#especially when I’m overtired

[kookslastbutton]

what love feels like ༓ myg (m)

✑ Summary: Being a mother to a beautiful baby girl and wife to an adoring husband is the most rewarding feeling in the world. But you also work a full-time job, are overtired most of the time, stressed, don't have any alone time, look very different than eight years ago, and sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs on you until one day, all of your deepest insecurities rear their ugly head–that your husband might not love you as much anymore and someone could take him away from you.

Pairing: husband!yoongi x reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6.7k+

Warnings: swearing, both Yoongi and oc are in their 30s, mom and full-time worker!oc, reserved!dad!yoongi, lack of intimacy, mentions of body insecurities post-pregnancy, mentions of fear of abandonment, mentions of jealousy. irrational worries, built-up stress, light fighting, silent treatment, stubbornness, lots of reassurance, nightmares, cute backstory of how they met, a lot of ily, Yoongi and oc being good parents 🥹, Yoongi calls oc doll, and explicit sexual content

sexual warnings: swearing, kissing, neck kisses, pleading, banter, dirty talk, doll petname, asking for consent, b**b squeezing & sucking, hair threading, penetration, f*ngering, big d*ck!yoongi, growling, missi*nary, eye contact, tearing up, c*ming together

Now Playing: Breathing by Anne Marie

a/n: Okay this was for Yoon's bday. Based on the poll, husband!Yoon won. Was intended to be a Drabble but well...heh 😅 Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and Yoon is just such a good hubby for responding well to these very relatable insecurities. (Low-key love this couple...) I'm sorry for any typos or warnings i missed! I checked and double checked but a few might have slipped. Enjoy! Anyway please enjoy! 🥰

“So, you're Jia's father, huh? I don’t think I've seen you here before, and I’m sure I would have recognized you.”

With his back straight and arms folded, Yoongi gives the woman in front of him a quick once-over. Mid-40s, freshly single, and definitely in need of some companionship. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; she’s been talking his ear off for the past twenty minutes like he’s some kind of remedy to all her problems.

Honestly, he just swung by to pick up his four-year-old from daycare after another grueling day at work. But the moment he walked in, it was as if all the single moms latched onto him like a flock of hungry geese. This one’s name is Sandra in particular.

It reminds him of his college basketball days, how the cheerleaders all too eagerly swarmed around him after sinking the winning shot at the championship game. Shame he was too busy eyeing the girl in the stands to care, her face buried behind a book twice as big as her head. Who reads an 800-page novel during the playoffs anyway?

Fate, as one may call it, intervened about a week later when his best friend became said girl’s lab partner. Yoongi didn’t make any sudden moves at first, but well, he did make her his wife three years later.

“It’s just so nice to finally meet the father of such a sweet child. Especially considering how many dads tend to take a backseat in their child's early years.” Is she still going on? Yoongi does his best to stay present, though it’s proving unsuccessful. “And Jia truly is an angel! It’s clear you’re doing a wonderful job raising her, even with a full-time job and all.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together at the somewhat odd choice of words. “Thanks,” he drawls out, noticing her pupils dilating with every breath. “Most of the credit goes to my wife though. She’s a great mom to Jia.”

“Jia’s m-mom?” Sandra stutters, her mouth slightly agape. Yoongi senses the gears turning in her head as she struggles to process the unexpected presence of his wife. Tempting as it is, he holds down a smirk. Of course, he’s a happily married man–for nearly eight years now.

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “She’s usually the one to pick up our daughter from daycare, but she’s been working a lot of overtime lately. I thought I'd come instead so she can get some rest."

“Oh, well that’s very–“

“Daddy! Daddy, you’re here!” The sound of a familiar high-pitched voice, along with a light pattering of feet, diverts both adult’s attention.

“Hey kid.” Yoongi effortlessly lifts the small child once in front of him, securing her in his arms. “Have fun today?”

Jia gives an enthusiastic nod, bright red ribbons in her hair bouncing cutely as she does. Proudly, she shows him the drawing she made.

“See? It’s me, you, and mommy!” She makes sure to point to each part of the picture with her pointer finger.

Yoongi gently takes the artwork from his daughter’s hand and lets out a soft chuckle. “Now this is what I call a masterpiece! Mommy’s gonna love hanging this one on the fridge. How about I hold onto this and you go grab your backpack, okay?”

As soon as Jia’s feet touch the carpeted floor again, she races off to her cubby in the far corner of the room. Yoongi shoots Sandra a final glance before slowly following behind. “We got to get going, but nice meeting you.”

“You…too.” Sandra’s response is more than disappointed as she watches the father-daughter duo make their way out of the building. Evidently, Min Yoongi isn’t the single dad she originally assumed. Funny, she swore there wasn’t a wedding band in sight. Maybe she missed it.

“No, I’m sorry but I’m certain we haven’t used any of your services in the last six months. My husband canceled it in late October.”

With one hand, you grip your cell phone up to an ear while the other pops open the dishwasher. You’ve been on the phone with the cable company for half an hour, trying to make sense of an unexpected charge that appeared on your bank account this morning. You consider yourself more patient than most, yet after working all day, a pile of laundry waiting to be washed, and dinner threatening to burn on the stove, the last thing you have time for is arguing with your old service provider.

“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize for any confusion. I’m taking a look at my records and they’re all showing me that—oh wait a second.”

The young man on the opposite end of the line interrupts his own thought, piquing your concern in the process.

“What did you say your last name is?”

You answer and in an instant, you’re met with a thousand rushed apologies; something about getting the account names mixed up in their system. It’s difficult to decipher everything you hear with the front door being thrust open that very moment.

“Mommy, where are you? We’re home!” Your daughter not so subtly announces her presence from the foyer. She kicks off her shoes, hangs her backpack on the designated wall hook, and then rushes to the kitchen upon catching a brief glimpse of your shirt.

“It’s alright, these mistakes happen.” You hang up the call and turn around to find Jia only steps away, a big goofy grin on her face. Infectious, you break out into a smile yourself and swoop her up.

“Hey honey, I missed you so much!” You kiss the side of your daughter’s head as she wraps her small arms around your neck. “You look so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair! Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?”

Being that you were called into work earlier than usual this morning, Yoongi was the one who got Jia dressed and ready for daycare. You’re delightfully surprised by the results.

“Mmhm,” Jia nods, twirling a couple of strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “But Daddy pulls too much!”

“Maybe if someone had listened and stopped fussing when I told her, I wouldn’t have accidentally yanked on her hair when I was reaching for her favorite Hello Kitty scrunchie.” Yoongi joins you both in the kitchen, walking over to press a quick peck on your lips while tenderly caressing the small of your back. The gesture soothes you of your earlier frustrations. “Who was that on the phone? Cable company?”

“Yeah, they canceled the charge. Wrong account.” As you reiterate the entire mix-up, your eyes wander all over your husband. He’s especially handsome tonight, given his perfectly tousled black hair and navy blue blazer flowing over his body. It’s tastefully oversized with a clean, white top paired underneath. You, on the other hand, are sporting a raggedy old t-shirt and stained sweatpants.

There was a time when you used to put a shit ton more effort into your appearance. It was before you got pregnant with Jia, back when you and Yoongi were going out on weekly dates. Neither of you has that kind of time anymore, or energy for that matter. You didn’t believe the other moms when they told you the romance takes a nose dive after you have your first kid. Yet here you are, proven wrong again.

Being parents to a beautiful baby girl is likely the most rewarding feeling in the world for you and Yoongi. You don’t remember the last time the two of you got real quality alone time though. And sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs more on you with each passing day to be honest. Sure, you’re not the same person you used to be eight years ago, but shouldn’t you and Yoongi still make time for at least a little intimacy?

“How was picking up Jia by the way?” You look at Yoongi who merely shrugs nonchalantly in response.

“It was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Yoong gives you another peck before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go get changed. Why don’t you show Mommy the drawing you did Jia?”

“A drawing?” You shift your attention to your daughter whose eyes sparkle like diamonds upon mention. “We should put it up on the fridge then. Let’s take a look hmm?”

“It’s in my backpack! My new friend and I were drawing together. Her name is Mi-Sun.” Jia continues telling you all about her friend Mi-Sun as you make your way to the front door where her backpack hangs. You’re fully engaged until the very end. “Daddy made a new friend too!” she joyously claps her hands together, not realizing the depth of her remark.

“Oh, who’s Daddy’s new friend honey?” You ask, staying as calm as possible.

“Ms. Cho! They were talking for a really long time today.”

Ms. Cho? You think back to all the moms you’ve met at daycare. Somehow you can’t recall ever hearing or meeting a Ms. Cho. She must be a single mom, you deduce. Was she new? What did she look like? And why didn’t Yoongi mention her when you asked?

This has to be nothing but a little small talk, an acquaintance at most. Besides, the moms at Jia’s daycare are quite a chatty bunch and Yoongi wouldn’t dare overstep any boundaries.

“Do you know what they were talking about?” You don’t enjoy asking your child for details about your husband, yet you can’t seem to help it this time.

“I dunno,” she shrugs her shoulders. "Daddy was laughing a lot."

Suddenly, the self-assurance you gave yourself earlier slips away; seemingly useless given the queasy feeling building in the pit of your stomach.

For the remainder of the night, you purposely dodge every attempt your husband makes to kiss, touch, and hold you. You’ve even begun responding to his questions in one-word answers and at times, with nothing at all.

Yes, you’re being petty; more than usual. The silent treatment frustrates Yoongi to no end and it isn’t very mature of you, but neither is refusing to tell your wife that some single mom was flirting with you in front of your kid! Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe it all sums up to a harmless conversation, but it’s not like you know either way with Yoongi being as reserved as he is. It brings you back to your early dating days when he wouldn’t think to tell you about various aspects of his day; who he ate breakfast with that morning or the one classmate of his that wouldn’t leave him alone for two semesters.

Truth be told, you're simply hoping that your husband will bring up the topic first, without having to be the classic nagging wife. You’re a jealous person by nature so it’s not a simple task. Even now as you fold the first batch of laundry on your shared bed, him on the other side doing the same, you struggle to keep from blurting everything out.

“So,” Yoongi fluffs up a clean pillowcase before sliding it onto one of the bed pillows. “How was work?”

What a basic question, you grumble internally. Is that all he’s got? “Was okay,” you reply. “The usual.”

“You must be tired from the day. Did you get to lie down at all?” Yoongi picks up another pillowcase, repeating the process as before. When he glances your way, it’s clear something’s on your mind. You’ve started pairing Jia’s socks far more aggressively than normal and you’re holding back your responses. “Did you hear me, doll? Or am I going deaf here?” The sarcastic chuckle distracts you from your task, forcing your attention.

You’re about to respond when your eyes briefly flicker down to his hands, his left one in particular. Where's his wedding ring? Yoongi always wears it no matter what. The same sick feeling from before returns tenfold. No wonder that Ms. Cho was all over him–she must have thought he was single.

“No, I didn’t get to lie down Yoongi. I worked all day, came home and made dinner, called the cable guy to get that stupid bill figured out, and now I’m doing the second load of laundry. I’m really just not in the mood to chat.” It comes out a blur as you snatch the empty laundry basket and head for your washer and dryer, your eyes welling up with tears.

“__, wait.” Yoongi tosses the last pillow near the headboard and stops you in your tracks, his hand firmly gripping one end of the laundry basket. The intensity of his stare softens as he speaks. “I'm sorry if it seems like I'm forcing you to talk. I know you've been losing a lot of sleep recently between work, Jia, and upkeeping the house. We just don't get a lot of time to see each other anymore and I miss you…I miss talking to you."

With every ounce of self-control remaining, you hold back any tears that risk spilling out. You don't know why you're acting like this, why you're crying over something that seems so small and insignificant to the rest of the world. Yoongi loves you. He's said it a million times and proven it to you over and over again, for eight years now. He wouldn’t cheat on you, yet you still get so worked up about the idea that someone could take him away from you. Someone half your age, more attractive, or hell even the opposite sex if it means fewer dark circles under their eyes.

"Why- why aren't you wearing your ring?" Your naturally confident voice dwindles to the whisper of a mouse. It's completely out of character, nevertheless, here you are.

"I..." Your husband's voice wavers. His gaze flickers to his left hand, where his ring should be, but isn't. "Shit...I took it off in the shower this morning," he confesses, frustrated by his forgetfulness. "I was in such a rush to get Jia to daycare, and me to work, that it completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry—I fully intended to put it back on." He pauses, then perks up. "It's still in the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

You watch as he makes a beeline for the master bathroom, eager to rectify the situation as soon as possible. You should have kept silent what you say next, but you don't.

"No wonder the moms at Jia's daycare were so drawn to you."

"What?" Yoongi stops in his tracks. The dumbfounded expression on his face tells you that you've caught him off guard again.

"Jia told me about someone named Ms. Cho," you reluctantly continue. "The two of you were laughing and talking and–"

"Baby, don't worry about that." Seizing his chance, your husband walks back over to you and sneakily pulls the laundry basket from under your arm. He sets it on the ground after, then reaches to take your hand in his, but stubbornly you cross your arms.

"Her name's Sandra," he starts explaining. "She's a new mom at the daycare and she didn't know anyone, so she started talking to me. I got the sense she was a little overly friendly but it was all small talk, nothing more."

Still largely unsatisfied, you remain unmoved. "If it wasn't a big deal then why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because nothing serious happened. The majority of the conversation was her venting about her ex-husband and me wishing you were right there next to me. Please believe me. All I could think about was finally being able to come home to you after a long week with Jia in our arms."

"Really?" Well, now you're feeling guilty for avoiding him in nearly every way tonight. Guilty for believing such wild assumptions that he'd leave you for someone else over one measly conversation. Guilty for letting yourself get so worked up over a situation you, quite frankly, knew few details about.

"I mean it doll." This time, when he reaches out to grasp your wrist, he succeeds. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the edge of your bed, gently pulling you down to sit on his lap. "Do you really think I could look at anyone else the way I look at you? Or think about you the way I have for the last eight-plus years we've been married and known each other?"

You hesitate your answer, averting his eye contact. "I know but…"

"No, don't finish that. Look at me," he intercepts. "You and our daughter are the only women on my mind–24/7. I can't get either of you out of my head and I don't want to. I'm so sorry I forgot to put my wedding band back on this morning, and again tonight. I feel awful about it and I'll be more careful from now on. And another thing, when Sandra and I were talking I mentioned you multiple times. So, it's clear to her that I'm a happily married man."

The last bit of information manages to perk your ears. "You talked about me?" Your eyes widen as you finally shift your full attention to him. Yoongi eyes widen with you, amused by your sudden change of heart to look at him.

"I said my wife is an amazing mother, works too hard for her own good, and needed to rest today. Give or take a few words."

