#my body is still achy but i will manage!

[upperranktwo]

Good morning everyone ♡♡♡ feeling a little better today! My ear still hurts but I've managed with worse before! Hope all of you have a great week ♡♡♡

[orcelito]

Went to bed 3 hours early and still slept up to my alarm

At least I no longer feel like my body is made of wet tissue paper...?

[coryosbaby]

subby himbo!ethan?

He’s smart in school, but other than that the boy is actually incredibly dumb :((

It surprises you, really. He’s your precious little smart boy, but the moment he needs to fix your sink or another appliance in the house he’s incredibly clueless </3 and not just with that, with other tasks as well. Cooking, especially! The boy is so frustrated because he just can’t do anything right! But you make him feel better by giving him soft kisses on his face and telling him it’s okay.

Another thing is how dumb he is when it comes to following directions. The poor boy never keeps still when your hands are on him, just wants to be as close to his momma as possible. But when the moment arises that he disobeys your orders and starts whining, you teach him to shut up by using his mouth. He doesn’t get to cum, either; he may be a little stupid, but he knows what his punishments are. And the next day when he’s still all wet and achy from not getting his orgasm, he makes you cum over and over again and then gives you those pretty doe eyes. And who are you to resist? So when the time arises you lay him down on the bed and wrap yourself around him.

One thing you need to know about himbos, by the way, is that what they don’t make up for in the brain, they make up for in their pants! So whenever you pull out his hard cock and put your mouth to it, it’s just so thick and long. It’s hard for you to put your lips around it :(( but you manage. And when it fills you up it creates a large bulge in your tummy. Whenever Ethan looks down and sees it poking against you, he coats your insides with his cum and starts crying out for you to hold him closer to you :(( he’s just so needy, and you let him suck your tits while he still rests inside you, just so he can feel comforted. And every time, you’ll always whisper sweet words into his ear while his eyes become droopy and soft.

“There’s my good boy. I know, I know. You love mommy, don’t you? I love you too, baby. I love you so much.”

and then once he’s calmed down, he’ll slip out of you and pull himself against your nude body. he loves your warmth, and he always likes being the little spoon because it makes him feel protected and safe.

“I’m sorry I was being bad, mommy.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you don’t mean to be. You’re just an airhead sometimes, and that’s okay.”

[fieldsofwriting]

Shut up and let me help you!

Summary: Reader is sick, and March tries to help you out…but it does not go well.

Warnings: None!

It was truly just a cold. One that left you cooped up in bed all day shivering and sweating at the same time. Your nose was red and raw, stuffy and runny; it felt like your head would explode with all the pressure. Your limbs were achy and sore. All you wanted was to be in bed and sleeping it away. It was just a cold, but god you felt miserable.

Besides that? You were a farmer. You couldn’t stop watering your crops- lest you want to have no money for the next week. You couldn’t refuse to refill your chickens feed. The cows still needed to be milked. So despite the ache deep within your bones, you got up and got dressed. Making your way out of the farmhouse to water your crops, which felt like it too even longer than before due to your cold. Then you trudged over to your chickens, letting them outside and giving them all pets and feeding them. Same to the cows, adding the bonus step of milking them. When did that leave you breathless? You wanted to curl back up in bed, but you couldn’t. You needed more seeds. So, off to the general store you went.

What you were expecting though was to stand, only to get so light headed you nearly buckled under the weight of your body. But a pair of strong arms caught you just under your arms. “Jesus, Y/N you looks awful.” March’s voice rings out. His tone laced with disappointment. You frown a little, you thought you were past his disappointment voice.

When you finally got your footing back, you blinked slowly. “March…? What are you doing here?” You asked, your voice scratchy. Putting a hand on your throat you frowned- Great. Another symptom.

March’s frown deepens. “You were late. You always come up at lunch and eat with me. You weren’t there.” Your eyes widen, quickly looking at your phone to see it was well past noon. “If you’re sick, you shouldn’t be farming.” He continues, crossing his arms as he scans you over for anymore ailments.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You dismiss, only for it to turn into a coughing fit. March firmly patting your back to help you through it. “I’m fine.” You croak out.

“Bullshit.” He grumbles, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. Almost immediately you melt into the warmth of his skin, wanting to curl up in his arms and sleep it all away. He brings you inside and sets you on the bed. Kneeling down and helping to take off your shoes, “Can you get into your pajamas okay?”

You manage a nod. Getting up and quickly throwing them back on. March doesn’t let you protest before he drapes a blanket around your shoulders and gets you tucked into bed. “What needs to be done?” He asks softly, for him at least.

“I need to replant my seeds.” You sigh, “And then water those ones. I also need to clear an area for my orchard. And call in the chickens and cows tonight.” You tell him, trying to sit up to protest him helping. But his gently pushes you down.

“Don’t insult me. I can chop wood and break rocks. And how hard could be planting seeds be? I’ve got this, you just rest.” He tells you, his voice is surprisingly gentle but still stern as he speaks. He tucks you back in, pressing a kiss to your head before he frowns. He’d have to stop Valen and see if she knew how to get your fever down.

