#brick house with addition

[paintinghippos]

Charlotte Fiberboard Large country gray two-story concrete fiberboard and clapboard exterior home photo with a shingle roof

[dabblehq]

Exterior Dallas Hip roof on a large, two-story mid-century modern home with beige siding.

[ledaatomica]

Exterior Brick in DC Metro

Mid-sized contemporary brown two-story brick house exterior idea with a metal roof and a gray roof

[levitationmagazine]

Brick Exterior Seattle Inspiration for a large timeless brown one-story brick exterior home remodel with a hip roof

[east-coast-stars]

New York Traditional Garage Carport - mid-sized traditional attached one-car carport idea

[wearetekkenrp]

Brick Exterior in Seattle Inspiration for a large timeless two-story brick exterior home remodel with a hip roof

[megan-mayhem]

Living Room - Enclosed Ideas for remodeling a mid-sized modern enclosed living room with white walls and a wall-mounted tv. The flooring is gray.

[project3x5]

Porch Front Yard in Atlanta

[qfabraywrites]

Orange County Front Yard Porch

[swashbucklerswan]

Porch Backyard

[saeori]

Front Yard Brick Pavers (Sydney)

[shotgunhope]

Patio - Farmhouse Patio

[savageorchids]

Detroit Front Yard

[lynnuvo]

୨⎯ Long Gone Princess ⎯୧

Characters: Yan!Thief x (Y/N) reincarnated as Rapunzel A lot of you guys enjoyed the Cinderella version, so why not make a Rapunzel version? Very much considering making this a Yan!Fairytales Series.

Stowed Away

When you first awoke in your tower, you panicked for days. There was literally no way out, no matter how much you clawed at the bricks. It didn't take long to figure out where exactly you were. Who else would paint a mural of herself, seriously long-haired, gazing at floating lanterns?

Meeting Mother Gothel was the most anxiety-inducing thing you had to push through. You pitied the real Rapunzel for falling victim to her sugar-coated, poisonous words. As much as you internally cringed at them, it wouldn't serve you well to raise suspicion. After all, you have nowhere to go.

Whenever Mother Gothel was gone and you finished tidying up the tower, you emptied one of your chests full of female paraphernalia and stuffed some "safety equipment inside." Hopefully, Mother Gothel wouldn't notice a missing pair of scissors. Or a few darts.

Your now abnormally long hair was disturbing, to say the least. It was pretty, but now that you were living her life, you wandered how Rapunzel managed to put up with the hair strands scattered around the house, washing the heap of keratin proteins for hours in just ONE day, and sleep knowing there was at least some hair flowing to the floor. And let's be real: you were not going to spend most of your day braiding it just to remove your work whenever Mother Gothel came back.

Unfortunately, you couldn't afford to cut your hair--not just because it'd give Mother Gothel a heart attack but because it might help you. It did have magical healing powers. The only huge problem was that you were not skilled enough to maneuver your hair like Rapunzel. In addition, if you were to leave the tower, how would you return? Until you found the secret entrance amongst all the brick, you needed a backup plan.

One day, you gathered the courage to ask Mother Gothel for more fabric to sew a beautiful wedding dress, one that was colorful and very long. Of course, you left out the part where you wanted it to be long enough to reach the bottom of the tower (it'd be a lot of work, but what else were you going to do to escape?). She was skeptical about the idea behind the dress, but you reassured her that you just wanted something like those girls in the fairytale books you had in your room. After her lecture about the dangers of the world, she agreed to get you fabric.

My Savior

One morning, while you sowed your dress, you heard the sound of metal jabbing into something growing closer and closer. In a panic, you shut off your sewing machine and tied up as much as your hair as possible. There was no way you could capture Rapunzel's beloved thief the way she did. You vaguely prepared for what to do when he arrived, but you hadn't expected it to be that day!

At last, he fell into the tower and froze at the sight of you. He glanced behind him and turned back around, stepping away from the window with hands up. "Uh. I am so sorry for breaking into your home."

You pointed one of your scissors (used to cut fabric earlier) at him with a glare. "I'll forgive you if you hand me that bag you have."

"Listen, miss, I think we can sort this out without--"

"The bag or I'll throw you back down."

