#rinse and repeat ever few months

[maxygrimm]

I was going through the stages of art grief but I’m back

[megamindsupremacy]

Relativity Falls AU

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] Part 4

🎶 What has Pacifica been up to in the meantime? 🎶

Pacifica has!

-Stolen Journal 2 as she ran away from the shack, hidden it in her house, and erased her memories of where it’s hidden.

-Erased her memories of the portal

-Erased the contractor’s memories of the portal

-Taken a pregnancy test!

-Erased her memories of taking a pregnancy test.

-Taken a pregnancy test!

-Erased her memories of taking a pregnancy test.

-Broken back into the shack, stolen journal three, almost gotten caught by Crazy!dipper, and dropped it in the woods as she fled. 

-Taken a pregnancy test!

-Erased her memories of taking a pregnancy test.

-Taken a pregnancy test. Taken a deep breath. Had a good, long, scream.

-Looked around her mansion, which is looking a little worse for wear. Realized that if she’s going to have a child, she needs to get her shit together, stat.

-Spent a day trying to get her life back together. She feels better. She feels like a human again. 

-Waken up screaming from the nightmares, and didn't fall back asleep for three days straight.

-Erased her memories of the nightmares.

-Erased her memories of building the portal at all.

-Erased her memories of taking a pregnancy test.

-Taken a pregnancy test.

-...

-Erased her memories of ever knowing Dipper Pines.

-Said, disinterestedly, hands twitching, eyes flicking wildly, “A mad scientist living in a shack in the woods? He's finally showing his face in town? No, I've never heard of him. Good luck fixing up that old place."

[suguann]

an. a little 'and-they-were-roommates' drabble series to get me back into writing because it's been an age. | masterlist | part two

It starts as a situation built off convenience: he needed someone to take care of his place while he was gone, and you needed a place to stay. 

Simon never thought he’d get anything out of it other than coming home to a house that feels lived-in and the entryway clear of envelopes from months of neglecting his mail—another voice throughout the day besides the intrusive ones in his head that spun like a carousel with the word work etched on top. 

It’s not until you show up on his doorstep, three boxes and a measly duffel bag crowding your arms, that he thinks he really should’ve thought this through better. He’ll only realize this after the fact—weeks late, sleepless nights filled with images of daisy-shaped buttons down the front of a summer dress and a smile that nearly knocks him flat off his feet.

As it is, he’ll blame it on the handful of sleepless hours from tiny airplane seats and energy drinks sleuthing through his system that clouded his judgment, then admit it’s nice coming home to a woman who looks pretty reading a book on his living room couch.

Only his soap-slick fist in his bathroom late at night will know the honest-to-God truth. That is if there was ever a god he believed in. 

He never claimed to be a good man. 

(Can anyone claim to be good in his line of work?)

Just an honest one.

So it goes something like this: he tries not to come off as an obsessed, lonely fuck (the jury is out on either) by just existing in the same space as you whenever the opportunity arises—reading the paper while you make breakfast on the stove he hasn’t touched in too long to remember when, flipping through a book Simon didn’t even know he owned while you water plants you picked up on your way from work, watching whatever you have on the telly before you both go to bed—then he’s on a plane, being shipped out to who knows where with a gun holstered to his hip.

Rinse and repeat. 

The fourth time he comes home after an assignment keeps him away longer than expected, he finds you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a cute, frilly apron tied around your waist that he’s never seen you wear before. A smile curls the edges of your mouth as you look over at him, everything in your face soft and attentive—a vision suddenly takes shape.

You with a ring on your finger, Simon calling you his little wife, getting to hold your hand whenever he feels like it, and not because yours accidentally brushed up against his. His hand fisting in your hair, bending you over the counter, your cheek covered in powdery confectionery, fingers rucking up your skirt and apron because he can.

He blinks once, twice, and the little fantasy falls apart. 

Except you’re still in his kitchen, smiling prettily and happy to see him of all things. Imagine that.

Your lashes flutter, making crescent shadows across your cheeks. “How was your trip?” you ask. “You look more tired than you usually do.”

A shrug, a dismissal. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I have some tea that might help.”

“Tea.” He repeats to fill the quiet if only to stand there a little longer, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his clothes smelling like recycled air. 

“Yeah, I got it from a friend a few weeks ago when I caught this cold that was going around the office.” Sometimes, you ramble, and he can do nothing more than let you get it out of your system—not that he minds. “I swear it’s nothing janky or anything. Just try it; it might help.”

You’re so damn earnest about it that he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Sure,” he says and watches a wide, satisfied smile stretch across your face.

It’d be easier if you weren’t so sweet and gave a sincere fuck about the comings and goings of his life. If the smell of your perfume wasn’t following Simon everywhere—sugary vanilla faintly clinging to his balaclava even after he’s washed it—as a reminder of what’s just out of his reach.

(A mindfuck is what it is.)

[arsonwithextrasteps]

A/N: this is the first fanfic I'm sharing out into the world so I hope you all like it! It's more general vibes then a real x Reader but it's still fun nonetheless :)

TF2 x (gn) Reader

Daily Diner Routine

You were a citizen of Teufort. Nothing special about you, you had a normal job working at a diner, you had a small house, nothing fancy, but it was home and you enjoyed the consistency of this rinse and repeat life. 

That was until things got…weird. Not just weird, just insane. These men - well most of them were men, there was this one in a gas mask who looked like an omen of something and a woman who constantly looked stressed about something. Anyways , this group of people…. Well the town hated them for one reason or another. You didn't see the big issue at the start, then they started to visit the diner after, what you assumed, was a day's work. 

You soon learned what that work was after having served them a few times and seeing their bruised bodies or the bits of blood splattered on their outfits. You'd often find yourself cleaning tables and booths around them slower, keeping an ear out as the loud Bostonian boasted about their skills or ragged on another coworker about their performance. They were mercenaries, known killers throughout the city , dangerous people who…

Well, you were confused. They all talked, laughed, joked like any other visitor to the diner, they had their own preferences to the food, what drinks they liked - you supposed this is what made them so dangerous,  they could fool anyone…or maybe that as the paranoia as you watched the Bostonian (which you've come to learn has the title of ‘scout’ thanks to how much the team said his name,) knock over his milkshake not only onto him, but the fancy looking man next to him dressed in a suit that could most definitely pay your rent for months.  

“ merde-! Scout, you idiot - do you have any idea how much this suit costs?! More than you'll ever seen in your-” 

“Hey! I brought you some paper towers and a cloth to clean up - the drink will be replaced too, since you just got it” your voice cut in before the older French man could cut into the nervous looking American any more then he had already. 

You helped clean up the table as the suited man grumbled to himself, taking off his blazer and giving it such a careful wipe down as Scout quickly got up to get a refill of his milkshake. Like a coward. 

You gathered up the empty plates and cups before looking around the table, giving a friendly smile. “ Anything else you'd like whilst I'm here?” you asked the table, notebook in hand. A few gave each other looks, a little mumble here and there for a moment before the bright eyed German doctor spoke up with an even brighter smile. 

“Ja , could we have a top up on coffee, a strawberry milkshake and two plates of pancakes with uh… Herr Sniper what did you want again- “ he muttered, staring at the man who was sitting inside with sunglasses on. The aussie gave a short, quiet reply back as the medic nodded. 

“Ja, okay - can we get the waffles with ice cream on?” 

You nodded along, writing down the order before giving a firmer nod. “Can do, is that everything?” the table all nodded. "Perfect! That'll be with you shortly” you flashed another simple smile before turning on your heels back towards the kitchen.

Yes, these were killers, strange people who were doing god knows what during the day, but right now?  They were just your weird regulars who sometimes showed up with a little too much dirt and grime on them, but they tipped well, treated you decently and well, that's all you could ask for. 

Mercs or not, you enjoyed their little routine of coming to the diner , it gave the place a little more life in your normal life, with your normal job. 

[jenosbigtoe]

park jisung x bimbo!reader (M)

minors dni

summary: maybe the quiet boy isn’t as naive or innocent as you initially thought.

warnings: reader is kinda slutty but ji secretly loves it, dom!jisung, big dick jisung, fingering, size kink, creampie, fellatio, unprotected sex, college au!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: i’m a jeno girlie but ji has been hitting sooo different. ESP THE BAT JISUNG OOOH

SORRY TO WHOEVER WANTED THE JAEMIN FIC FIRST IM GETTING IMPATIENT HAVING THIS SIT IN THE DRAFTS. JAEMIN FIC THIS WEEKEND POSSIBLY!!

god you wanted him so bad. park jisung, the quiet compsci major that sat in the front of every lecture you’ve had together since freshman year. the park jisung that walked around with his clunky black headphones around his head at all times. the one who had his head down and eyes averted wherever he went. the one who rarely raised his hand in class but when he did, god he sounded so sexy explaining topics you could never begin to understand. the park jisung you’ve never spoken more than 10 words to in the 3 years you’ve known him at uni.

you just wanted to corrupt him so bad. with those baggy clothes he always wore and those harry potter circular lenses you thought looked so so cute on his face, you’ve never seen him interact with the opposite sex. like ever. and with your senior year in uni, you knew you had to make a move on him.

operation seduce park jisung is a go.

you had your first lecture of the day together. it was a 9 am, one you barely showed up to but you knew he had perfect attendance to. and today you were going to make his knees weak when he saw you.

popping your sparkly pink lip gloss, you gave yourself another look over in the reflection of the window before stepping into the lecture hall. today, you wore a light pink mini skirt, a white crop top and lacy hot pink push up bra that peaked through, and a cardigan with strappy gold sandals. you walked in 5 minutes late, smacking your bubblegum, and scanned the room for your target.

there he sat in the front row, in his oversized black hoodie and khaki cargo pants, his laptop open and signature black headphones around his neck. he was chewing on the end of a pen cap as he typed, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. you smirked to yourself and sauntered over to the seat next to him, making sure to scoot behind him in order to accidentally rub your ass against his head.

“sorry, excuse me,” you whispered.

jisung scooted up to let you pass and gave you a tight lipped smile as you sat next to him.

you didn’t even bother taking anything out to write notes. as you pretended to focus on the lecture, your eyes drifted over to jisung periodically. the way his hands were so big and veiny. when his hoodie sleeve would lift up and tease you with the image of his slim muscular arms. the faint smell of his masculine scent—smoky cedarwood? you could feel your pussy throbbing.

after the lecture was over and jisung got up to leave, you stopped him. “hey, what’s your name again? my name is y/n i don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves before.”

“it’s park jisung,” he said curtly.

it was hard for you to decipher how he felt talking to you but you didn’t want to burn this bridge before it even took off. “okay, nice to meet you, jisung. see you around!” you gave him a bright grin and turned on your heels to saunter out of class, leaving him to stare at your turned back.

and the next few weeks it was rinse and repeat. you would show up wearing your cutest little outfits, showing the most amount of skin appropriate in an “academic setting”, and trying to strike up a conversation with the quiet sexy compsci boy you had a crush on. to be fair, it didn’t seem like your plan was working all that well though. you barely knew anymore about jisung than you did a month ago and you thought by now you would’ve had him melting in your palm. with all the curt responses he gave to your questions, you should’ve been discouraged by now. but no, you were more determined than ever to get this boy underneath you.

so today you decided to alter your plan a little bit. you found jisung in the same seat as always. you were wearing the cutest white sandals and a short mini sundress with a pink ribbon in your hair. you took extra care in your makeup today too, wearing just a little more blush, sparkly silver glitter eyeshadow, and frosty pink lipstick.

“hi ji,” you walked up to him and smiled, actually 10 minutes early this time.

he gave you a small smile and looked back down at his laptop. you puffed your cheeks and pouted a bit. you sat in your designated seat next to him in a huff and pulled at his hoodie sleeve.

“ji, you like me right?” you started to draw circles on his arm and leaned in closer so he could smell your cherry perfume.

jisung looked up at you and tensed up with hesistant look about his face. “what do you mean, y/n?”

you pouted your lip. “you know.”

jisung fidgeted in his seat a bit and looked every where but your tits that were spilling out your bra. “i don’t know what you mean.”

“well we’re friends, right?” you leaned ever so slightly over. god he looked so cute and delicious you could just eat him up.

“um,” jisung started.

you interrupted him. “well i like you ji. and you’re my friend. friends help each other, right?”

jisung stared blankly at you. “y/n we've barely talked except the past couple weeks.”

you ignored his last statement.“this is really embarrassing but,” you leaned over and whispered softly in his ear, “i’m failing this stupid econ class. it’s required for my major but i just don’t understand any of it.”

you leaned back and stared jisung directly in his eyes, close enough to count the eyelashes on his eyes. “help me, ji? please? i know you’re just so smart and i only need some tutoring.” you gave his arm a tight squeeze for reassurance.

poor jisung was so flustered and shifted around at the proximity. “w-well uh o-okay-“

you stood up gave him a tight hug, conveniently shoving his face into your juicy tits, and squealed excitedly. mission success. “thank you so much, ji! let me treat you out to lunch a few days a week to make up for your help!”

jisung’s face was so red and the hug left his glasses slightly askew on his face. adjusting his glasses, he fumbled out a “yeah no problem.”

after the lecture, you slid jisung a piece of paper with your number with a “text me :) <3” and practically skipped out of class.

later that evening you got a text from an unknown number.

unknown: This is y/n right?

unknown: It’s Park Jisung.

you squealed and kicked your feet around on your bed.

you: yup :)) this is y/n

jisungie <3: Okay. I’m free Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays after 2pm. Every other day I have work. Let me know when you want to meet up.

you: yayyyy!! perfect <3

you: let’s meet up at the library tomorrow at 2:30pm. my place is right by it

jisungie <3: Okay.

you: your so awesome ji 😎

jisungie <3: You’re*

jisungie <3: You’re welcome, y/n. And just so you know, I do like you. You are my friend.

you had to run laps around your room after that one.

the next day was a sunday. you told jisung to meet you at the library but you knew better. the library wasn’t open on sundays. so that meant your study date had to move somewhere. and with your place being so close, that somewhere would hopefully be your apartment.

so you arrived at the library 30 minutes early, knowing jisung’s little quirk of needing to be 15 minutes early to everywhere he goes. today you decided to wear black yoga pants that accentuated your ass and a cute crop with a teddy bear print on it. and you made sure your makeup was waterproof because you hoped jisung would make you cry it all off later.

when jisung arrived, you faked a pout and pretended to be upset. you ran up to him and grabbed his arm, big fake tears welling up in your eyes. “ji, the library is closed. i was so excited to hang out with you outside of class but we can’t even have our study date because the stupid library doesn’t open on sundays.”

jisung looked panicked at the sight of your tears. “uh, um, uh don’t cry.”

you let a few tears roll and rubbed them on the back of your hands. “sorry ji. i’m just so disappointed. sure i want my grade in econ to be better but i also just wanted to hang out with you.”

jisung grabbed a napkin out of his bag and handed it to you. he rubbed your hand in a reassuring way that secretly had your pussy throbbing from his big hand grabbing your small one. “uh it’s okay, y/n. i can probably make time tomorrow. i have work but uh-“

you suddenly interrupted him. “wait, i don’t want you to have to miss work for me. i have an idea. my place is just a 3 minute walk from here. how about we head over there instead?”

your tears suddenly dried up as you pouted up at him, puffed up cheeks and big doe eyes with a hopeful look on your face.

jisung seemed to look relieved that you stopped crying. “okay. if that’s what you want then i’m down.”

you squealed and jumped up and down, hugging his body close to yours. “yayy! thank you thank you thank you ji!!!” you grabbed his big hand in yours and practically dragged him all the way to your apartment.

your apartment looked exactly how jisung imagined it. so pink and girly, flowers and ribbons and stuffies everywhere. and it smelled so strongly of you, he was about to lose his mind. your fluffy white cat purred and rubbed herself affectionately on jisung’s leg as soon as he entered.

“sweet girl, he smells so good right?” you lifted her up and snuggled her into your arms, giving her kisses all over her fur. “ji, you can set your stuff down by the couch. let me change into some lounge clothes.”

jisung felt so awkward being in your apartment but when you came out, he knew he was really in trouble. you were wearing a lacy silk pink victoria’s secret pj set that looked so flimsy.

“ji, do you want anything to eat? drink?” you walked past him, underwear peaking from beneath your shorts as you walked to the small kitchen.

jisung stuttered. “n-no. i’m good”

you walked over with a glass of water and a pack of cookies. “okay just let me know if you need anything.”

after an hour of jisung trying to lecture topics of micro and macro economics into your head, you just about had enough. slamming the book shut, you felt your brain about to fry.

“ji, i know i’m a business admin major but this is so stupid,” you whined. “why can’t i be as smart as you? i just wanna marry rich and be a stay at home wife.”

“well y/n-“ jisung started but you cut him off.

“no. i’m sick of this.” suddenly you pushed him back on the couch and straddled his waisted, using your legs to lock him underneath you. suddenly you leaned close to his ear and whispered softly.

“baby, i think you are just so sexy when you explain this stuff to me. you are so smart and i want you so bad.” you nibbled on his ear.

and jisung snapped. he was tired of your teasing for the past few weeks. what, did you really think he was so naive and stupid to notice your seduction tactics? you’re quite literally the girl of his dreams and you’ve been the object of his fantasies since he first saw you freshman year. you were always so bubbly and sweet and outgoing, the exact opposite of him, how could he ever stand a chance with you? but now that you’ve finally made a move on him, that was it.

using his strength, he flipped you over and pinned you on your back, gripping your hands above your head. “fuck. you have no idea what you do to me. you think you can just tease me like this, dangling yourself in front of me like a piece of meat, and expect me to not snap? you have too much faith in me.”

your heart was racing and every word he said went straight to your pussy, growing wetter by the second. jisung started leaving wet kisses down your jaw, once hand still pinning your hands above your head and the other gripping your waist.

“jisung you are so sexy. you have no idea how much i have wanted this,” you looked him into his eyes and smashed your lips against his.

3 years of unresolved feelings went into that kiss. he was a much better kisser than you expected, which had you moaning into his mouth and grinding up into his thigh.

he ripped off your pj set, leaving you in just your lacy white bra and panties. “fucking slut. you planned this huh? wanted to bring me to your apartment so you could fuck me huh?”

you whined and started taking his clothes off too. and holy shit was he hiding a beautiful body underneath those baggy clothes. you could always kinda tell he was toned underneath those clothes but nothing compared to this. his body was so well built and chiseled, arms so veiny and thick, you were foaming at the mouth.

he went to take his glasses off but you stopped him. “the glasses stay on while we fuck,” you told him seriously.

he bit back a giggle and ripped your underwear off. your pussy was glistening with arousal. he wrapped his lips around one of your juicy tits and traveled his hands down your body until his fingers rested on your cunt. “does my baby want to be touched here? does her slutty pussy want to be touched?”

you whined and bucked your hips into his hand. “yes! yes please ji i need you to touch me.”

he smirked and started teasing your pussy with his fingers, rubbing them up and down your slit and ghosting over your clit.

“stop teasing me. need more ji,” you sniffled.

he shoved two fingers into your sopping cunt and started pumping them. you moaned loudly, wriggling your body around and clenching on his fingers. with his other hand, he continued to grope at your chest, leaving you needier than ever. god his hands were so hot and they felt so good. so long and big and veiny and the perfect size for touching your cunt.

suddenly, you shoved him off of you and pushed him back on his back. “your turn.”

jisung looked shocked at first but let you take control. you pulled down his boxers and let out a small gasp. “no fucking way.”

jisung smirked at you and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes with a knowing look on his face. his glasses were crooked and falling off his nose but he never looked sexier to you.

“ji, why did you never tell me you were hiding a horse in there?” you asked, completely serious.

jisung stifled a giggle. “never asked.”