After a few more minutes of him assuring you that your farm would survive him. He was off, going up. and getting the seeds from Nora. Who was surprised nonetheless.

“March? Buying…seeds?” She asks with a raised eyebrow as she looks at the piles he’d place on the counter. He followed your list to a tee. Every single seed accounted for.

He looks away, scoffing a little. “Yeah. Y/N’s sick. They’ve got a cold.” He grumbles out. “Idiot was trying to farm.”

Nora gasps, “Oh no! Here.” She leaves the counter for a second before she comes back and sets down a bottle of cold medicine and honey. “Put some of the medicine on a spoon, add a couple drops of honey. It should help.”

March blinks at the kindness, but nodded and gathered everything up after paying. “Thanks Nora.” He nods before stepping out, he looks over at the Inn. Frowning, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. He walked into the Inn to be greeted by Hemlock.

“March! Hey I was wondering when you’d stop in.” He grins.

“I don’t have time to talk.” March says quickly,

“Y/N’s sick…is there anyway I can take some soup to go?”

Hemlocks eyes widen, “For sure. Hang tight for a second.” He says as he rushes off. March waits impatiently, tapping his foot. He was loosing daylight quick and he still needed to do so much…is this why you were always running around? Fuck. He’d have to help you out more often so you didn’t work yourself sick.

Hemlock returns with a large container of soup. “Here, it’s on us for all they do.” He nods, “Tell her to get better.” March blinks again, shocked by the kindness on display. This whole town really did love you, huh.

March nods in thanks and makes his way back to the farm. Dropping the seeds outside your fenced in crops, and carefully bringing in the soup and medicine. But he stops for a second, you’re sleeping so peacefully. He couldn’t wake you and ask you anything… He sighed heavily. Putting everything away inside and moving to your side to feel if your fever has subsided.

It didn’t. And he frowned. Layering another blanket over you in hopes it would make you sweat it out.

Moving outside, he sighed. It was already almost evening. But he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. Grabbing the hoe he gave you, starting to till the soil like he’s seen you do a hundred times. It was harder than he gave you credit for. Not that he’d ever tell you. But once it was done, albeit sloppily. He got down and started to scatter the seeds. Did he need to…plant them more? Was that a thing? He remembers Celine once saying to use your pinky…no way you did that to every seed…

But he does it. Kneeling down and painstakingly pressing each one in. Only to hear a laugh, his head snaps up to see you standing in the doorway. Blanket wrapped around you, “Are you pressing all the seeds in?”

He goes red. “N-no!” He lies. Like a liar. “What are you doing up! You’re sick get back in bed!” He commands, standing and brushing his hands on his apron. Trying to shoo you back inside. You’re laughter filling the air again.

“I just woke up, you worry wart.” You smile at your boyfriend. “You still need to water them. I usually do that and then sprinkle the dirt on.”

He blinks, that. made so much more sense than what he was doing. “There’s a method to my madness.” He frowns, still ushering you back to bed. “Go lay down.”

You roll your eyes, “Thank you March.” You grin.

He scoffs, but there’s a slight blush. And then he goes outside, grabbing your watering can- why was it so old?! Did you not upgrade?! He lets out a frustrated sigh. You were getting an all new set of tools when he was done here. You got scrapped up in the mines, all the time. You have him ore- you little shit. You gave him all your copper so he would like you-?!

He is so gonna- a low moo catches his attention. He’s looking over at your Cow now who is staring at him. “…what?”

“Mooooooo.”

“…Mooo?” He says back confused. He quickly finishes watering your crops before leaning on the fence to look at the cow. “What.”

“Moooooo.”

He blinks, fuck. Trying to figure out what a cow wants is going to be hard. “Uh, okay.” He hops over the fence and looks around. “Here, food.” He says walking into the barn and offering a hand of feed. But the cow just huffs. “What? you eat out of Y/N’s hand all the time.” He huffs more when the cow fully turns and ignores him. “You fuckin-“ He grumbles. “Well if you’re gonna be an asshole go inside.” He moves to ring the bell but the cows merely just look at him. He points, “Inside. Go.” He tries to usher them in.

The cows do not move. March groans, “You stupid-“ He’s interrupted by the bell ringing again. His head whips around and sees you ringing it. “Y/N!” He frowns, “What part of fucking relax do you not understand?”

“You were struggling.” You shrugs, “Besides I ate some soup. I feel better now.” You smile and nod at him.

March squints, picking you up just under your bottom. Carrying you like nothing over to the chicken coop and letting you ring the bell as the run in. Then he once again deposits you into bed. “You need better equipment, and I swear to god if you run around like a madman because you’re busy out here I’m gonna personally come farm with you.”

You laugh, “Got it. I’ll go to the mines-“

“No. Shut up I still have all that fuckin ore you gave me. You’re getting new shit. Now lay down.” He gently pushes you back into bed. “Sleep. Be better I don’t wanna farm in the morning.”

You feel a smirk. “Too much work for you?”

“…Shut up.” You let out a loud laugh, pulling him down into bed with you as you snuggle in.