He gulped and reluctantly threw you the bag, begging you to please return it to him afterwards. The shock he had at your nonchalant expression while pulling out the most sparkly crown you've ever seen was laughable. In reality though, you were in awe. You quickly snapped out of it, though, and threw it behind you. You both cringed at the clanging it made as it hit the floor.

"I need you to listen to me," you started, gripping your scissors and your dress. "I need your help."

You didn't hesitate to cut to the chase. You explained that you were kidnapped by a woman claiming to be your mother and trapped in the tower by her. Although it may backfire on you later, you shared that you were reincarnated from another world. He was in disbelief until you told him his full name, his criminal history, the companions he had who would soon betray him, and the small cottage he visited along with many more criminals or outlaws. He challenged that you just did your research, but then you told him what crime he had just committed: stealing the missing princess's crown, which was--by the way--you.

After some back and forth, he agreed to help on the condition that you return the crown. You agreed to return it on the condition that he not only help you escape but also help you live in safety.

Together, you both clawed at the bricks on the wall until the secret backdoor was found. He helped you come up with a way to hide the new backdoor again whenever Mother Gothel returned.

You found a pattern in the earlier months leading up to then on Mother Gothel's pattern of visitation. She comes back every three or four days in early evening. If she didn't return by the time the sun disappeared, she wouldn't be back at all. That day was one of those days she wasn't going back. You suspected she wouldn't return for a while since she had just left the day before. Although hesitant at the idea of a new roommate, you demanded that Yan!Thief spend the night in the same room as you. He balked at what he thought was an implication, but he soon found himself sleeping on the floor (you dropped a blanket for him). How were you sure he wouldn't use the secret backdoor while you slept? You boobietrapped it before bed, making sure he stayed in the room so he wouldn't see under the threat of murder.

Steal His Heart

Your new routine was a scary turn but also surprisingly relieving. Yan!Thief would leave the tower in search of a new home for you (and him too) and would return in the afternoon only if a piece of purple fabric hung outside the window. Otherwise, it wasn't safe to come back.

Although your relationship started off rocky (who's to blame him with how violently you approached him?), you two soon warmed up to each other. He sometimes returned with small goods that you sometimes got a clear answer for how he retrieved. That chocolate he got for you both to try? He pickpocketed it. That ripe fruit that tasted like mildew spring? He dodged all of the questions.

Eventually, you gathered the courage to leave the tower with him. Your activities differed from there. Sometimes, you both ventured a little ways from the tower to discover the terrain and help find a new home. Sometimes, you both would spend the day walking around, learning more about each other and chatting away.

With no other companion, it came as no surprise to Yan!Thief that he developed romantic feelings for you. You didn't want to admit that you did too. At least, not until you both were in a safe place.

At last, Yan!Thief found an abandoned shelter. It was rusty, but it was closer to the kingdom than the tower but sheltered away like the tower. With a pounding heart, you gathered as much as you could from your tower into a backpack that Yan!Thief had brought over and left forever. In the shelter, you cut your hair, rendering it free from its power. Yan!Thief initially didn't want it to happen due to your great abilities, but one look at your determined face told him that you knew better.

The next couple weeks was spent in paranoia, you in fear of Mother Gothel and him in fear of guards. Luckily, you two went as far as making it into the kingdom without getting caught.

One day, you brought up the idea of revealing your identity to the king and queen while fidgeting with your crown. You reassured Yan!Thief that you'd vouch for his safety and freedom for as much as possible. It took a while for him to warm up to that, but you two finally made your way towards the castle.

Everything went surprisingly as planned. The kingdom rejoiced at the return of their princess, Yan!Thief was spared of a prison sentence and was even given a home and job as a prize for bringing you back, and the dead, rotten body of Mother Gothel was found not far from the shelter you and Yan!Thief had found.

Life was a fairytale.

MY Princess

Until it wasn't.

See, although you and Yan!Thief seemed to start opening a romantic chapter, that soon closed. With your newfound title came new responsibilities, friends, and much to his worries, a possible new love interest.

He tried his best to remain just a friend to you, but it was unbelievably hard. He couldn't believe that you were slowly forgetting him, your savior! Why must you abandon your knight in shining armor?!

He did feel guilty for not appreciating his new life more. Any other criminal would probably fight tooth and nail to be in his position, but he just wasn't happy if you weren't there with him.