That's all? You huff to yourself. Would it been nice if your husband also thrown in that you were beautiful or stunning in that mix of compliments? Yes, yes it would have–again, you're pettiness clouds your better judgment. You're not as pissed off as before, but rather semi-irritated.

"Okay…well I guess it's fine then. I'm sorry for being short with you earlier. I shouldn't have made those rash conclusions about the ring and that woman from the daycare. It wasn't reasonable of me." You get up from his lap, yet Yoongi isn't entirely convinced that you're okay.

"There's still something you're not telling me. I can tell."

"No, there's nothing else." You waive him off, placing your hand on your bedroom doorknob "You told her you had a wife so it's fine. I need to switch the second load of laundry.”

"Come on, doll. Let's not leave things unsaid now."

Sighing at his plead, you find yourself giving into all your repressed thoughts and emotions. It swallows you up, like a tidal wave you can't stop. "Look at me Yoon. I'm sweaty, I have dark circles under my eyes, stretch marks, love handles, my hair's a mess, and all I wear are old sweats covered in stains. I'm nothing like I used to be! No wonder we aren't intimate anymore."

Yoongi rises from the bed at once, offended by the sudden digression. "Is that what this is all about? It’s not even about that single mom from daycare is it?" The truth of the matter sinks in as he speaks.

"I guess maybe so…though I'm still annoyed about that too." Great, you're back to square one again.

"Come with me, I need to show you something." Your husband gestures you to follow him, which you slowly concede to.

"What are you doing Yoon?" You both walk into the master bathroom, stopping in front of the large mirror above the sink.

"I'm showing you the woman I'm in love with and have been in love with for nearly eight years now. Sweats and all." Yoongi makes you face the mirror directly, hands around your shoulders. You have trouble stomaching the sight.

"Yoongi please, I can't. The laundry ringing off." You avoid looking into the mirror and make a move to leave the bathroom.

"Just stay with me a minute, please?" Your husband refuses to loosen his hold on you, turning your body so you're looking eye to eye. "No, you're not the same person as you were and neither am I. We're parents to a beautiful daughter now, who we love and adore. We're also overtired 90% of the time, juggling a million things at once. But there's one thing you can count on to always stay the same–my loyalty to you. I'll always be in love with you __, no matter what age you are or however way you look. There's nothing you can do to change that, so why fight it?"

Dammit. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in his heart-melting speech. It's not his words alone, it's the sincerity behind them. How he's repeated similar countless times before throughout your entire relationship.

"I love you, Yoon..." you choke out the words, composure fleeting.

"I love you so much, doll." He wipes the wetness of your tear with his thumb. "As far as us not being as intimate anymore, that's my fault. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't desire you every day. Why don't we send the kid to my parents this weekend and let me start making things right hmm?"

"I don't know if we can this weekend. Jia has a playdate on Saturday."

"So, I'll ask Mom to take her. She'll be happy to, trust me. We can finally watch that movie you've been dying to show me since what? December?"

"You're serious?" Your eyes light up at the mention of what is essentially a movie date. The show Yoongi's referring to is one you've been craving to see for months, yet neither of you has found the time to watch. "I've been talking about it for so long, Yoon."

"I know you have, it's why I suggested it. I've been wanting to watch it too with all the trailers you keep sending me. Plus, I'll be able to keep my beautiful wife in my arms for over two hours. That's a lot for us, especially with you being such a busy bee. I can never get you to light in one place! What's up with that, huh?"

Feeling your natural self re-emerging, you throw a playful swat to his arm and scowl at his teasing comment. "You're one to talk! You're basically a workaholic! Besides, you knew who you were marrying when you met me."

Yoongi chuckles and brings both hands to cup your cheeks, squishing them slightly. "A cutie who reads 800-page novels at a basketball game?"

"Stop babying me!" You pull his hands off your cheeks and rub them, trying to regain some composure. "I don't regret my choices, I like books. It's why I'm such a boss at work!"

"Okay, boss," he laughs. "What about what I suggested before then? I can call Mom tomorrow and ask her if she could watch Jia for the day. She'll take her to her playdate, then they can spend the rest of the day together."

It does sound nice, having the whole day with your husband.

"Okay," you agree. "Let's try."

"Good." Yoongi slides his hands down to your hips and pulls you flush against his chest. "How about we seal it with a kiss now?" You nod and he leans his head down, pressing an amazing, tender kiss to your lips. It makes you both giddy on queue.

"Read one more story, Daddy!" Jia leaps off her small, twin bed and bounds for her bookshelf. She lets out a series of giggles when a large pair of hands catch her, lifting her high into the air.

"I already read you three books kid," Yoongi says, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bedtime." He then tucks her into her fluffy comforter, plugs in her teddy bear nightlight, and closes her bedroom door.

The next second, Jia comes running out of her room, latching onto his right leg. "I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna play!" Figures she'd be hyper at this hour.

Yoongi sighs and picks her up. "Daddy told you to go to sleep, it's not playtime. You'll have lots of time for that tomorrow when you get to see your friend." He then carries her into her room, yet she fusses in his arms; thumping her tiny fists into his chest.

"No, no, no, Daddy. I want to play!"

Sighing, Yoongi looks at his child with sharp eyes. "Jia–"

"Hey," you interrupt, entering your daughter's bedroom upon hearing the commotion down the hall. "What's going on?"

"Kid doesn't want to go to bed."

You give an empathetic look and saunter over to the pair, gently taking Jia into your arms. Yoongi places his hands on his hips as he watches you reason with your daughter.

"Jia, you know tomorrow's a big day right? You and Sana are going to go to the playground together." The child nods. "You don't want to be tired when you're playing do you?"

"No..." She shakes her head. "I want to be awake!"

"Then you need to listen to Daddy and go to sleep. That way you'll be full of energy tomorrow when you and Sana go on the swings or slide down all the big slides." You smile as Jia starts rubbing her drowsy eyes, yawning in the process.

"But I...okay," she slowly concedes, eyes fluttering shut as she gives into her sleepy state. Unsurprising to you and Yoongi, she was tired all along. But like most kids, hated going to bed.

"See?" You lay Jia in her bed and pull the covers up near her chin, giving her a light kiss on the side of her head. Yoongi bends down and does the same after you. "You just gotta talk to her a little, she'll typically fall asleep on her own."

"But I read her three of her favorite books." Yoongi shuts off the overhead light, along with the door to Jia's room, and follows you to your bedroom.

"That's different Yoon," you argue back. "Books excite her."

"She takes after you that way then." Yoongi pulls his t-shirt off, leaving him bare-chested, and climbs onto his side of the bed. You join him shortly after with your head resting on his chest and an arm thrown around his waist.

"I'm so exhausted," you yawn.

"Go to sleep, baby. I'm right here." Your husband places a hand over your wrapped arm, sending you off into a deep slumber.

Well this is just ironic. Almost 2 A.M. and you're wide awake.

What initially started as a nice, relaxing dream quickly turned into a terrible nightmare. In the dream, you woke up alone. Yoongi was gone. Jia was gone too. You can't exactly make sense of it, except for a vague memory of Jia calling another woman 'Mom'. You couldn't see her face very well, so it could've been anyone. You couldn't speak either, so even when you tried approaching the three, they couldn't hear you. You've had nightmares plenty of times, but this one is new. It's a clear projection of all the underlying concerns upheaved from earlier; insecurities, abandonment, loss, and it has you unsettled.

You glance over to your husband's side of the bed. He's fast asleep, no longer cuddling you due to you both flip-flopping in your sleep. You decide to slide closer to him, needing to watch him for a while. It might sound weird, but you love watching him sleep. He's so handsome and you feel a great deal of comfort doing so. Maybe if he was awake, you'd tell him about what you dreamt. Then again...maybe not.

"I love you Yoon," you whisper as quietly as you can, tracing his every facial feature with your eyes.

"'m, I love you too."

Is he-was he awake? As if caught red-handed, you quickly flit your face away in favor of the blank ceiling above. You weren't expecting him to answer at all, and in such a hoarse voice too. You're a little turned on by it to be honest.

"Can't sleep?" he speaks up again, eyes still closed.

"No, I''ll be okay though. You can go back to sleep. Don't worry."

He grunts, a tad unhappy with your dismissal of him. "Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?"

You whip your head in his direction. "How–" You pause, seeing his eyes blink open.

"I didn't meet you just yesterday, doll. I know they keep you up. Just know, I'm always here okay? Always." He reaches for you with delicate fingers as he continues. "Now, come here. Seems we got separated in our sleep."

You accept the offer and cuddle into him again. This time your noses nearly touch and his arm wraps around your lower waist. You feel the growing urge to kiss him, wanting to forget your nightmare entirely. But perhaps silly, you ask permission first, seeing as he's close to drifting off again.

"Yoon?"

"Mm."

"Can we kiss?" Your cheeks flush a little at the request. Why are you acting like this? You've been married for years.

"Sure, 'm tired but I could go for a make-out right now." A small smirk graces his lips as he teases you. You give him a classic 'Yoongi!' in reply. "I'm kidding. You don't ever have to ask me that," he finishes.

"Hmm, maybe I don't want a kiss anymore." You feign stubbornness, just to see his response. And a response he gives you, more than you're prepared for.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, capturing your lips in one fell swoop. He moves his lips against yours as the hand on your waist grips tighter. The tiniest of moans escapes your lips.

You attempt to break the kiss first, thinking it will only last for a few seconds. Yet Yoongi slips a hand behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. One that's deeper than the last. You feel your breath being taken away little by little, especially when his tongue licks into your mouth. God, you haven't kissed like this in an eternity. A wetness soon gathers between your thighs.

"'m, Yoon," you gasp when his cool fingers sneakily make their way under your shirt, tickling your bare skin. They travel the expanse of your waist, stomach, and up along your back. "So cold."

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and retracts his fingers. He then lazily moves his body until his chest hovers over your own, rolling you on your back in the process. He's a bit of a blur due to the dimness of the room, yet you can see the whites of his eyes a bit better than before.

"Help me warm them then," he says, folding his hands on top of yours from where they rest on your stomach. "You're really burning up, doll."

His observation is right. Ever since you woke up, you're body's been hotter than normal. The stress is clear and it's only increasing due to the unexpected turn of tonight's events; your husband seemingly wanting to make love to you in the middle of the night.

"So I am," you reply, staring straight into his eyes. "Must be because of all the sudden surprises today. My body's finally responding to it all."

Yoongi nods, following your implication. "Well let's do something to calm it down, shall we?" He waits for your final go before making any abrupt movements.

"But...you haven't seen me–"

"Naked in a while?" he predicts your next words, unfazed. "I've seen it all, each time better than the last because I love you. You're beautiful to me, no matter what. Let me love you __. I've missed you. I've missed us."

"Okay...please," you sigh, desperately needing his touch. "It's been so long since we've been this close."

Neither of you has it in you to delay another second as you dive into another fiery kiss, your hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. You love his hair the most, so you run your fingers through it repeatedly. Your husband's soft grunts remind you that it's as pleasurable for him as it is for you, and as if to counter, he latches his lips to the curve of your neck.

"Yoon," you moan, shivering at the feeling of being peppered in open-mouth kisses. Your eyes automatically roll up as well.

Yoongi nips at your jaw next, featherlike, yet deadly to you nevertheless. He doesn't allow himself to linger more than a second, though, preferring to keep you on your toes. So with careful fingers, he begins lifting the bottom of your shirt.

"Can I?"

You hum in approval and lean forward for him to remove it.

With your nipples now exposed to the brisk air, stiffening due to arousal, Yoongi brings both his hands up to caress your boobs. He's incredibly gentle, telling you how beautiful you are once again until his thumbs start circling your peaked nipples. A rush of sensation shoots up your spine as he rolls them harder, flicking them once in a while.

"Fuck," you swear.

"Feeling good?"

All you do is nod fervently in response, which Yoongi takes as his signal to lower his head to your chest. He squeezes both breasts in his hand before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, licking and sucking relentlessly. He repeats the same to the other.

"Yoongi, I need you. Please." You're core tightens, thighs struggling not to rub together, as you plead with your husband to relieve you. You are so wet and getting wetter.

"I'm here, doll, I got you. Fingers first hm?"

He pushes part of the comforter towards the foot of the bed, then gestures for you to raise your butt. Any shred of mystery of how worked up he's gotten you slip away as he pulls your underwear and pants down your legs. They both get tossed on the floor, per usual.

Bare pussy exposed, Yoongi guides your legs further apart and brings a hand down to your entrance. One of his long, slender fingers traces up your folds so smoothly that you buck your hips upon the touch. He smiles lightly at the subtle response, pleased that you're finally enjoying yourself; too often you put your needs last. His finger slowly sinks into your well-lubricated pussy, velvety walls clenching around it.

"Oh, g-god," you give a shaky moan as his finger pumps and curls in you, stimulating your g-spot. "Need you now, Yoon, so bad."

"Mm not yet, we need to stretch you out. You haven't taken me for a good three or four weeks," he smirks at your eagerness, sliding a second finger next to the first. "This pussy is drenched but not enough. I need you to come. Can you do that for me?"

Fast, quick movements follow suit as your husband works you up to an orgasm. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you chant in near whines. Your pussy is spasming around him, walls tightening with each push and pull. You know when he draws his hand out that it's covered with your come. Messy, sex is messy and both of you are too far gone to care; the pleasure sweeping over you.

Finally, in what feels like an endless tease, you have your first orgasm of the night. You feel your body relaxing into the mattress again, yet your breath remains short. Yoongi, on the other hand, groans seeing your release dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. For a split second, there's a slight darkening in his eyes while he takes in your post-orgasmic form. The two fingers that had been inside you are sensually brought to his lips, slipping between the seam before being cleaned off.

You're taken aback by the action, though you've witnessed it before. Something about watching your husband willingly follow through with a gesture so lewd makes your head spin–you want him to fuck you right this instant. He must share the same feeling because you don't even need to sound the words due to his hands already making quick work of his pants.

"You drive me mad, you know that? Can never get a break with how sweet you taste. Your lips, your come. All of it makes me go mad." His full length comes in view, hard and tip leaking with pre-cum. You try not to let yourself stare at the thickness but hell, you must've forgotten the extent of your husband's size. You don't remember it being this big before.

"Well," you gulp. "You're not making it easy on me either, looking like this."

Yoongi climbs over to you again, settling into a straddled position, and looks deep into your eyes. "Who's fault do you think that is?"

"It's your fault." You bend your legs and wrap them around his mid-section. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance. The anticipation is beyond grueling.

"No," he says, aligning himself up to your weeping hole. "it's yours." He then thrusts his hips forward, his length sinking into you so perfectly it has you completely satisfied.

"Y-Yours," you whimper out, unable to form a steady sentence.