“if i had known you were this fucking hung down here i would’ve jumped your bones so much sooner.” you were seriously concerned for your little pussy the next day but at this point you didn’t care.

you gave his massive cock a few pumps with your manicured nails, wondering just how you would be able to fit all of it inside. even his balls were massive and heavy.

you alternating between licking the base of his cock and lightly sucking on his balls. god it was so hot and heavy and smelled so good, so musky and masculine. jisung let out the sexiest groans as you did this, snaking his hands into your hair and gripping your head. “fuck baby that feels so good.”

you gave a small kiss to the tip of his cock and then started sucking, putting more and more of it down your throat as you went. tears pricked your eyes as it went further and further. jisung’s moans got even louder and he started to buck his hips slightly against your face.

you gave licks to the underside as his dick was deep in your throat. with one final push, you bottomed out on his cock and deepthroated him fully, leaving jisung’s mind hazy and body shaking. fat tears welled up in your eyes and fell down your face. good call on the waterproof mascara.

“fuck m gonna cum. you’re doing so good baby, so so so good,” he groaned as you kept going up and down on his cock, sucking and licking his shaft with every bob of your head.

without warning, he suddenly ripped his cock from your face and stood up, leaving you whining and tears staining your face.

“what a cock hungry slut. can’t even go a second without cock ruining her. well don’t worry baby, i’m about to fuck you so good. wanna cum inside your pussy for the first time.”

he reached into his bag for a condom but you stopped him. “no condom. want you in my pussy raw.”

jisung smirked. “naughty girl.” he pushed you on all fours on the couch and positioned himself behind you. “you’re already so wet baby, won’t even need to prep.”

he rubbed his massive cock on the outside of your pussy, teasing your hole and sticking the tip in before taking it out and rubbing it some more.

“ugh fuck me ji! stop teasing just fuck me right now!” you whined out, arching your back and shoving your cute ass in his face.

and without warning, he bottomed out inside you. you screamed at the sudden feeling, his balls pressing up against your clit. your arms gave out from beneath you, leaving his hands to gripping your hips for support.

“m gonna move now, m’kay sweetheart?” jisung groaned. your little pussy was just sucking him so tightly and it was driving him crazy.

his hips drove into your cunt, his big cock absolutely bullying your little pussy. you were a screaming and moaning and crying mess. “yes yes ji! oh my god feels so good yes!”

you felt your orgasm building up, leaving your pussy to clench and drip more around his cock.

“fuck baby. this pussy was made for me. you’re so perfect and gorgeous and i can’t believe i get to fuck this pussy,” jisung was going absolutely feral above you, thrusting hard and fast and deep into your pussy. he was bottoming out with each thrust, balls slapping against your clit.

“m close. where do you want me to cum baby?” ji groaned out.

“inside. cum inside my pussy. please ji, i need it, need it so much,” you cried.

your words sent jisung over the edge. he released his hot load into your cunt, giving a few last hard thrusts.

the feeling of hot cum inside you triggered your orgasm. you cried out in pleasure, feeling absolute bliss.

after you both got down from your highs, still panting heavily, jisung collapsed onto the couch with you on his lap. his head rested in the crook of your neck as you laid your head on his.

“this is a little late but be my boyfriend ji?”

[holyparadisenightmare]

It had only been a few days since your partner left for their business trip, but you were already going stir crazy. You were spending the whole day tempering your ravenous, insatiable libido. Every inch of you boiled. Toys refused to satisfy.

Climbing into the shower, it was hard not to be turned on just looking at yourself. Your erect nipples, idle playthings for your horny mind. Minutes in and all that work cleaning yourself would be undone. So you'd rinse and repeat.

In your room you found your partner's favourite set of lingerie: a matching set of black, lacey panties and a bra. It had only been a few days since you last wore them, but you could already feel yourself spill out more than usual. What were once large, but perky tits were now heavy hanging breasts that sat snug, snugger than usual, in that delicate fabric.

Nights turned to days as you roamed your house alone. But it wasn't long before your concerns were vindicated. Your breasts had gotten larger. In fact, they continued to grow. Veins pushed their way to the surface as the skin around your tits stretched thinner.

But it wasn't the only thing growing.

You honestly thought it was just bloat. Anxious that a few days of unaccompanied eating and wanking had you gaining weight, your belly surged forward from where you were used to. But after two weeks and the bloat refusing to pass, you knew more was going on.

Throwing on a sports bra, you tried to hide your growing tits and belly. A grey, oversized tracksuit followed over and with a pair of sunglasses the look was complete as you venture out into the world to find some clarity.

You arrived at a pharmacy. The woman at the counter greeted you as you walked in. You smiled politely but bit your lip as you saw her. She was short, a little shorter than you, chunky with a black bob. Thick in all the right ways.

Terrified, you tried to hide your arrousal and your belly.

You smiled back and asked "Can i get a pregnancy test?" your words fell away as your mumble through the last of your sentence.

"I'm sorry, i didn't quite catch that." She said with a smile that said 'i heard you but I want to make you say it out loud.'

Your face was bright red. The woman behind the counter carelessly looking you over like a piece of meat. "A pregnancy test. I need one." You conceed, pointing past her to the display behind the counter.

"Oh, I'm sorry miss." She snarked, reaching back to grab one, "I didn't think someone so far along would needs that."

Your face and pussy burnt. "H-how dare you!" You half moan at her, looking around to see if anyone had heard. You were both alone.

But before you could break into a full tyrade, you looked down at yourself for the first time since you stepped into the store. You had grown since the drive here. And you were huge. The sweat shirt did nothing to hide your size, the front pulled taught by the size of your growing belly.

You cried, "Oh my god!" Before running... well, waddling to the bathroom. You tripped and stumbled as you adjusted to your new centre of gravity. You locked the door behind you and peeled back your slowly shrinking sweat shirt.

You looked full term. 9 months pregnant. Your belly button had popped. Your ass had widened, and your belly grew so naturally from your plump form you wondered how you had ever looked without it.

As you raised your shirt to reveal yourself your hand brushed against your breasts. Its swollen flesh threatened to spill out and over your tight sports bra. You carefully pulled the bra up and over, careful not to put too much pressure on your very sore breasts. Regardless, each nipple slowly trickled beads of milk down your body.

Your pussy craved satisfaction. It ate at you, filling your mind with fog. You were one part petrified, but 9 parts severely turned on. And what little scared you onlu turnes you on more. What if someone caught you?

With a hand you slid up and squeezes one of your engorged breasts. Milk splattered across the mirror. You moaned as you watched your reflection play with herself.

But a knock at the door brought you crashing back to earth. "Ma'am?" The clerk called from behind the door.

"Y-yeah?" Your voice hinted at the pleasure you're so desperate to return to.

"I hate to bother you. But that stall is for paying customers only. And, like I said. I dont think you need this test."

"I can't come out right now." You said back.

"Do you need help?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

You hesitsted for a moment.

"Can you get some oil, some napkins and a clean shirt? I'll pay for them!"

You could hear her voice catch at the strangle request. "O-Okay?"

Eventually she returned. You unlocked the door a crack and let her pass the items through. But in the corner of your eye, in the reflection of the window, you see her face looking back. She saw you, tits, belly and all. Her face turned bright red as she slams the backroom door shut.

Flustered your deslerately scramble to clean yourself up. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You hurridly cry.

Her voice turned into a long and uncertain "uuuhhhhh" as she tried to find the words to describe how she's feeling. "The ummm. The bathroom is kinda gross. Did yo-did you want to use the staff room?" She finally utters. "Its just me here. Perfectly safe."

You sigh. Tired, hungry and heavy, and in desperste need of being milked, you agree. Slipping the white shirt she gave you on, you couldn't deny it left little to the imagination.

Quickly you open the door and slip awkwardly through the pharmacy. Your belly and tits swinging as you do. The wet stains around your nipples getting larger, revealing your dark areolas underneath. After what felt like an eternity of exposure you cross the threshold and slip into the backroom of the store. The clerk quickly closing in behind.

She pulls up a large office chair and gestures you to sit down. You happil oblige, resting your monsterous belly on your lap and your leaking breasts on your belly. The sigh of relief came involentarily as you thank her.

Her smile turned from carring to ceniving as she locks the door behind her. "Now we're alone, I need you to take that top off."

"E-excuse m-me?"

The pharmacist drops down to her knees and begins kissing your enormous belly. "Big girl, you're going nowhere like this. I heard the noises you made. And i know you think i'm cute. Come on." She says, lifting your struggling shirt and sweezing oil into her hands. "Be a good girl for me."

You couldn't help but yelp at her touch, but something about her stern stare made you melt. Between your partner being gone and your sudden pregnancy, you were keen for something certain. Your body relaxed as she went.

She lifted your shirt off completely and exposed your collosal breasts. Rounded, swolen with milk, yet so large they flopped to either side of your mamoth belly. Pinned beneath it, stuck in this chair, the pharmacist had her way with you.

She dragged a tongue up your belly, around your breasts, lapping up stray milk. She sent shivered down your spine. Thrulls of pleasure followed too as she latched onto your swolen nipple. She sucked. Your nipples, raw and wanting, felt a wash of instant relief as you felt your warm milk release from its prison.

Your stray hand reached low, past your belly, in search of your pussy. You were dripping wet. You dove deep into yourself to lube up your finger and began rubbing your clit. You moaned as the gorgeous woman sucked away at your breasts, still rubbing lotion on your belly.

You quickly fell into the pit of pleasure. Your pace was steady and you begged her to keep going. With your other hand you took hold of your spare and swollen tit and squeezed. A yelp jumped from your lips. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your sprayed milk across the back room.

It wasn't long before the pleasure built to a breaking point. You tried to hunch forward but your belly got in the way. You let go of your tit and gripped the desk beside you as hard as you could as you reach climax.

For the first time in weeks you finally felt satisfied. Panting and sweating you look over at your new friend with a greatful smile. She returns the feeling.

But as you stand to leave your legs give out. Not just regular jelly legs, you look down and realise you've only gotten larger. Your belly stretches out to your knees, and your breasts fall down by your side. You can see them swelling with fresh milk. Your thighs have grown and your fat ass is stuck in the chair.

You look up helplessly at the pharmacist as she kneels down between your legs and vanished behind your belly.

[shiraishi--kanade]

From what I'm gathering the constant thing in WxS corner of this fandom is that every once in a while one of you guys goes "what the fuck is Tsukasa's room" and the rest just go "yeah that's one fucked up fucking room. What the fuck" rinse and repeat every few months and it's honestly the best thing ever.

[missidk1121]

Prologue: Late Nights and Blooming Dreams

Pairing: Dino x Fem!Reader

Story tags: Barista!Chan, Software Engineer!Reader, Best Friends to Lovers, fluff, humor, one-sided pining(?) to mutual pining, very light on angst, OT13, other members as helpful (and unhelpful) side characters

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8K

Author's Note: My first fic on here, and my first Seventeen fanfic ever 😶 Please be kind, but also feedback is welcome and appreciated! Also, this is the prologue to a multi-chapter fic that I have currently in the works, so I hope you'll look forward to it 😊

🎧 Music playing at The Cozy Bloom

Series masterlist | Read on AO3 | Next

7 years ago

Every day was bleeding into the next. Wake up, go to class, study, eat somewhere in between, sleep, rinse and repeat. It was getting tiring. But it was finals week. You couldn’t stop now, and so you packed your belongings, heading back to your current favorite café, holding on tightly to your dreams even as they were slipping away alongside your sanity.

“Hi again, what can I get for you?”

In the months since this place opened up you’ve seen four people, including the manager, working here every day, and to be honest this guy was your favorite.

You couldn’t fully explain why. He just had a charming air about him. From his casual smile which naturally drew the attention of any customer he spoke with, to the moments when you could hear him laugh, a full and bright sound that seemed unique to him. He just had this presence that stood out in a pleasant way. Plus he was cute.

“I’d like a pourover, please,” you said.

It occurred to you that you didn’t even know his name. You took a quick glance at his name tag.

“Okay, I’ll have that out for you here in a few minutes,” said Chan.

And so you returned to your corner, sitting by the front window, the light above your table for two waning, calling you to come quietly observe the restless city hustling even past sundown. However, before you even had the chance to fade along with it, the code editor on your laptop had loaded, and it was time for you to get hustling as well.

This place had become a bit of a cult favorite, especially among students. Chan always saw a select few on a near daily basis, some of which he knew well enough, or had gotten to know well enough, to know that they went to the same school that he did, what they were studying, and at least a little of their personalities.

There was Jun, a foreign exchange student in musical theatre whom he met at a dance class. An actor and dancer well-liked by everyone at school for his talent, kindness, and effortless sense of humor.

Vernon and Seungkwan, his friends and roommates, one of whom studied computer science while the other majored in communications. Lately Chan had been trying to get them to apply for the job openings here, promising he’d train them and get them hooked on the vast world of making coffee in no time.

There was also Jihoon, a music production student. He once gave Chan a very detailed critique of his pour over technique that forever changed the way Chan viewed coffee. That’s as far as their interactions went, though.

And then there was you. He didn’t even know your name. He had only ever caught glimpses of you on campus. He always saw you coding while you were here, so he asked Vernon about you one time, but all he said was “Why? You interested?” Apparently he had never really spoken to you either, despite being in some classes together.

You came in and did the same things as always: ordered your usual, sat at that table in the corner, and started coding. And until recently, you always came in during the morning three days a week, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The last few days, however, you’ve been coming in every evening.

It was much less busy this time of day, of course. Maybe Chan would talk to you today.

On second thought: no, he shouldn’t bother you. It’s finals week, so you must’ve been really busy to come in this late.

And so he simply made your coffee and brought it to you, exchanging nothing but polite pleasantries as per usual.

The next hour passed by slowly. There were hardly any customers. One or two enjoyed a late evening drink and meal, while others needed a boost to push through their neverending workload. It was closing time, and almost everyone, the quiet diners and the caffeine-boosted workaholics alike, called it quits for the night.

“I finished all the dishes. Well, most of them,” said Mingyu, then he nodded in your direction. “I’ve gotta hurry home. My baby’s been sick. Can you take care of the rest?”

Chan looked at you. At some point, you had laid your head down on the table and dozed off, your coffee half-finished and your laptop asleep alongside you.

“Go take care of your dog. I’ll make sure to wake her and close up shop,” he said.

“You’re the best!” said Mingyu before hurrying out.

The café was quiet. Just the two of you. He felt kinda bad about waking you, but he needed to finish cleaning and lock up the shop. And so he approached you, hoping you would just wake up on your own, but you didn’t.

“Excuse me,” he said softly, and just as he was about to tap your shoulder your phone buzzed.

Hey. Did you finish writing the requirements doc? Sorry I couldn’t get my share done. Exams have been a real bitch these last few days. Appreciate it

Buzz. Then another one.

Have you fixed that bug yet? I couldn’t figure out what I did to cause it :/ If anyone can fix it it’s u!! ♡ Lmk what you find!

Chan rolled his eyes.

He felt bad about seeing your texts, but good grief. Why are these people bothering you about their problems? And can’t they see it’s half past 10:00?

Surprisingly, you didn’t wake up. You didn’t even move a muscle.

Chan let out a quiet sigh. Now he really felt bad about waking you.

He then left you for a minute, grabbing his jacket, and when he returned by your side he bent down and gently draped it over you, feeling a brief jolt in his fingers as they accidentally grazed over your soft hair. After adjusting it to make sure it covered you well enough, you began to move slightly, causing him to startle a bit, but it was just a subtle stir as you inhaled and exhaled deeply, burrowing yourself a little more under his jacket, your nose ghosting over the collar while a contented smile peeked out from underneath.

His heart sped up, and he quietly raced to do anything other than watch you sleep.

A warm, earthy aroma entwined with the invigorating smell of hot coffee filled the air. You struggled to get your eyes open for what felt like minutes before finally you noticed the bright red and blue pens stacked on top of a notebook open to a page full of chicken scratches, your reflection in the black screen of your laptop staring back at you as you realized that you had fallen asleep at the café. As if that wasn’t enough to startle you awake, that musky scent you were relishing in was coming from some jacket draped over your back. Whose jacket was this?

CRASH!

“AH!”

“Woah!”

The sound of glass shattering right behind you made you jump from your seat, the nice-smelling jacket dropping from your shoulders to be forgotten on the floor.

You turned around, finding that barista from earlier — Chan, you remember — startled as he glanced between you and the fragments of glass scattered across the floor, just a bit of coffee trickling toward both your feet.

The room dropped to silence as you both simply stared at each other and the broken glass in shock.

He was the first to speak, clearing his throat before saying, “You’re awake.”

“Obviously,” you retorted, immediately regretting it as soon as you heard yourself.

Here was this sweet barista who had kindly lent you his jacket in your sleep and you just had to be a smart ass.

Instead of looking at you funny or being startled by your rudeness, Chan merely laughed. And laughed in the way you had only heard from afar in your little nook, except now it was crystal-clear, a mere table away from you, tickling your ears with its brilliance.

“I was drinking some coffee while I was waiting for you to wake up, but I kinda dozed off and knocked it over. I am so sorry that I woke you up.” He bowed politely, but then his cheeks flushed as he quietly added, “Er, maybe you would’ve preferred I woke you up at closing time so that you didn’t have to, y’know, sleep at a table with some stranger’s jacket covering you. I’m sorry.”

His words always seemed to come out so confidently, so seeing him become shy all of a sudden got a soft chuckle out of you.

“It’s fine,” you said. “I’m the one who should apologize for falling asleep when you should be home by now.”

“To be honest, you seemed like you really needed the rest,” he admitted sheepishly. Then his bashfulness faded as he held out his hand.

“I’m Chan.”

“I already read your name ta–” you stopped yourself. “I’m Y/N,” you corrected yourself, shaking his hand.

God, you were such a recluse. When was the last time you physically spoke to a human being?

Chan laughed, and suddenly you felt like less of an asshole again.

“Well, Y/N. I’m glad to have finally met you properly,” he said. Then he walked around the mess he made and behind the front counter, heading toward what seemed to be a supply closet, smiling at you as he said, “I’ve gotta clean that mess and close up. We’ll have to talk some more next time. You’re pretty funny.”

Your brain lit up at the possibility of there being a “next time.” You found him to be rather interesting himself. However, instead of admitting that you meekly nodded and let out a little “Yeah.”

He reached for the doorknob of the closet, but before doing so stopped and turned to you, just as you were about to check your phone for any messages you might’ve missed, his expression soft with worry.

“By the way,” he said, “I hope this doesn’t sound weird or anything, but… I hope you take care of yourself.”

You tilted your head curiously.

“I just mean,” he paused. “Try not to pass out again, okay? You’re always working really hard, so… just ask for help sometimes, you know? I don’t really know much about coding — though I have a friend who does — but anyway…”

“I’ll be careful,” you said, touched by his concern. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replied, smiling gently.

You said your goodbyes, packed your things, and left, even putting your phone in your backpack too. There was no need to think about coding, or the piling messages from your group project members to wile away the hours of your insomnia. Your mind was going to be dreaming about tonight’s events until sunrise, when you had to get up and do it all over again, except now you had something to look forward to in the evening.

[alchemyfreak321]

Wish You the Best

I wanted to read some angst and had this brilliant (questionable) idea to write it myself. But somewhere down the line this became a bit too self-reflective and honestly I'm too embarrassed to admit just how much of these thoughts are my own.

This is my first attempt at writing in over two decades so go easy on me. I blasted Lewis Capaldi while clobbering this together. If nothing else at least you'll hear some good music while slogging through this. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Paring: Gaz x lowselfesteem!Reader

WC: 1.7k

"I can't do this anymore." Kyle whispers so softly you almost don't hear him over the sounds of the telly. You glance at him but he's still looking at the telly, sunk low into the couch next you. He almost looks too engrossed in the generic action movie you've put on, but his eyes are unfocused, his knee slightly bouncing.

"The movie? Yeah it's pretty bad, last time I take Robin's recommendation." You blabber while reaching over to the coffee table to grab the remote. Kyle stops you and grabs your hand, pulling it to his lap. The warmth of his palm feels wonderful against your perceptually cold fingers. You push his words back, not yet ready to process what he meant, instead you lean back into the cushions and focus on his large warm hands dwarfing yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your palm, the almost intoxicating scent of smoke, leather, bergamot and something spicy that rolls off him and re-stains your apartment.