Once his selfishness began to boil over, he devised a plan he wasn't sure if he was going to regret. He paid a visit to your room in the castle (you had given your dear best friend special permission) and chatted with you a bit. You apologized for being so distant as of late; royal duties had been keeping you at bay. He accepted your apology more readily than he had expected. It was hard not to with your bright smile and the cute way you pushed your hair behind your ears. He asked if you had time to visit the old tower for memories sake, and you happily agreed. The kingdom had yet to find the tower (you insisted to him that you wanted it kept secret in case you needed to run away again), so you simply told your guards you were heading out for a stroll.

Once at the tower, you two ventured inside and reveled at how dramatic your lives had changed. You even reminisced your life before being reincarnated. As the sun fell, you got up and suggested that you both should head back before it gets dark.

"Yan!Thief?" You peered at his gloomy expression. "Is everything okay?"

He nodded. got up, and hugged you. You let out a gasp before embracing him back. When he left go, you caught a tear slipped down his cheek. Your hands shot up to cup his face. "Yan!Thief?! What's wrong? I'm here. Did something happen?"

He sniffled and brushed a hand over your cheek. "I'm so sorry."

You were about to demand an explanation until you caught a glimmer shine from a blade in his other hand.

When you woke, you found your ankle chained to your bed--not your bed in the beautiful castle you were meant to be in but in the tower you had escaped from a year ago.

Yan!Thief came in the room and apologized with tears streaming down his face, exclaiming that you were just too irresistible to give to any other man or even the kingdom. He promised to take care of everything.

No matter how much you screamed, threw items in a fit of rage, or revealed that you only had romantic feelings for him all this time, he wouldn't budge. It was only until he bought a longer chain that he freed you from the bed. Your heart broke when you discovered he had discarded the wedding dress you had worked hard on and abandoned in the tower long ago, and even more so when you saw that he had built a new door in front of the original secret entrance.

You were back to square one, only this time with no way out and betrayed by the one person you truly trusted in this universe.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#376

“Hey Caleb.  You were in that bathroom for a while.  Big shit or were you giving it a tug?  Considering your swim trunks is showing no bulge whatsoever, I doubt you were enjoying your right hand.  Or do you use the left?  Me personally, I’m a lefty….

“Your dad and I were just talking by the pool.  I asked him how long he knew you were gay….  Oh I wish you could see the shocked look on your face.  So you haven’t told him.  He was shocked too.  He said you weren’t.  I told him that I’ve been around sperm burpers all my life and you were a classic pole rider.

“You haven’t said much.  Not one word of protest.  You are just trying to figure out what your next step is going to be.  Don’t worry, I love fucking with your dad.  He’s worked for me for ten years now.  He knows my sense of humor and just brush it off.  Besides he’s been drinking.  But I got enough out of him to convince me that you definitely gob the knob.

“You wanna swing on my dick, or not?  Here let me take it out for ya.  I can see by the lump forming in your shorts that you want it.  Am I right?...  Your dad likes to say that you are quiet and keep to yourself.  I can see that.  Just nod then.

“Ok, let’s do this then.  This guest room’s toilet serves as the overflow bathroom.  Someone will interrupt us.  Come with me.  My bedroom will offer us some more privacy.  Your dad already thinks you are off reading a book on your phone.  Nobody is going to miss me for a while….  It’s a large house.  When I bought it, I had an addition put on for my master suite….  When you enter my bedroom, lose the swim trunks.  Boys are to be naked at all times in my bedroom.

“Damn boy, you are rock hard.  So, were you jerking off or taking a dump in the toilet?...  Look, when it comes to sex, I cut to the point.  There’s no need to be coy.  I’m going to be fucking that pussy of yours, and I want to know if you are empty first.  Good.  Did you also give it a tug?...  Of course, you did. 

“Come here.  Point to the guy you were jerking off to….  You are at a construction company pool party where 80% of the men here work for me.  There are more muscles out there from hard work than a fag like you can take in.  Which one?...

“…Of course, you would go for Stan.  So you like big guys?  He’s six four and built like a brick shit house.  Have you talked to him?...  He can be a bit of an gruff asshole.  The guys call him Ox.  He has a dick to match.  Not the brightest guy, but damn he’s a hard worker and a brutal fucker.  Yeah, he’s tag teamed with me a couple of times.  He can fuck for hours.