"Fine." He picks up his pace. "Let's just agree we both fuck each other up on a daily---ah fuck!" Yoongi growls and gives you a suspicious look when he feels your pussy suddenly clench around his length.

"I didn't do it on purpose this time! You're fucking me too good is all."

"Really? You're not just teasing me?"

Yoongi is slow to believe since you've purposefully clenched countless times before, simply out of playfulness. Tonight is different than those nights though because you're telling the truth–he's truly fucking you so good.

"What the hell," he concedes. "You feel so fucking fantastic, I don't even care." He continues his movements, thrusting into you with deep groans and labored breaths. His fingers grip the mattress harder with the veins in his neck bulging out.

Both your bodies move in sync as the familiar sound of skin slapping on skin echoes off the walls of your bedroom. You do your best to keep your moans low, not wanting to risk waking up your daughter.

"Yoon, fuck! I need to come, it's gonna-fuck-happen soon," you swear, pussy throbbing at the feeling of being so full after weeks of abstinence. You can tell you're reaching your high with the bundle of nerves in your core threatening to snap at any given moment.

Of course, you're wet too, extremely wet.

"I'm. Nearly. There." He barely sounds the words out, jaw clenching. "Just another minute, and we can finish together."

Your eyes, which haven't left his since he entered you, begin to glass over with tears. It's overwhelming; his love for you. No matter the doubts that tell you the opposite, you can't give in to their ugly lies. You'll continue to struggle, naturally, but you won't ever let them win. Yoongi's never once given up on you, and neither should you.

"I love you, Yoon...I love you with all my soul," you choke the words, falling apart all at once. "I'm sorry for today. How jealous and irrational I got."

"Don't apologize, doll. I shouldn't have let it go so far, our lack of intimacy and alone time. I promise we're going to make it all right okay?"

Giving you one last thrust, you both have your release at the same time. Yoongi helps ride your orgasm out by lazily continuing to grind into you. Yeah, you might need to shower and switch out the sheets after tonight, but you don't regret it one bit.

"In all seriousness baby," Yoongi speaks up, guiding your legs back on the soft mattress until you’re comfortable. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for everything. I understand your feelings and where you were coming from. I will say, the silent treatment kills me though. I'd rather you yell at me than not talk to me at all."

"It's not easy for me to raise my voice like that, Yoon." You throw your arms around his neck and sigh softly. "But I can try talking to you more, or at least tell you I need some time to process before I'm ready to have a conversation. I don't know, am I making sense?"

"Plenty of sense. I'll share more about my day with you and who I'm talking to as well. We'll also carve out time to have together. I love our daughter, but I don't see the harm in reaching out to our friends and family to babysit once in a while."

"Well, this sounds good to me," you hum.

"Me too." Yoongi smiles wide and goes in for another warm kiss. Your eyes flutter shut in unison.

This is what love feels like.

a/n: LMK what you think 🥰

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts imagine #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts au #fic:whatlovefeelslike #kookslastbutton

[monzamash]

not in the mood — carlos sainz

carlos sainz x you (femreader) | 1.9k summary – grumpy uncle Carlos is struggling on the extended family holiday and you will do anything to shake him from his bad mood. rating – 18+ (sex, language, google translated spanish) a/n – i’ve decided to collate the sentence starters i got for each driver so that we can get a bit juicer and i can do a little more plot with the smut lol masterlist

You could tell from the moment Carlos stepped off his father’s sailboat that he wasn’t happy. It was a look you’d seen before – typically after a bad race or when the vintage car he’d been working on in his workshop wouldn’t start; infuriated and overtired, two emotions he wasn’t capable of controlling. The vein bulging on his forehead told you to keep your distance while he cooled off, leaving him alone with his own thoughts. Hopefully simmering down.

“Is tio angry at us, tia?” Little Edgar asked, tugging on your long sundress as he watched his uncle storm off towards the resort without a word.

“He’d never be mad at you, cariño…” You replied quietly and brushed the young boys curls from his face, encouraging him to go play with his siblings in the water. But the question had to be asked.

“What happened out there?”

Carlos’ father simply shrugged and threw the cooler filled with bait onto the sand beside his wife, “He gets so worked up over nothing – frustrated with me, frustrated with the little ones. Desagradecida,” He muttered under his breath.

Carlos never got upset over “nothing”. Sure, he was competitive and easily annoyed by small things, pouting to you that something wasn’t right in his mind but storming off a boat after what was supposed to be a nice afternoon with his father and nephews? That wasn’t your Carlos and you stayed silent, not agreeing with Papa on this one.

“Well whatever happened, I’m sure he’ll be over it by dinner.” You sighed, willing your words into reality for the sake of the holiday.

His mother nodded in agreement, knowing that her son was never upset for long. Thankfully she changed the subject and sent her husband on a mission to get her another cocktail from the beach bar. You took the break in conversation to return to your suite where you assumed your husband was brooding alone, probably grumbling to himself in the otherwise silent room.

And you were right. As soon as you clicked the door open, you heard it. The unintelligible Spanish that he always used when he was angry – quietly cursing whoever was coming to ruin his peace and quiet. But you didn’t care if he was annoyed by your presence; you’d been together for long enough to sense what the other needed, especially if something was upsetting them.

He would've done the same for you.

“Don’t throw a pillow at me. I come in peace,” You said, rounding the corner and surrendering your power with your hands up beside your face.

He looked exactly as you expected; propped up against the bed head, thick black rimmed reading glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and his eyes trained on the book you’d gotten him from the market that morning. At first he ignored you, pretending to be completely immersed in the book he was reading. 

But the quick glance up in your direction was enough to make you smirk. The pout he had on his face when he breezed past you on the beach a few minutes ago was still there, shoulders tensed around his strong neck. The only difference now was that he was shirtless, gloriously tanned and looking painfully beautiful lying on the white linen sheets. You always compared him to a flawlessly chiselled statue, mouth-wateringly perfect in every way.

“You didn’t need to come at all.”

Okay, so maybe not perfect all the time.

“Well I came up because the boys were worried that they’d made you angry but I can’t imagine any scenario where that would be true…”

Carlos’ eyes snapped up to yours, his pout now a frown as he listened to your words. He felt a pang of guilt shoot to his heart as you sat down on the end of the bed, watching his brain tick over and finally realise the effect he had on the people he loved, his little carbon copies. He was Tio Carlos, after all. Their hero.

“Ay, they didn’t think I was mad at them?” He asked more as a question than a statement and you nodded – not to make him feel bad but because it was the truth. The bitter truth from the way his face dropped again, now sadder than before.

“Meirde,” Carlos mumbled under his breath, “I wasn’t angry at them – it was my father. He was shouting at them like he did to me when I was a boy… making them feel stupid so I told him to fuck off and he was not happy about that…” He trailed off, rolling his eyes with a huff.

“I’ll go down and see the boys soon but I just can’t be around him like this,” Carlos added and you understood. He was clearly fired up, fight or flight mode activated with the former winning out.

There weren’t many things that really got under Carlos’ skin but those kids meant more to him than anything. He was protective of them and seeing them being bullied like he was as a young boy triggered him – made him see red and although he was close to his father now, there was a lot of underlying problems that had never been resolved.

Obviously this was one of them but it would be a shame to let all of that pent up anger and aggression go to waste, you thought.

“Fair enough, honey,” You whispered and stood up, smoothing your long sundress out as Carlos went back to his book, “I’ll give you some space but I’m not wearing any underwear right now… Just thought you should know that.”

In true Carlos fashion, he didn’t even flinch at your words, not even a glance nor did he stop you from leaving at first. It wasn’t until your hand was gripping the door handle that you heard him yell out from the bedroom, “And where do you think you’re going then?”

His voice sounded hoarse, deep and tantalisingly sexy as you trotted back to where he was, now sprawled out on the bed and waiting for your return. The book he was seemingly so enthralled in when you left was still open but discarded as you crawled up beside it with a smirk, merely imitating the expression on his face as he watched you.

Eyes forever trained on yours, tempting you up onto his lap that he was patting. Your fingernails dragged along the exposed skin on his thighs that the short shorts weren’t covering, tanned and hairy. Strong and muscular, mind reeling from the things they could do.

Carlos was pouting when you leaned in closer to his face, telepathically sending signals for you to kiss him. It had been a rough afternoon but having you to take his mind of it well and truly made up for it. You smiled and pressed your lips to his, arms snaking around his neck as you settled onto his lap, letting the weight of the day melt into his touch.

His hands crept around your waist and naturally dropped lower to your backside that he was always mesmerised by. There was hardly ever a moment when you were alone that he wasn’t either touching it or gawking at it and you loved it. The attention, the physically touch – he had you wrapped around his finger, and him yours.

“Let your frustration out on me, baby.”

Your permission ignited something deep inside Carlos. A little spark in his eyes catching on as you pulled back and captured his stare, aroused by the darkness and the steeliness as he tugged you into his chest. He was groaning under his breath as you moved above him, stirring that feeling he couldn’t ignore and that you could feel between your thighs.

“Te quiero con todo mi corazón,” Carlos whispered as you reached up and removed the reading glasses from his beautiful face, peppering kisses all over his cheeks.

“I think you look so sexy in these but I don’t want to break them,” You confessed and he simply smirked as he lifted your hips up and pulled his shorts down, freeing himself from the tight material.

“I know you do, darling.”

You rolled your eyes and licked your palm before grasping his growing stiffness in your hand, delicately rolling your wrist to get him to where you needed him. It never took long and with all of the kissing and teasing you’d done to him all morning; Carlos was pretty much hard on sight. But you loved how big he felt in your hand and the way his eyebrows scrunched together when you gripped him a little too tight, a hiss slipping from his lips every time.

“Actually you look sexier like this,” You smiled and kissed him again as he started bunching up your dress, moaning as you continued to pleasure him, tease him. But he got you back, sliding his fingers through your slick and pushing two fingers into you without warning, jerking you forward over his shoulder.

“Oh my god!” You shouted, both hands now gripping the back of his head as he fucked you, knuckle deep and revelling in the fact that you were now on the receiving end of his pleasure.

“Shh, I can hear people in the other room, cariño,” Carlos whispered facetiously, voice taunting and secretly wanting everyone to know that he was the reason for your screams.

“Well don’t shove your fingers inside of me without warning and I would be quiet,” You snapped back before he hit that sweet spot, causing you to return to crook of his neck with a whimpering moan.

“Asshole.”

Carlos snickered at you waving your metaphorical white flag. He loved you taking control and that’s what you did once you sunk down on him, taking his thick cock all the way until you bottomed out. A low, raspy moan slipped from your throat when you felt him twitch inside you, hips snapping up in an attempt to get you to move.

“Don’t rush me, baby. You feel so fucking big… God, why do you feel so big?”

“Because I am huge,” Carlos shamelessly retorted, head titled back and watching squirming on top of him. You rolled your eyes and straightened your back; now feeling like you had a point to prove.

As you sat up, you pressed your hands to his chest, hips rolling achingly slow and taking full advantage of your position.

“Okay, with that kind of arrogance and the way you’ve been moping around all day, you’ve lost your touching rights, my love.”

You slapped his hands off your thighs and watched his eyes glaze over with lust, “Hands off.”

Carlos pouted and reached out with his grabby hands, “Ay, no, please. I have to touch you.”

There was a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips as he pleaded with you, and you could see right through his façade. Even with his unbelievably thick cock filling you to the brim, brushing against that spot deep inside you that would usually have you unravelling in a matter of seconds, you didn’t crack. Not even a little.

“Hands. Off.”

And with those stern words, Carlos simply laid back on the pillows and tucked his hands behind his head, watching as you gave him a show. He couldn’t have loved you any more than he did in that moment – for making him feel like his entire body was on fire and for remedying his bad mood.

You really were a miracle worker. And you were all his.

a//n – ayyyy, the first of the monzamash special! i'm so glad people sent in requests for carlos – he's so fun to write. the next one will either be charles or daniel so let me know if you have preference! and thank you all again for 700 followers x masterlist | askbox

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #f1 one shot #formula 1 #f1 smut #the monzamash special #monzamashmasterlist #mmrequested #carlos sainz fanfic #not in the mood fic

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Hi, can I request comfort fic with Frank? I just don't really like how my life looks right now... I don't like my job, but don't know what else I can do so I'm stuck here... and I feel really lonely recently and like I don't know what to do with my life... and reading fics are one of the few things that brings me joy...

So I thought about a fic where reader is sad and to cheer her up Frank planned a whole day for them to distract her from not kind thoughts?

And I'm sorry that I kinda dumpt it on you... I have trouble with expressing/describing my emotions and I think that was the first time I expressed those feelings to someone... Of course if you don't feel like writing this you can freely ignore this message, thank you 🫶🏻

Anon, I absolutely feel your pain. I’ve been dealing with my own work drama for months now and some days it feels like I’m going to have to completely start over to be happy. I hope I did your request justice, and if you ever need to rant to someone, my DMs are open :)

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary:  Frank helps you when work is breaking your spirit.

warnings: swearing, hints of smut but nothing graphic

w/c: 3k

Digging your jagged nails into the flesh of your palms, you forced yourself to tune out the overwhelming plethora of stimuli that was currently bombarding you on the subway. Screaming children, the heat of bodies crowding around you, the shrieking of wheels on metal tracks, some old guy coughing up a lung at the back of the car, the bright fluorescent lights beating down on the dozens of people crammed in here like sardines. Fuck, you hated the subway. 

It was especially unbearable on days where you were already overtired from work—which, recently, seemed to be every day. This job was supposed to be your ticket to a good life and a stable future, but instead it was a joyless, energy-sapping, waste of your fucking time. Your coworkers were catty, your boss far too demanding for the bottom of the barrel wages you received, and the work itself was dreary. Each day you sat in that cubicle, you could feel the light inside you flickering, just waiting for one more lackluster employee review to be completely snuffed out. 

Clearly, you weren’t the only one who felt this way about your place of employment, given that over a third of the staff at your level had quit in the last two months. Unfortunately for you, this meant longer hours and crankier conversations with your superiors, who were consistently disappointed in your performance despite you efficiently accomplishing everything that was asked of you. 

Not only did longer hours lead to you getting overstimulated on the subway, but it meant you’d been spending less time at home with your boyfriend. You’d barely seen Frank this month, between his trips out of town and your rigorous schedule, and it was driving you up a wall. All you wanted was to let him wrap himself around you, petting your hair as you cried and holding you tight when you eventually fell asleep. Though, with the way your days were going lately, most of the time you didn’t want to be touched. You just wanted to shove crap food in your mouth and pass out before you had to go back to that hellscape in the morning. 