You missed him. It's hard to put into words how empty your world feels when he's off saving the world for months on end. Even the mundane routine of work, dinner, doom scrolling, sleep, rinse and repeat becomes almost technicolor when he's next to you. You wanted to curl up around him, but wasn't sure if he'd welcome that yet. The first few days after a mission always left him a little jumpy.

He shifts on the couch and sits up, your hand still clutched in his. Sensing something serious you follow suite but he still isn't looking at you, instead he just looks at your hand in his. The corner of his mouth turned into a small frown, his fingers tracing the lines along your palm, "I can't do this," he repeats.

Slowly it dawns on you what he's talking about and you snatch your hand away, the pleasant warmth now scalding. He finally looks up and meets your wide eyed gaze. His deep brown eyes normally filled with mirth and love now just look spent. The sound of the telly fades away, drowned by the buzz in your ears. Surely you've misunderstood him.

"Why?" you whispered, anxiety clawed up your stomach and made itself home in the middle of your chest, where seems to grow with each breath. Was it someone else, did he finally have enough and get sick of you? Did he finally realize what you've known all along, that he can do infinitely better.

He looks down at his hands, his shoulders slumped and all the weariness seems to catch up."I can't -"

"do this anymore, yeah you said. Why? Is it-is it someone else?" you choked out.

"No, no!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening as he looks at you with disbelief. His brows knot together as he takes a deep breath, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the right words. "I can't keep being the only one who tries." he finally admits.

Kyle looks at you head on now, the tick on his jaw getting worse. His knees bouncing worse than ever. You want to reach over and still him but the knot of anxiety in own your chest is getting bigger, you can feel tendrils of it running through your veins. You wish you didn't know what he was talking about but you did.

"We've been dating for almost a year now yeah? And I still feel like I'm chasing you. Hell half the time I'm still wondering if you even like me! " he confessed, the crease between his brows deepening. "I'm the last person to know what's going on in your life, I'm the last person you make plans with…I got home two days ago and you didn't even come to see me!" his voice rose with each word. He took another shuddering breath, rubbing his palms over his thighs, as if to sooth himself. Blinking rapidly, his glassy eyes focus on a spot over your shoulder.

You sit on the edge of the couch, wrap your arms around your soft belly, feeling too exposed. How do you explain you spent the day before cleaning your apartment, grocery shopping, begging your coworker to cover your demo so you can take a day off to spend curled up with him. How you spent the night before rubbing your skin raw, priming and preening so he doesn't see your flaws. Doesn't see dark marks, or how your belly protrudes more than before. How do you explain to someone as perfect as Kyle how you used the day to hide all your shortcomings.

His hand twitches as if to reach out and reassure you, instead he mirrors you, gripping the edge of the couch to keep from folding you into his arms. He continues his confession, tongue tripping over the words spilling out all the dark thoughts he's had, "I'm tried of being the only one who tries. You never even call, I got what three texts while I was away?"

"You're mad I didn't text you while you were on deployment? When you couldn't even see them?" You snapped, immediately regretting your words when you see Kyle's heckles raise. The imploring tone vanished, replaced with defensive anger.

"Didn't stop Simon's girl, hell Johnny's bird sent him nudes whenever there was reception." he snarled.

Heat rose to your face in embarrassment and the anxiety gave away to anger, "Nudes?! That's what it's about? That I won't put out enough for you?" you hissed out.

"Christ are you even listening?" he swore as he rose to his feet, rubbing a hand down his face. "I wish you'd call me sometimes because you want to hear my voice because you miss me! Because you want to know if I'm alive! Why is that so much to ask for?!" he retorted, breaths coming out heavy. His face twisted into an expression you've never seen before, one you hoped you would never see. Disappointment and disgust, and it was directed towards you.

He's not wrong, you rarely reach out to him, afraid with each text you'd come off as too clingy, too smothering. You wanted to be the cool girlfriend, the one with her life together, successful career, beautiful. Most of all worthy to be seen standing next to him. One no one would see and wonder what he sees in her.

"…I didn't want to bother you…" all the anger seem to fizzle out and leave you just as quickly.

He looked at you incredulously, "You think my girlfriend remembering I exist would bother me?" He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. "Christ, I'm not asking for a public declaration…I-I deserve better" he whispered his final confession, his arms dropping limply to his side, defeated.

You blink and blink again, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Okay."

Kyle stares at you in disbelief and wonders if he misheard you, his face crumbling for a second at how quickly you give in. Did he mean nothing to you? "Okay? that all you have to say?!" His voice low and thick.

"What else can I say? You do deserve better."

"That's not what-" he spluttered, you cut him off before he can continue, your voice soft and filled with false confidence, not betraying the heart that's fracturing.

"No, you do. You think I don't know what people say when they see me next you? You look like you stepped out of a GQ magazine!" A small sad laugh escapes your lips. You turn back to the movie, unable to meet Kyle's sad gaze anymore. "You're the smartest man I know, you're out there saving the world! I can…I can never measure up to that, I'll never be enough…" You confess, the lump in your throat painful, your vision blurring.

Kyle wanted to swoop in and reassure you that you were more than enough but he held himself back, finally understanding no amount of reassurance would convince you of his love for you. But his hands seems to have a mind of its own as they reach out towards you -

The door bell goes off.

The rest of the apartment blooms back into focus.

You let out a sigh of relief and jump up from the couch, almost running to get the door, glad to put some space between you and Kyle. The few minutes it takes to get the takeout (Thai, from his favorite restaurant) you hope cools down both your emotions. As you fish for some change from the bottom of your purse, it gives you some reprieve to gather your thoughts and find the correct words and hand the delivery girl a tip.

You'll apologize, you decide, take back your words, promise you'll be better, promise you'll make more of a effort to tell him how much he means to you. Words never come easy to you, the ones that you manage always feels ungainly and clumsy. They never quite encapsulates your thoughts or feelings and always leaves you feeling like a child trying to string sentences together.

But you'd try. You'll even call him as often as he allowed. Risk him getting sick of you, you know he will, what's a boring life like yours compared to his. You'll do it all if it meant keeping him in your life for just a little bit longer.

Kyle is putting his coat on when you walk back to the living room. You stare at him wide eyed but both say nothing as he walks up to you. You see his adams apple bob as he swallows thickly. He reaches out and cups your face and you cup your hand over his. You want to beg him to stay, but your tongue feels too heavy to move.

Umber eyes implore yours to say the words, to ask him to stay but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead you turn your head and press a kiss to his palm. Imploring him without words, but it's not enough. He wraps his arm around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head before stepping around you and walking to the door.

"I'll see you around love." he mummers closing the door behind him.

As the soft click of the door closing sounds, the tears finally fall.

[porkcutletbowl44]

Beauty & Her Beast

John Price x F!Reader

Warnings: CAVITY WARNING!!fluff, VERY MILD hurt(mention of infertility), husband & wife banter(lovingly)💖 SUGGESTIVE NSFW🔞🔞🔞

(I hope this idea isn't taken! this was just too cute to not write 🥺)

╔═*.·:·.✧����✦🪷✧.·:·.*═╗

Accidents happen. And John isn't one for big change, so when you fractured your wrist trying to get out of a hostile's aim of fire and injured yourself, John had a fucking meltdown and finished up the mission quickly to get you back to base. Luckily you only escaped with a fracture and nothing serious, just a few months of taking it easy with your hand.

Naturally you struggled to the adjustment, and John did too. You couldn't hold his hand with your dominant hand for the time being, couldn't make yourself certain dishes, couldn't train to your full potential. You couldn't even shower properly with the handicap hand. Trying to get your hair out of your face was a hassle, pony tail, bun, claw clip, nothing worked. You couldn't do it one handed.

John, being the amazing husband he is, kindly offered to help.

"Let's see..." He mumbles, awkwardly holding a piece of hair in his hand. "Uh," He hums in hard contemplation.

"Never done it before?" You joked softly, feeling him make lose strands twirl together. 

John breathed in slowly, trying to hold back an eyebrow raise — something he failed at as it shot toward the ceiling, his lips twitching in a slight smile.

"Yeah..." John murmured, continuing to "braid" your hair with gentle movements, letting the quiet settle in between you two. 

"It's not as easy as it looks." He finally spoke up, chuckling softly.

"It's alright, divide into three sections." You instructed softly.

John's eyes narrowed in thought, his hand moving a little slower as he worked.

"There..." he muttered, "Three sections."

He took another breath in, focusing on how he'd separate the strands... and he'd do the braiding. John looked up at, eyes meeting yours in the mirror, and he was met with the vision of the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, and you were here... in this moment... with him.

You nodded slightly, "Okay, good. Now take one part, and cross it over the middle." 

John listened carefully, taking a few moments to process what you were saying before he acted. He grasped a strand farthest from the other two, and he started to cross it over the middle, pulling it together once he'd cross it. His fingers moved nimbly, he seemed to be getting the hang of this.

"Is that right?" he asked, looking up and meeting her gaze.

You laughed softly, "Now tighten those two strands criss crossed, grab the last part that's free, and pull it into the middle. Rinse and repeat." You replied. 

"Right..." he muttered, his fingers moving to follow the instructions now that he had a better hold onto the process. With a few moments, he'd pulled the third stand into the middle, and he worked to adjust the strands until it looked like it was actually braided properly. He was surprised; he'd thought it would be harder than it actually was.

"So..." John asked, looking up at you, "Is that it? Or are there still more steps?"

"Nope, go until you run out." You answered.

"Okay." John murmured, glancing down at the strands, and then he continued to braid, repeating the same motion over and over again, his hands starting to ache with the effort as he worked to concentrate. It was a simple process, however, his mind started to drift... wandering to the day he'd been told he couldn't have kids, with his wife in the same room. He didn't snap out of his train of thought for a moment until he pulled the final strand, and he examined the work — it looked good.

You grabbed the end and tied it off, examining in the mirror. 

"Perfect," You praised kindly. 

"Mhm... looks like you could've done it by yourself." John teased, chuckling as he looked over the finished braid. He then leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly, his shoulders and back relaxing in the same breath.

"I guess I'm just not used to doing it... but it's actually not that hard." John murmured, and suddenly, he raised a brow, wondering how a simple action like this was so intimate, loving. 

"My wrist hurts, alright? And you said so yourself. It's not so hard," You teased gently. 

"Alright, alright," John chuckled, not resisting any urge to smirk at your little comment.

"I guess you're right." he responded, "And... I think I'd much rather do it for you anyway."

Despite that last comment coming out of nowhere, he didn't think much of it — he'd just speak and then hope he didn't get into trouble, as usual. You were always independent. 

"I've been thinking about cutting it..." You pondered. 

"Cutting it?" John asked, looking up at you again, confusion plastered on his face before he raised a brow.

"No." he replied instantly, sounding oddly more authoritative.

"Why not? It would be much easier on deployments," You shrugged.

"Because your hair is beautiful." John said back instantly, his expression a stern disbelief. His fingers laced together, forming a steeple of his hands as the thought of your hair being shorter — or possibly gone — sent chills through him.

"And besides," he muttered, "I've got the braiding skills."

"You can do a basic Indian braid, John." You smiled. 

"You said it was perfect earlier," he defended, folding his arms over his chest and raising a brow.

At the thought that you doubted the skills he'd just demonstrated, he looked down at you, eyes almost narrow in jest. 

"it is! A perfect, simple, quick braid. Everything else is a bit too complex," You explained. 

John's face softened; you were right — he'd only done the simplest of braids.

"But..." he started again, thinking of the possibilities, "What if I practiced and got good at the more complex braids?"

You sighed softly,  "Not even a little trim?"

"Not even." He muttered.

John glanced away from you into the distance for a moment, thinking about the question you posed. The thought of you without your hair — or just shorter hair — terrified him. He knew he wouldn't be able to say anything or even stop you from cutting off your hair — but that didn't mean he was going to budge in telling you that it was an awful idea.

"Don't." he said simply.

"My hair grows fast, you know that..." You tried again a soft pout. 

"Your hair is part of what makes you... you." John replied, "Don't cut it."

The mere thought of you cutting it made him a little itchy, as if something would be... well... missing if you removed part of yourself like that.

"Please..." he finally said, his expression softening a bit.

"Okay, okay," You relented, your hands going up in surrender. Your wedding band glinted in the lighting as you moved.

John sighed, relief washing over him as his shoulders lowered. He then raised his hand to the back of yours, gently grabbing them both to stop them from moving.

"Promise me you won't ever cut it," he muttered, his voice soft and gentle, but still holding that authority it seemed to have when addressing you about more serious matters.

"I promise, John," you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 

"Good." John whispered, but his smile didn't go anywhere.

He was happy with that answer — relieved with that answer.

"Now..." he started again, his voice shifting slightly as he tried to change the subject, "What was with the pout? Did you really think I'd let you cut your hair?"

"...Maybe." You shrugged, a smile tugging your lips. 

"Oh?" John murmured, he knew it — you definitely could pout and get your way. 

"And what did you expect me to say? 'Oh, I know how much you want your hair gone, so go right ahead!'" John asked sarcastically, his body shifting back in his chair and folding his arms again, "That what you expected?"

"Well I do kinda miss it when it was short..." You considered. 

"So you want to cut it?" John asked, his words laced with a heavy dose of skepticism in response to your comment. He'd heard people talk about their 'old hairstyles' missing from their memory, but... were you seriously considering cutting that beautiful hair off?

Not on his watch, he decided.

"Don't do it." he said again swiftly, still keeping up the facade of authority.

"Don't you remember my short hair? I thought you liked it!" You pointed out. 

"I do. But it's not... it's not nearly as beautiful as the hair you have now," John replies quietly. 

He was right — when your hair had been shorter, it was a simpler look, and it looked... more carefree, for the lack of better wording. But now? Your long hair was just more... more you. It made you look radiant and... more feminine, he supposed. He did everything he could after your wedding to postpone your hair cuts, He loved seeing your hair down. It was beautiful, radiant, it was absolutely gorgeous the way it falls over your shoulders, lays on your back, frames your face. 

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath at his words...Being just a tad bratty. 

"Oh, stop..." John grumbled, and it was clear in that moment that he was being playful.

But then he went quiet for a moment, wondering if cutting your hair short now would actually make you happier. Was that why you wanted it to be cut? Because you missed it? He'd have to ask you that at some point... but right now, you were too cute to be upset with.

"Then what to you suggest I do?" you questioned. 

"Nothing." John responded swiftly, "You leave it... leave it all alone."

It may have been a simple braid, but if you cut off your hair now... he didn't know how he'd feel about it. He didn't like the thought of your hair being shorter. In his mind, that was a part of your femininity, a part of you that made her... you, that made you beautiful. And if it was cut, he may never get to braid your hair again. 

"Please." he whispered, looking at you with a soft gaze.

"And a little trim is going to be the end of the world?" You joked slightly, walking over to him with your arms crossed.

"Yes." John replied swiftly, incredulously, staring up at you.

Maybe you saw it as a joke, but he didn't think you understood just how he felt about your hair — just how much he liked it. He loved running his fingers through it, watching you brush it beside the window as the sunlight makes it glow. He loves even more how he can grab a handful to force your head up at him, make you look up at him as you take every girthy inch of his cock cramming against your cervix, dragging against that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll and you moan raggedly. You would paw at his back, slurring 's too much, John-

He didn't want something like that to change about you... and yes, he knew it was just hair. But there was something about it that was just... you.

"Fine, then you can't ever shave your beard again." You made a ultimatum. 

"Fair." John muttered, not realizing just how easy  of a win that was to pull.

He'd go years without shaving his beard if it meant that your hair would stay just as it was. His hand went to his chin, and his fingers rubbed against his beard — the familiar feel brought a comforting smile to his face. You did enjoy his beard. 

"I wouldn't shave it off anyway." John added, "not after how much you like it."

"You'd just look weird without it," 

"Oh yeah?" John asked curiously, raising a brow, "Do you think I'd look that weird without it?"

He seemed a little intrigued by the concept, as if his facial hair was just a permanent fixture on his face — almost as if he couldn't imagine a version of himself without it.

"I'd look like a twelve-year-old." he stated with a smirk, making a mental note to not shave it off under any circumstances.

"Yeah probably. More unrecognizable though," You added.

"And you wouldn't like me being unrecognizable..." John teased softly, his head tilting to the side as he thought about your comment.

He enjoyed being able to look at his reflection and know that it was him he was looking at — but more than that, he liked the look of confidence that he saw on his face. He knew he was attractive, you had told him enough times. 

"Okay, fine, I see where you're coming from...do you only love me for my hair?" You laughed softly shaking your head slightly.

"Only your hair?" John responded, raising a brow, "No, not just your hair."

He knew his answer. He loved everything about you — from your playful personality and your sassy, sassy mouth, to, yes, your hair, to your... everything. John couldn't put it into words, but he loved everything about the woman standing before him.

"You're gorgeous, love. you're strong, and you're a cheeky little thing...damn that mouth o' yours." he mumbled, teasing you and returning that smirk.

You grinned, a soft blush on your cheeks.

You both finished off your daily military work, John smoking his nightly cigar while reading reports. You were across the room in his connected bedroom, undoing your braid after it got lose and messy through out the day.

Damn. John thought to himself — that look was just far too perfect to not see. He took a puff of his cigar, his eyes shifting across the room to watch you. It was a gorgeous look, one that would be a shame if you cut off your already beautiful hair.

"You look beautiful today, love." John eventually piped up, not realizing that he had been staring for longer than he'd meant to.

"Just today?" You teased, your hair now curly from the braid, soft waves on your shoulders as you walked into the office again. 

"Everyday." he amended, looking back at the reports in front of him, "But today, you look even more beautiful."

John's gaze followed you as you walked across the room, and he almost wanted to drop everything and follow you to the bedroom. He took another deep breath, trying to stay calm — You smelled so good and you looked so damn good with all those waves in your hair and those soft curves...

You sat on the chair across from him, taking your own folder. In the silence, you noticed John was in deeper thought than usual.

"What are you thinkin' about?" You asked gently. 

"Nothing," he lied, but he knew you could tell he wasn't telling the complete truth.

You knew him a little too well by now to let just a simple "Nothing" answer go unchecked, and he didn't want to tell you the truth. It wasn't like he'd been staring like a complete moron just because of the way you looked, his thoughts wondered from earlier; the position his marriage was, not having children yet in the military still.

"You sure? You can talk to me, John." You said affectionately, 

"Just thinking about our marriage..." John responded, then his tone softened slightly. "Just the fact that we're still..." and then he went quiet again, not knowing what to say.

He wanted to say that they still hadn't had children yet, but could he? Could he really say that to you, after you both found out he wasn't able to?

"...Married?" You finished for him with a confused smile. 

"Not just married." John responded, "But that we still... have no children yet."

He sounded... defeated now. And he didn't want you to be able to tell — because God knew if you heard him, you'd feel pity for him, something that he hated.

"We still can't seem to..." and he went quiet again, not knowing how to finish that sentence.

"I know." You murmured softly, your eyes softening at him.

"You know, I don't need kids to be happy. I just need you," You assured. "You took it harder than me, to be honest." You added. 

"I know, I know." he said softly, but your words still cut deeper than you knew.

His heart squeezed with emotion, with the feeling of failure being the central theme of the words you said about not needing children to be happy. You  didn't need them to be happy, he knew that... but did you want them?

Did you truly have no desire to become a mother? That's what he feared, deep down, in his heart, that he would disappoint you.

"I mean, the doctor said you weren't completely sterile, we would just have a hard time... so the chances aren't zero at least?" You offered, trying to give him peace of mind. 

"But the chances are still low." John responded, his eyes falling to the files in front of him.

He didn't want to think about the fact that there was a chance. Hell, he didn't want to think about what it would feel like to have those hopes raised, and then crushed back down again when it didn't happen.