“Come with me.  This closet door leads downstairs to my hidden playroom.  I had it specifically designed and loaded up for just about every kink my dick was interested in.  You’re what 20?  You probably don’t know about all these things.  I do know this: you are leaking up a storm. 

“Don’t touch yourself.  Let the leak flow.  Why don’t you have a look around?  I need to text a few of my guests to let them know that I had to step away for a bit.

“That’s a St. Andrew’s cross.  If you have an interest in being whipped, I’d be happy to oblige….  Didn’t think so. 

“Those are my four rim seats.  They are for eating ass.  Depending on my mood, they vary based on how secure the boy is underneath.  That last one secures the boy’s legs up so he can get fucked while he’s eating my shithole. 

“No. No.  Leave your dick alone.  I want you to leak….

“There.  All the appropriate texts have been sent.  Now, we’ll have some time to really have fun.  Come over there.  This is a fuck bench.  Simple.  Easy access both holes.  Climb up.  Knees go here; elbows here.

“Oh, you have a pretty cunt.  Nice….  Oh, you are not as tight as I thought you would be; my finger just slid in.  I take it you are not a virgin.  That’s fine.  I get it, a cunt needs to be fed.  You get fucked at college?...  Kinda figured. 

“Ever been tied up?...  No?  There’s always a first time. 

“Ok, so here’s the situation.  I’ve applied a small amount of lube to your cunt lips.  Your mouth, or rather your throat needs to put some slime on me.  I will probably go between your holes.

“I put a sludge plate under your dick to collect your pre-cum and when I eventually allow you, your cum.

“Open wide…. Oh fuck.  Your mouth feels good.  Oh shit, you know how to work your tongue.  You little faggot whore.  Oh man.  Fuck.

“I gotta try that cunt.  If it’s as good as your throat, boy…

“…Right to the root.  Right to the fucking root.  Wait.  What the fuck?...  Do that again….  Boy you are something.  I could just stand here, and you can squeeze my cock like that all day.  It feels like you are jerking me off with your hole.

“Where the fuck did you learn all this?  No twenty-year-old stumbles on how to treat a cock like you.  Who taught you?

“…Your math professor?  Damn, I never would have thought a math professor would have been so twisted. 

“Say faggot, you have a job?...  Living off your dad, hunh?  You probably go out looking for dick when he’s at work.  You fucking faggot whore.  How would you like to come work for me?  It’ll be in my main office.  It’s a tiny office, just me and my manager Dwight.  You’ll actually have office responsibilities in addition to servicing me and Dwight.  Yeah, he’s another guy that I work with that I play around with.  I employ four or five guys that also enjoy using faggots like you, although Dwight also uses bitches too.

“This is a serious offer.  Your dad doesn’t need to know anything other than you are working in my office.  I need to have these holes accessible.  You want to do that?...

“…Fuck yeah!  I’m getting close faggot.  Keep doing what you are doing.  Oh shit.  Oh shit!  Here it cums!  Shit yeah!

“You keep performing like this, and I’ll pay you what I do your dad.

“So, did the math professor teach you other kinks?…  Eating ass and piss drinking!  Hell yeah!  So you have been under a rim seat?...  No, he just sat on your face.  Did he tie you up, or get rough?...  He wanted to?  Boy, when a man wants to use you the way he wants you need to let him.

“Oh fuck, climb down.  And keep my load in you.  Here hop up on this fuck table.  I want to sample that tongue.  Legs go in the stirrups.  I will be securing your legs in them….  Wrists will be secure at your sides in these cuffs.

“You still in contact with the professor?...  Good.  I want to invite him over some weekend so we can use you all weekend long. 

“This table was designed for butt play as well as eating ass.  Your head goes here onto the head rest off the end.  I can lower the head rest and your head back so that opens your throat to a deep straight throat fuck, but I primarily use it by lifting it up like this to support your head when I straddle it like this.  Now your face is wedged in my ass, with me just standing here.  Get that tongue going.

“Oh fuck.  Fag, this will definitely be part of your office responsibilities.  Dwight will love it too.  As will Ox….

“Hey Ox….