Frank was the kindest, most thoughtful partner you’d ever had, so he gave you plenty of space on the days you came home in an emotion-filled silence. He could read your moods pretty well at this point, and always respected your wishes, even if it meant he’d be nursing a beer in the living room alone until he went to sleep. You’d hoped that today would grant you enough energy to enjoy some time with him, but the world wasn’t that charitable. 

Shuffling off the subway amongst the masses, you let your body droop slightly as you trudged back to your apartment. Practically crawling up the stairs, you eventually reached the door—shoving it open in frustration as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. 

Instantly, you were greeted with the sound of soft music and the smell of onions and garlic cooking. Frank was in the kitchen, swaying almost imperceptibly to the song he was listening to, stirring a pot of what looked like tomatoes.  

“Hey, doll,” He greeted you softly, throwing you a smile over his shoulder but remaining planted at the stove, probably in an attempt to give you space.

“Hi.” Your voice was breathy and small, your stony face accented with glassy eyes. 

Frank knew better than to expect that everything would change in a day, but the sight of your crumpling face broke his heart. Stepping towards you with a furrowed brow, he tried for a small smile. “Another bad day?” 

You nodded, the force of the movement drawing two parallel tears down your cheeks. Sniffling, you didn’t respond, confident that your voice would crack if you did. 

“Do you want a hug?” Frank asked, hesitating a few feet from you as he waited for your answer. 

“I’m n-not sure, Frankie.” You admitted, more tears pooling as you did. “Not r-right now, I think.” 

Nodding in understanding, Frank crossed his arms, as if to keep himself from hugging you anyway. “Alright, sweet girl. Not a problem. Why don’t you go lay down while I finish dinner, hm?” 

Sighing, you nodded once, padding to the bedroom and collapsing into the blankets with a poorly stifled sob. Frank winced at the sound, his hands burning with an ache to hold you, to make everything better, but he couldn’t do that until you were ready. 

You’d only given him glimpses of the nightmare you were living. Whether you didn’t talk to him about it because you were worried it would scare him away, or because you didn’t trust him, he wasn’t sure—though the dark parts of his mind were convinced it was the latter. Regardless, Frank did his best to maintain a cozy home for you. It couldn’t be easy to have a mass-murderer-turned-government-hit-man as a partner, waiting around on your own for days while he worked odd jobs for Madani, but you’d never let it impact your love for him. 

You were thoughtful, sweet, and adorably shy—not to mention you balanced him out in ways he’d never expected. The pair of you brought out the best in each other, despite your peculiar relationship. You’d never made him feel distant or guilty for leaving, simply welcoming him back from his trips with open arms and eager eyes. Yet, the past few months your job had been eating at you, sapping the life from your beautiful eyes and leaving a listless husk of his girlfriend behind. 

He didn’t want to pry, far too afraid of snapping your already fragile composure and ruining the bond you shared. But every day you came home holding back tears, and it was going to kill him. He’d rip your office apart with his bare hands if it would end your misery, though he knew you’d never ask him to do that. 

So, instead, he did as much as he could—laying out his softest sweatshirt on your bed, playing quiet music, making a warm meal for the two of you to share—all in an effort to take something off of your plate, to remove an ounce of weight from your shoulders. After a week with no indication that any of this was helpful, he’d started scheming. 

Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too much begging to convince you to take an extra day off…

Stirring the tomato sauce one final time as he removed it from the heat, he tilted the pot over the cooked pasta, letting a ribbon of sauce drape over the noodles before giving it a quick stir. Scraping a dollop of sauce out of the pot with his finger, he popped the digit in his mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction at the array of flavors. 

Brushing his hands across his jeans, he plated two generous helpings of pasta, assuming you had worked through lunch once again, and set them in front of two chairs at your table. Steeling himself for the sight of your tear streaked face, he shuffled over to the bedroom and knocked softly. 

“Darlin’? You ready to eat?” Keeping his voice low, he gingerly opened the door. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light that managed to slip through your curtains, his heart squeezed at the sight of you sleeping, curled in fetal position. Your delicate hands clenched around your covers like they were your lifeline, your damp face squashed against his pillow. Biting his lip in thought, he returned to the main room to cover the pasta. 

Spending very little time tidying up, he wandered back into the bedroom, stripping out of his clothes in exchange for a pair of sweats and a worn Henley. Settling behind you with a book in hand, he slipped under the covers as unobtrusively as possible before his inner monologue made him pause. Would you even want him beside you? Was he crossing a line?

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about that for long as your sleeping form unconsciously wrapped around him, a small sigh falling from your lips as you nuzzled into his stomach. Smiling down at you, his free hand came up to stroke over your hair, his own grin widening when the soft touch made your lips twitch up in a sleepy smile. He thumbed through about a chapter of his book before you began to stir, shining lashes fluttering as your eyes opened. As the sleep disappeared from your eyes, Frank felt another wave of apprehension cresting in his chest, but the tide was quickly settled by your sweet gaze. Nestling into his side more deeply, you hummed in appreciation. “Hi, Frankie.” 

“Hi, sweet girl. Did you have a good nap?” A teasing mirth danced in his gaze, making you avert your eyes bashfully. 

“Mmm hmm. Sorry.” You murmured, rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt. 

Clucking his tongue, Frank slid down to face you, tracing a thumb over your cheek. “No reason to be sorry, dollface. I’m glad you slept, you’ve been tired.” 

Sighing deeply, you traced the buttons on his shirt. “Work’s been a lot, recently.” 

“I figured as much, doll. Ya don’t gotta tell me anything, but I’m always here to listen, yah?” The tip of his thumb caressed your ear. 

Blinking back tears, you looked up at him apologetically, “I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark, Frank, it’s just so stupid and I—“

“Hey, hey, it ain’t stupid.” Frank tugged you impossibly closer, brushing tears off your face carefully. “If it bothers ya, it’s not.” 

“You just…” You drew in a ragged breath, the inhale catching on a sob. “You have so much to worry about already, and I don’t want to be a burden!” Bawling now, you felt your chest constricting at the thought of dumping more work onto Frank’s already overflowing to-do list. 

“You’re not a burden.” Frank spoke fiercely, looking deep into your eyes. “You have never been a burden, doll. Never.”

His words were a promise, you drank in his commitment with immense desperation, praying to forces you didn’t believe in that he was being truthful. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Frankie,” Your voice cracked on the admission. “I’m fine at my job, but nobody can see that, and I don’t feel satisfied by the work that I’m doing but it’s all I know! I can’t just quit, I don’t have any other plan, this is everything I’ve worked for and—“ Your ramble broke off into sobs, your breath hitching as Frank shushed you quietly. 

“I know, I know, doll. It sucks right now and I’m so sorry.” Rubbing a hand over your back, Frank encouraged you to breathe, waiting until your lungs could actually take in oxygen before continuing. “Sweetheart, if ya wanna quit, I’ll support ya. If ya wanna stick it out, I’ll support ya. Regardless of what you choose, I’ll be right here at the end of the day.” 

“I can’t quit, Frank, we need the money.” You whimpered. 

“Hey, we can figure it out if we need to. It ain’t a problem.” 

Nodding against his palm, you considered your options. “For now, I’ll stick it out. But, thank you.” 

“No need to thank me, honey. It’s my job to look out for ya, remember?” His sappy remark sparked a tiny smile from you. “You’re my girl, sweetheart. I’m always gonna take care of my girl.” 

Nuzzling into his chest, you stifled a yawn before abruptly looking up at him with wide eyes. “Shit, Frankie, what time is it? Did I miss dinner?” Wriggling out of his embrace, you wiped the lingering tears off your face before sitting up. Frank bit his tongue to keep from chuckling at your genuine concern. 

“Dinner is waiting for us, sweet girl. I’m in no rush.” Cradling your neck, Frank pressed a languid kiss to your lips, taking advantage of your distraction and flipping you on top of him. 

“Frank!” You squealed, beaming down at him with more happiness than he’d seen from you in weeks. 

“What?” He questioned innocently, gently leading your face back to his for another kiss. 

“What’s gotten into you?” You wondered aloud, returning the kiss but looking at him with feigned exasperation. 

“I ain’t allowed to love on you now?” Frank asked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You rolled your eyes, shuffling off of him and out of the bed. “C’mon, you sap. Let’s eat the dinner you made before it’s ruined.” 

As the night sky populated with stars, Frank doted on you insistently. He’d reheated your dinner, turned on your favorite movie, even brought you a pint of your favorite ice cream for dessert. You’d gratefully accepted his comforts, yet he still seemed to be holding back. As he puttered around in the kitchen, doing the dishes alone (he’d staunchly refused your help), you could see the wheels turning in his brain. 

“Frank, is something wrong?” You asked, picking at a stray thread along the seam of the blanket he’d wrapped around your shoulders, gazing over at him as your heart rate pounded anxiously.

“Huh?” Your timid question snapped him out of his thoughts, his hands nearly flinging the soapy dish across the room as he spun towards you. “Oh, uh, no. Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.” 

Unconvinced, you nodded, nibbling on a hangnail poking out from your thumb. In an attempt to self-soothe, you shifted your attention back to the tv, but Frank’s energy still seemed out of place. 

Placing the last plate in the dishrack, Frank dried his hands, ambling over to you with a hesitant smile. “I gotta ask ya something, doll.”

Nervousness spiking, you nodded, tilting your head in anticipation of his query.

“If I asked ya to call in sick tomorrow, what would ya say?” Frank’s jaw was tight as he asked, clearly expecting anger in response.

“I’d say absolutely, love. Why do you ask?” “I was hopin’ you’d wanna take an extra day, to escape those assholes and maybe do something fun?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Frank Castle looked nervous. His eyes flirted between your gaze and his lap, his trigger finger twitching. 

“Oh, Frank, I’d love that!” You gushed, throwing your arms around him. He grunted in surprise, his own hands coming up to hold you in place so you didn’t topple off the couch. “I’ve been hesitant to take sick days because everyone’s been so on edge lately, will you sit with me when I call in?” 

“Course I will. If anyone gives ya trouble, they’ll have me to answer to.” Frank assured you with a menacing glint in his eye. Kissing his nose, you stroked a knuckle over his stubbled cheek. 

“Thank you, handsome.” 

“Anything for my girl.” 

True to his word, Frank made sure you were seated comfortably in his lap when you called in sick, both so that he could rub reassuring circles along your waist, and so that he could hook his chin over your shoulder to listen for any flack you might be given. Fortunately for your boss, they grumbled an “ok” and hung up quickly. Anything ruder than that, and they might have been on The Punisher’s shit list. 

Sinking backwards into your boyfriend’s sturdy chest, you shuddered. “Glad that’s over with.” Breathing deeply, you took a moment to collect your anxious self before standing to get ready for the day. Or, trying to stand, at least. 

A set of strong hands caught your hips, yanking them backwards to hold you in Frank’s lap. 

“Frank!” A small fit of giggles burst out of you as his fingers pressed into your ticklish skin. 

“What’s the hurry, doll? We’ve got all day.” Planting heated kisses along your neck, you felt Frank smile when you mewled in response. “Attagirl, let me make ya feel good, hmm?” 

Whisking you back to the bedroom, Frank helped you forget all about your shitty job. 

Slightly breathless following your morning exercise, you hummed happily as Frank continued to press his lips to the exposed flesh of your body, taking care to show every piece of you as much love as possible. Boxing you in with his massive arms, he molded his beautifully crooked nose against yours, finishing his trail of kisses with a lengthy kiss to your lips. 

“So, what did you have planned for today?” You asked against his lips, threading a hand in his hair. 

“Nothin’ much. I was thinkin’ maybe nice coffee and a trip to that museum you’ve been talkin’ about?” A blush crept over his cheeks. “Sorry, doll, I, uh, I ain’t too good with this…” He gestured between the two of you. 

“Aw, Frankie,” You scolded gently, kissing him tenderly. “You’re plenty good at ‘this’.” You mirrored his gesture and he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, honey. You’re the most romantic partner I’ve ever had. And that plan sounds lovely. Let me clean up and we can go for coffee.” 

As you curled into a seated position, Frank caught your wrist. “Hey! Where do you think you’re goin’?” 

“To wash up!” You giggled, striding back over to the bed where he slotted you between his legs. 

“Nah, you’re gonna sit right here while I draw you a bath. And I’m gonna run to the coffee place across the street and get ya one of those sugary drinks ya like so much. Then we can go out, if ya feel up to it.” His demanding tone made you smirk, his military tendencies tended to come out when he was concerned about you. 

“That sounds perfect, love.” You kissed his cheek, sitting on the bed as he headed to the bathroom. 

The rest of the day passed quickly, leaving you longing for more cozy time with Frank. Though he considered himself lacking in the romance department, he’d provided you nothing but pure love on your day off, indulging your every whim just to see you smile. 

And as you fell asleep at the end of the day, you clung tightly to him, trusting him to get you through whatever life threw your way.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #marvel #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x you #frank castle x female reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle angst #the punisher imagine #the punisher x reader #punisher #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #my writing #fc #leah answers

[erin-bo-berin]

may I request some angst, then some smut.

It’s Steve and singlemom!reader’s first fight and she cries because Steve hurt her feelings, he feels so bad, he goes to the couch and tries to sleep in the night, but reader misses him and wants him back to bed with her. When he gets back, the makeup sex is amazing!!

-🦋

Omg I know different times calls for different measures but I can imagine that make up sex with Steve would be so gentle and loving and especially in this scenario because he’d feel so bad for making her cry 🥺 okay okay I’m on it! Thank you for requesting, 🦋 anon. Love ya! 🥰

Steve x SingleTeenMom!Reader (part of this universe, you can find the rest of the series if you’re interested in it, on my MASTERLIST)

Warning: Smut (in case it isn’t your thing)

They say the first fight between a couple is never a big deal.

Obviously, at some point two people are going to disagree on something. There might be a heated discussion, maybe shouts and screams, sometimes even words thrown at one another that aren’t meant to come out; these are the kind of words that thrive in an argument, only coming out in the heat of the moment, their only job to wound the other party.

What causes a fight can be a multitude of things. But, some of the worst fights can come from stress.

A child—especially one that’s not your significant other’s—can be stressful on any relationship. No matter how much they might possibly love them.

It wasn’t Abbie’s fault that you and Steve argued, not really, no. She obviously didn’t put the words in both of your mouths, that was on you two.

You both were overtired, Steve overworked at Family Video lately, you exhausted from a day at home with Abbie. Little snips turned into a bigger argument. In hindsight, it was a stupid argument, one that blew way out of proportion.

Steve had had a bad day, Keith being hard on him during his shift. It was the stupidest thing to fight over, forgetting milk at the grocery store when you’d went shopping earlier.

Steve had a tendency to sleep late before his shifts, shovel a bowl of cereal in his mouth and then head to work. Without milk, he wouldn’t be able to eat breakfast at home tomorrow and a few snippy comments turned into a full blown argument.