He hated hope already, but this... this was just... worse.

"I know." You sighed out, reaching and grabbing his hand, giving a small squeeze. 

"I just... I want a kid, so badly." he becomes slightly frustrated, "Everyday, I feel guilty for not giving that to you."

He knew you'd say that there was no reason to feel that way, that you were already happy enough... but he wasn't. He needed to make your life better.

"You deserve it." John muttered, almost to himself.

"do I need one though?" You asked, a playful smile on your lips as you searched his eyes.

"No, you don't. You don't need one..." he murmured. 

But he couldn't help but think, did you want one?

Did you?

The playful look you gave was adorable, and it made his breath catch in his throat.

"But... if you wanted one..." and he went quiet again, not knowing what to say afterwards.

"I certainly wouldn't mind, to have one with you. If we don't, then I'm perfectly fine with that too." You assured.

"Promise?" he mumbled, that hint of hope returning to his voice.

He hoped that she meant it, that you did feel fine with it... because if you did, then it wouldn't leave you feeling unfulfilled. You didn't need child to have a fulfilling life. Or, at the very least, you both didn't need one to be happy.

"You're okay with the possibility of not getting one?"

"Of course... We can keep trying though. If you want," You offered. 

"I do... god yeah." he muttered, looking away.

If you were... okay with it, he was too. He wouldn't force you to have a child if you didn't want one. And even if you never did get one he couldn't bring himself to get that upset over it because you had said that you were perfectly fine without one.

"Let's keep trying..." he murmured softly, looking down at your hand in his, "And whatever happens, happens."

"Okay," You muttered.

"Okay." he repeated, and for a moment, you sat in silence in your usual comfort.

John was silent, but his mind was going a mile-a-minute, going over all the different scenarios that may happen after all of this. And you were sitting, hair a bit messy in the braids you'd undone, his hand in your, still thinking about children as your future. He wouldn't give up on that dream, with you.

He wouldn't, not ever.

"I love you." he murmured softly, then his tone became somewhat teasing. "I don't think I've said it today yet."

"I love you too," You responded back, a loving smile on your face.

He let one of his signature mustache smiles take over as his thumb lightly traced over the back of your hand. Everything was quiet for a moment as he did so, taking in this moment with his wife — your soft curls, beautiful eyes, and the way your fingers moved in his. Your breath was short and sweet, and your smile was infectious. In that moment... it was as if the world had paused for just a little while longer than necessary.

You stood up, releasing his hand. "I'm gonna go to bed, you gonna keep working?" 

"Hm? No..." John responded, also standing up, "I'm gonna go get changed for bed as well."

It had been a long day, and though part of the Captain wanted to stay up just a little longer than needed for some sort of closure... tonight just felt like one of those nights, where you could sleep in his bed together, cuddled up and holding each other tightly.

By the time John comes in, you've changed into pajamas, you were trying to tie your hair back, with some difficulty due to your wrist. John had returned, slowly and leisurely making his way into the room, then pausing his steps at the sight. He smirked  and approached, taking your bad wrist gently.

"Let me," he murmured.

You dropped your hands, letting him re-braid your hair back with ease now that he learned how to.

"You're having fun aren't you?" You mused quietly. 

"Can't deny it." he smiled, and his touch was... slow, and meticulous as he braided your hair from the fresh memory. 

He knew you'd notice, but he didn't care because you deserved to feel cared about in the same way that he wanted to feel.

"I mean, after learning to braid your hair today..." he muttered, a smirk on his face as his hands moved methodically to your hair, "Of course, I'm having fun."

He tossed the braid over your shoulder, giving your waist a soft pat.

"Here you go, love" he breathed, "all done."

His touch stayed on your waist for just a few seconds longer, before eventually removing his hands. You looked so pretty, with your hair all nicely braided. Your hips swayed slightly as you moved, and when you did... John couldn't help but to look at you, even your walk was intoxicating to him. You grinned happily, grabbing him by his shirt and tugging him along with you to bed.

This made John chuckle, his eyes moved to yours with a sly grin on his face.

It seemed his wife had been wanting something else for tonight, other than simply sleeping in bed together. He obliged, and let you pull him along, with that sultry smirk still on his face.

"What's the grin for?" You chuckled, falling back on your side of the bed. 

"Wouldn't you like to know." he teased back softly, smirking.

He fell onto the bed with you, his arm reached around your waist, and pulled you closer, his hand came up and cradled your face. He could tell when you might have been in the mood, and he could tell that you were in the mood for something tonight.

His thumb moved slightly, and it gently pressed against your skin. And, for a second, he was silent as he stared at you, his eyes moving over you in the comfortable space you were in together. Finally, he broke his silence with a quiet mumble.

"Hey, love?"

"hm?" 

"Come closer," he said softly, almost in a whisper.

His hand slid from your face and down to your shoulder and tugged, pulling you closer to his chest, his other hand shifting to your lower back. You scooted a little closer with the help of his movements. The hand on your lower back slowly moved so that both of his hands could slide under the loose T-shirt you were wearing, his warm hands gently touching your back sensually.

You shivered, arching into him with a exhale. His body almost buzzed with excitement when he sees how he can make you react. He felt goosebumps on your skin, letting his hand wander. Up, down, left, right... they continued to move around, just gently, barely touching your skin. He relished in the sensations he was causing. He was taking this slow, as he loved to do. After all, there was no need to be in a rush, not when you had all the time in the world.

He loves the way he makes you squirm, trying to get closer, tugging on his shirt needily. His cock swells against his hip, waking up and getting ready to sink into your hot pussy. 

When he spoke next, his voice was quiet and soft, like a gentle breeze.

"You inna mood, dove?"

"If you keep doing that I'm gonna loose my mind," You mumbled against his chest.

"Doin' what?"

He smiled, one of his hands moved up slightly, and his fingers grazed over between your shoulder blades.

"Touchin' you...?" John asked, almost innocently. He was doing this on purpose.

"Touching me like this," You clarified.

"You like it when I touch you like this?" he asked, and his hand slid higher, all the way up to the nape of your neck near your hairline where the base of the braid was. He wraps it around his knuckles once, tugging to pull your head back.

Oh, this was much better than when your hair is down. 

One hand continued to move over your body as he spoke, trailing over your skin, and moving to tease the underside of your breast, before disappearing back around your back once more.

"John," You whimpered at the tug, licking your lips, as you closed your eyes at the feeling of his beard scratching your throat with kisses. "I like it when you actually touch me."

It made him feel somewhat primal— wanting to take and claim, and he shifted quickly, his hands gripping your waist.  His teeth softly bit down on your neck, and he slowly started marking his way down to your collarbone, while he continued to speak.

"I am touching you."

"But—not all the way," You whined.  

"Not all the way?" he repeated back, his tone playful and teasing, as if he had no idea what the hell you were talking about.

He could tell what you wanted all too well, but he was gonna tease you anyway, until he got the words from you. John was a man of consent after all. He continued to mark his way down, shifting down so that he could bite and suck at the sensitive skin above the area of your sport bra, grinding his girthy cock against your covered cunt. 

"John," You grumbled, grabbing a fist full of his shirt with your good hand. 

Hearing you grumble his name was a sign that he was really, really starting to get you worked up. It was cute, seeing his wife grumble and complain, as if you couldn't just use your words to explain yourself.

"Say please," he suggested, and his beard scratching your skin.

You glared up at him, going to grab the pillow to shove in his face— only to hiss in pain when you used your fractured wrist to grab. His expression hardened for a second before he quickly shifted his attention to your injured wrist, gently taking it away from the pillow and holding it up.

"What are you doing-" he said firmly, and the tone of his voice changed from playful to concerned in just a few seconds.

"I forgot," You gritted in pain, sitting up with him as he cradled your brace.

"You forgot?" he echoed, a scolding eyebrow raised up and an unamused glare on his face.

He sat up with you, being careful to not jostle your wrist that he was holding, making sure his fingers were gentle on the brace. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with, while in a moment like this, but it had happened, and now he was set on making sure you were okay.

"Forgettin' that you're supposed to be restin', that wrist of yours?"

"This is the hand I use for everything," You defended, pouting.

"I'm well aware o' that," he responded back, and his voice was more stern than before.

He knew exactly what you used that hand for, probably more than you did, which is why when he saw your cast move it sent him into a short-lived panic. He took a moment to let the panic subside, taking a breath to calm himself before he spoke again.

"You can't be doin' somethin' like this," he said, his voice still firm. "If you hurt yourself even more, I swear to God..."

"I get it, I forgot, I'm sorry," you retorted in a grumbling irritated tone.

"Look, I get that it's hard with your wrist bein' like this and all, but you can't go forgettin' about it. It's not going anywhere until it heals, and it could take a couple weeks for it to get better."

"It's not like I can help it. I write with this hand, I open lids with it, carry stuff, grab, my other one is practically useless..."

Of course it was hard to forget that you even have a fractured wrist, since it's something you have to use constantly. But it being something you have to use constantly doesn't mean you should.

"You can still do things using your other hand," he said softly, "it's not useless."

"it feels useless." You grunted.

"Maybe useless is the wrong word, then..." John mumbled, and his thumb moved to rub circles on the back of your hand.

He hated seeing you this frustrated, and it just wasn't right. He didn't like that you had to deal with this.

"Impairin'?" he said after a moment, "or maybe uncomfortable?"

"...wrong?" You offered. 

"Maybe inconvenient is the word you're lookin' for, then?" John replied back, his expression lessening into something more relaxed.

There was a faint smile on his face now, and he brought the back of your hand up to his mouth to press a gentle kiss to it.

"And it really itches." You added with a whine.

"Yeah?" he smirked. 

He wasn't surprised that you were complaining about it. In fact, he figured you'd start complaining sooner or later about the itch.

"It itches, does it, love?" he mumbled, and he pressed a few more light and gentle kisses to your knuckles.

"Id rather have a bullet wound than this..." You grumbled. "Id at least have range in my damn hands."

His head tilted up at that, and his smirk became a little more amused.

"Now that's not true, now is it?" he said, a soft tone to his words, and he started to brush his beard softly against your knuckles.

"You sayin' you'd take a bullet for me, dove?"

"Without a second thought." You whispered.

His smirk slowly faded at that, his expression softening, and the tone of his voice shifted at the words. He knew you weren't lying to him, he knew how much you loved him and cared for him, but it still wasn't fun hearing it spoken so... casually.

"Don't... don't say stuff like that," he said softly, and he let go of your one hand to reach the other to press it against the side of your face.

"I mean it." You implored, barely above a whisper.

He knew you did, and that's what made it so difficult to hear. Seeing you right in front of him, the love of his life, telling him that you'd take a bullet for him.

"I know," he breathed. 

His thumb brushed over your cheek as he spoke, his voice still so soft, and his own expression was filled with nothing but affection.

"I don't care to hear you speakin' about takin' bullets."

"Any more than I already have?" You asked wryly.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at that question, and his eyes sparkled a bit.

"That's completely different, and you know better than to go bringing up old memories," he said softly, and his hand moved to scratch the back of your neck lightly with his fingers.

"I'm bein' serious. I don't want you sayin' things like that, dove, and I really don't want you actually doin' it."

"But I would if I ever had to," You quip.

"I swear, you are a pain in the ass," he mumbled, but there was an affectionate tone to it. He was half-glaring at you when saying it, but you could tell that he wasn't really annoyed.

"You just love to give me a hard time, don't you, dove? Always findin' a way to make yourself a thorn in my side."

"It's because I love you," You grinned.

That damn smile and cheeky grin always got him, and no matter how annoyed he was, it would still make him smile a genuine smile to himself.

"Love me so much that you make me want to throttle you, huh?"

"In the good ways?"

"In both the good and the bad ways," he confirmed, and that smirk came back full force.

"You've still got your fair share o' brat in you, after all, even after all these years of being married."

You laugh through a bitten lips. 

"See? That's what I'm talkin' about," he pointed out. 

When you started biting your lip like that, he knew that there was some cheeky comment coming.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" he asked, a hint of tease to his voice as tugged he you into him. "you think it's funny gettin' on my nerves, don't you?"

"100%." You sighed, settling into his arms.

He shifted to get a bit more comfortable with you in his arms, and his arms wrapped snuggly around your form.

He loved having you near. In his lap, in his arms— close enough for him to feel your body heat, to smell your hair, to feel you.

"You are a brat," he repeated softly, and his hand started rubbing up and down your side again.

You stuck your tongue out at him. He knew that was coming the second you settled into him. He was about to respond to the tongue, maybe with a comment about how you're a child or a brat, but he was a bit distracted. He smirked, and his arm snaked around your waist to keep you in place, and in one quick, fluid movement he leaned forward and caught the tongue between his teeth, tugging gently. Your squeak only fuels his smirk, and now there was smugness to it.

He loved to get the upper hand over you in these moments, and he loved the noises that were coming from you. He loved you. His hand on your side slid into the small of your back, and he used it to bring you closer into him, keeping you right against him.

"That was mean," You grumbled, cuddling him while his hand traced your braid.

"Yeah, I know," he said softly, his hand continuing to run along the length of the braid. 

His fingers moved gently across it and moving up, his nails brushing over your scalp.

"You just make it so easy, I can't help myself, sometimes. Besides, you know you like it."

He chuckled again, and his arms wrapped around you a little tighter as you cuddled into him. His own hold on you was always safe, a secure feeling that came with the strong arms that wrapped around you, and the gentle warmth that came with his chest and body heat. His beard brushed against your temple as he buried his nose into your hair, and his voice was a soft whisper.

"Did I mention that I love your hair when it's braided like this?" he gave it a soft, gentle tug, to feel it slide against his hand. 

"It looks even more adorable when it's braided, I swear. It's like I find new ways to love you more and more each day, and I wasn't sure that was even possible."

"All thanks to you and your braiding skills." you giggled.

His smirk morphed into a small, prideful smile at that compliment, and he gave a dramatic scoff.

"Damn right it is," he said in a playful tone. "All my doin', I'm the reason your hair looks so cute right now."

"Just wait until you see what it looks like when I make extra curls." You said, closing your eyes with a smug smile.

"Fuckin' hell," he said with a shaky exhale, and he almost felt a bit light-headed just at the thought.

And if he was being honest, his mind was definitely imagining it, picturing what you'd look like with your hair a little differently, and he knew that it would be breathtaking.

"Purposefully curling hair?" he mumbled, his voice soft, and there was awe mixed with surprise. "You can do more?" and he could suddenly see it, your hair all freshly done, framing your face, and it was making his heart flutter.

"You'd do that f'me?" he asked softly, and his voice was just filled to the brim with adoration as his expression.

He already knew the answer, he already could imagine what you'd look like with your hair all dolled up, and the thought of it was just-

"I could, if you'd like." You shrugged. 

That was all it took.

Just the idea of how you'd look like with your hair curled, adding a little extra, the thought of you running your fingers through the ringlets, or how you'd look with your hair all fresh curled, blown out and bouncing around when you moved.

"Please," he said quickly, and his voice came out almost pleading. "I would very much love to see that, dove."

He was already dreaming about it, the images in his head of you laughing and smiling, your hair all curled and moving around, the way he knows you'd probably mess with the curls.

"You're going to look absolutely gorgeous, you know that, right?" he asked with a soft murmur, his tone one of complete adoration.

"You're so dramatic sometimes," you teased, using his chest as a pillow.

He playfully scoffed a laugh at that comment, and he feigned offense.

"It's not dramatic, dove," he mumbled, "It's called being honest."

Your head was resting against his chest, your cheek using his firm, broad chest as a pillow, and he tightened his arms around your form to keep you snuggled up to him.

"Mhm, honest, my bad..." You mumbled, finally getting settled with him.

He gave a small, satisfied hum as you finally got settled against him, and he laid back against the sofa, bringing you with him as he laid down. His hand continued to rub up and down your side, moving in a small, smooth motion, his touch soft and gentle. His breathing was slow and steady, a slow, gentle rise and fall beneath you. He loved how you smelled, the familiar scent of your shampoo and whatever else you'd use in your hair was comfort, and it made him smile each time.

"Goodnight," You whispered.

Soft, warm feelings swelled in his chest when you murmured your goodnight. He could feel his features soften, and his expression turned tender and affectionate.

"Night, dove," he replied softly, his voice a quiet murmur.

His hand snaked up to your head, fingers sliding through and gently massaging your scalp. His hand moved slow and soothing circles across your scalp, rubbing gently and massaging tenderly.

His nose slides against yours, pressing a loving, prickly kiss to your lips.

He could feel himself growing more relaxed with you snuggled up and rested against his chest, feeling you rest against him, your warmth and weight a comfort. His eyes were already closed, and his breathing slowly evened out, his chest falling and rising evenly with each deep breath.

[roosterr]

firewatch | day 04

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john price x gn!reader wc; 4.6k summary; maybe you shouldn't complain about having nothing to do, or some idiot tourists will change that

haha yeah it's been three months, whoopsie. started hating writing for a while there, but i'm better now lol. pls enjoy, this series is a labour of love 💕

you severely underestimated how fucking tedious this would be.

honestly, you thought you could handle it. all you have to do is look out the window, take note of the weather every now and then, fuck around for the rest of the day, then rinse and repeat for a few months – and you're getting paid, to top it all off.

sounds easy enough.

you look outside, no smoke. you check the weather, it's sunny. two hours later, no smoke and not a cloud in the sky. six hours later, still no smoke, and, would you believe it, it's still clear blue skies and suddenly three days have gone by and somehow you're going stir crazy in the middle of a beautiful state park where most people would go to cure their cabin fever.

it's one thing to be left completely alone with your thoughts for months and months on end, but when you're so adamant about avoiding said thoughts, it turns out there really isn't much else to do.

john was right then, you suppose. people only ever take this job if there's something wrong with them.

well, you weren't completely alone. you take a sip of your tea, lukewarm by now, and turn your eyes to the radio next to you. john isn't bad company, truthfully he's probably the only reason you haven't gone completely insane yet. it makes you wonder how he possibly does this every year, with no other–

"fuckin' hell, is that fireworks?"

john's sudden exclamation startles you mid-sip of your tea, a fit of coughs wracking your body when you accidentally inhale some. you're about to scold him for scaring the shit out of you, but his voice comes through the radio again before you can start.

"out your west window, have a look." he grumbles, low and irritated.

you twist your neck to look, wiping the remnants of your tea from your face with one hand as the other puts the mug down on your desk. your eyes narrow at the sight of the colourful sparks and smoke in the air. "shit, i see them. that's super illegal, right?"

"illegal, and just flat out stupid." john replies, the frustration in his voice rumbling even deeper than usual. "you're gonna need to get down there and stop 'em."

"is…" you blink as another firework explodes above the treeline, "...is that really my job?"

you hear him huff on the other end. "your job is whatever i say it is, rookie. no rangers nearby to call, it's just you'n me out 'ere."

"great." you mumble dryly, casting a mournful glance at the half empty mug of tea sitting on your desk. "so, what do i do? kick their asses?"

"if ya like," john replies in a chuckle, "just make sure they won't come back, and confiscate the fireworks."

"aye aye, captain." you raise your hand in a mock salute entirely for your own amusement, and though he doesn't respond, you hear the click of his radio and an intake of breath as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. you shake off his odd reaction and turn away to look over your fire finder at the various trails and paths. "so… how do i get down to the lake?"

"the trail north of your tower should take you." he says, prompting you to pull out your own map and quickly make a note of the trail he mentioned. it looked straightforward enough, a slightly meandering path through the forest leading to the clearing around the lake. "there's a shale slide along the way, so grab some rope. should be in one of your boxes."

your gaze finds said boxes exactly where you'd left them on the floor beside your desk, partially unpacked but still mostly untouched. you sigh and get on your knees, cursing your previous laziness as you rummage through them one by one. it's a mess of random supplies; a few boxes of matches, a candle or three, an old lamp that looks like something a coal miner would use, even a few rat traps that you keep a mental note of for future reference.

