning routine; brushing your teeth, breakfast, getting dressed for the day. You skipped the last part, settling for a bowl of cereal in front of the television, comfortable in your pajamas.

A few hours later you realized you overestimated how long you would be able to sit in front of the tv and do nothing, finding yourself pulling your hair back and scanning your apartment. Seeing your abandoned bowl on the counter you got to washing dishes first, moving around your kitchen, wiping counters until light clutter here and there lead you through each of the rooms in your home. All tucker out, you crashed again on the sofa, still in your pjs and only an hour and a half burned, 3 to go. A ding from your phone caught your attention.

‘Good morning, beautiful. Did you eat yet?? I’m getting lunch with some of the guys now’ - 🍚 my rice boy 🍚

Smiling to yourself you pushed down the urge to reply snarkily that it was in fact; no longer morning.

‘I had breakfast a few hours ago! Just got done cleaning the entire house 🙈😝 send help I’m actually bored out of my mind’

Pushing send you glanced around again, maybe you’d missed something, but apparently your mind was hellbent not to relax during your only downtime. Not long after, your phone dinged again.

‘Maybe watch a few episodes of that show you’ve been trying to get to? I’ll see you later 🫰’ - 🍚 my rice boy 🍚

You found yourself smiling again at his sign off. Jihoon had come far from his dry texting days, with your help of course. To others it didn’t seem like much but they weren’t there to see the frequent ‘👍’ and ‘yes/no’ to questions that definitely needed elaboration. He always insisted he was more of a phone call type of guy. Somehow this same man was writing and producing award winning albums for an internationally famous KPOP group.

Setting your phone down on the glass coffee table, you swapped it out for the remote again, and began scrolling through Netflix. If you watched the new drama you’d been wanting to finish, you wouldn’t be able to relax or pull yourself away. You mumbled mindlessly to yourself, settling on a show you’d watched more than a couple times now, possibly more than you could count on two hands. It was comforting and while it wasn’t around when you were growing up, it gave you the same nostalgic feeling. While the intro played, you stood to fetch yourself a drink, grabbing your favorite plush before you headed back to the living room to plop on the sofa, baby blue mug in hand just in time for the intro to end.

Curling around your plush, you found yourself stretching out, resting your head on a throw pillow as the second and third episodes rolled around. It was too late when you became conscious of your heavy eyelids and tired body, your eyes already fluttering shut.

Some time later a warm hand shifted on your tummy, big, strong arms squeezing you slightly, just enough to pull you to his body, a safe cocoon around you. When your eyes blinked open, your vision, the room - no - the world was hazy. When had you moved to your bed? And when had Jihoon come home. Thoughts didn’t stick in your mind long, brushed away by the fuzzy, warm feelings surrounding you, coating every touch, sound, even his smell.

“You think too much.” He muttered, lips against your ear, still half asleep. He always seemed to know when you were awake, even if you were completely still.

Your cheeks tingled, your lips stretching into a sleepy smile as you shimmied and twisted to face him.

“Aah, no.”, he complained, eyebrows creasing as he closed his eyes even tighter, feeling quite noncompliant to your decision to wake up, “I can’t even cuddle you??”

“Ehehe.. You can…”, you giggled when he allowed you, even welcomed you rubbing your nose against his, “But you’re gonna be mad..”

Jihoon opened his eyes, looking at you quizzically. His silly expression only making you laugh more.

“I gotta pee!!” you squealed, squirming out of his hold.

Still groggy, he grasped what he could of you, your warmth quickly leaving the moment you shifted from his chest. A series of desperate, complaining ‘no’s repeating as he fought with you and the blankets to keep you in his arms a little longer.

Something so simple..

The front door slammed as Jihoon strode urgently through your apartment, not stopping to remove his shoes as he threw his bag to the floor. His mind hardly registered you rousing from your sleep on the sofa as he passed you to tear through your room, his clothes, and anything in his way so uncharacteristically. Each harsh clatter of clothes hangers or thud of a shoe made your heart jump a little as you rubbed the sleepy from your eyes, anxious and confused. Your hands tightened almost painfully around the soft fabric of your blanket, squeezing and pulling it to your chest as you listened. You still hadn’t collect your thoughts, only anxiously wondering what could have made him so mad.