“Faggot, I took the liberty of telling Ox to join us when I sent out those texts.

“Holy shit Ox, this is Murphy’s boy.  He’s a total cunt pig.  I just hired him to work for me in the main office.  Wait until you try his holes. 

“Shut up faggot!  This doesn’t concern you….  Get back to sticking your tongue into my shitter.

“He does this pulse thing with his cunt muscles.  You have to try it.  My load is still inside.

“Hey fagboy, you ever have a baseball bat in your cunt?...  No?...  Well it would have been practice for what’s about to be shoved into you.  You know that bulge you jerked off to is going in your twat.

“Scream in my ass.  Keep that tongue going in deep.  Oh fuck! 

“Look at how much he’s leaking.  Give it to him.  Hard.  He’s shaking.  Keep plowing….  Oh shit!  He’s fucking cumming.  Without his hands, that’s fucking amazing.

“Fag, I don’t care that you shot a huge load.  Ox takes a while to get going.  I’ll be right back.  Ron Owens needs to try you out. 

“Fag, while I’m gone, I want you to focus on the man you jerked off to—the man that is tearing up your cunt.  Here, let me undo your hands.  Run them over his chest.  Feel those muscles and that chest hair.

“Ox, don’t you dare cum before we get back.  Keep pile driving into him, and don’t let up, even if he begs.”

“Faggot, this is only the beginning….”

[pricegouge]

Get Her a Dog (She'll be Happier For It)

Part One | master list | MDNI

Soap x reader, Price x reader, eventual PriceSoap x reader

series cw: cheating. dubcon. angst. cuckholding. pet play.

chapter cw: angst, pining for someone who isn't your husband

reader is fem and fat

You know where it's going. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, get out of your house, scream and yell and pin everything on him - for always taking your husband away or for being an impossible standard to hold him to you don't even know.

It's raining in York again, the soft tatting upon the windows your only indication. It's evening, but you've still got the blinds pulled because you couldn't be arsed to draw them. In the apartment next door, a baby cries its head off and you sigh, turning up the volume on your b-movie romcom. It cries a lot.

You don't immediately reach for your phone when it buzzes against the coffee table because you can't think of any pressing reasons someone would be contacting you tonight, but it goes off twice more in as many minutes so you relent, unlocking it without really looking. Thumbing through to your messages, you find your husband's contact photo beaming back at you, top of the list. You pause, lip twitching slightly. Johnny's supposed to be halfway across the world, his phone inaccessible to him. It should be a good thing that he's texting you - returning from a mission early could go one of two ways, but if he was well enough to text then surely you should be excited for him. Except you're not, because you know what his message will read before you even open it.

Used to be, Johnny would stumble through the door after a deployment all battered and bruised, laughing when you yelped because you weren't expecting him - wandering the house in lazy day clothes because you thought he was supposed to be away another week. He always rushed home the second he could, never wasted enough time for so much as an 'I lived' text because he couldn't bear to be away from you one more unnecessary moment.

Used to be, you two missed each other when he was away.

>having the boys over for dinner

<you're back in town?

>got in yesterday yea

>can u make that pasta dish gaz likes? owe him my life

You sigh, torn between being more annoyed by Johnny's presumption, the fact he hadn't even let you know he was alive let alone at base, and the fact that you know you should be worried after a comment like that.

Mostly, you're just too tired.

The pasta dish Kyle likes involves heavy cream which you don't currently have. There's a small shop just two streets up and you'd hate to waste the gas so despite the weather, you grab an umbrella and some boots and head out, patting yourself down for the mandatory keys, wallet, phone check. It's dreary out. In addition to the rain, the season's coming to its long, slow end and bringing with it the cold sort of damp that soaks into everything, the whole world seemingly saturated with the miserable chill. Normally, this is your favorite kind of weather, but lately you've been too dreary yourself to properly enjoy it. So you amble along, unfocused. Unappreciative. Foggy. 

Identical brick houses line either side of the street, stretching out around the bends in either direction. The winding of the road lends a claustrophobic feel to the entire city, population density driving houses tall enough to obscure the movement of the sun throughout the day. 