"got it." you announce, only a minute or two of searching later, standing again as you hook one of the clips onto your belt loop and let the rope coil hang there. "so you know this park pretty well, huh?"

john hums in agreement, and in the background you hear something that sounds like the door opening and closing, and then the buzz of the wind under his words. "this area, yeah. been doin' this quite a few years now. plus, i'm the one who drops off supplies at your tower."

"oh, so that's your handwriting on the boxes?" you grin, looking back at the boxes that still lay strewn across your floor as you grab your light bag and head out of your own tower. "maybe you should work on that. shit's barely legible."

"i'll make a note." he chuckles, and the conversation between you paired with the lovely scenery as you descend the stairs almost lets you forget about the reason you're going out in the first place.

unfortunately, your reprieve is interrupted by the echo of another firework in the distance, louder now that you're outside. the colourful sparks are still half visible over the treetops against the late afternoon sky, and you frown at the display.

you find the trail to the lake fairly easily, and cast a glance over at john's tower before it's blocked by the trees, just as yet another bang scares the birds.

you scoff as you watch them fly away, narrowing your eyes at the faint traces of smoke still visible in the sky. "can you hear those from over there?"

"just about." john answers, an amused kind of suspicion is his voice. "why?"

"oh, no reason. but if you happen to hear any screaming, do me a favour and ignore it." you try to disguise the grin in your voice, but you can't help the laugh that slips out when your heart john's rumbling chuckle through the radio.

"i'll tell the police it must've been the foxes."

another airy laugh escapes you at his words. john does seem to have a way of improving your mood, even when it had been decidedly soured by the morons threatening to set the forest alight. and, honestly, it’s difficult to stay annoyed when you’re surrounded by shafts of golden afternoon sun breaking through the canopy of leaves, and the soft rustling of the breeze through the branches. 

the forest feels almost dream-like in this light.

you’d mostly stuck to the southern trails on the handful of walks you’ve taken over the last couple days, taking to avoiding the lake since john told you it was somewhat of a tourist hotspot. it’ll be nice to see a new area of the park, you think, even if you’re only going there to yell at some people.

a twig snaps ahead, just off the path in the underbrush to your right, and you pause.

a dear trots into the patch of sunlight that falls through the trees to the centre of the worn trail, and it pauses too. you stare at it, and it’s deep black eye stares right back. it’s beautiful, you can just about think to yourself, your awe keeping you frozen in place.

and then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it’s gone.

"woah." you murmur, still gazing at where it disappeared into the trees. a smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you click the button on your radio again. "a huge deer just crossed the path in front of me."

a moment passes before john answers, a hint of a teasing laugh on his breath. "they do live out here, love."

you click your tongue, rolling your eyes to yourself as you step over a branch to begin walking again. "alright smartass, some of us don't spend ninety percent of our lives in the middle of the woods."

"i'd say it's more like sixty." he chuckles in response, wiping the faux annoyance from your face with ease. "what did it's antlers look like?"

you quirk an eyebrow and cast a look back over your shoulder at the trees where the deer had gone, but the point of his question still flies over your head. "uh, normal?"

another rumbling chuckle comes through the static before john adds, "which way did they point?"

"oh…" you hum, sidestepping a leafy shrub growing over the path as you think. "to the sides? like, outwards, I guess?"

"probably an elk then, not a deer."

you smile, somewhat impressed, but you're not exactly surprised. for whatever reason, john does seem like the type to know that kind of thing. "that's actually pretty cool. how’d you know that?"

"the informative poster provided by the park, which i understand is in both of our towers." he replies, a sense of smug amusement lifting his voice, which earns another eye roll from you that he'll never see.

"right, right. i definitely read that…" you mutter, which earns you a lighthearted scoff from john.

"did you at least read the one about the poisonous plants ‘round here?" he adds, and you grimace stepping over a ditch in the trail because, well, you know you should've, but there's only your own laziness to blame for ignoring it.

you clear your throat, stifling your grin as you answer in a decidedly unconvincing tone, "...yes–"

"christ alive…"

"–but, just to be safe, i'm not gonna touch any plants, so i don't have to worry." you continue – and as if on cue, a tall nettle waves in the breeze into your path, and you're only narrowly able to dodge it before it can brush your skin. you tut at the plant, like it can understand you, and it almost feels as if the park itself wanted to prove you wrong.

you'll keep that close call to yourself, you decide. what john doesn't know can't hurt him, right?

"i'm gettin' grey hairs talkin' to you." john mutters, and you can so clearly picture the disappointed shake of his head that no doubt accompanied his reply.

"you don't already have grey hairs?" you tease, unable to stop the laugh that comes through your words.

"oi, i'm not that old!"

"i know, i know," you chuckle, "but you do sound like a guy who's smoked a pack a day for twenty years."

"more of a cigar man, myself." he pauses, and you can hear the wind pick up in the background when he doesn't take his finger off the button. "not a habit you can keep up out here though, unfortunately."

"you could if you wanted, then we'd both have a fire to watch." you reply, your smile easy now, like you're talking to an old friend rather than someone you met three days ago.

"you're full of good ideas, aren't ya?"

the conversation dies down again after that, a comfortable atmosphere replacing it. the sun has gotten slightly lower in the sky since you'd started walking, and while it wasn't getting dark yet, it would be soon. wandering around the forest at night was possibly the last thing you wanted to be doing, so you'd better hurry this up.

thankfully you're not walking for much longer before you come to a break in the trees. the trodden path you'd been following gives way to the rocky ground, and just ahead you can see the sudden drop off that you assume must be what you're looking for.

you come to a stop at the edge, and gaze down at the steep descent in front of you.

"hey, i found the slope." you announce, clicking the talk-lock button on your radio so your hands are free to start unfurling the rope. your eyes drift to the slope despite how hard you try to keep them on what your hands are doing, and a spark of anxiety shoots through you as you look over it. "am i really going down this?"

"unless you wanna take the long way."

"i don't… but that's gotta be, like, a fifteen foot drop." you grimace at the sharp stones making up the ground below, your hands twirling the rope nervously between them. suddenly you weren't feeling so confident about this.

"that steep?" he sounds surprised when he asks, maybe even slightly concerned. "s'been a while since i've gone that way, must've had a landslide at some point…"

you seriously would've preferred he kept that thought to himself, because now there's an undeniable feeling, right at the forefront of your mind, that this was not going to end well for you.

"landslide. right." you murmur flatly. "that doesn't fill me with optimism."

if john's at all worried about this like you are, he does a fantastic job of hiding it. his voice is unshakably confident when he responds, "you'll be fine, just make sure your clips are tightened."

you sigh, hesitant to continue, but proceed to tie one end of the rope and loop it into the clip on the anchor point just before the drop off – a sturdy looking rock that you sincerely hope isn't going anywhere – and internally you debate over just cutting your losses and turning back, but considering how high the fire risk is right now, there's no way your conscience will let you delay getting to the lake.

you sigh, giving the rope an experimental tug to make sure it really is secure, which it does appear to be, before throwing the rest of it down the slope.

you really don't want to do this, but unfortunately, you really have to.

"alright, i'm going down. if i die it's your fault." you grumble, hearing a muffled chuckle from john as you take the rope firmly in both hands and tread backwards over the edge of the slope.

you only get two steps from the top before you hear the rope creak. the sound brings the taste of bile to the back of your throat, but you do your best to swallow it down. it's probably an old rope, a weird noise doesn't mean anything – it's the same as the noises your tower makes, right? old things creak, that's just what they do. no need to panic.

it's not like you have much of a choice. you're already suspended by it, and there's no turning back now. your palms start to sweat.

"don't do that." you scold the twine under your breath, willing the inanimate object to hear you. "don't make weird noises."

one more step and the rope creaks again, much louder this time and significantly more worrying. it sends a cold bolt of panic up your spine that you don't get to react to before you hear the unmistakable sound of fibres snapping. "wait– no no no no–!"

you vaguely hear john call your name, but it's muffled by your cut off shout as the rope snaps in half and sends you free-falling down the slope.

time seems to slow as you watch the rest of your rope get further away, your wide eyes meeting the vast blue of the sky above with only one thought on your mind.

this is gonna hurt.

a heavy thud reverberates through your skull when you hit the ground. hard. the impact knocks the air from your lungs and forces a strained whine from your lips. jagged stones dig into your skin through your clothes, only adding to the pain already radiating from your upper back.

john calls your name again, his voice a little more frantic this time, you note through the pain fogging your mind. "sitrep– uh, talk to me, what's happened?"

"ugh, shit…" another groan leaves your chest as you push yourself up onto your elbows, attempting to blink away the dark spots that float in your vision. "my fucking rope snapped. fell down the slope…"

"shit." he hisses. "you broken?"

"what? no," you mutter through a deep intake of breath, finally gathering the strength to sit up fully with a hand attempting to soothe the ache between your shoulders, but it doesn't do much to help. "my back just really fuckin' hurts…"

"right…" he murmurs, letting the silence hang between you for a moment too long before continuing. "the rope snapped?"

"yeah… made some fucked up noises and then broke clean in two." you send a withering glare to the other end of your rope, still hanging tauntingly from the top of the slope with a distinct air of mockery you didn't know an inanimate object could be capable of giving off.

standing requires a lot more energy than you currently have in you, but the distant sound of a firework reminds you again why you're even out here – so with a laboured grunt, you push yourself upright through the sharp ache in your back and brace yourself on your knees as your vision spins.

you hear john sigh absently over the wind on his end. "i'm sorry, this is my fault. i should'a checked the supplies 'fore i dropped 'em off at ya tower, i would'a noticed–"

"john, hey, it's fine, okay?" you interrupt his rambling before he can get too far into his own head, and frown to yourself. "but i'm not getting back to my tower that way…"

"there's– there's another path back, from the lake." his voice is quieter than usual, and he stumbles over his words – something so incredibly unlike him, it has you on edge from such a small change.

you hum, looking back up at the other end of your rope with a disdainful sigh as you brush the rest of the gravel from your pants. "as long as there's no more abseiling, i think that'll work."

john doesn't say anything more, which has you concerned, but you decide not to push it. he's clearly cut up about what happened, even if you don't completely get why, and you get the impression that moving on from the subject would be best for both of you.

the way the small valley is shaped leads you easily to the continuation of the trail, and before long the rocky ground gives way again to softer forest floor. you find yourself in another larger clearing, open enough that you can see ahead where the path disappears between more rocks and overgrown shrubbery. the lake must be nearby now, you think, because the distant sound of voices reaches your ears periodically on the wind.

the radio silence from john lingers in the air, heavy and stifling despite the great distance between you. the solitude leaves you with your thoughts, wondering why he was acting so responsible for something so beyond both of your control, and though you've resolved to leave the topic alone, you really can't seem to stop thinking about it.

another bang of a firework echoes around the clearing and you regret complaining about the tedium of the last few days. this was not what you wanted.

you drag your aching body across the rest of the clearing and brush a low-hanging branch out of your way as you make your way through the overgrowth between you and the lake. a clunking sound catches your attention, and you turn your gaze downwards to an empty beer can, followed by another further down path, then a few more, and a few more.

"holy shit, what is wrong with these people…" you mutter through gritted teeth, crouching down to gather as many as you can into your bag as you go – with only a short grumble at the pain it causes your back.

with a deeply exasperated sigh, you sling your bag back over your shoulder just as you come to the end of the trail and the bushes give way to the clearing of the lake. there's a small, raised island in the centre, where you can see the group lounging by the water with their music turned all the way up.

god, could these people get any more obnoxious?

you take a second to steel yourself, because this was not going to be easy, before cupping your hands around your mouth and shouting, "hey!"

they ignore you. of course they do.

"hey!" you yell louder this time, and thankfully they acknowledge you by finally turning off their music and glaring at you from their perch. you're probably supposed to handle situations like this with decorum, but as a result of the last hour or so your patience has worn incredibly thin, and you really can't find it in you to care. "fireworks? really? are you guys completely fucking stupid?"

they scoff and look incredulously between each other, before who you assume to be the ringleader yells back, "what the hell is your problem?"

"yeah, it's a free country!" one of the others adds.

"that's not how that works…" you sigh to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and willing yourself to keep at least some modicum of composure. "you kids better get the fuck outta here! right now!"

they scoff again, and pointedly turn away from you. good god, the urge to throw rocks at them was getting harder and harder to fight.

"ignore them, it's just some random fucking loser creeping on teenagers…" the ringleaders comment is only just audible from where you're standing, but you do hear it, and it only serves to fuel your temper.

"what? no, i'm–" you falter for a split second, debating the consequences of the lie you're about to tell, but the side of you that just wants these idiots out of your life wins over fairly easily. "i'm a park ranger! and if you don't leave now, i can guarantee the cops are gonna be waiting for you when you do!"

a beat of silences passes, before they begin to mutter amongst themselves.

"oh shit… are they for real?"

"i don't care dude, i can't get arrested again, my parents would kill me!"

"let's just get outta here, this is freaking me out…"

you fold your arms tightly over your chest and watch them scuttle to gather their things with a scowl. they collectively send you one last withering look, which you readily mirror, before they wade back into the lake and swim across to the bank on your left.

"fucking finally…" your gaze follows them until they weave between the trees and you can no longer see them. with a tired sigh, you bring up your radio and move to check where they disappeared to as you update john. "hey, they're gone."

there's a moment before john replies, sounding not quite as downtrodden as he was earlier, which you take as a good sign. "yeah? how'd it go?"

"i hope they drown." you grumble in response.

he laughs, genuine and deep, and you feel your lingering annoyance melting away with the sound. "let's hope they won't come back."

"are you…" you clear your throat, weaving your way between trees and bushes. "are you okay? about earlier, i mean?"

"yeah, i'm– i'm fine." john answers quickly, and you get the strong feeling that he's deflecting when he continues, "let's just get you back to your tower, eh?".

"and far away from these fucking tourists…" you mutter, which earns you another light chuckle from him. just the memory of them has you cringing as you brush through a few bushes. "completely unrelated question, but would i get in trouble if i, hypothetically, lied about being a park ranger?"

"hypothetically, i reckon we could keep that between me and you."

a small grin finds its way onto your face, just as you reach where you assume those kids had been camping. there's more empty cans scattered by the worn dirt track, which you gather up with a string of curses under your breath.

following the trail of litter as you round the trees, the first thing that meets your eyes is the remains of their campfire, still smouldering and glowing orange in the evening shadows.

"idiots lit a campfire, too." you seethe, sharply kicking dirt over the embers until you're sure it's out. "the fire risk is colour-coded for assholes like them, and somehow it still went over their heads…"

john sighs. "don't think too much about it. knobheads like that wouldn't get it if it smacked 'em in the face."

"who knows? maybe one of these days i will." you're only half joking, but the smile must come across in your voice because john's rumbling chuckle follows again.

"right, and when they ask 'how on earth d'you get fired from a job where all you do is sit on your arse all day', what're you gonna tell 'em?"

"that i beat up some dumb kids and saved the park from being burnt to a crisp?" you grin, starting in the direction you vaguely remember another trail ending, but a glint of light catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

you crouch down, and forgotten behind the bush is a half empty bottle of cheap whiskey. nice.

you slip it into your bag and call it the service charge.

"i think the coppers'll be more concerned with the first bit." john quips. you laugh through the twinge of pain as you stand again, and hope he doesn't notice.

"that's their problem. i'll be the people's hero." you say, earning a other deep chuckle that grows a light feeling in your chest. you get a few more strides up the path before coming across a trail sign with a spoke for fire lookout seven, and tell john, "hey, i found the sign for my tower, so i'm heading that way."

"good. that way's a bit more of a hike, but it's shorter, so you should be home in time for dinner." 

"perfect. can't wait to get back to my room temperature tea." you reply, with a trace of sarcasm that you're sure is only just noticeable.

john breathes a short chuckle, before his voice turns slightly more serious. "how's your back, anyway?"

"fucking hurts, but i'll get over it." you answer, and the moment silence that follows has you wishing you'd just said fine. it had slipped your mind how odd john was being about your fall, and though you want to find out why, you get the impression that questioning him about it wouldn't get you anywhere.

he clears his throat uncomfortably. "...sorry, again. it was my fault you fell."

you frown in concern when he apologises, again, and do your best to ease his mind. "don't worry about it, alright? i didn't even fall that far, i was already, like, halfway down."

he doesn't have to know that was a lie.

"still, it shouldn't've happened in the first place." he replies, still sounding rather pitiful despite your efforts.

"i'm being dramatic. it's really fine, john." you try to keep your words light, to convey that you really don't blame him, and he shouldn't either, but he simply hums in response.

"if you say so."

"well, y'know how you can make it up to me?" you let another smile creep into your voice when another idea comes to you.

"how's that?" he takes the bait, some form of amusement present rather than the cynicism from before.

"you can tell me some of your war stories," you can sense his hesitation through the radio, but you press further with a more lighthearted tone, "the cool shit, like how mission impossible is based on your life or whatever."

"well, i'm no tom cruise, but i was at the piccadilly bombin', back in twenty-nineteen." john replies, a hint of smugness behind his words that you don't even register through the shock that stops you in your tracks.

"holy shit, what?"

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 36/42 WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another.

PROLOGUE/1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (interlude) 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (interlude) 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 (interlude) 31 32 33 34 35

CHAPTER THIRTYSIX

                “Okay. Listen up. My boyfriend is in town. I’ve got him on the chef’s table. Now… he fucking auto-condiments. It’s a character flaw, but also it’s so very much him that I don’t think he’ll ever stop. So… don’t get your hackles up worrying about it. Or worrying about what I might think. He’s either added ketchup to everything I’ve made, or said it’s too sweet, or that his mom and grandma can make it better… I don’t think he’s actually ever paid my cooking a compliment now that I think about it.”

                His staff are all looking at him in undisguised horror and Bradley knows he’s probably exaggerating a little, because Jake has been plenty complimentary, but he also knows what he likes and isn’t ever afraid of letting Bradley know in no uncertain terms.

                “Oh, also, he doesn’t really know quite how famous I am. At least I don’t think so. We met a decade ago and he knows me as Leonardo, so he gets to call me Leo or Leon or Leonardo if he’s really pissed off.”

                Jaws lower even further toward the floor and Bradley grins at them all.

                “Yeah, I know. I’m in a good mood. My boyfriend is in town. Let’s have a good service okay?”

                “Yes chef!”

…            …            …

                “How did it go?”

                “Fuck…”

                “Again? Seriously? Bradley!” she punches him on the arm and she doesn’t hold back any strength and he flinches away. “What does he do? Suck your brain out of your dick?”

                “Uh…” he not sure whether to confirm or deny, because the weekend had been… illuminating. And amazing. And exhausting both physically and a little emotionally, just with them talking about more things which they might like to try out.

                “Ugh! It’s your funeral. Just tell him over the phone, or through Facetime. I think this is going to be a bigger deal for him than your fame and fortune.”

                “I know! Which is why I want to tell him in person!”

                “Well next time you see him I’m coming as chaperone to make sure it actually happens. You keep beating yourself up over it and it’s not good for you.”

                “I know…” Bradley says, and from the look Vi is giving him he knows it maybe isn’t contrite enough. “I’m… I do know. Sorry. I’ll try to not let it bother me, okay?”

                She snorts at that and rolls her eyes, but Bradley knows he’s forgiven when she rests her head on his shoulder as their plane takes off.

…            …            …

                Jake looks at the email attachment and pulls a face.

                It’s fine.

                This is the life he signed up for, and he’s been spoiled the last few months with being stationed at Fallon. It’s not the closest he could be to Leo, but he’s still seen him fairly regularly. It’s been really nice and he knows he’s going to miss him even more than usual. He rings in his lunch break, know Leo will be deep in the prep stage in the kitchen. He never thought he’d understand so much about how a restaurant is run, but he could listen to Leo talk about it for hours. Has listened to Leo talk about it for hours in fact.

                “Jake! He’s just stepped out front. We didn’t want to ignore the call though… how’s it going man?”

                “Uh, Kieran right?”