Not long later he was trudge back to the living room, his stylists could take care of the rest. Just when he thought he couldn’t lose his head anymore, you were still sitting on the sofa, your hair a mess, in your Saturday pajamas.

“Y/n-“, he held his head, turning away from you to take a breath but a quick glance at his watch and he was boiling.

“Why are you..?” Your words wouldn’t come out, your voice trapped in your lungs as your eyes flittered over his composure, nearly trembling with an anger that frightened you, silenced you.

“What do you mean why am I-“, how you could ask that was baffling to him, “Where is your head? We don’t have time.”

Your eyes stung with tears as he stepped toward you, and you could only try not to cry pathetically as he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t. He repeated that over and over in his head. There was just no time. Small and insignificant couldn’t begin to describe the feeling you were drowning in, the ache of fear in your heart of the one person who always made you feel safe. You watched him speed around, fetching your clothes, fixing your hair and makeup. Looking right through you.

“Appa mad-“

“Y/n, we cannot do this right now. PLEASE.” He did look at you this time, right into your eyes. But you didn’t recognize this man. And that was all it took.

The makeup he applied streaked down your cheek, one tear, two, and soon your face was a streaky mess. Worse off, he took a step back when he realized his first thought was regret that he hadn’t chosen a waterproof mascara.

“SHIT!” He cursed, not sure at what. Not at you. But all you heard was your Appa yelling and cursing at you.

“I don’t wanna!!” Sobbing, you squirmed out of your dress, plopped onto the bathroom floor and just wailed.

He was on the verge of pulling out his hair, his mind whirring, messy, but the sound of your cry rang clear. None of this mattered at all without you.

“Baby-“ he sighed, softening. But maybe too stubborn or just plain distraught you continued to sob and fret.

“Baby, look at me.”, Jihoon grabbed your face in his hands, he needed you to focus even knowing it would be so hard at a time like this, “Appa is not mad.”

Blinking, tears still dripping from your eyelashes, how could you believe him? He only held your face like this when you got into trouble or when you had serious talks.

“I made Appa late…” your voice shook as you worked your little mind around the situation, each word threatening to turn into a cry and then a wail.

“No, baby.”, he did his best to fruitlessly catch your tears with his thumbs, “Appa made Appa late.”

Your sobs stopped in confusion. Eyes still blurry, you blinked away your tears until you could see him clearly. The confusion only grew seeing a soft smile, a sad look still in his eyes while he looked over your puffy, teary features.

“I got caught up in the studio. Same old story, right? I was thinking about you, about us. This is a big night for us, isn’t it?”

A handful of words could only do so much couldn’t they? But these words were pure and potent, a spell strong enough to calm your mind. They were true, he should have been home with more than enough time to wake you and get ready alongside you tonight. Jihoon continued, slowly working at your hair as he spoke.

“I was writing a song I want you to hear someday. Words and melodies that make me think of you. Once I started recording, I guess time got away from me.” Finished with your hair, he used a cotton pad soaked in makeup remover to clean up your eye makeup.

“That wasn’t fair of Appa, huh? This isn’t your fault, kiddo”, he gave you a kiss before tapping some pink gloss on your pouting lips. To his surprise, you took his hand in both of yours with the sweetest expression, your watery eyes big when you spoke.

“It’s okay, Appa. It’ll be okay.”

He could help but laugh and kiss your head. His lips pressed firmly against the top of your head, eyebrows scrunched together, he hoped you could feel every ounce of love he had for you.

“Okay, baby-”, he held your face between his hands again, serious time had returned, this time much less scary now that you’d calmed down, “Can you be big for Appa, tonight?”

Nodding as he squished your cheeks, you sat up straight speedily, letting him help you get ready for your big evening. The stylist would have to forgive him for being late this time. Everything would be okay as long as he had you.