Abbie was already fast asleep in her crib, in the nursery, so your heated argument was exchanged in fierce whispers.

“I’m sorry I forgot the milk, okay? You don’t have to bite my head off!”

“Whatever, it’s fine. I’m tired, I just want to sleep,” he mumbled.

“You think you’re tired? I have been chasing an 18 month all day, trying to keep her from putting anything and everything in her mouth, running the errands—which by the way, she tries to grab anything and let it fall into the grocery cart, so I had to be hypervigilant about that—so I’m sorry if I forgot one thing. I have been a walking zombie today.”

“Jesus, you don’t have to lecture me, Y/N. She’s kept us both up lately refusing to go to sleep, you know,” he grumbled, folding his arms.

“Which is why I always tell you to go back to sleep!” you hissed.

“Well excuse me if I actually want to try and be a fucking good boyfriend! But apparently you don’t need my help.”

“You don’t have to sound like me and Abbie are a burden,” you said, sounding hurt.

“I didn’t, but you said it, not me.”

“What? You wish you’d never met us?”

When he didn’t say anything, you felt your heart crack a bit.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” you said, turning your back to him.

“Fine,” he grabbed his pillow, “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

When the bedroom door slammed behind him, you winced, waiting for the tell-tale cries of your wakened daughter. But they didn’t come.

Instead, your tears did.

You sat against the headboard, face buried in your hands as you cried.

•

You don’t sleep at all that night.

It’s amazing how cold the bed feels without Steve. All you want is for him to come back.

You decided against going to wake him to apologize, he’d just be cranky from being woken.

Not only do you feel like a zombie, you feel like a zombie that’s been zapped dry of moisture. You’d cried so hard, you can’t seem to produce any more tears.

2:00 a.m. turned to 3.

You watched the digital clock, miserably, when 3:59 a.m clicked over to 4:00 a.m.

By 5 a.m. you’d had more than enough. You’d spent all night staring at the ceiling, the wall, the empty space next to you and the clock. You were going to apologize, no matter what.

When you opened the bedroom door, Steve was there, fist raised as if getting ready to knock. He looked as bedraggled as you did.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, the same exact moment he said, “I want to apologize.”

You chuckled, the tension between you two lightening immensely.

“I wanted to apologize hours ago, I just didn’t want to wake you,” you said, sheepishly.

“I was already awake. I tossed and turned all night,” he admitted, hand running through his hair, “I’m so sorry for walking away angry, for letting you think all those bad things.”

“I’m sorry for assuming them,” you sighed, “Also I’m sorry I forgot the milk. I’ll go out and get some when the sun rises.”

“Baby, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal,” he whispered, bringing you close, “I promise.”

He kissed you and you let him, his foot pushing the door closed behind you.

“I missed you,” you admitted, feeling a bit silly even admitting it, even if it was the truth, “The bed’s not the same without you.”

He laid you back on the bed when you’d both reached it.

“Well, I’m an idiot for leaving you alone like that. For making you cry.”

His face was as soft and tender as his touch, his thumb brushing softly over your brow bone, down the bridge of your nose and finally, brushing over your lips.

“You and Abbie have never been a burden, I hope you know that.”

“I do,” you nodded solemnly, “And I always need your help.”

“I know,” he smiled.

Your kissing resumed, clothes shed until you were both bare, Steve nestled deep in you.

It was sweet, gentle and amazing. He murmured his apologies to you as he moved against your body, telling you that you were perfect. You told him how much you loved him and he reciprocated, quiet moans in your ear.

If you knew you’d get make up sex this tender, yet this amazing, you might’ve fought with him long ago. Your hands clawed at his back, legs wrapped around him as you pushed him deeper, chasing the high that was building.

His hips staggered just the slightest the action sending you careening, your moans muffled into his neck as you came, the pleasant feeling warming your body from inside out. His groans matched your own as he finished in you with a muttered curse.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, then the tip of your nose then your mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered against his lips.

It was only after 5:30 when he untangled from you, moving the covers over you.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll take care of Abbie when she wakes up.”

“But you have to work,” you protested.

He shook his head with a smile.

“I’m calling in sick. I may have to stay in bed all day because I’ve got a lot more apologizing to do.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things smut

[gennyanydots]

This is an official distress call, over

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f! Reader

Part of the Spitfire Universe. Can be read as a stand-alone but best enjoyed if you have some background.

Summary: Unca Wooster is having such a great day, especially since his favorite nephew is having an extended sleepover at his house. His girlfriend is even calling him in the middle of the day which she hardly ever does! Such a great day…… oh no.

Bradley was having such a great day.

He made pancakes for breakfast.

He got Eli to school on time.

He got to see his girlfriend for a minute or two at drop off.

He made it to work on time.

He got to fly.

Just such a great day. He’s been loving all of the extra Unca Wooster time he’s been getting in. Jake and his wife wanted to go away for an extended weekend for their anniversary and Bradley was first in line to watch his favorite nephew. He might have thrown some elbows to beat out Coyote but nobody needs to know that. (He’s not sorry)

Penny, Mav, and Amelia have Ellie for the weekend. Mav made sure to pull Bradley aside and let him know that if he needed help with Eli to just let them know.

Pshaw! Why would he need help with Eli? He’s the best kid ever! Bradley still wonders how Hangman could have made such a great kid. Must have been all his wife’s genes because he definitely doesn’t see Jake in the kiddo at all.

Bradley was on his lunch break when he noticed his phone vibrating in his pocket.

A surprise call from his girlfriend! See?! Best day ever!

“Hey baby, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He says as he answers his phone.

“Bradley, what the f word did you do?!?!” His girlfriend scream-whispers to him on the phone.

Huh. He wasn’t expecting that at all. What could he have done? He’s been having the best day ever so clearly it had to be nothing.

“Ummmmmm nothing? What are you talking about? What’s wrong, honey?”

He hears you sigh, “What did you watch last night with Eli?” He can hear some sort of commotion where you are but can’t quite make heads or tails of it. Probably in your classroom, which you shouldn’t be, you should be on your lunch break right now.

Bradley thinks back, they watched a lot of stuff, “Umm Paw Patrol, we watched some Bluey, threw in some Wild Kratts for educational purposes, and then I think Jaws was on when he was falling asleep. I put him to bed once it was over.”

“You let a baby watch Jaws?!?!” You scream-whisper at him again.

“Hey! He’s not a baby! He’s a big boy. He barely watched it. He fell asleep after like 20 minutes.”

“I’m gonna beat your a word. I really am. Is Phoenix there? Let me talk to her.”

“Why the violence, honey? I’m sure he’s fine,” Bradley assumes.

“Oh my sweet naive and dumb boyfriend. You think he’s okay? That’s cute. That’s really cute. Super cute. He’s definitely not clinging to me right now sobbing and telling me he’s never going in the ocean again because he’s going to get ‘eated by the scary gray shark in the water.’ and he definitely isn’t refusing to lay down because what if a shark gets him in his sleep,” you say exasperatedly.

Ohh. Fuck. Shit.

“I shouldn’t have let him watch Jaws,” Bradley said as he hung his head.

“Ya think?! Oh my God. I can’t believe you let him watch that. You’re never getting him to sleep tonight. It was a miracle the rest of the class went down for naps because when one overtired kid cries then they all cry. And they were all asking me why Eli won’t go in the ocean anymore and why sharks are scary.”

Bradley winces. Maybe he could wear him out a little when he picks him up. Let him play for hours at the playground.

He hears his girlfriend sigh then hears a kissing noise that he assumes went onto his nephew’s head. Poor little guy.

“Before you even ask I already told him I would come over and help protect him. He’s clung to me all morning and if his parents aren’t home and it’s just you then he clearly needs a responsible adult.”

“Hey now, I’m a responsible adult,” Bradley grumbles.

“But are you? Because you let him watch Jaws and I don’t think you’re allowed to be in charge of the tv anymore,” you say. He can hear you mumbling something to Eli.

“That’s….. fair. That’s a fair choice. You are in charge of the tv.”

“Okay I gotta go. I’ll see you in a bit. I’m gonna google some shark week stuff that shows sharks NOT eating people to help this little boy out.”

“Okay I’ll see you in a bit. Bye honey. Tell Eli I love him and that I would never let anything happen to him,” Bradley said with a sigh.

“You got it. Bye Bradley,” you say before the call disconnects.

Bradley runs a hand down his face.

“Why so glum?” A voice asks, walking up from behind him.

“I did something stupid,” Bradley explains while he turns to look at Phoenix.

Phoenix laughs, “What else is new? So what’d you do?”

“I traumatized Eli.”

Phoenix smacks Bradley’s arm, “Why the hell would you do that?! That poor sweet boy!”

Bradley pulls his arm closer to him then rubs it, “Ow! Don’t hit me!”

Phoenix leers at Bradley, “Don’t do stupid things. What. Did. You. Do?”

Bradley sighs, “I let Eli watch a little bit of Jaws last night and now he’s terrified of the ocean and won’t nap because he’s scared a shark is going to get him in his sleep. Don’t worry, I already got yelled at over it.”

Phoenix gasps, “You should lose custody. Like immediately. No more Eli for you.”

“My girlfriend said she’s coming over tonight because Eli needs a responsible adult,” Bradley explains.

Phoenix laughs, “Only you would get yelled at and then essentially grounded by your girlfriend.”

“Jake’s wife grounds us all, all the time.”

Phoenix shakes her head and points at Bradley, “No, she grounds you all. She’s never grounded me. I don’t do stupid stuff like this.”

Bradley grumbles.

“Well let me know if your girlfriend can’t stay the whole weekend and Eli needs a different responsible adult. I’m happy to help,” Phoenix smirks at Bradley.

“I got him. I won’t do something like this again. Promise.”

“Suuuuuure ya do,” Phoenix says as she shakes her head at Bradley.

When Bradley went to pick Eli up that afternoon Eli raced into Bradley’s arms, scrambling to get picked up.

“Woah buddy! Slow down! I got ya,” Bradley says as he scoops Eli up to gently set him on his hip.

“I can’t be down, Unca Wooster, I can’t!” Eli said as he hid his face against Bradley’s chest.

It was then that it hit Bradley just how bad he messed up. Poor kiddo. He felt so bad.

He watched as you walked over to the two of them holding Eli’s backpack, “He can’t be down, Unca Wooster, he can’t.” You shook your head as you handed Bradley Eli’s backpack.

Bradley holds Eli close as he leans to speak to you, “I’m gonna fix this.”

You shake your head, “No, I AM going to fix this. Don’t worry. I got a plan. You’re taking us to the aquarium tomorrow by the way. I’ll see you in a bit.” You wink at Bradley as you walk back towards the rest of your students.

Bradley sure hopes you have a plan because he sure as hell doesn’t.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster x f!reader #spitfire universe

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Penny! I had an awful sleep and I’m now so overtired that I’m absolutely wired, but now all I can think about is your intimidation tactics Marcus and Dave…maybe they’d have a good way to get me to sleep.

I should give you an award for managing to drag me into the Dave York pit because I didn’t think that would ever happen…and yet here I am

Love you and your amazing mischief!

🌸 anon

Hi 🌸 anon!!! Sorry this is so late! I told you I'd get there eventually! :) WE ARE SO HAPPY TO HAVE YOU IN THE DAVE YORK PIT!

Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader x Marcus Pike

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, death, war, mentions of past abusive relationships, nightmares, trauma, PIV sex, MMF, oral sex (f receiving).

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

None of you, it seems, are strangers to sleepless nights.

Dave is up the most–he sits up in bed, his ears ringing with phantom gunshots and the screams of fellow soldiers whose faces he hasn't seen in decades. 

It's common for you to wake in the middle of the night, unsure of the reason until you see his dark form sitting on the side of the bed, his palms pressing into his eyes as he breathes, breathes, breathes. 

Marcus, a lighter sleeper than you, is always there with him, a hand on Dave's spine as he whispers words barely audible to you even in the silent room.

I know. I know, baby. You're here. You're safe. I'm right here. We're all here, and we're okay. 

You lie still–not wanting to interrupt the intimate moment between the two of them. You don't regret it either, not when you hear the one, singular, quiet sob that Marcus soothes with a kiss to Dave's shoulder. 

He doesn't like you–either of you, but especially you–to see him like this. Dave is the strong one. Dave is stoic, calm, calculated. Dave cracks under nothing. 

Even now, he struggles to keep those walls up, even when you and Marcus know. The two of you see right through them and it's a useless endeavor, holding them up. The walls are for his benefit, rather than for yours. It's a security blanket, a way to take all of those inconvenient emotions and put them on a shelf to deal with later–

–like in the middle of the night, with Marcus’s soft, warm palm rubbing up and down his spine. 

– – – – – –

If Dave is haunted by death, Marcus is haunted by abandonment.  As a light sleeper, he doesn't dream often, but when he does, you can always tell. When you wake, he's curled around one of you, his nose buried in the crook of your neck, his hands holding on hard, even in his sleep, holding on so that you don't accidentally slip from his grasp. 

If he holds hard enough, you think, he might chase away the demons that haunt him. A broken marriage. An engagement that never got off the ground. A ring he had to return, and another buried, forgotten, in the back of his desk drawer. An empty apartment, an empty bed, an empty life. 

On the occasion that his bruising grip wakes you in the night, you’ll grunt tiredly–“‘re you okay?”–your voice thick and dark with sleep. 

“Just love you,” Marcus will whisper in your ear, and you smile, sighing into his embrace. 

Sometimes Dave will roll over, then, his hand brushing your shoulder as he enfolds Marcus in his arms. 

If holding Marcus chases those demons away, well, you and Dave will always do your part.  

– – 

All three of you are haunted by something. 

You aren’t too different from Dave, after all. Instead of building your walls around yourself, though, you build them internally. You keep him walled off, encased in a bunker in your mind. 

For the most part, it’s an effective way of coping. You examine those parts of your brain during therapy, but otherwise you put them in a tidy box, not to be opened. You don’t think of him much; most of your unpleasant memories have been replaced with Marcus and Dave, anyway. 

The only time it becomes a problem is on the occasion that you have a nightmare. After hiding him away for so long, his appearance in your dreams is even more jarring. When you find yourself in your old house with him in front of you, you’re confused at first–hadn’t you left, years ago? Didn’t you have another life, somewhere?

He’s drunk again, and screaming at you. Spittle flies from his lips as he hurls insults and accusations–worthless, miserable, broken piece of—You’re backed into the corner again, nowhere to go. You sob–this isn’t supposed to be happening again. You thought you had a different life, but you can’t wrap your head around what it was that had changed. You think you remember two pairs of strong arms, warm brown eyes that crinkle around the edges, but it’s so far away now, and he’s still screaming, getting closer and closer, his fists clenched, and you know what happens next, you’ve lived it too many times–

Someone is calling your name, but that can’t be right, you’re alone, you’re always alone. You’re alone and no one ever saves you. The voice comes again, and who the fuck is saying your name like that? The voice is insistent, murmuring it over and over as you sob.