                “That’s me! And don’t worry, I know you’re probably on a time crunch. I’ve sent someone to fetch Bradley.”

                “Thanks. I appreciate it. And I’m going good. You know. Pretty standard…”

                “Lather, rinse and repeat right? Same here. Same shit, different day!” Kieran says, the last few words a little louder and he hears other jeers and laughter, has met most of them now and they’re Leo’s squad. He’s glad he has a good bunch of people working with him.

                “Get back to work you bunch of reprobates…” Leo says, his voice loud and clear and happy and Jake can’t help the thrill at hearing his voice. “Hey…”

                “Hey. Uh. Can you give me a couple of minutes?”

                “Of course,” Leo says, and Jake can tell from the change in sound that he’s no longer on speaker, that Leo is moving somewhere quieter. “What’s up?”

                “I got new orders. Direct to Kitsap, then Ronald Reagan for about five months.”

                “Shit.”

                “Yeah. I know you’ll get you hand on the manifest and meet me when you can. Just… I’m going to miss you.”

                “Yeah. I’m going to miss you too. So much.”

…            …            …

                It’s fine.

                Not the end of the world.

                The first few months slip past quickly enough.

                It is grating that he can’t meet Jake in Brisbane when he has leave. The entire crew are slated to take part in the Talisman Saber, which Ice has been telling him about, because he’s involved now that he’s the COMPACFLT and Bradley tries not to think about telling Jake that. He’s going to be seeing Jake when he’s got shore leave in Japan, when the Ronald Reagan berths there after it has done whatever it needs to do in the Pacific Ocean. Bradley can, and will, finally tell him all about Maverick and Ice and he can stop waking up in a cold sweat thinking about Jake being hurt and upset that he didn’t tell him. He runs his finger over the gold band on his finger, knows that the ring he bought Jake is hanging around his neck right now wherever he is and it makes him feel grounded somehow, despite their distance.

                His phone rings then and he startle a little, not expecting anyone, a little wary when he see Ice’s contact name showing. Since finding out how much it hurt’s Ice to talk Bradley has insisted on video calls where Ice can type out what he wants to say. The fact that he’s calling is… worrying.

                “Hey Ice…”

                “Bradley…”

                The scratchy rough pitch does nothing to lessen the tone of Ice’s voice has his knees shaking and he grabs for a chair and lowers himself into it. Is reminded of the time Mav told him about Ice’s cancer, but right now he has Jake somewhere in the Pacific Ocean… Don’t go borrowing trouble a little voice in his head whispers, and it’s been a while since he even remembered his mom saying that.

                “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

                “Maverick is missing.”

                He feels relief flood through him, quickly followed by guilt in equal measure, that it’s Maverick Ice is ringing him about and not Jake. Shit. Mav is Ice’s though, and while he might still be cautious around Mav he doesn’t want Ice hurting. And he doesn’t ever want Mav dead.

                “What? How?”

                “He was flying…”

                “He… Did he crash?” Bradley asks, because how is he missing if he was flying? A plane is pretty fucking thing to go missing. “Or is the plane missing as well?”

                “I…”

                “Shit. Sorry. I know you can’t talk much.”

                “Classified.”

                “Of course it fucking is… Do you think he’s alive?”

                “He’s Maverick.”

                Bradley lets out a long annoyed sigh, because that shouldn’t be an answer, or an end to a line of questioning, and yet…

                “Yeah. I guess he is.”

THIRTY SEVEN

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Do you think she's releasing her products few days earlier because of the bad press? This seems a bit rushed even for her.

Nope. I think the products were always meant to come out this week to overlap with her podcast debut and also to take advantage of the press around the Netflix show.

These are pretty common marketing techniques for influencer. First, if you have two products where one is a merch and the other is content-based (like a podcast), you release them around the same time so you can promote both of them or one with the other. Second, if you have several different content deals, then you take advantage of the hype and release them in close succession so that as people are checking out the first thing (the Netflix series), they’re reminded of the next thing (the podcast) and will stick around for that, or vice versa - as people listen to the podcast and they want more, they’ll discover the Netflix show and watch it.

Since the podcast is about Meghan creating this company, of course they’d be tied together like that and of course they’d come on the heels of her Netflix show.

Influencing and content creation is one big circle jerk (apologies for the mental image). One product release leads to the next, to the next, to the next. Everything has to come out in quick, rapid succession so that the audience stays interested and engaged. That’s why it’s an unsustainable model for Meghan, because she’s not someone who’s always in “creator” mode. She’ll probably have 2 months of really busy creator mode doing the hustle, but then she’ll take 2-3 months off to cosplay p-wife and fauxyal charity work, then she’ll need a month to put her hustle back together, 2 months of creator/hustle mode, 2-3 months off, 1 month getting into the grind, 2 months hustling, and rinse and repeat.

When I said yesterday “Meghan needs to pick a lane and stay in it,” this is what I mean. She treats her options equally - As Ever, p-wife, fauxyal humanitarian, content creator - and the result is that she’s all over the place. She needs to pick one that becomes her main priority and really focus on it, while the others become side hobbies she does on the weekends instead of her current strategy which feels very “now this for 3 weeks, now that one for 2 weeks, now this one again for 3 weeks, oh my gosh let’s do that for a month, then this one for 2 weeks.” The end result of that strategy is what we have now — a manic symphony of throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks that often reads like a PR coverup campaign.

[hamsterclaw]

Foolish

You keep going back to Namjoon, it's what you've always done. Then you meet Hoseok, who draws you away like he's not even trying.

Pairing: Hoseok x F! reader, Namjoon x F! reader

Word count: 7.7k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut, angst

Warnings: Sex, fuckboy Namjoon

Everytime, you tell yourself it’s the last time you’ll come back to Kim Namjoon.

Everytime it’s just one last time.

His hand leaves a print on your hip, his lips leave a trail down your neck, across your breasts. He often comes on your skin, a trail of white. He marks you everywhere he sees fit.

He doesn’t give a shit who sees. 

You let him do what he wants.

Rinse, repeat.

Namjoon nudges you. ‘Hey, I have an early class.’

You don’t bother to respond, just get out of his bed, put your clothes back on.

You check you’ve got your phone, your keys, smooth your hair back down as you wait for the cab.

You let yourself out.

***

Your friend Jimin is funniest when he’s annoyed, like now.

You’re both working a shift at the grocery store.

He’s leaning on the stacked crates, supposed to be refilling the produce shelves but really just taking up room.

‘And so then he clicked his fingers and expected me to walk to him, like a dog.’

You have no idea if this is a sex story or a rude customer story. 

Knowing Jimin, it could be either.

You start arranging the apples onto the display shelves as you listen to Jimin’s hilariously petty reaction.

It was a sex story.

Jimin stacks packs of cherry tomatoes beside you, chattering away.

You mmm and aaah at the right times, but your mind is elsewhere.

You’re thinking back to how the last few times you’ve met up, Namjoon hasn’t bothered to ask you to text him when you got home after being at his.

He used to. 

There’s a thin thread of shame that tugs at you whenever you meet him now, and the pull’s getting stronger.

It wasn’t always like this. 

He’d pursued you, coming into the diner where you worked weekend after weekend for months, flirting with you over pancakes until he’d finally asked you out.

You went on a few dates, and a few more and then somehow you’d slipped into what you have now.

He texts you when he’s horny and you come over.

Sometimes you don’t even talk. 

You don’t know why you keep coming back, apart from that maybe you haven’t quite moved on from seeing him as the guy who was sweet to you over brunch. The one who dimpled and invited you to come hang at his place and took you to the park and got you ice-cream.

You wonder how he sees you now.

You snap back to attention when Jimin clears his throat pointedly.

‘You don’t have to listen to me, it’s fine,’ he says, bordering on dramatic, pout in his voice.

‘Sorry Jiminie,’ you say apologetically. ‘I was thinking about Namjoon.’

Jimin has no idea about how things are between you and Namjoon. There’s no way you’d ever let anyone really know how low your bar is set.

He finishes stacking the cherry tomatoes, moves on to the heads of broccoli. 

You’re still on apples.

You wheel the empty crates back to the stockroom, concentrating so hard on not letting the crates slip that you don’t see the guy by the automatic doors.

‘Whoa!’ he says, stepping out of the way quickly, laughing.

You’re mortified, already apologising as you come to a dead stop. The crates wobble dangerously and you reach out, letting out a little cry as your fingers get clipped in between.

You yank your hand away, and the guy hurries forward. He grabs your hand, a look of concern darkening his face.

‘Are you ok? That must have hurt so much!’

You’re taken aback by how genuinely concerned he seems to be.

‘I’m ok,’ you say, as he rubs your fingers gently.

‘I have some support plasters,’ he offers. 

‘I’m ok!’ you insist, waving him away gently.

He takes the trolley from you and stacks the crates in the corner. 

‘Sorry to startle you,’ he says warmly. ‘My name is Hoseok, I’m new.’

His smile is infectious. You tell him your name, and he exclaims over how pretty he thinks your name is, even though it’s a fairly common one, as far as names go.

You’re amused by his charmingly over the top reactions. 

Hoseok helps you load the greens onto your trolley, insists on pushing it with you to the fresh section of the store. 

‘Don’t you have your own work to do?’ you ask. 

He grins at you like he’s sharing a secret. ‘The broken oven got fixed so it’s taking me less time to bake the bread rolls,’ he confesses. 

He reaches up for the hairnet over his hair, pulls it off and stuffs it into his pocket. ‘Does this make my hair flat?’ 

You look up at his very soft and fluffy looking dark hair. ‘Your hair looks great,’ you tell him, honestly. 

‘Come by later on your break, I’ll save some rolls for you. I made some fillings last night to bring to work.’ 

His offer is so sincerely and sweetly made that you find yourself responding in kind. 

‘Sure, I’d love to,’ you say. 

He parks your trolley by the shelves, and gives Jimin a big smile in greeting. 

You’ve never met anyone who smiles this much. 

Jimin lifts a crate of cabbages and starts arranging. 

‘What’s his deal?’ you ask, after Hoseok waves jauntily at you and walks away. 

Jimin rolls his eyes. ‘He’s just a nice guy. People can be nice.’ 

‘No one’s that nice,’ you say, frowning. 

‘Hoseok is. I’ve known him since way back.’ 

‘He must have a dark side,’ you mutter. 

‘Yeah. He’s apparently an asshole in bed.’ 

You choke on air. 

Jimin laughs at your reaction. ‘I’ve never slept with him but apparently he’s mean in bed.’ 

‘Like mean, how?’ you ask, more interested than you’d like to admit to yourself. 

‘Why are you so interested?’ Jimin asks, slyly. 

‘You brought it up,’ you argue. 

Jimin laughs and refuses to say anything else and you pretend you’re not that interested anyway. 

***

You’re awakened by your phone vibrating under your pillow. 

You fish it out and stare at the number on the screen that’s evaded your caller ID. 

Eventually you swipe to answer. 

‘Hi,’ you say. 

‘Hey,’ says a vaguely familiar voice. ‘It’s Hoseok. Jimin gave me your number.’ 

Your eyes open all the way, and you sit up so quickly you drop your phone into your duvet. 

It takes you a moment to fish it out. 

‘Hey, sorry, I dropped my phone,’ you say, when you’ve got it back. 

‘I’m sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ he says. 

It’s weird, you barely know him but you can hear the smile in his voice. 

‘It’s fine, I should be up anyway,’ you reply. 

‘Ah, sorry, I didn’t know you’d still be asleep.’ 

You check the time. Eeep. 

‘What’s up, Hoseok?’ you ask. 

‘I was wondering - do you like music? There’s a festival in Olympic Park today and I have a spare ticket and I wondered if you’d like to come with me.’ 

You blink, surprised. 

‘I know it’s short notice,’ he says, when you don’t say anything for a bit. 

‘No, I’d like to go. I’m free and easy.’ 

You slap a hand to your forehead, wondering why you sound like such an idiot. 

‘I mean, I don’t have plans today.’ 

He sounds like he’s smiling again. ‘Ok. Meet you there?’ 

***

You look around for Hoseok when you get to the park, but he doesn’t keep you waiting. 

He approaches you, smiling and bright in a yellow and black parka, sunglasses shading his eyes. 

‘I brought snacks,’ he tells you cheerfully. ‘Thanks for agreeing to come with me.’ 

His manner is so relaxed and easy that you feel any awkwardness slip away. 

The sun’s warm on your bare shoulders, Hoseok’s a nice guy, and he’s got the prettiest smile you’ve seen in a while. 

You smile back at him. ‘I’m glad I came,’ you reply. 

He holds out his arm, and you link yours with his. 

It turns out Hoseok’s just as charming when he’s tipsy. 

You’ve been drinking beer with him in the sunshine all day. 

He blinks at you sleepily in the late evening sun as the last of the bands plays on the main stage. 

He’s stretched out on the grass, face tipped to the sky. His profile is beautiful, all sharp angles accentuated by the height of his cheekbones. 

‘You shouldn’t have let me finish off the beer,’ he tells you. 

‘Oh no, are you too drunk?’ you ask lazily, laying down next to him, watching the clouds swirl in the late summer sky. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he admits finally. ‘I was nervous and I drank too much.’ 

‘Nervous?’ This is news to you. 

‘You’re very pretty,’ he informs you. ‘In case you didn’t know.’ 

‘You’re pretty too,’ you tell him. 

He nods. ‘I know. But you’re prettier.’ 

This is the most ridiculous conversation you’ve had in a while, but somehow you don’t mind it.

You close your eyes briefly, and turn your head to see Hoseok looking at you intently. 

‘Why are you nervous?’ you ask. 

‘I want you to like me,’ he says, with an honesty that steals your breath. 

‘Because?’ 

‘Because I think I could like you a lot.’ 

‘How much?’ 

You’re leaning over him slightly, too close for your intentions to be anything but clear. 

Hoseok’s eyes drop to your lips. 

‘A hell of a lot,’ he says. 

In the end it’s Hoseok who initiates the kiss, one hand coming up to slip around the back of your neck. 

He’s gentle but firm, lips pressing against yours, tilting his head to kiss you deeper. 

You put your hand on his chest, and his own comes up to cover it. 

When you pull away he lets out a soft sound of protest. 

You’re smiling at each other like idiots, his hand still over yours on his chest. 

The sun’s dropped low enough to cast shadows over his face. 

‘I’ll take you home, ok?’ he says. 

He packs up the picnic he made that you’ve been picking at all afternoon, slips his jacket over your shoulders, and walks you out of the park. 

Darkness falls as you walk the few blocks home, adding a layer of distance between you, helping with your self-consciousness as, swaddled in his soft jacket, you realise just how attractive you find Hoseok. 

You stop at the entrance to your building, and Hoseok looks up. 

‘I had a nice time. See you next week?’ 

You’re slipping off his jacket, pressing it into his arms. ‘Thank you for asking me out,’ you tell him. 

There’s a moment because you haven’t fully ended your sentence, and he looks like he’s waiting for the next thing you were about to say. 

‘Do you want to come up?’ you ask. 

Hoseok’s eyes study your face. 

‘Honestly, I’d love to, but I shouldn’t.’ 

Like your goodbye, it seems open ended, like there’s more he would say if you waited long enough. 

Your phone vibrates in the pocket of your dress. 

‘I should go,’ you say. 

Hoseok nods. 

He waits until you’re up the steps, in the door, before he leaves. 

***

Namjoon’s got his mouth open, nibbling at your neck. God, he feels good, teeth grazing your skin, tongue licking. 

His hands are tucked in his pockets still, he hasn’t touched you even though you’re straddling his lap. 

You lean back a little, ask, ‘hey, like my new dress?’ 

You curse yourself for your moment of weakness but the words are already out. 

Namjoon raises a brow. ‘Thought you didn’t care what I thought.’ 

He’s referring to a fight you once had, when you were dating. 

‘Yeah,’ you say, regretting asking. 

You look at each other for a moment. 

‘I should go.’ 

‘You just got here,’ Namjoon says, mildly. He doesn’t make any move to stop you as you climb off his lap, hands tucked in his pockets still. 

‘I don’t think we should do this anymore,’ you say, forcing yourself to look him in the face. 

‘You mean, fuck,’ Namjoon asks. His voice has its usual husky tone, but there’s a coolness to it now. 

‘Yeah, fuck,’ you say. 

Namjoon shrugs. ‘Sure. If that’s really what you want.’ 

He stands, and you’ve spent so much time horizontal with him lately you’d forgotten how tall he is. 

He reaches down to take your hand. 

‘You want me to tell you that you’re pretty?’ he asks. 

‘No,’ you answer, but you don’t pull your hand away. 

‘Look how hard I am,’ he tells you. He presses your hand over his erection. 

‘That’s just biology,’ you say. 

Namjoon scoffs. ‘It’s my biological response to having you grinding in my lap.’ 

He strokes up your arm. ‘Can I convince you to stay?’ 

‘Why would I stay?’ you ask, but you still haven’t moved. 

Namjoon tugs the strap of your bra, leans down to mouth at your collarbones. His big hand curls around your back to steady you as he kisses your neck. 

‘I don’t know, baby, do you want the happy ending or do you just want me to make you happy tonight?’ 

He sucks at your skin, and you get the familiar rush of pleasure pain you get when he marks you. 

‘We’re not going out, are we?’ 

His hand slides down your ass, cupping you, pulling you taut against his groin. 

‘I’m not your boyfriend.’ 

He’s walking you back into his bedroom, onto his bed. He pushes you back against the covers, hand behind your head to cushion you even though it’s soft. 

‘We’re not getting married.’ 

His words are brutal in their honesty, and still you don’t push him away. 

He tugs your panties down impatiently, rumbling his approval when he feels how wet you are. 

‘But I make you like this,’ he says, fingers slipping inside you, thumb circling your clit. 

‘Namjoon,’ you say, a warning. 

He gives you a look so heated you lose your train of thought. 

He hasn’t, though. 

He grabs your thigh, pulls you down to the edge of the bed so he can keep leaning over you. 

‘What, am I wrong?’ he taunts. 

His fingers are stroking, scissoring inside you. He’s still gripping your thigh with his free hand. 

He squeezes your thigh. 

‘Am I wrong? Didn’t I get you wet like this?’ he asks. He scoffs. ‘Of course I did. Just like you got me this hard.’ 

He slides a hand over himself, grinding into his palm. 

‘Just fuck me, Namjoon,’ you say. The pleasure’s building, making you tighten around his fingers. 

‘I’ll fuck you,’ he promises. ‘Just as long as we’re clear that there’s no feelings involved.’ 

He stops touching himself, wraps his hand around your neck, tight. 

You moan, and he laughs. 

‘You’re so easy to please, baby,’ he says, mocking. ‘If I fuck you now you’ll come, won’t you?’ 

‘I hate you,’ you spit out. 

Namjoon cocks an eyebrow. ‘Sweetheart, I don’t even think you’re convincing yourself.’ 

He yanks his jeans down, and he’s in you in one movement. 

He groans as he bottoms out inside you, slams his hand down on the bed beside your head. 

‘So fucking tight,’ he utters. ‘Who got you like this?’ 

He’s not waiting for an answer, rocking into you, balls slapping your ass with every firm thrust. 

It’s just as well, you don’t think you could answer him anyway.

Namjoon fucks you good, it’s what he always does. 

***

You’re cleaning up a spillage in the detergent aisle when Hoseok walks past. 

‘Hey,’ he says, looking pleased to see you. ‘How are you?’ 

‘I’m good,’ you say, returning his smile. 

He’s in a standard issue blue polo shirt emblazoned with the store logo today, unlike the baggy fleeces you’re used to seeing him in. 

You try not to stare at his exposed arms.

‘What are you doing after work today?’ he asks.

He takes the mop from you and wrings it into the bucket, then picks it up. 

‘I’ll take this,’ he says, his tone brooking no argument. ‘It’s heavy.’

‘I don’t have plans,’ you say.

Hoseok beams. ‘I’m going to support my friend at this club night. Want to join me?’