🧸Endnote: was it worth it being so late? 🙈 I’ve been working on this fic since before Woozi day 💔 I really love it though he always hitting me with the feels 💘 I really wanted to take my time with this as well since it’s such a sensitive area, I wanted to make sure I portrayed how I view our Hoonie the very best I could ㅠ ㅠ somehow it feels a little silly but I wanted to express it in a way that shows him as a caregiver needing you as much as you need him AKA nellie is just a simp 😭💖 ~ 🐶🐰🍓

🧸Masterlist🧸

#Spotify #littlesvt 🐶🐰🍓 admin #sfw agere #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt agere #svt fic #agere community #svt soft hours #sfw svt #svt fanfic #svt woozi #svt jihoon #caregiver!jihoon #caregiver!woozi #woozi soft hours #woozi x y/n #lee jihoon #seventeen jihoon #woozi fluff

[lifeofpriya]

Messes and Kisses - Quinn Hughes

[gif credit goes to @dailynhlgifs]

summary: Quinn meant well with tonight's dinner but it didn't end up how he wanted it to...

As you trudge through the front door, a wave of exhaustion washes over you. Another long day at the office has left you mentally and physically drained. The familiar scent of home - a mixture of clean laundry and freshly brewed coffee - greets you like an old friend. You kick off your shoes and head straight for the kitchen, ready to collapse into your favorite chair and enjoy a well-deserved rest. But as you round the corner, your breath hitches in your throat. The kitchen is a disaster zone.

Quinn had apparently taken it upon himself to try his hand at cooking dinner. Bottles of sauces and seasonings litter the countertops, their contents spilled haphazardly. A burnt pan sits on the stove, filled with blackened remnants of whatever it was he was trying to make. The sink is overflowing with dirty dishes, and the garbage bin is already half-full. Your heart sinks as you take in the chaos before you.

"Quinn," you groan, shaking your head in disbelief. "What did you do?" You step carefully around the mess, trying not to slip on the puddles of spilled liquids. You make your way over to the stove and turn off the burner, then grab a dishcloth to start wiping up the worst of the mess.

As you work, you can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Quinn had obviously been trying to do something nice, yet his cooking attempt had turned into such a disaster. You wonder how long it will take you to clean up after him. It's not that you mind helping out around the house, but today, you just want to collapse into bed and forget about the world for a few hours.

You finish cleaning up the stove and turn your attention to the sink. The piles of dirty dishes grow taller as you wash and dry them, one by one. The soapy water runs over your hands, slowly draining down the drain. The familiar rhythm of the task somehow manages to calm you, allowing you to focus on something other than the mess around you.

\\\

As you put the last dish away, you glance at Quinn, who is curled up on the couch with a sheepish expression. He must have heard you come in but hasn't said anything. You feel a mix of frustration and understanding welling up inside you. You want to be angry with Quinn, but you also know how much he must have tried to make you dinner.

You decide to take a deep breath and approach him carefully. You sit down next to him on the couch and gently nudge his shoulder. "Hey, Quinn?" he looks up at you, his eyes a bit red from trying not to cry. "Thanks for trying to make dinner. I really appreciate it." He shrugs, not quite meeting your gaze. "But maybe next time, we could just order in?" You offer with a small smile. "You know, to save us both some trouble."

Quinn looks at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "Yeah, you're right. I just… I wanted to do something nice for you. I guess I bit off more than I could chew." He takes a deep breath and then leans into you, resting his head on your shoulder. "Thanks for understanding. And for cleaning up this mess. I'm sorry I made such a mess."

You pat his back gently, trying to reassure him. "It's okay, really. I know you meant well. And it's not a big deal. We can order in next time and just laugh about this later, okay?" You say, smiling down at him. He nods, still a little red but looking a bit more composed.

You stand up, stretching your back with a groan. "I'm going to go take a shower and then order some food. How about we watch a movie or something while we wait?" You suggest, trying to lighten the mood. Quinn nods in agreement, his gaze still downcast.

As you head towards the bathroom, you can't help but chuckle softly to yourself. It's been a long day, and while cleaning up the kitchen mess wasn't exactly how you wanted to spend your evening, you're grateful for the moment with Quinn. There's something about him that makes you feel safe and protected, even when he's made a mess of things.