You wake up with a strangled gasp, fighting against your restraints, but the moment your brain comes back online, you realize it’s Dave’s arms, holding you still so you don’t thrash away and hurt someone.

“Shh, it’s okay. Breathe, pumpkin, you had a bad dream.” Dave’s voice is soft and reassuring in your ear.

Your cheeks are wet with tears that you don’t remember crying. “It felt so real,” you murmur.

“I know,” Dave says. “I know it did.”

“Wuzzamatter?” Marcus slurs, waking up and rolling over to face you. “What’s wrong?”

“She had a nightmare,” Dave answers softly. “It’s okay. See? We’re right here.”

“Dave.” You turn and bury your face in his chest.

“Hey,” you hear Marcus’s quiet soothing. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’m right here.”

The weight of them is crushing, and you like that. Dave holds you tightly to his chest, and Marcus sandwiches you in, their bodies creating a nest of warmth and comfort. You breathe them in, still trembling slightly, as the nightmare slowly seeps away, and you remind yourself that you’re safe, safe, safe.

Marcus’s hand skims up and down your side in a featherlight touch. It’s meant to be comforting–and it is–but it’s also making goosebumps rise to your skin, and you shiver slightly. Your back arches of your own accord, wanting to feel more.

Dave’s hand slides down your thigh when he feels you squirming, gripping lightly but not pushfully. You sigh and press against him, feeling him already hard against your stomach. 

“I wanna feel you,” you whisper, turning over and rolling your hips back into Dave. 

Marcus frowns slightly. “Are you sure?” But Dave is already lining up behind you, his cock brushing against your seam.

“I wanna feel something real,” you assert. “Make me remember. Take all of the bad things and replace them with you.”

Dave doesn’t wait. He’s inside you in one thrust, surprising you with the abrupt feeling of being filled so completely. You gasp again–this time, in pleasure–as Dave starts rocking into you, his breath hot and heavy in your ear as he takes what he wants from you, and in turn, brings you back down to earth. Back home. 

“Fuck, look at you," Marcus whispers. "Look at the two of you. He's fucking you so good, isn't he?"

All you can do is nod, your words lost for the moment as Dave slides in and out with deep strokes, rubbing against your g-spot every time he bottoms out. 

Marcus cages your face in his hands, gently brushing his lips against yours and swallowing every little whimper that leaves them. 

"That's it, baby," he murmurs against your mouth. "All those little sounds are mine, aren't they?"

"Possessive," Dave teases from behind you. 

"What of it?" Marcus shoots back, the shape of his mouth changing as he smiles. "Yeah, I'm possessive. I'm possessive because she's ours. She's our sweet girl and we're never letting her go, are we?"

Dave chuckles deep in his throat at Marcus's impassioned response. "Tiger is getting all worked up," he says to you, not letting up with his punishing thrusts. "Lick her cunt," he directs, the teasing lilt from before replaced with something darker. 

Dave grasps your inner thigh and pulls it up and over his leg, spreading you wide. You look down and see his cock spearing in and out of you. It's quite the sight–and Marcus must agree, because he moans, already debauched, before sliding down the bed to obey. 

"Fuck, this pussy," Marcus murmurs, and dives in. He's messy with it, lacking his usual precision on your clit as he lathes over the entire area and certainly catching Dave's cock on his tongue as well. 

"He's gonna feel how good I fuck you, hmm?" Dave rasps in your ear. "I can feel his tongue on my cock, pumpkin. Is he gonna make you cum?"

You nod pitifully. 

"Tell him."

"You're g-gonna make me cum."

"Jesus Christ," Marcus moans, muffled by your skin, before pressing in harder, eating you with even more enthusiasm.

"Shit," Dave hisses. "Gonna make me cum if you keep that up."

Marcus chuckles deep in his throat–a challenge, you know he's thinking. 

"Fucking menace," Dave mutters, but you can hear the affection in his words. 

Each lick, each thrust of Dave's cock is sending you higher. 

The panic state that the dream had left you in has dissipated completely, replaced by the overwhelming love you feel for the two of them. In your wildest dreams, you couldn't have imagined this for you. Not just Marcus, the man you'd had a crush on for ages before either of you acted, but this other man–this dark, brutal, sarcastic, caring, dedicated, powerful force of a man–who came into your lives abruptly and brashly, but quickly became indispensable for the two of you. 

You hadn’t been sure if you could trust enough to open your heart again, yet here you are, finding room for not one, but two people that you now share a bed, a house, a life with. 

Dave is hitting something devastating inside you and Marcus's tongue is licking you fervently, and as you feel your end approaching, all those feelings spill from your lips. 

"I love you, I love you, I love you, f-fuck, I love you–"

It falls out of you like a mantra. You murmur it over and over as you shatter, your voice breaking into a sob as you clench violently around Dave. 

Marcus surges up to capture your moans with his lips, and the taste of you on his tongue only makes you louder. 

Dave makes a strangled noise behind you, and you blink open your eyes to see Marcus’s hand disappearing behind the other man’s cock as he fucks you, and you smile dazedly. Marcus grins back wickedly before he kisses you again, and Dave’s fingers tighten almost painfully around your hip as he cums with a soft groan. 

The aftermath is quiet and muted. Marcus is still gently kissing you, interspersed with little murmurs of “I love you.” Dave gently slips out of you and kisses a little path across your shoulder, drawing the covers over the three of you again.

“Feel better, Pumpkin?” Dave murmurs in your ear. 

You nod gratefully. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Your eyes are already falling shut again, lulled back into sleep by the warmth of the two of them.

Just before you go under, you hear Dave’s soft voice in your ear. “I love you, too. Both of you.”

You fall asleep smiling.

#dave york #marcus pike #dave york x you x marcus pike #dave york x reader x marcus pike #dave york x f!reader x Marcus pike #dave york x you #dave york x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal

[xjustakay]

Hi :) in case you would like some airport distraction I am offering an extremely niche head cannon inquiry:

Do you think there a limit to the number of times firefighter James will let Reg play “is it a fire hazard?” and if so what is it?

Considerations:

Does James have unlimited patience (does he secretly like playing??) or does he have a go-to distraction/redirection method (kisses?) and what would be the tipping point to get him there? (I’m thinking there might be some sort of intersection between the annoyance and horniness spectrums)

Does Reg eventually get bored with his own game (see intersecting spectrums as outlined above) or does his desire to have the upper hand and make James break first win out?

Hope you have a safe flight!! <3

HELLO. had to get plane wifi actually so greetings from the sky rn lmao. thank you so much, you’re so sweet<33 

also i LOVE THIS QUESTION SM HAHA

a much longer answer than you probably ever wanted below. sorry in advance 😂

james actually thinks the little game of it all is funny most of the time, especially bc he loooves when regulus matches his energy that little bit and is playful about things lol, and he’s a sucker for all things that make regulus smile. plus, he’s like actually deeply proud of his job, mister hero complex himself. generally speaking he likes being able to be like “yeah this is my job and i LOVE it actually” he just gets real geeky about it sometimes in a way that’s easy to tease, he’s an excitable dude lmao. he’s absolutely out here distracting by kissing regulus and poking at the spots he knows are ticklish and giving little tugs at his hair to rile him up differently in return though (these fools are adults god help them lmao) there are days where he gets a little Over It, just because he’s overtired or because, no matter how much he does love his job, he still does want like a Full Stop break from thinking about it sometimes because it can be A Lot for him.

but when it comes to regulus, he’s veryyyy, very good at paying attention to body language and tone, then acting/responding accordingly based on those tells (comes from living with the sort of parents that he had and his relationship with them). so that said, he can often guess well enough WHEN it’s okay for him to be playing that game and have it not be an issue, or when he’s genuinely starting to push james’ buttons, etc. at the end of the day, it’s just for fun, like regulus is kind of doing it specifically because he’s never dated a firefighter before so like why not, yknow? lmao. he loves teasing james bc james either teases him right back in however way he sees fit or he literally proves him right and rattles off on a dorky little work tangent (which regulus finds deeply entertaining that this hot as hell, rizzed up man can still sometimes be such a nerd about specific things lmao). so it’s a win-win for regulus tbh bc either way he’s got james’ attention and maybe he’s making james laugh a little too which is something he knows he’s not always as good at as james is.

it’s not an all the time thing, either, which makes a difference. at a certain point, it’s more repetitive than either of them actually need and it just kind of fades into obscurity as a fond little memory of their early dating days that maybe comes up super randomly one day when one of them are abruptly like oh my god remember when? hahaha

thank you again, this was fun, i appreciate you MWAH<33

#i love them a completely normal amount #could definitely NOT talk about them for hours #(<- a liar) #thank you sm for this again you’re an angel!!<3 #fic: you got the antidote #answered #pom tag<3

[noxsoulmate]

💞 Noxy’s Alternate Reconciliation Fic 💞

Ship: Tarlos | Fandom: 911 Lone Star | Author: noxsoulmate | Read on ao3

Chapter: 1/6 | Word Count: 5752 | Rating: Explicit | Warnings/Tags: alternate universe - canon divergence, drunk Carlos. Concerned TK, TK takes care of Carlos, drunken confessions, post-break up, getting back together, mutual pining, boys using their words, idiots in love, explicit sexual content, makeup sex, domestic fluff, telling their friends, healthy communication | Art made by: @chaotictarlos 💕

Summary:

“Carlos, who are you talking about?” “My boyfriend. He left,” Carlos slurred. TK’s heart was racing now, a silent laugh escaping him. But he needed to be absolutely sure who the sleeping, drunken Carlos was talking about. “What’s his name?” “Tyler Kennedy. But he’ll kill you if you call him that.”

~*~

An alternative rendition of how TK and Carlos may have gotten back together.

This fic is finished, all chapters will be posted before the year ends!

💞 Read Chapter 1 on ao3 💞

Sneak peek under the cut:

Even though it was one in the morning, the unexpected phone call was a welcome distraction from TK’s fitful slumber. Why he even bothered really trying to sleep was beyond him – he never truly found any rest nowadays. 

Still, it was rather unusual for him to get a call this late, and most of the time, it didn’t mean anything good. Especially not when it came from an unknown number. Bracing for the worst, TK tried to shake out the cobwebs in his brain and answered on the fifth ring.

“Hello?”

Before he even heard a voice, he could hear music in the background and some chatter, laughter, certainly a small crowd – typical noises of a bar or some fairly loud spot. It didn’t make sense to his sleep-addled mind. 

“TK?” came a familiar voice, even though he couldn’t place it. “You mind stopping by to pick up your boyfriend?”

TK wondered if he had even fully woken up because none of this made any sense to his overtired brain. “Who’s this?” he finally slurred, rubbing his eyes and sitting up fully, putting his feet on the cold hardwood floor. Maybe that would help him see more clearly.

“Oh, sorry,” the voice replied, and for a moment, TK was sure that out of the ruckus going on in the background, he heard an even more familiar voice. “This is Katy from the Honky Tonk. Carlos is here and he’s pretty sloshed and I can’t let him drive like this. Are you on shift or can you come take him home?” 

TK was glad he was still sitting because out of everything he had expected – from his mother being in the hospital, to his father being lost somewhere in the hills and calling from an unknown landline, to a simple prank caller – this certainly didn’t even rank on his list.

“I– I’m sorry… what?”

“Shit, can you even hear me? It’s pretty loud here tonight, hang on–”

“No, no, it’s fine,” TK interrupted, taking a deep breath to center himself. “No, it’s okay. I was just… I mean… uhm, Carlos and I–”

Carlos and he what?

Were taking a break? Were over, so please call someone else? 

TK still hated himself for what he had done to the man he loved more than his own life – he certainly wouldn’t deny him any help. Even if Carlos most likely wouldn’t have asked him for it on his own. After everything TK had done, it would be a surprise if he wouldn’t strangle him as soon as he laid eyes on him. On the other hand, though, Carlos was far too nice a person for that, so it was more likely that he would just ignore TK.

But none of that mattered when Carlos needed him – and it certainly wasn’t anything Katy needed to be privy to. She was obviously still in the dark about the two of them. They hadn’t been at the Honky Tonk together in weeks, for obvious reasons, but Katy didn’t seem to find that odd.

Besides, if Carlos was truly sloshed, then maybe he wouldn’t even realize it was TK who helped him. Because if he did notice, TK was pretty sure he would resist.

💞 Continue on ao3 💞

Bingo squares used:

@911bingo B2: “I love you so much I just want to see you happy.”

@anyfandomfluffbingo Square 9: Old Flame

@mfbingo G2: Happy Endings

Noxy's Tagging List: @chaotictarlos, @detective-giggles, @sgirl18, @sapphire11, @bubblesandroses8, @firstprince-history-huh, @beautifulhigh, @rangergurlgleek1211, @shadesofdeviant, @otter-love-asl, @tarlos-spain, @ramblingdisaster73, @first-kanaphan, @xtltokio, @lightningboltreader, @buckybarnesalways, @tarlossource

#tarlos #tarlos fanfic #911 lone star #noxy writes #alternative reconciliation #noxy's alternative reconciliation fic #911 bingo #any fandom fluff bingo #mfbingo

[dearviper]

Got a rather… meta fic request. Anakin x Neutral!Reader where they keep simping for him 24/7 and Ani finds out (it’s via dreams)

Again, takes place in ROTS. Reader lives in the real world and Ani is in Padmè’s apartment at Coruscant.

I just thought this would be funny and kinda embarrassing, considering that I am a BIG simp for Episode III Anakin lmao ajdjakdks

This is such a fun prompt! I hope I do it justice. Here is...

Your Wildest Dreams

Anakin Skywalker x Reader One-Shot

WARNINGS: None

AO3 Link

Anakin knew he was dreaming. There was a certain fuzziness around the edges of his vision, and the planet he was on was one he had never seen. 

The buildings were strangely designed and there was not a speeder in sight. Based on the antiquated wheeled vehicles he saw, he doubted repulsorlift technology even existed here.

Despite the strangeness of this place, Anakin felt no fear — only curiosity.

“Ah, this dream again,” came an easy voice behind him. He turned around to see your smiling face.

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

Your grin spread even wider. 

“Oh sure, loads of times.” You cocked your head to the side, taking in the sight of him. “Although I must say, tonight you’re looking especially good. I like the long hair a lot better than the old Padawan cut. That rat tail was just… ratty.”

Bewildered, he asked, “How do you know what my hair used to look like?’