‘What does your friend do?’ you ask, walking with him to the cleaning supplies closet.

‘He raps,’ Hoseok tells you. He grins. ‘I rap sometimes too.’

You see it. He’s got a rasp to his voice sometimes, an easy cadence to his words. 

Somehow the idea of him as a rapper makes sense.

‘So, you want to come with?’ he asks.

‘I’d like to,’ you tell him.

He looks so pleased about it that it makes you feel brighter too.

‘Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at 8, ok?’

He saunters off with a cheerful wave.

You realise you’re looking forward to it.

***

There’s not a lot of space between you and Hoseok at this tiny club, he’s been leaning over you for most of the night.

Somehow your arm’s found its way around his waist, and you find you like having him this close.

Hoseok’s lips brush your cheek gently, and your heart pounds. This close, his eyelashes are long, his eyes beautiful, the line of his jaw irresistible. He looks so good. 

You turn your head, chase his lips. He gives in with a willingness that makes your confidence soar. Like he’s wanted you this whole night and now he doesn’t want to wait anymore. 

His lips are soft, but the way he kisses you is firm, chest towards yours, hand curled around the top of your hip bone. He kisses you like he knows better than you what you’ll like, and he’s got every intention of following through. 

You haven’t got any interest in the next act, but as soon as you hear the voice, your eyes open. 

Hoseok murmurs a little, pulls you closer into his chest. 

You look up at the stage, and there, so close you can see the tic in his jaw as he takes in you and Hoseok, so intimately intertwined, is Namjoon. 

***

‘This is my friend Namjoon,’ Hoseok says, after the set’s over. 

Namjoon uses the towel around his neck to wipe his face, but he’s still out of breath, slick with sweat. 

He tilts his head at you, dimples like it’s the first time you’ve met. Says nothing. 

‘We’ve met,’ you say. 

You’re a little away from the stage, far enough that you can hear each other over the next act. 

‘Yeah, we’ve met,’ Namjoon confirms. 

Hoseok regards you both with interest. He’s a nice guy, but he’s no fool. 

You say, ‘That was a great set, Namjoon.’

‘Yeah?’ asks Namjoon. He pops the cork on a bottle of Dom, pours it out. Watches as you drink, a smirk on his lips.

You’re watching Hoseok.

‘How do you and Hobi know each other?’ Namjoon asks. He lays back, knees spread, thigh nudging yours. 

‘We work together,’ you reply. You turn to Hoseok, but the smile freezes on your lips when you see his expression, the way he’s looking at Namjoon.

You want to touch him but the tense set of his shoulders gives you pause.

Meanwhile, Namjoon looks more relaxed than ever.

‘Hey, it’s getting late, I should probably get going,’ you say.

Hoseok looks at you for a long moment. ‘Yeah, I’ll take you home.’

The car ride’s the quietest Hoseok’s ever been with you.

By the time he pulls up outside your apartment you’re tight with tension despite the champagne.

‘Thanks Hoseok,’ you say, mustering a smile.

He can barely look at you, and for some reason that makes you feel like crying.

You unbuckle your belt, push the door open. You’re almost all the way up the steps when you hear the car door behind you.

You turn to see Hoseok hurrying up the steps.

He steps a couple feet in front of you.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Shit that was weird, wasn’t it?’

He gives you a half-smile, touches your arm.

‘Yeah,’ you agree. You smile back at him uncertainly.

‘I’ll see you at work Monday?’

This time his smile’s more like the cheerful friendly Hoseok you’ve come to know.

He waves at you as he walks back to his car, waits until you’re inside before he drives away.

***

You’re messing around with Jimin by the fresh flowers, emptying out the buckets, when Hoseok walks by.

‘Hey!’ you say cheerfully, waving a hand.

Hoseok smiles but keeps walking, heading round to the back.

You hurry to catch up. 

‘Hoseok,’ you say, walking alongside him. ‘Jimin and I and some of the other guys are getting drinks after work, would you like to come?’

Hoseok hangs his jacket on the hook, puts on his apron. 

‘I’m busy. Maybe another time, ok?’

He’s walking off without waiting for your answer. 

You’re so taken aback by his brusqueness, a sharp contrast to the warm, kind Hoseok you’ve come to know that it takes you a moment to regroup.

When you get back to the flowers, Jimin’s finished filling the buckets.

‘You ok?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you reply, forcing a smile. ‘I went to ask Hoseok to join us for drinks, but he’s busy.’

Jimin’s studying your expression.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Tell you what, we’ll grab food beforehand, ok? My treat.’

You smile at him, a real smile this time. ‘It’s your turn anyway to get dinner,’ you point out.

Jimin puts an arm around your shoulders, squeezes. 

‘I’ll buy you whatever you want,’ he promises.

***

You’re three shots in, merry and listening to Jimin tell you about his weekend when Namjoon and Hoseok walk into the bar.

‘Shit,’ you hiss, slumping down next to Jimin.

Jimin throws you a sympathetic look as one of your colleagues, Dahyun calls Hoseok over.

You look down at your hands as Hoseok greets everyone at the table.

Thankfully you’re tucked in a seat against the wall.

You glance up, see the way both Namjoon and Hoseok are looking at you, and go back to looking at your hands.

As soon as they go to get drinks you tap Jimin on the shoulder. 

‘I’m gonna go, ok?’ 

‘Let me take you home,’ Jimin says. 

You wave aside his protests and make your way to the door.

You’re waiting for your taxi, shivering a bit in the cool night air, when you hear a familiar voice. 

‘Going so soon?’ asks Hoseok. He’s standing a little away from you, hands tucked in his pockets.

‘Yeah, I’m tired.’ You give him a small smile and turn back to the road, willing your taxi to arrive.

‘I’ll wait with you,’ Hoseok says.

‘I’m fine, it’ll be here any minute,’ you say.

Hoseok steps closer. ‘Can I talk to you?’

You close your eyes. ‘Sure,’ you say. ‘About what?’

There’s a flash of headlamps as your taxi pulls up. 

Hoseok opens the door for you, lets you in and gets in after you. 

You’re too surprised to say anything.

Hoseok turns to you. ‘I don’t have to go to your place, I can get out as soon as we arrive at yours ok?’

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I just want to talk to you for a bit.’

‘Sure,’ you say. 

There’s a silence.

‘Namjoon’s my friend,’ Hoseok starts.

You’re wondering what he’s leading up to.

‘I needed to talk to him,’ Hoseok says.

You look out the car window, at the buildings flashing by.

‘I —‘

He stops again. ‘I like you,’ he says, simply. ‘But Namjoon’s my friend, and I just needed to know if he’d be ok with us dating.’

You feel hollow. ‘What did Namjoon say about us?’ you ask.

‘He said that you don’t have that kind of relationship,’ Hoseok replies.

You laugh bitterly.

‘If you wanted to know about me and Namjoon, you could have just asked me,’ you say.

He’s quiet.

Finally, he says, ‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’

The taxi pulls up outside your building. 

You’re more hurt than you thought you’d be. Hot tears burn the backs of your eyes.

‘It’s fine, Hoseok.’

You can’t look at him. 

You get out of the taxi. ‘I’ll see you at work, ok?’

Hoseok says, ‘wait’, but you’re already walking up the steps, letting yourself in.

You make it up to your apartment, and close the door behind you before you let the tears fall.

***

You’re sitting at the back of the room at the team-building day, half-asleep because it took you ages to get here on the train, to the ass end of nowhere. 

Jimin’s sleeping quietly beside you, ball cap pulled low over his face. You’ve promised to wake him if he started sleep-talking. 

Hoseok’s near the front of the room, not that you’d been looking out for him. You haven’t really spoken since that night at the bar. 

Namjoon’s texted you a few times but you haven’t answered. 

You can do better than a boy who just wants to fuck and a boy who can’t be bothered to talk to you like a goddamn decent human being.

You nudge Jimin awake when it’s time for the activity - a scavenger hunt in the woods where you’ll be paired off. 

To your dismay, you don’t get to pick your teammate. 

It’s fine, as long as you don’t get –

You swallow down the swear word that fills your mouth when you realise your teammate is Hoseok. 

Of course it is. 

Hoseok looks as thrilled about it as you do. 

He grabs the sack you’ve been given, and you pick up your clipboard and pen. 

‘Shall we head towards the lake?’ you ask, clipped. 

‘Sure,’ he says, neutral. 

You’re looking down the list. ‘Too bad it doesn’t ask for an asshole,’ you say, looking at him darkly. ‘Because you’re right here.’ 

Hoseok looks at you, straight faced. ‘Are you gonna be like this the whole time?’ 

‘Why don’t you call Namjoon and ask him, seeing as he knows so much about me?’ 

Hoseok tilts his head. ‘I said I was sorry about that,’ he tells you. 

You sigh. ‘Forget it. The first item is a black rock.’ 

‘There’ll be loads by the lake,’ Hoseok says. 

He sets off without waiting for you. 

You’re loath to follow him but at least if you get this over with as soon as possible you can go back and take the next train out of this place. 

Scowling, you follow in his tracks. 

***

‘You look hot when you’re angry,’ Hoseok tells you. ‘That little frown line between your brows really suits you.’ 

You give him a dead-eyed stare. ‘Yeah, and you looked hot before you turned out to be a misogynistic asshole.’ 

‘Jokes on you,’ Hoseok mutters. ‘I always was one.’ 

The giggle escapes you before you can hold it back. 

‘No wonder you’re friends with Namjoon,’ you scoff, turning away. 

‘We have a lot in common,’ Hoseok allows. He side-eyes you. ‘We like the same type of women.’ 

‘Women that are too hot for you?’ you ask, straightfaced. 

‘Yeah.’ 

You stumble on a rock, and Hoseok curls his hand under your arm to steady you. 

‘There you go again, thinking I need you when I don’t,’ you snipe, jerking your arm away. 

‘Yeah, next time I’ll just let you fall on your face,’ Hoseok agrees. 

He sighs. ‘Honestly? Your bitchiness is giving me a hard-on.’ 

Your gaze flies to his crotch. 

Hoseok lets you look. ‘I’m strapped in, but I’ll let you look at it properly later if you want.’ 

‘No thanks,’ you snap. 

He shrugs. ‘I’m not gonna force myself on you.’ 

Then, as you’re looking at his face, he smirks, popping a dimple at the corner of his mouth. ‘I won’t fuck you until you’re begging for it.’ 

You raise a brow, nonchalant. ‘Guess we’re never fucking then.’ 

‘That’s my loss,’ he says. 

He veers off to the right, behind a tree. 

‘Got it,’ he says, emerging after a moment, triumphantly holding up an acorn. 

You tick it off the list silently. 

‘I don’t want to be an asshole misogynist again, but the path’s slippery here, be careful,’ he says, as you approach a steep sloping hill. 

‘Thanks,’ you reply. 

The path narrows, and he says, ‘Let me go up ahead, ok? Just in case.’ 

‘I’m fine with you dying first,’ you agree. 

He looks back at you, smiles. ‘I would have asked you out sooner if I’d known you were like this.’ 

‘Intolerant of assholes?’ you suggest. 

He laughs. ‘Mean.’ 

You’re indignant. ‘I’m not mean!’ 

‘No, I like it,’ he says. ‘Like I said, you’re giving me a boner.’ 

‘I heard you were mean too,’ you say. 

He scoffs. ‘Only in bed.’ 

He smiles at you. ‘Wanna find out?’ 

You shove him, and he just laughs. ‘Come on, let me help you up the slope.’ 

He offers you his hand, and when you reach out for it, he pulls it away. 

You look up at him, outraged, and he laughs again. 

‘No, really this time,’ he says, putting out his hand again. 

You push past him, and your foot slips. 

‘Shit!’

Hoseok, quick as a cat, grabs you to steady you. 

‘You ok?’ he asks quietly, holding your arm. 

‘I’m fine,’ you mutter. ‘We have one item left, then we can head back.’ 

‘The elderberries?’ Hoseok asks. ‘I found those ages ago.’ 

You stare up at him. ‘You didn’t —’

‘Yeah, I wanted more time with you. Alone in the woods.’ 

You’d be more mad if he didn’t look so absurdly hot when he’s grinning at you like he is now. 

‘Fuck, Hoseok.’ 

‘My friends call me Hobi,’ he says. 

‘We’re not friends,’ you snap. 

He almost looks hurt. ‘Aren’t we? Don’t you like hanging out with me?’ 

You’re about to say you don’t when you realise it would be a lie. 

He holds out his arm. ‘Come on, it’s getting dark. We should head back.’ 

***

You’re one of the last teams to get back, and as you walk up you realise from Jimin’s reaction that you’re still holding Hoseok’s arm. 

‘Can I give you a ride back? I drove,’ Hoseok offers. 

‘I came with Jimin on the train,’ you say. 

‘You can both fit in my car,’ Hoseok says, easy. 

You wake up to Jimin saying goodbye to Hoseok, and sit up guiltily. 

Hoseok turns back to you. 

‘Are you ok? You looked tired so we didn’t want to wake you.’ 

‘I’m fine. Let me come round the front.’ 

You slide into the front passenger seat, and Hoseok pulls away from Jimin’s apartment.

‘You hungry?’ he asks, as he drives.

You sit up and realise that you are, a bit.

‘Depends, are we gonna eat together?’

Hoseok looks over at you, laughs. ‘We can sit separately if you want.’

You end up at some 24 hour noodle bar near where he lives.

Hoseok slurps his noodles, throws glances at you across the tiny table, until you set down your chopsticks.

‘What?’

‘I’m just regretting fucking things up so badly with you,’ he says.

You open your mouth, ready with a reply, and close it again.

‘Namjoon asked me out,’ you tell him. ‘He came round to where I worked, and then one day asked if I wanted to meet him, and I did. We went on dates, and I don’t remember when it all changed but then one day I realised we were just sleeping together.’

You look up at him. 

‘He’s never lied or said he wants more,’ you say. ‘You know, there was this one night I was walking back from his place and some dude snatched my phone.’

You look out the front window at the street. 

‘I was right outside his building, but it was only after I got home, all shaken up that I realised I hadn’t even thought about ringing his bell, asking to come back up and calm down.’ 

You laugh, short. ‘I guess I didn’t want to find out how little he really cares about me outside of bed.’

You don’t want to see Hoseok’s face right now. 

Is he disgusted at how pathetic you are?

You look at your hands. 

‘I should go.’

Hoseok’s standing. He hasn’t said a word since your confession.

He stops with his hand on the passenger door of his car. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

You risk a glance at his face only to find he’s looking at you. There’s an openness to his expression, a mixture of concern and kindness and something else you can’t read.

He opens the door, shuts it after you once you’ve climbed in.

The drive back to yours is short, and you’re grateful that he seems to not want to try to talk.

He pulls up outside your steps, kills the engine.

‘Let me walk you to the door,’ he says.

You’re surprised. ‘It’s literally ten steps.’

He walks up with you, stops at the entrance. 

‘Namjoon and I are similar in a lot of ways,’ he tells you, putting a hand on your arm, ‘but not in everything. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d treat you the same as he’s done.’

You look up at him and the memory of him that day at the festival softens your gaze. 

‘I know you’re not the same,’ you say.

‘Good,’ Hoseok says. He lets go of your arm. 

He waits until you’re inside before he drives away.

***

You and Jimin stare, bemused, at the beautifully stocked display trays of fresh fruit and vegetables.

You haven’t even started your shift, but it looks like all your work’s been done for you.

You turn to Jimin. ‘Did you?’

‘Nope,’ Jimin denies.

‘Then who?’

Hoseok walks by, accompanied by a man you don’t know with a lip piercing and a fluffy looking wolf cut covering his face.

‘Hey, Jungkook and I arranged the fruit this morning. Do you guys want to go round the back? We made rolls and coffee.’

Nonplussed, you and Jimin follow Hoseok and Jungkook to the break room.

Hoseok pours you a mug of coffee, passes you a roll. 

‘How are you doing?’ he asks, settling into the seat next to yours, leaning back.

His thigh brushes yours as he stretches out, and he moves it carefully away.

‘I’m good,’ you say. ‘You?’

‘I couldn’t sleep well thinking about what you said,’ Hoseok says.

You’re discomfited. ‘It’s fine, Hoseok, I didn’t tell you for any particular reason.’

‘I know. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry and I can do better.’

You’re quiet. ‘Why do you care?’

‘I like you,’ he says, with an honesty that takes your breath away. ‘Even when you’re mean to me.’

He smiles at your expression. ‘Especially when you’re mean to me,’ he amends.

You can’t help but laugh. 

***

Hoseok’s gathering shopping trolleys in the car park when you walk out. 

‘Hey,’ he says, pushing a long line of trolleys towards you. ‘Want to go watch a movie?’

You tilt your head, considering, and then decide to make the leap.

‘Hey. My mom dropped off a lot of food at mine yesterday. There’s enough for both of us if you’re interested.’

Hoseok beams at you. ‘Yes!’ he says, with such enthusiasm you’re smiling.

‘I just need to get my jacket,’ he explains. ‘Wait for me here?’

You’re waiting for Hoseok by the trolleys when a familiar voice says your name.

It’s Namjoon.

He’s decked out in blue, and white, tall enough to block out the late afternoon sun, handsome enough to make you stand up straight.

‘Hey,’ he says. 

‘Hey.’

‘I haven’t heard from you lately,’ he says. He cocks his head, dimples at you. ‘You good?’

‘Yeah, I’m good.’

‘I’m ready,’ Hoseok says cheerfully, coming out the side of the store.

He stops when he sees you and Namjoon.

There’s an infinitesimal pause before he says, ‘Hey, Namjoon.’

Namjoon says, easy, ‘hey Hobi.’

‘We’re going to have dinner,’ you say. 

‘Yeah,’ Hoseok says. ‘See you later, Namjoon.’

Hoseok puts a gentle hand under your arm. ‘Ready?’

You think you are.

***

Hoseok’s eating a cream puff. 

There’s a dollop of cream on his top lip, and you put your hand on his arm to keep him still as you lean forward and lick it off.

Hoseok’s reflexes are quick.

He turns his head instantly to kiss you full on the lips.

Oh my. Is this what you’ve been missing?

His lips are sweet, and warm, and he’s responsive, following your lead as you deepen the kiss.

His tongue flicks at your lower lip, and then slides into your mouth.

His warm hand covers yours as you break apart.

‘Let’s go sit,’ you invite, gesturing to your couch.

Hoseok’s laying a trail of kisses along the line of your neck, tongue coming out to flick at your skin. His hand’s gently squeezing your covered thigh.

His chest is pressed against yours, and something about the solid warmth of him is making your head spin. 

You’re squirming, impatient already even though he’s made no move to do anything but kiss you.

Hoseok sighs out a breath as he pulls away. He rests the side of his head against the back of your couch, lips curving in a smile. 

‘I could do this all night,’ he tells you.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

***

Hoseok’s shirtless, lying on his back on your bedspread. His flat abs twitch as you run your tongue along them.

You reach the button on his jeans, tug at it with your teeth.

Hoseok’s hand comes up to grasp your hair. 

‘You really want this?’ he asks. 

‘We can just snuggle for a bit if you want,’ he suggests, voice low and warm.

He pulls you up alongside him, curls an arm around you, keeps his face close to yours.

He says, ‘I’ve wanted to be with you like this since that time at the festival.’

He reaches out, traces a finger over the upper curve of your breasts, exposed in your bra. 

‘Fuck, you’re a menace,’ Hoseok mutters, but he doesn’t sound mad about it.

He traces circles on your arm lazily, lets you slide your hand over his bare chest. His flat nipples pebble under your touch.

‘You know what I think?’ he says, finally. 

You raise your eyes to his. 

‘I think you need to be told what to do,’ Hoseok says, thoughtfully. ‘You’re too pretty, I bet that’s what all the boys you’ve slept with tell you.’ 

Your brow furrows. 

Hoseok nudges you down so you’re flat on the bed, hooks a thigh over your legs to slide you fully underneath him. 