You step into the steamy bathroom, closing the door behind you. The warm water pours over your body, washing away the remnants of the day. As you lean against the tiled wall, you can't help but think about how much you appreciate Quinn, and how lucky you are to have him in your life. Sure, he has his flaws, but who doesn't? His intentions are always good, and that's what matters most.

After a few minutes, you step out of the shower and reach for a towel, quickly drying off. You throw on a pair of comfortable sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. The thought of ordering in and snuggling up with Quinn on the couch is starting to sound quite appealing.

\\\

You pad back into the living room, the warmth of the house enveloping you like a blanket. Quinn is still on the couch, but he looks a bit more relaxed now. He's idly flipping through the channels on the TV, his eyes occasionally darting over to you. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as you take in his handsome features, the mess in the kitchen momentarily forgotten.

"Hey, what do you feel like getting for dinner?" you ask, trying to sound casual. Quinn glances at you, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, I was thinking maybe you could order whatever you want, and I'll make it up to you with a special dessert." He says, his voice soft and sincere.

You can't help but smile back at him. Despite the mess he's made in the kitchen, it's sweet of him to want to make things right. "That sounds like a plan. Do you have any suggestions for what I should order?" You ask, sitting down beside him on the couch.

Quinn nods, thoughtful. "How about some Chinese food? I've been craving General Tso's chicken for days." He grins at you, and you can't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Despite the mess, he's still able to make you laugh and feel comfortable.

You pick up your phone and place an order for your favorite dishes, feeling a sense of relief washing over you. As you wait for the food to arrive, you and Quinn chat about your day, catching up on each other's lives. You find yourself leaning into him, enjoying the warmth of his presence.

When the food finally arrives, the aroma fills the room, making your stomach rumble. You serve up your plates and curl up on the couch next to Quinn, savoring every bite. He watches you intently, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

After a few moments, he clears his throat and says, " So, I wanted to apologize again for making such a mess in the kitchen. I really didn't mean to make things worse." You look at him and feel a pang of guilt. You know he means well, and you appreciate his effort.

"It's okay," you tell him, squeezing his hand gently. "Really, it was nice of you to want to make dinner. We can just laugh about it later, right?" He nods, still looking a bit sheepish. "Besides, I'm sure I've made my fair share of messes in the kitchen too."

You take another bite of your food, savoring the taste. The conversation flows easily between you, and you find yourself lost in the moment, forgetting everything else. As you eat, you can't help but feel grateful for having Quinn in your life. He may not be perfect, but he's caring and tries his best, which matters most.

\\\

After you've finished eating, you decide to change the subject. You tell Quinn about your day at work, the little victories, and the frustrations. He listens intently, offering thoughtful comments and questions, making you feel heard and understood. The evening passes quickly, and soon, it's time for you to head to bed.

As you stand up, you turn to Quinn and say, "Thanks again for dinner, and for being so sweet about the mess. It really means a lot." He smiles up at you, looking a bit shy. "Anytime. I'm just glad we could laugh about it." You lean down and kiss him gently on the lips, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

You head towards the bedroom, feeling a contentedness wash over you. The day's stress has melted away, replaced by the comfort of Quinn's presence. You change into your pajamas and climb into bed, the soft sheets enveloping you like a warm hug. The house is quiet, with only the soft glow of the nightlight casting a gentle light across the room.

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts of Quinn swirling in your head. He's not perfect, but then again, who is? His messes and mistakes only make him more endearing and human. You wonder how long it's been since you've felt this way about someone, this comfortable and at ease. It's a welcome change from the constant barrage of work and stress that seems to define your life.

You roll onto your side, propping your head up on your hand. The sheets smell faintly of lavender, a scent that reminds you of home. The soft rustle of cloth fills the air as Quinn slips into bed beside you, his warmth pressing against your back. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close, and you lean into him, relishing the feel of his body against yours.

The room grows still, save for the gentle rise and fall of your chests as you breathe in unison. You close your eyes, listening to the rhythm of your heartbeats, feeling the weight of the day slowly slipping away. You drift off to sleep, content and at peace, safe in the knowledge that no matter what challenges tomorrow may bring, you'll face them together.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes blurbs #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl blurb #nhl blurbs #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey blurb #hockey blurbs #vancouver canucks