“I know everything about you, Skywalker,” you beamed. “I’m your biggest fan. I have a thing for guys who are tall, dark, and handsome.”

Certain that you were just a figment of his overtired imagination, Anakin did not question how you knew his name. Nor did he address your blatant advances.

“Everything?” he probed. “Like what?”

“Hm, let’s see…” you trailed off, mulling it over. “Well, based on the haircut we’re in the third one-”

“The third what?” he cut you off, brows furrowed slightly. Though Anakin was unsettled, he was even more intrigued.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. “As for what I know about you, you were born on Tatooine to Shmi. You stayed there until Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan found you. Then you became a Jedi Knight, fought in the Clone Wars, trained Ahsoka, married Padme, and now here we are!”

You finished with a triumphant grin. It quickly slid off your face when you saw how pale he’d gotten.

“What’s wrong, Ani?”

“You know about Padme?” he croaked out.

“Sure, but don’t worry,” you reassured, sidling up next to him. “I’m not the jealous type.”

Fondly, you brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. Before he could respond, you leaned in and kissed him.

Anakin pulled back abruptly, staring at you with alarm. Groaning, you pulled back too.

“Damn, I can’t even get some in my own dreams,” you grumbled, more to yourself than to him.

“Your dreams?” he asked incredulously.

“You’d think my brain would at least let me live out my fantasies while I slept,” you continued, sighing melodramatically. “But, alas, I am doomed to look without touching.”

“Hold on,” he stopped you, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Yes, Ani dearest?” you replied with a saccharine smile.

“This isn’t your dream, it’s mine,” he contended. You rolled your eyes.

“Considering you’re a product of George Lucas’ imagination, I highly doubt that.”

“What?”

“Eh, there’s no point explaining it. You won’t even exist when I wake up.”

Aggravation building, Anakin raked his hands through his hair and glared at you. “I am real. You’re the one invading my dreams!”

You patted his shoulder sympathetically, and he bristled at the condescension.

The scene shifted suddenly, and you recognized the room as Padme’s apartment on Coruscant.

“Huh. This is new,” you mused, glancing around.

“No, it’s not.” He was trying to maintain his composure, but he was growing more bewildered by the second.

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

“Hey!” he objected with disdain. “I’m not… pretty.”

“Sure you are,” you disagreed pleasantly, beaming at him. “The prettiest.”

“You’re certainly a strange one,” he declared with a shake of his head. “What planet are you from?”

“Earth.”

Anakin snorted. “Now I know you’re not real. Either that, or you’re lying to me.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head to the side in confusion. 

“You’re usually a lot nicer in my dreams… In more ways than one.” You grinned wickedly and waggled your eyebrows. He only stared back in disbelief.

Standing up, you began to poke around the apartment. “Got anything fun in here?”

“Stop that!” Anakin snapped, slamming closed the drawer you had just opened. “I swear, you’re more nosy than a Kubaz.”

Pausing your prying, you turned to face him. “Is that a word I forgot I knew, or is my brain just making things up?”

Anakin grasped your shoulders and looked you dead in the eye. “I don’t know who you are or how you got here, but this is not a product of your brain. This is my dream.”

As you looked back at him, everything started clicking into place. You sucked in a queasy breath, shaking your head.

“That’s impossible,” you sputtered. “You’re not real.”

“I am,” he insisted, squeezing your shoulders for emphasis.

You froze, eyes widening. “So this whole time I’ve been flirting with you…”

“...I’ve been married to Padme. As I have been for years now,” he finished the thought for you.

You brought your hands up to cover your mouth in horror. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I am so sorry, Anakin. Shit, I shouldn’t even call you that, should I? It’s rude, we don’t know each other. I didn’t- normally when I dream about you we-”

You cut yourself off with a mortified squeak. He arched an amused brow in response.

“We do what?” he prompted, mischievous mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Shoving your face in your hands, you didn’t finish your thought. Clearly enjoying your discomfort, he continued.

“Is it something to do with how pretty I am?”

You lifted your head back up to glare murderously at him, and he let out a loud laugh.

“I should have known you weren’t just a dream. You’re far too insufferable right now.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” he replied with a grin, clearly not sorry in the slightest.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you muttered grumpily.

“Truly, I am. How ever can I make it up to you?” He was clearly mocking you, but you jumped at the opportunity.

“Let me use your lightsaber and we’ll call it even.”

“Absolutely not.”

Sighing in defeat, you flopped down onto the bench at the end of the bed. “No offense, Ani, but I liked you better when you weren’t real.”

Star Wars Masterlist | Main Masterlist

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker/reader #anakin skywalker x reader #revenge of the sith #star wars #dearviper requests

[rosenallies]

maybe 15 from the fluff list for the drag racer au? it’s giving very hurt comfort vibes and you write that amazingly 💜

Thank u love 💗💗This is cute but it did make me obsessively zoom in on pictures of Sasha, anetra, and Marcia smiling to try and figure out it any of them actually have dimples😭 which none of them really do so for all intents and purposes in this au, Marcia has some dimples 😌🫶🏻

15. "don't lie, your dimple usually shows when you're actually smiling. what's wrong?"

——

“Honey, we’re over here!” Sasha called, excitedly waving Marcia down as they exited the dressing room, bag slung over their shoulder as they searched the crowd of other partners and proud family members for Anetra and Sasha.

They spotted both of their partners, a tiny little half smile spreading across their lips, one that Sasha and Anetra immediately recognized as fake. Perhaps they were overtired, opening night always took a lot out of them, the nerves and adrenaline taking half of their energy before the show even started, especially if they had the lead role.

“Hi baby, I’m so proud of you,” Sasha cooed, holding Marcia at an arm’s length away before kissing the tip of their nose.

“Congratulations, Marc,” Anetra echoed, placing a delicate bouquet of peonies in their arms.

They smiled again, still not reaching their eyes or showing off those cute little dimples they got whenever they smiled as wide as they could. “Thank you, guys, it means a lot that you came to opening night.”

Sasha cocked her head to the side inquisitively. “Is something wrong?”

“What? No, not at all,” they lied, their voice a bit higher than usual, a tell tale sign they were fibbing.

“Don’t lie,” Anetra said, shuffling the three of them off to the side, away from those who mingled around the lobby, “your dimple usually shows when you’re actually smiling. What’s wrong?”

Lip wobbling, Marcia looked down at the floor, avoiding their gaze as they worked up the courage to tell their partners what was wrong.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk just yet,” Sasha said soothingly, rubbing their arm tenderly.

“How did you not notice?” Marcia sniffled, eyes still glued to the floor.

“Notice what, baby? What happened?”

“My voice cracked on the high note in the closing number, which everyone knows is like the most important number of any show! I’d been practicing for months and-and my voice- I can’t do this, I should never have gotten the lead; I should just give the role to my understudy.”

“Oh Marc- you did amazing, I’m sure no one even notice your voice faulter at all. I know I didn’t.”

“I didn’t either,” Anetra assured her, “but if I’m being honest, I was distracted by how pretty you looked on stage.”

Marcia tried to stop it, but Anetra’s casual flirting made them crack a smile, a real one that met their eyes and showed their dimples.

“There it is,” Sasha cooed, “there’s that smile. We promise you that you did amazing. You were absolutely perfect, getting the lead was very well deserved, love.”

“I wouldn’t have given it to anyone else,” Anetra reiterated with a wink.

“I guess,” they shrugged, “I did do a pretty good job of continuing after I messed up, the most important thing is to keep going.”

“That’s right,” Sasha agreed, smoothing down their ponytail, “I tell my dance students that all the time. Now how about we go home and relax, hmm? Maybe order some takeout and watch a movie?”

Marcia’s eyes lit up. “Can we watch the wizard of oz? Please?!”

“Of course, love,” Sasha said, kissing their forehead, beginning to lead the others out to the parking lot.

“I’m only not complaining about your movie choice because you were upset, by the way,” Anetra joked, taking Marcia’s other hand, “I’m almost positive you can quote the entire thing by now.”

“Hey, I never complain when you want to watch all the Jurassic Park movies in one day.”

Anetra rolled her eyes affectionately, leaning down slightly and kissing their cheek. “Touché.”

#drag racer au #prompt request

[anthrofreshtodeath]

Untitled Thing

This is such a hot mess LOL. I may continue it, I may not. 🤷🏻‍♀️ If I do, would you consider/be interested in reading more?

Maura Isles, staunch atheist, a social scientist of the highest order, finds herself more and more in churches. 

Catholic ones. 

They tie directly to her current research, as an anthropologist at BCU - in fact, probably the anthropologist there, since her father left to pursue his work in the Amazon. Maura’s current studies focus entirely on Christian folkloric traditions in Western Europe, and her most recent comparisons between the werewolf stories of Sicily and Germany. Maura has chosen the West to diametrically oppose her father and all his interests, to spite him by becoming his mirror image, an anthropologist dedicated to all the things Arthur Isles has declared most boring and harmful in this life. 

Maura has to admit to herself as she crosses to Mount Auburn street at dusk that she harbors just as much distaste as her father for the church’s actions throughout history, but surprisingly, churches are where most of the documents she wishes to study are found. A surprising number are here, in Cambridge and Boston, too - maybe the most she’s encountered outside her actual travels to her ancestral homeland. This church especially - St. Paul’s parish - carries a number of first- and secondhand accounts of stories relevant to the wolves she hunts (intellectually, of course - there are no such things as werewolves), and so she arrives there for the fourth time over the past two weeks.

And… she admits to herself when she approaches its stone steps, its Romanesque walls, she feels a certain sort of kinship here. She feels, specifically when she comes around the setting of the sun - her first time had been in the midmorning hours of a Tuesday, when she had a break between classes - like she is being guided. Guided? No, that’s not quite it. She doesn’t believe in the coaching of a divine hand, even though she supposes that if there were one and it were sending her anywhere, here would probably be the place. No, she hasn’t felt the least bit guided in her entire thirty-six years of life, not by any heavenly father, nor her earthly parents. Guarded is the right term here. Watched. She is not sure if the watcher is a benevolent one, but she is equal parts pleased and scared when she comes to St. Paul’s in the evening time. Something, or someone, watches her enter, and watches her leave. It never makes itself known, it never interrupts her, and hell, it may just be the workings of an overtired mind, genius though it may be. But it stirs feeling in Doctor Maura Isles. 

Because, she surmises, she is incredibly lonely. Ian, her ex-fiancé, is in Africa, on a surprise stint with Doctors Without Borders, one he told no one about, including her until after he left. And with him gone, any real social connections she had, besides those with her colleagues and students, vanished. She waves at the priest now, Father Kelly (oh how wonderfully Irish this town could be!), and it’s the first interaction with a man outside of the anthropology department she’s had in months. “Good evening, Father,” she says, though his title drops like a stone out of her mouth. She hates it. She used to call Arthur “father,” and he’s spoiled the word entirely. 

But, Father Kelly is a kind man, with his black shirt tucked into his black pants, his belly protruding over his belt, and with his priestly collar on full display under his round, red face. He pushes up his square glasses as he smiles at her. “Doctor Isles,” he greets her back, genuinely pleased to see her. Maura blushes when she sees it. “Back for our archives?”

“I’m afraid you’ll be tiring of me,” Maura tells him, pursing her lips just before smiling back at him, “I don’t think I’m even halfway done.” She holds her leather bag in her hands and wrings the handles, facing the priest on the top step while he holds open the side door of the vestibule to speak to her.

“Oh we could never-” his response begins emphatically, but he is cut off by the barking of a loose dog streaking down the street. The dog is large, ferocious-looking as saliva flies from its jowls on its way toward what seems to be BCU campus. Maura catches only a glimpse of it, its broad and black back, and its enormous hind paws, but it startles her nonetheless, sends her heart to her throat.

“I-I hope-” she is yanked by Father Kelly before she can complete her thought, right into the safety of the church.

A car whizzes by just after the dog, and Father Kelly nods to it. “Animal control,” he says sternly.

Maura’s erratic pulse begins to slow. She swallows, gulping down the lump of adrenaline in her throat. She feels in her arm where Father Kelly had snatched her. Feels fingers. She knows he didn’t mean to hurt her, but she detests the sensation nevertheless. “It’s good that they’ve been alerted,” she replies. “You don’t see that very often.”

Father Kelly peers outside again, with Maura safely behind him, and she notes the perspiration on his brow, uncharacteristic of the mild late spring weather and his usual calm demeanor. When he looks back at her, his glance flits to her bag before finding her eyes again. “Where’s your car?”

“I… I walked here,” Maura answers him, confused by the nonsequitur. “My place is only a few blocks away.”

He licks his lips in thought, as if he’s deciding something. “When you’re ready to leave, let me know,” he says. “I can walk with you.”

“Oh, Father, that won’t be necessary,” Maura chuckles dryly. “I highly doubt that dog will still be out when I’m finished.”

“Let me know,” he repeats. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll open the archive for you.” He is serious, but his affable demeanor seems to be slowly returning as they walk through the nave and take another door to a fenced in courtyard that leads to the church’s library.

___

When Maura finally finishes handling the documents she came to St. Paul’s for, she looks at the clock: it is just after eleven PM. She sniffles, the only sign that she is shocked that so much time has passed, and then she stands. She begins the methodical process of replacing the documents in their respective coverings, ones she has made notes about for when she goes to Sicily in the summer. She has crafted culturally specific questions to ask the researchers and the priests there, and she hopes that Father Kelly will have finished his digitizing of the documents by then, so that she can present them. 

After she has returned the sources to their rightful spots and checks her list one more time, she closes her notebook and sticks it back in her bag. Every time she comes, the intrusive thought of theft enters her mind for a split second, and she has to pause. 

Of course, as a serious scholar, she never would. But her brain asks her what if you just took them home, then returned them on your next visit? At least once every time she sits in this chair, at this table, in this temperature controlled room. 

She shakes her head, and then she pushes her chair in again. When she exits the door to return to the courtyard, now engulfed in darkness, she remembers Father Kelly’s plea. She turns her head toward the direction of his office slowly, suddenly afraid of what she might see. His light is still on, but despite the sweat on her spine, there is no other presence with her in the courtyard. 

She has a moment of unbelieving defiance when her bravery returns to her in doses - this is ridiculous. Her nervous system is responding to an admittedly frightening, yet completely explainable experience: the dog shooting down the street in an aggressive streak of black and cacophony. Add that to the tales of Sicilian werewolves she spent the past five hours reading, and her brain alerts her to danger that simply doesn’t exist. She turns up her nose at the row of offices, and makes her way to the door of the church nave instead. 

She is an accomplished professor. She is rational. She will walk herself home, thank you very much.

She curls an errant lock of brown-blonde hair behind her ear as she crosses into the church, eerily dark save for the hanging candles near the altar. Her brain sends off alarm bells again, and she shivers to suppress them. Her feet do carry her quite quickly to the vestibule, however, where she can see the streetlight in the small window of St. Paul’s main entrance. 