He braces himself with a forearm beside your head, rolls his hips slowly against yours, makes you tremble with want.

Hoseok says, a challenge in his eyes, ‘Bet you wouldn’t know what to do with my cock if I let you have it.’

You look at him, your irritation clouded by lust, by the way he’s still slowly grinding himself against you. 

He laughs at you. 

The bastard has the audacity to laugh at you. 

‘Look at you, your lips like that, your eyes like that. Bet all you have to do is smile and you have guys creaming their pants.’ 

He leans closer, presses his lips to your ear, murmurs, ‘huh.’

You’re already so wet and needy you can barely keep up, but you muster up a retort, defiance in your tone.

‘I’m not some sort of pillow princess,’ you tell him, annoyed.

Hoseok laughs, voice so low and raspy now you can barely make out the words. 

‘I think you are,’ he replies. He rolls his hips again, and you try to stifle a moan but you can’t. 

‘It’s ok,’ he tells you, hand under your ass, pulling your hips up to his. ‘I like it.’

The chain around his neck’s dangling into the dip of his clavicles. You tuck your fingers into it, pull a little as you kiss him again, open mouthed. 

Hoseok licks into your mouth like he loves the taste of you, sloppy, wet. As you run your hand down over his bare chest he groans. 

He sits forward, tucks his fingers under the strap of your bra. ‘Can I take this off?’ he asks. 

When you nod he unhooks your bra, tugs it off you.

He admires your bare breasts for so long your hands are already coming up to cover yourself when he says, stern, ‘Don’t.’

‘Hoseok —-‘

‘I’m staring,’ he explains patiently, ‘because I’ve been thinking about you like this for so long I can’t believe we’re finally here, like this.’

He kisses you off centre, at the corner of your mouth, flicking his tongue at the seam of your lips. 

‘I’m staring because you’re such a pretty girl.’

He lowers his head, sticks out his tongue, laves the peak of your breast, pulling a whimper out of you. 

‘Go on,’ he says, watching your face, lips against your breast. ‘Let me hear how much you like it.’ 

His thigh slips between yours, and you roll your hips against it, seeking friction for your aching clit, the emptiness between your legs. 

Hoseok’s mouth is warm, and wet, and he grasps your hip, tight, as he suckles at your breasts.

Your first orgasm takes you by surprise, a burst of warm pleasure from your throbbing clit, your cunt pulsing around nothing as you cry out and buck your hips against his.

‘Easy, baby,’ Hoseok says, letting you ride out the waves of your pleasure, hand warm on your skin as he steadies you.

You lift your face to his, and he’s only too happy to give you his mouth. You’re still breathless from your orgasm, and when he slips a firm hand under your panties, you moan so loudly his ears ring.

Hoseok groans at the feel of you, warm and soft and slicking up his fingers. 

‘Are you sensitive? Can I?’

You reach down and curl your fingers around him, and Hoseok can’t stop himself from grinding into your hand.

‘One sec,’ he grunts. He tears open a condom, passes it to you.

‘Go on, do some work, princess.’

You’re sitting up on legs that still feel like jelly.

Instead of rolling the condom onto his length, you take him in your mouth, suck at his head, and Hoseok swears and pulls you off him.

‘Damn you need to warn me if you’re gonna do that, I nearly came,’ he pants.

He kisses you again. ‘Behave yourself or you won’t get fucked.’

You pinch the tip, roll the condom onto him, and Hoseok pulls you on top of him.

He pinches the softness of your inner thigh, making you jump.

‘Line me up,’ he says. 

You squeeze him as you position yourself, and Hoseok groans. ‘Fuck, you’re such a brat.’

He closes his eyes, huffs out a long breath as you take him in.

He’s deep, like this, snug. He grasps your hips, helps you move on his cock.

His head arches back into the pillow underneath it, neck bared to you as you ride him.

‘Use me, baby,’ he urges, bucking his hips up into you to fuck you a little deeper, grunting when you cry out.

He feels so good your oversensitivity gives way to building need. 

‘Come on,’ Hoseok says. He cards his fingers through your hair, tugs you down so he can devour your mouth. He’s vocal in his enjoyment of you, groaning into your mouth, grasping your ass so tight he’s going to leave marks.

‘Look,’ he says, hoarse, helping you lift up off him so you can see your arousal glistening on his skin, on the insides of your thighs.

He swears. ‘Turn over.’

He pulls out, and you turn over, onto all fours. You tremble with want as he slides his cock against your slit, nudging you apart.

He’s back inside you in one smooth movement, curled over your back, hand on your tits, the other hand snaking down the front of your pelvis to rub your clit.

‘I’m gonna come,’ he tells you. His voice is raspy now, taut. ‘And I think I’m going to fucking love coming into this cunt.’ 

‘I think you’re gonna get so fucking tight I won’t be able to move.’

He strokes his fingers over your clit, and you cry out. He flicks his other thumb over your peaked nipple. 

‘Shit, you’re so fucking soft, princess,’ he groans. ‘So fucking soft.’

You moan his name as his words push you over the edge.

‘That’s it, there you go, princess,’ he says. He drives himself into your pulsing cunt, deep, slow, and then he’s holding you tight, pulled up so your back is pressed to his chest. You can feel him twitching as he fills the condom.

Your arms buckle, and you drop onto the bed, taking him with you.

He rolls off. ‘Fuck, are you ok? Did I squash you?’

You’re still breathless but you manage a smile. ‘No, you killed me.’

Hoseok laughs. ‘Knew you were a princess.’

He sits up, staggers a little, and he disappears in the direction of your kitchen, coming back with a glass of water.

‘Drink up.’

As you drink he goes to the bathroom, returning shirtless but with his briefs back on.

‘All yours,’ he says. He passes you his t-shirt and your panties.

By the time you make it back he’s tidied up the clothes you shed, and is perched on the end of your bed. 

He looks up at you. 

‘I can go,’ he says, tentative. 

You come closer, and automatically, he curls an arm around your waist, pressing his face into your front.

‘Why don’t you stay?’ 

Hoseok’s smile is bright, happy, pleased. ‘I’d like to.’

You hit the lights, and he holds up the covers for you to slide in, wraps his arm around you as soon as you’re in the bed.

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand. 

‘Need to get that?’ he asks as you lift it to check.

He watches you swipe away the text from Namjoon, but all he says is, ‘What kind of coffee do you like? I’ll pick us up some in the morning.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ he promises. ‘I’ll get you whatever you want.’

©hamsterclaw 2023

[starryixora]

Gilded- Bucky Barnes x Female!

Chapter 2: The Secrets He Keeps

"My whole life, I've tried to avoid fighting, but it always has a way of catching up to me. Maybe that's because it's what I've always been. A fighter" Andrea Rhayn has everything. A successful career at S.H.I.E.L.D- the most renowned intelligence agency in the world, thriving friendships with the Avengers, and a lavish D.C. penthouse in the center of the city with her best friend. But when she becomes entangled in Steve Rodger’s pursuit of the Winter Soldier, she’s faced with risking everything she’s worked so hard for. Will Andrea help the most ruthless assassin in the world seek peace, or continue to run from her own turmoil?

Gilded; covered or highlighted with gold or something appearing rich or luxurious but concealing something of little worth

“Neutralize!!” Andrea’s hands gesture sporadically as she sits cross-legged on her couch. It’s been hours since her meeting with Fury. Now, her dress slacks and button-up blouse are replaced with a pair of tiny hot pink shorts and a dainty white camisole. And her usual slicked back curls are bundled atop her head in a messy bun. Natasha plucks the empty glass from Andrea’s hand, pouring it to the brim with red wine. 

“Neutralize,” Natasha repeats, placing the glass of wine on Andrea’s still open palm. She shrugs, “I’ve neutralized, it’s easy. All you have to do is find where they would keep their deepest darkest secrets and slowly use it against them until their whole life is ruined!”

“Not when it’s, Rumlow.” Andrea huffs, taking a giant swig of wine. “He’s a prick. And very difficult to neutralize.”

“Well, pricks are always the first ones to die in horror movies,” Natasha responds, standing from her place on the couch to close the blinds on the windows of their shared penthouse. She has a unique way of signaling when a routine should start. Closing the blinds means it’s time to pour more alcohol, turn on a movie, or debrief about their days at work. 

“This is not a horror movie. And Black people always die first.” Andrea retorts, pointing to her brown skin. It appears more dewy than usual from the last rays of the D.C. sunset, which peak through the thin cracks of their window blinds, illuminating her skin. Andrea chugs the last of her wine as she walks to the kitchen, rinsing her glass. “I’m just so tired.”

“Of?” Natasha questions, closing the last blind and propping herself atop the countertop across from Andrea. 

“Of everything, Nat. The headlines, Rumlow, the Helicarrier launch. It’s too much, too quickly.” Andrea sighs as she slumps against the counter, giving into the chaos of the last few months. Ever since Andrea rejected doing field work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and stepped into the corporate branch, or the “real world” as Fury called it, she’s had a nagging feeling that she hates it as much as she hates fighting. Day after day, Andrea feels as if she goes through the motions. Report after report, sleepless night after sleepless night, it’s taken a toll on her. The bags under Andrea’s eyes and her wilting curls are clear evidence.

“My life is so boring. I thought coming here and refusing to fight would be more interesting. I’m constantly knee deep in paperwork, and whenever I have time to give orders, I just get eye rolls back.” Andrea’s voice is almost a whisper as she slides her back against the cabinets, her butt meeting the cool tile as it thumps against the floor.

“It’s been months since we’ve been in the house at the same time for more than 4 hours, Andi. And you’re more stressed because of this promotion. I mean, I barely see you eat a good meal, and sometimes I hear you rummaging around in the middle of the night. ” Natasha pads to where Andrea sits, sliding down the counter to meet her on the floor. “Is everything okay? You know I’m always here for you if you need to talk.”

Andrea freezes at Natasha’s question, her shoulders tighten as she shuts her eyes, squeezing her index finger and thumb between the bridge of her nose. But all she can see is that face. Staring right back at her- angry, unforgiving, and resentful. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees her. She sees both of them in her dreams. It’s hard to sleep when all you can see are the people you’ve abandoned and hurt the most, Andrea thinks. It's been years, but she thinks about them all the time. More than usual nowadays. Andrea’s golden-brown eyes fly open as they meet Nastasha’s blue ones. Natasha’s eyebrow furrows, her eyes softening emphatically as she scans Andrea’s face, trying to search for her emotions. 

“I’m fine,” Andrea answers simply, swallowing the growing lump in her throat. “I can handle this. I can handle myself. I probably just need a good night's rest.” Andrea plasters a weak smile towards Natasha, lifting herself from the cold tile.  

Natasha lets out a light chuckle, “Right. No Grey’s Anatomy tonight then, straight to bed.” Her tone is that of a strict mother as she joins Andrea from off the floor, grabbing her hand and leading her to her room.”

“Wa-it’s only 7!!” Andrea exclaims, light giggles escaping her lips.

“Yeah. And you’ll thank me in the morning when you finally wake up in a good mood!” Natasha jokes, squeezing Andrea’s hands lightly. “I love ya. Goodnight!” She chirps, closing the door in front of Andrea’s face, her hair blowing back with the sudden gust of air. 

Andrea lets out a big huff as she throws herself face down on her bed. And as her eyes close as she succumbs to exhaustion, she finds the courage to ignore the faces she’s so used to seeing.

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

“Wow, Rhyan. Flats? Either you got laid, or have the worst hangover in history,” The security officer at the Triskellion’s entrance is quick to point out Andrea’s sudden change of footwear as she scans her badge for entry, receiving a cringe from her as a response. And although it’s true that she might’ve had too much wine last night, Andrea’s on a mission- breaking into her impudent coworker's office- and heels aren’t the most flexible for tasks like that. God, I better not die today, Andrea thinks as she flips the In A Meeting sign attached to her door towards the hallway and locks it. As far as she’s concerned, Rumlow is on recon until the evening, and Fury is “clearing his head” with a drive around D.C. Andrea stands on three books atop her desk as she unlatches the vent above it. Tight spaces aren’t her thing, but what’s a small panic attack over saving lives?

She hoists herself through the vents, clutching her office's floor plan as she steadily crawls through the metal pathway. Andrea’s knees ache, and she feels her heartbeat drumming through her ears. Not the time, Andrea thinks as she shuffles towards Rumlows office, taking deep inhales through her nose and exhales out her mouth, doing her best to enclose the panic rising from her chest. 

Andrea lets out a sigh of relief as she approaches Rumlow’s vent. She pumps her fist in victory, but the celebration is quickly spoiled as her fist hits the top of the vent, causing Andrea to yelp in pain as she shakes off her now throbbing hand. She quietly unscrews Rumlow’s vent, sliding it aside and descending using all the strength she can muster from her upper body. As much as she hates training arms, in this moment Andrea is grateful for her consistent discipline at the gym. She quickly locks Rumlow’s door and turns around to scan his office. 

Brock Rumlow is a boring man, and his office decoration reflects that. So Andrea’s not surprised by his minimalistic approach. Books and files stacked neatly on top of each other are scattered around his room, while his shelves and cabinets are sleek with a matte black finish. A stark contrast from Andrea’s maximalist approach- bold colors and dynamic furniture. Andrea swears under her breath as she notices his desk. A long, glass table. For the love of God, please. Andrea pushes her palms together, praying to anyone that would listen. Glass isn’t the best for compromising someone’s personal space; it’s the easiest to get handprints on, or know if someone other than you was there. 

Andrea circles the desk, looking for anything out of place. She lightly runs her hands across a bookshelf covering the entirety of one of the walls, but stops suddenly when she hears a faint click. The book she touched was nestled further in the wall. Andrea quirks an eyebrow as she pushes the book away from her even more, hearing a small whirring coming from the bookshelf. Holy cow. Andrea takes a step back, jaw dropping as the display spreads apart, revealing nothing short of what looks to be a super villain’s lair. 

What’s uncovered is a sturdy, metal, box-like room with a matching table in the center. On all 3 walls is a storage paradise- cabinets with hundreds of files dating back hundreds of years. Andrea’s breath hitches as her eyes are drawn to the red bolded acronym carved above each cabinet: H.Y.D.R.A. I was expecting Rumlow to be hiding some love affair, not a Nazi alter ego, Andrea thinks as she steps into the room, pulling a small camera out of her shirt pocket. 

The camera’s flash lights up the dim room in short bursts as Andrea takes pictures, doing her best to avoid the pit forming in her stomach. After her camera snaps every crevice of the room, she dives into the file cabinets. Starting with recent dates, her eyes rake over familiar names- Howard Stark, Margaret Carter, even Steve Rodgers. Andrea stops when she sees a folder different from the rest. It’s a bold red instead of muted beige, but what catches her eye is the date: April 15, 2014. “The Helicarrier launch,” Andrea whispers to herself. With slightly trembling hands, Andrea removes the folder from the cabinet, opening its contents. Project Insight is its title page. Andrea flips the page, and a small gasp escapes her lips as she’s met with pictures. Not normal ones, but pictures of the most renowned attacks in history. 9-11, the London Bombings, the Boston Marathon, Pan Am Flight 103. There are manufacturing plans of the planes, floor plans of the building structures, and a map of the marathon’s route. The ID of the criminals behind the attacks all have a similar, bold lettered acronym- H.Y.D.R.A.. They were behind it all. The innocent lives taken, the terror it caused, everything S.H.I.E.L.D. worked so hard to cover up and fix. It was all H.Y.D.R.A. That’s as far as Andrea can get through, as she’s interrupted by a sharp knock on the other side of Rumlow’s door. 

“Hey?! Who’s in there?” A sharp voice barks out. Rumlow. 

Andrea snaps photos of the pictures quickly, before stuffing the folder back into the cabinet it came out of. She curses the concept of secret rooms as she looks for a way to conceal H.Y.D.R.A’s basement of doom. The knocking gets louder as Rumlow begins to jiggle the handle aggressively. Drawing her knuckles across the empty spaces on the walls to hide fingerprints, Andrea’s fist lands on a small button blended in with the metal walls. Gotcha. She clicks the button, stepping out of the room just in time as it transforms back into a sleek bookshelf. 

On the other side of the door, Rumlows muffled voice asks the receptionist for a key. Andrea’s heart races, stepping carefully on his glass desk to hoist herself onto the vents. Her feet disappear from view just as Rumlow’s office clicks open. Andrea holds her breath as she screws the vent back into place. She watches as Rumlow steps into his room, an eyebrow raised with suspicion. He looks over his bookshelf as he approaches his desk. Right where Andrea stood. Rumlow dusts off a stray speck of dirt off his desk, eyes following the path it took- right where Andrea is. Her head ducks out of view just before his eyes land on the air vent. Rumlow scoffs, muttering something along the lines of custodians being incapable of cleaning is as useless as S.H.I.E.L.D agents who don’t know how to fight as he trots out of his office, slamming the door behind him. 

Andrea lets out a shaky exhale, crawling back to her office and uploading the photos to her phone, encrypting them and sending the to Fury. For the rest of the day, she huddles in her room, analyzing the crumbs of evidence she found. Her butt practically merges with her office chair and she’s sure her eyes sustained permanent damage an immense exposure of blue light, but she comes to one conclusion- H.Y.D.R.A is back, and they’re planning something that could destroy S.H.I.E.L.D.

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Andrea constantly looks over her shoulder as she strides through the parking garage, anxiously checking her phone, occasionally swiping to her messages with Fury, where she sent him the pictures she found earlier. No response. 

Andrea locks her car doors as soon as she’s in the driver's seat, taking a deep breath as she checks all the seats in her car- just in case. As Andrea connects her phone to aux, her ringtone blares through the car speakers, making her jump. She tilts her head to the side in curiosity when she’s met with an unknown caller ID. “Rhayn,” she answers simply, starting her car and pulling out of her parking spot. 

“Andi,” Natasha answers, her voice more quiet and jittery than her usual bold self. 

“Nat? What’s wrong?” Andrea’s voice is laced with concern as she stops at a red light.

“You need to come to GW University Hospital. Fast. It’s Fury.” Natasha’s voice comes out in panicky fragments, raising Andrea’s heart rate. 

“What?? What happen-” She’s cut off as Natasha abruptly ends the call.

[doueverwonder]

Hello friend :)

🏡 🗣 🟣 🐈 🗡 for my boy, West Virginia, mayhaps…?

🏡 - Home

He has 2 houses outside of the statehouse: The one in Charleston that the state government technically owns, he only really stays there when he has to be in state for official business or has another personification visiting his state. The other is a one bedroom cabin in FuckOffNowhere, WV that he is VERY good at keeping the location of hidden from other states. If he ever gets hurt out there we will be having problems because the closest neighbor is like 4 miles away. his sugar got real low while he was out there once and he almost passed out and did just have a moment of "ah well, guess this is the end goodbye cruel world o7"

🗣 - Social

imo one of the few states who prefers humans over other personifications, doesn't spend as much time at the statehouse because of it. Something something WV's population is declining and he worries sometimes that if he doesn't spend time with his people now one day there might be close to no one left and he'll regret not doing so.

🟣 - Romantic/Sexual/Shippy

The only WV ship I really have thoughts about are WV x NV, they give opposite personalities but trauma bonded. They've never been in a true exclusive relationship with each other, but more like "go on a camping/hiking trip *as friends* and oh no, the tent is smaller then I remember and its cold so we have to cuddle whatever will we do" and then spend the next couple months acting like they're dating before drifting apart again. rinse and repeat.

🐈 - Pets/Animals

obviously baby dog, but he's also got an old coonhound named April that has been old forever no one ever recalls this dog being a puppy, she just spawned on WV's front porch an old sleepy lady.

Also strikes me as the kinda guy to have like chickens and goats wandering around his property. The chickens more or less have free reign of the yard, the goats aren't supposed to but he's given up keeping them in the pen they'll find a way out regardless of what he does.

🗡 - Fighting

Has never won a fight in his life because he's too loud, thinks he's sneak attacking and he's NOT bud they can hear you coming from a mile away stop yapping 😭