It wasn't a bad place all told, but Johnny had chosen it for its proximity to base back when he was still just a young recruit and it had never really felt like your home. There'd been promises, back when the two of you were still engaged, ones you should've known better than to hold him to. Dreams of a house in the country, or talks of moving you out to Scotland. You hadn't been lying when you'd told him you didn't need any of that, but you'd never expected him to interpret that as you being content to live in the same dingy building the rest of your lives. It wasn't really your place to complain about it, though, given it was Johnny's income that paid the bills. You worked as well, though mostly just to keep yourself busy, as Johnny had insisted on your being a stay at home mom for the first few years of your babies' childhood. You weren't sure why you didn't find something more stimulating now, given how many years had come and gone without the man committing to the prospect of children. 

It used to hurt, the reneged aspirations. You've gotten used to it.

You're a regular at the shop by now, having lived in the same little apartment for the last five years. The owner greets you as you enter, the little bell above the door chiming as you close your umbrella, tapping it on the doorframe a few times to dislodge any excess droplets. 

"How are you now, Mr. Hudson?" you call, making a beeline for the kitchen staples. If there were still good things to be said about your marriage, at least you no longer cringed at convenience store pricing. 

"I'm well, yourself?" the old man croaks back politely. He's not doing well, actually, as his wife is wont to tell you anytime she's the one manning the counter, but you think it would be impolite to ask him how his prostate is out of the blue, so you don't call him on it.

Instead, you tell a lie all your own as you set your find in front of the register. "Can't complain."

"What's for dinner, then?" he asks, nodding at the carton.

"Smoked sausage alfredo." Not for the first time, you're grateful Gaz's favorite dish is consistent enough that you regularly have thawed sausage on hand. The last time Simon had saved your husband's skin in the field, Johnny had thought you'd be able to whip up a chicken dish in two hours and you'd had to run half across town for protein. 

"Mm," Mr. Hudon hums appreciatively. "Am I invited?"

"May as well be," you laugh, perhaps a little meanly given the poor man isn't in on the joke. You take mercy at his confused look. "My husband's inviting a few friends over. Wasn't expecting to cook for so many people." You weren't expecting to cook for anyone, actually, completely content to rot away with a bag of crisps but that's beside the point.

"Oh, yes… big man? With the… hair?"

"The very same," you grumble, taking your receipt.

"Haven't seen him in a while, how's he been?"

"Well, I gather he almost died recently, but I couldn't tell you much else. Haven't seen him either." The parting smile you give the old man feels rotten on your face. You bid him a good night and wave, scurrying out the door before he can properly respond. 

The sight of John standing on your stoop when you return startles you, although you should really be used to his early arrivals by now, as John tends not to linger in the company of his subordinates too long and often finds his own rides to and from base. He's also generally more eager to stop by than your husband is, though you can't think too long about that without feeling like you're going to walk off a pier. 

John greets you warmly as he always does, pulling you into a one armed hug as he kisses your cheek. With his free hand, he pulls your umbrella from your grasp, keeping you both under its protective circle as he straightens back up. 

You search your pockets for your keys, a good excuse to eye yourself over to be sure you hadn't accidentally worn something inappropriate out of the house. Like hosiery and a big graphic tee that said 'fuck me daddy' or something on it. John always brings out this paranoia in you, that same instinct that has people re-reading work emails to check for porn links four times before hitting send. But with him it's, 'Are you dressed? Is a dildo about to fall out of your shirt sleeve? Did you remember to put your wedding ring on?' 

You didn't.

"Hi John. Sorry to keep you waiting. I didn't realize anyone would be in so soon." 

"And here I thought I'd be the last to show for once," he counters, grabbing the cream from you and slipping it into the brown paper bag he carries on his hip. Something about his expression darkens minutely when he clarifies, "The boys left base a few hours ago. They still not in?"

Somehow, you don't find this as surprising as you maybe should. "No."

John hums, following after you obediently as you make your way to the lift. Normally, you try to get some exercise in by climbing the stairs, but you don't feel like huffing and puffing your way up with John in tow. Instead, the two of you pile into the small shaft where John does nothing to minimize the width of himself, standing directly by your side instead of slightly behind, squishing you between himself and the mirrored wall. You keep your eyes forward, glued to the metal doors. You can feel his eyes on you, shameless and assessing. Can even see his head turned toward you in the blurry reflection before you. He's always like this when he first gets home, as if he can ascertain how you've been spending the time without your husband's company just by staring a hole through your temple. 