She bursts into a full trot on her way out, and enters the Cambridge night like a sort of birth, with the way she stumbles back into reality, having leaned heavily on the door to push it open. She rushes down the few steps, looking at her watch instead of where she’s walking, and… “oh!” 

She collides with soft flesh in a hard stance, impossibly cold under the black button up tucked into gray slacks. There is no give, though one arm wraps around her tightly. “Whoa there,” a voice, deep and fluid and intensely quiet says as she is set right again. “Gotta watch where you’re goin’.”

Maura looks up, intent on apologizing to the person that has saved her from eating pavement, but for the second time, her heart beats just above her larynx, preventing any words from escaping.

The person… the figure, really, has one hand in her pocket, and is bending down to retrieve the bag Maura dropped in their collision. Her skin is olive toned, her hair is long, black, and wild around her head, and her shoulders are broad. Strong. 

She is striking, yes. But when Maura catches a glimpse of her eyes, golden yellow just for a fraction of a second before turning brown again, she knows she’s seen her before. Somehow. Somewhere. “I…”

“Need an escort home,” the figure interrupts, standing at full height again. Her accent… Bostonian mixed with what Maura thinks is Sicilian, but again, the reading. She can’t trust her mind to suss out anything Italian with integrity right now. “I know. Father Kelly gave me a ring. Thought I’d be in the area and that you’d be more comfortable with a woman.”

Maura wants to ask if the person is indeed a woman, but that question falls short. Her brain says you want to ask if she’s human, but that makes no sense, either. “Who…?”

The woman, handsome as can be, with a Roman nose and a crooked smile that showed the most brilliant of white teeth, holds her hand out. Her wide palm with long, strong fingers. “Jane. Uh, Rizzoli,” she says. 

Maura swears that her canines appear longer than they should be, though she is no dentist. They look… sharp. God, how she needed some sleep. “I’m… I’m Doctor Maura Isles. I teach anthropology at the University here.”

Jane, as she has asked to be called, closes her lips when Maura shakes her hand. “Oh yeah? Which one?”

“BCU,” answers Maura. She points down the way as a pretense for dropping Jane’s cold hand. “My building actually isn’t that far from here.”

“Is that so?” says Jane. She pockets her hands again and stands aside for Maura to lead the way. “Well, Doctor Isles, either way, you gotta be careful. Beware of loose dogs this late at night.”

#lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #what on earth am I doing? 😂

[life-with-my-three]

Sitting at kinder pick up across town. Fletcher started 4yo kinder today (he turned 5 a few weeks back, but in Australia he’s at that “can start school this year or next” cut off point because of where his birthday lands and our school year follows a calendar year). Harriet started 3yo kinder today also. They’re at kinder together and the kinder they’re at has the 3&4yo groups combined this year so they’re in the same class.

It’s hard to believe that my little 4lb guy and my teeny 1lb girl are big enough now to be at kinder! 😭😭

Riley started school last Wednesday. He has the same teacher as last year but is in 3rd grade now. I’m kind of happy that some of his “friends” (they have caused trouble for him since his kinder days) have moved schools this year. They were terrible influences for him, but Riley struggles with the concept of just because they’ve been in your class for 5 years doesn’t mean you HAVE to stay friends. Especially when they’re being nasty.

I don’t know if I ever wrote this with everything that went on at the end of last year, but the second last week of school Riley got stopped at school for his google searches. The kids were allowed to present a “passion project” on something that interested them. He’s currently VERY into world wars. The science behind nuclear warfare has really fascinated him how science can make such a big reaction. Well of course he chose how to make a nuclear bomb as his passion project. He was extremely upset after school because the school wouldn’t let him keep trying to source uranium. Luckily his teacher knows what he’s like, and just laughed. He’s adamant he just wanted a tiny bit to show how it works and he was apparently going to scale it down so it didn’t hurt anyone. 🤦‍♀️ We luckily didn’t end up with the federal police on our doorstep. Fair to say we’ve had many talks since about how we cannot google such things, as much as he’s interested in the history and science behind it not nice as they kill huge amounts of people and calling that a “passion” isn’t appropriate.

I know that may come off as naive and we should be worried about this interest, which I am to an extent, but he honestly only was interested in the facts.

Lucy is 7 weeks old today.

It’s hours later after pick up now and I’m finally getting ready to finish this post. Or rather rant.

Three very overtired, grumpy kids.

Oh and Fletcher apparently didn’t want to take his jumper off at kinder today. Not a big deal. When getting ready for bath/bed though we discovered the reason was because he got himself dressed this morning after we laid out clothes and he didn’t wear a tshirt. Just the jumper. Good first impression to the new kinder. Winning at parenting. We must remember to check in the future no matter how much of a rush we’re in!

[safetycar-restart]

You mentioned we haven’t talked about little drivers in a while so how about we bring little!Lando back? He drops at the end of a busy race weekend and you have to navigate getting him home and settled. Maybe you get some help from Daniel or Carlos who have to help look after him until you can get him away from the track?

Of course we can bring little!lando back!!

I think that there’s certain things that make the drivers struggle not to drop into littlespace and for lando, it’s definitely tiredness.

Usually, lando is very good at managing to hold off until after the race weekend. He usually doesn’t start to feel very tired until it’s all said and done.

But sometimes, sometimes race weekends are so busy and overwhelming that he’s exhausted the moment he gets out of the car after the race.

You see the moment you see lando. You see how his eyes are a little watery, how he’s rubbing his face, the slight pout on his lips. He’s trying his hardest not to drop but you can tell it’s a losing battle.

The worst is, you can’t go near him until after media. Well, you could. But you know that if you do, lando will drop and he’ll drop hard. Cause he’ll see you and then just drop because he knows you’ll look after him.

Which yes, of course you would. But you can’t do that right now. He has to do media first.

So you have to get Daniel snd carlos to help.

And poor Daniel’s heart breaks when he goes to help lando through an interview and afterwards, lando tugs on his jacket and asks where you are, asks if you’re coming to fetch him soon.

Mclaren take one look at him and agree to postpone the debrief, so luckily he gets handed to you.

And you were right, he’s with you for all of two seconds and he drops fully.

And then you have a very clingy overtired little boy on your hands who just wants cuddles and to sleep on your lap. You have to get him back to the hotel first though.

Lando is not happy that someone he doesn’t know is driving the two of you back to the hotel. He’s a shy little boy, especially when he’s so tired.

It’s literally just someone mclaren hired to drive you and him, but he hates it so much. Cause he can’t show how little he is with this person there, can’t suck his thumb and whine against you and snuggle as close as he can cause those arent things big boys do.

At one point, he tries. He tries to snuggle up under your arm and lifts his thumb to his mouth cause he can’t help it.

You have to stop him, grabbing his hand and whispering, “you need to be a big boy until we get to our hotel room, okay?”

Lando’s response is to frown and say, “but I’m a little boy.”

You do eventually get him to the hotel room, and he’s so tired that he doesn’t even want a bath. Which is crazy because usually little!lando loves baths.

You give him a quick shower though, knowing that he’d hate waking up all sweaty and gross.

And then he falls asleep so quickly, cuddled against your chest in his comfy pyjamas.

#little!driver/rider #little!lando #ln #gn!reader

[cyarskj1899]

Media reports about Dana white slapping his wife: I’m silent

media after slapgate and will smith:

I’m traumatized this is traumatic pornography

Shame on the media for not covering this disturbing incident and being so loud on their silence that we have to post it multiple times to demand more coverage about it as much as they were loud about the Oscars slap which by now we are overtired of hearing about rn! 😡

fquck the media! Racist biiiches fquck them and Dana white privilege

I’ll take a man slapping the crap out of someone who was talking reckless about his wife (though I think he could have handled it differently but then again Chris shouldn’t be talking reckless about jada either so make of that if you will) over someone being an abuser especially a woman beater any day and twice on Sunday . The media finna burn

Hey every celebrity who was so “traumatized” by slapgate: if slapgate was traumatic to you is this incident the definition of “traumatic pornography” to you ? Y’all “traumatized” people need to get over slapgate because there’s people who been through worse traumatic events than your “trauma” over a literal slap in the face . I sure enough hate to see the reaction if someone slaps you in the face. But then again I couldn’t care less .

Black Twitter Calls Out Scarce Media Coverage Of Dana White Slapping His Wife Compared To Will Smith

Coincidence?

Dana White speaks to the media on Jan. 11, 2023, for the first time since he was caught slapping his wife on New Year’s Eve. | Source: Icon Sportswire / Getty

Perhaps, by now, you’ve seen the video circulating on social media that shows UFC president Dana White slapping his wife on New Year’s Eve at a nightclub in Mexico. Or perhaps you haven’t. Or maybe you had to Google it because it hasn’t exactly been the subject of a weeks-long media frenzy the way similar events have been for celebrities that don’t possess the complexation for protection.

Anyway, if you haven’t seen the video yet, here it is:

Now, some people will note that White’s wife slapped him first. Those people will probably also ignore the fact that White, who is at least twice her size, was excessive in his response to what was a relatively a light tap on the cheek.

The funny thing is even White doesn’t appear to think his actions are defendable.

“One thing I do want to clarify in this thing that I didn’t talk about on TMZ, because I didn’t expect it or I didn’t see it coming, is the people that are defending me,” White said, ESPN reported. “There’s never an excuse. There’s no defense for this, and people should not be defending me, no matter what. All the criticism I’ve received this week is 100% warranted.”

Of course, it probably doesn’t help that he practically boasted about the fact that he won’t be punished for any of it outside of the court of public opinion.

From ESPN:

White said that internal discussions regarding the incident have taken place, including with ESPN, and that he has already been dealing — and will continue to deal with — his “punishment” from the incident.

“What should the repercussions be?” White said. “I take 30 days off? How does that hurt me? I told you guys as we were going through [the COVID-19 pandemic], COVID could last 10 years, and I could sit it out. It’s much like COVID, actually. Me leaving hurts the company. Hurts my employees. Hurts the fighters. Doesn’t hurt me. I could’ve left in 2016 [when the company was acquired by Endeavor]. Do I need to reflect? I’ve been against this. I’ve owned this. I’m telling you that I’m wrong.

“Here’s my punishment: I have to walk around for however long I live — and this is how I’m labeled now. My other punishment is that I’m sure a lot of people — whether it be media, fighters, friends, acquaintances — who had respect for me might not have respect for me now. There’s a lot of things I have to deal with the rest of my life that’s way more of a punishment than, what, I take a 30-day or 60-day absence?”

White did not outline any changes to UFC policy regarding its athletes and domestic violence, which has varied on a case-by-case basis. White has stated in the past, “You don’t bounce back from putting your hands on a woman,” and he said Wednesday that that is still the case.

“You don’t bounce back from this,” White said. “For the rest of my life, people will label me that. I did it.”

Yeeeeah, I’m pretty sure White is ignoring how short public attention spans are, especially for a story that hasn’t even gotten a fraction of the constant coverage Will Smith got for slapping Chris Rock—a thing Black Twitter had no issue pointing out.

Now, granted, Smith is much more of a household name than White will ever be, and the Oscars stage is certainly much more noteworthy than some random club in Mexico. Still, the coverage of Will’s slap seemed like it would never end, and it appears people are still waiting for wide coverage on White to begin.

Also, where are all the “traumatized” celebrities that immediately hopped on their soapboxes to condemn Smith? Why isn’t Rosie O’Donnell erroneously comparing Dana White to Donald Trump right now?

Hell, the media, as well as all these outspoken celebs, could at least have the same smoke for White as they did for Kyrie Irving.

As far as many of us are concerned, “White” is Dana’s middle name and his last name is “Privilege.”

That’s about all I have to say about that.

SEE ALSO:

The Academy Moves Faster To Punish Will Smith Than It Did For Cosby And Polanski Sex Assaults

Rep. Ayanna Pressley Addresses Deleted Tweet Saluting Will Smith Slap

12 photos

Sent from my iPhone

[jdgo51]

Time to Rest

Today's inspiration comes from:

Trusting God with Today

by Charles F. Stanley

Editor’s note: Dr. Charles Stanley spent his whole life exhorting others to trust in God… a challenge for all of us especially when we are too busy and overtired. Trusting Him instead of our own thinking is the way to peace and rest. Enjoy this excerpt of Trusting God with Today.

"O God, restore us and cause Your face to shine upon us, and we will be saved."

— Psalm 80:3

"'Elijah was bone tired — body, mind, and soul. Fresh from clashing with the 850 false prophets on Mount Carmel, the prophet found himself on the run from the evil queen Jezebel, who was determined to have him killed. He fled ninety miles on foot to Beersheba. Finally, he was so completely drained that he despaired of life, sat down under a juniper tree, and said, “It is enough” (1 Kings 19:4).

Perhaps you understand Elijah. Maybe now that Christmas has come and gone with all its activities, visitors, gifts, cleaning, and complications, you find yourself completely exhausted and ready to declare, “Enough!” just as he did.

Few conditions deplete our faith and joy more rapidly and completely than weariness. Thankfully, the Lord understands our limits and restores our souls.

Sometimes we need to follow Elijah’s example, taking a step back from the situation and letting the Lord refresh us. We may need a physical break like a day away from work or from our burdens. But stopping from all our activities and taking time to simply be with the Lord can help clear our minds, give us perspective on our circumstances, and provide the energy to keep going in the days ahead. So sit down, rest, and be strengthened in the Lord.

Jesus, thank You for being my rest and restoration. Amen.

God is more than willing to uphold and sustain you.

In God’s Strength

Those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength... they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary. — Isaiah 40:31

I remember meeting the late missionary Bertha Smith at the airport when she was a spry seventy-two-year-old. I’d gone to pick her up for a speaking engagement at our church, and I was amazed at how lively she was. At that time, she had the next five years of her life booked with meetings around the world.

At the end of the first long day at our mission conference, Ms. Smith was still going strong, so I asked her, “Don’t you ever get worn out?” She replied,

“I’m not operating in my strength. I am going in God’s.” That was it. No fluffy theology — just straight-forward faith. She said, “Here’s what I do: I tell God what I have to do each day, and I let Him know I cannot accomplish it in my strength. Remember that Jesus said, ‘You can do nothing apart from Me.’ So I claim His power for each task, thank Him for it, and move on.”

That may seem simple, but it works. In your weariness, weakness, tiredness, or frailty, God is more than willing to uphold and sustain you. He will fortify you with power from on high. So wait on His strength and count on Him.

Jesus, I will wait on You. Strengthen me, Lord. Amen."'

Excerpted with permission from Trusting God with Today by Charles Stanley, copyright Charles F. Stanley.