Probably, he could.

John's an attentive man. Always has been. So it shouldn't surprise you when he huffs gently and pulls himself to his full height with an air of grim determination. He's gonna ask one of his questions again, you just know it - the kind that leaves you exposed, crawling back to your husband's familiar apathy with renewed appreciation. John draws a breath, you close your eyes, and then the lift dings, doors opening with a rush of air that rivals the relieved breath you take. You step out before John can motion you forward as is his custom, ducking through the door to prevent him saying a word.

Distraction comes with the general din of settling in. John tucks your umbrella away in the tiny entrance closet and brings his bag into the kitchen. You dip quietly back to your bedroom to make yourself more presentable, calling from the bedroom for him to make himself at home. It takes you no time at all to get ready, the casual dresses at the back of your closet all hanging clean and untouched. You check to make sure they've not gone musty before pulling one on and applying some basic makeup. Rotting on the couch hadn't called for mascara, but a houseful of men certainly did. 

You blink when you realize the implication of that, smudging the dark product all under your lower lashes. You only resist the urge to roll your eyes at yourself for fear of repeating the process under your brow.

John's in the kitchen when you emerge, sudsing up the dishes from your lunch to your horror. "John! You don't have to do that," you squawk, attempting to shoo him along with fluttering hands, as if he were an overgrown pigeon. 

Unflinching. "Of course I don't. Wanted to be helpful but I didn't know what you'd planned for dinner so I couldn't get started on that."

"You didn't have to do anything," you counter, still hoping that your defiant presence at his side would cow him away from the sink.

He just smiles at you, that overly cheeky one that crinkles his eyes charmingly. "Wanted to, love,"

Well, who are you to say no to that?

The two of you slip into companionable silence as you get to work, though you play it up when he completes his task, leaning his hip against the counter with that same intense expression from before. You're not ready for the question, whatever it is. Maybe never will be.

John seems to sense this, changing approach by making a show of unpacking his paper bag, setting the options he's brought for wine out in front of himself. He eyes the ingredients you've assembled carefully, and sets a white bottle aside for dinner before helping himself to the drawer where he knows you keep your corkscrew, popping open a bottle of red as he knows you prefer it. You collect glasses as he does so, watch him warily as he pours you a generous glass. Once he's served you both, he settles into  an island stool with an exaggerated air of relaxation.

When he starts, the question is blessedly easy, though you remain on high alert lest he pull some intelligence acquisition maneuver on you before you even see it coming. 

"Well, how's it been on the home front?"

You know where it's going. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, get out of your house, scream and yell and pin everything on him - for always taking your husband away or for being an impossible standard to hold him to you don't even know. Another part of you just wants to be seen. John's got his arms crossed in such a way to make him impossibly broad, imposing. There'd be no getting past him even if you wanted. 

The worst part is, you don't.

"All's well, John, thanks." A lie, despite knowing how you feel, how you want him to force you to talk, crack you open and pry your injuries from you with strong hands, get you back in working order. You both know it.

"You sure? Been looking a little blue of late." It's not judgemental. You remember the old tan line he used to sport on his finger - wide and pale on his weathered hand. It's long gone, a nicely healed wound. He doesn't even worry the space with his thumb anymore, a habit you'd picked up of late, as if the band itself burned. You wonder how long you'll try soothing it once the ring is gone and nearly bite through your tongue when you realize what you'd just thought.

A clatter at the door saves you from answering and you force a smile as you turn to greet Johnny. He roars through the door as is his custom, loud and singular and enigmatic enough to make you forget your qualms when he hoists you into his arms and peppers your face in kisses. "Oh, ah've missed ye, bonnie," he crows, only putting you down when Gaz insists it's his turn.

You're turned about between the two of them, a mess of 'missed you too's, and 'good to see you's, and 'come on in, can I get that for you?' Gaz kisses your cheek, tells you dinner smells lovely despite it barely being comprised of more than its base components yet and you grin at him, letting yourself be charmed through another boisterous night with the boys.

It's not until much later, as you're sending everyone packing with to go containers of extras and squeezing shoulders in parting that you notice your fingers gripped tight around John's bicep, finger conspicuously empty.

Next>>