“Thank you March.” You smile kissing his cheek. He sighs, his cheeks flushing as he wraps an arm around you.

“…don’t mention it.”

A/N: I know it wasn’t exactly chaotic but I still hope you enjoyed it!

[imshymorph]

So, even more soft!Price thoughts cause i wasn’t joking when i said he lives rent free in my mind. Specifically, it's more bedrest!Price.

You’ve been with him long enough to know that all the grunts and eye rolls are just a facade. Long enough to know what the soft looks he gives you in between mean. To notice the way his shoulders and jaw relax the moment you walk into the room.

And you know exactly what it means when he grunts and scratches his cheek, right where his beard is overgrown, and looks at you from the corner of his eye before going back to reading. You still find it amusing to pretend you don’t, mentally counting how many times he sighs and grunts as he gives you the side eye. Eventually you relent, lowering your own book to look at him.

“Hm, beard looks overgrown and itchy.” you comment causally, playing into his game.

You see, there’s times where he’ll just come to you, arm wrapping around your waist and head resting against yours as he murmurs something along the lines of “need your help with my beard, love.” But that’s when it’s on his terms, when he feels like being pampered and needs the grounding feeling that your soft and gentle touches provide.

It’s different when he’s on bed rest. When the bruising and stitches on his torso and side make every movement achy and painful. Now he doesn’t dare ask for it. It’s dumb, really. He knows you’d be more than happy to help him and he’d do this and more if the roles were reversed. But you already do so much, help him with pretty much any other thing he has to do.

And it feels wrong, because he should be the one taking care and pampering you. Filling the tub with warm water and those lavender salts that help you relax after a busy day. He should be the one scrubbing and massaging your body and scalp. It should be him bringing you breakfast to bed as he pulls you into his side and helps you get through it. He can’t ask more of you.

So when he just grumbles “it’s starting to be annoying, yes.” while still looking at his book (but absolutely not having turned the page for the last twenty minutes at least) you just play along.

“Should do something about it, then.” you say as your hand reaches for the bookmark resting on the coffee table, marking your page and leaving your book before going towards the bathroom.

“Don’t you dare come here until I come over to help you!” you call back from the bathroom. and his eyes widen a bit as he grabs his book again, his body relaxing back against the couch cushions after he had started to scoot forward to get up in the least painful way he could manage. (How did you even know, he was being so quiet).

That’s how you end up sitting on the bathroom counter, one of his hands on your hip and the other on your thigh as he stands between your legs. You carefully shave the overgrown patches, making sure to not reach too far into the already shaped mutton chops. Even more careful to not nick his skin. Small frown between your brows as you work in full concentration, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he notices the small wrinkle it creates.

When the brittle hair is properly shaped and his face rinsed from the foamy cream, you dry it with a towel before massaging the beard oil he always uses into his skin.

A pleased and proud smile forming on your lips after giving your work one last look. “there, all trimmed and handsome.”

Your smile only widens when his hand moves from resting on your thigh to cupping your cheek pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Thank you, love. Really needed that.” he says, lips brushing yours with every word before he gives you another kiss.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

The Words Hung Above But Never Would Form

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: let's see fingering, handjobs, riding, marking/Loki with a pain kink- unprotected sex (wrap it or don’t tap it) I think that's it idk

Genre: smut, fluff

Summary: You thought you and Loki wouldn't be more than a casual thing, but there's a reason they say never say never

I couldn't Utter my love when it counted // Ah but I'm singing like a bird to ya now ~ Shrike by Hozier

***

Your relationship with Loki isn't complicated. You call and he comes and- then you cum, all night, usually. It's a simple arrangement, because Loki's incredible in bed, and it's easier than anything you would've asked for from him. You'll admit there was a time you wanted more, but- never mind, there's no need to dwell on that. What you have now is good. It works. The knock on your door comes at exactly 9 o'clock p.m. It's funny, Loki's commitment to punctuality, even for something as low stakes as breaking your back a few times a week. You smile to yourself as you cross your apartment to open the door.

"Hello darling." Loki smirks, his eyes gliding over you.

"Hi Loki, how've you been?" You ask stepping aside to let him into your apartment.

"Busy. I don't know why I thought joining those ridiculous Avengers would be tolerable." Loki rolls his eyes as he drops onto your couch.

"Because it was that or being an intergalactic war criminal?" You remind him, climbing into his lap.

"I'm starting to think I'd be better off never being allowed to return to Midgard." He scoffs and you giggle.

"Oh relax, they can't be that bad, you guys save the world or whatever." You run your fingers through his hair and shower him with quick kisses against his lips.

"You can say that, you've never had to work with them." He mutters between your kisses.

"You're such a baby." You laugh.

"Shut up." He frowns.

"I will if you kiss me." You smirk.

"You-" Loki stops himself as if he didn't quite process your request right away. His hand comes around the back of your neck and he pulls you down for a proper kiss. You moan and Loki uses the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips. He explores your mouth as he always does, the feeling so familiar yet still as thrilling as the first. It doesn't take long for his mouth to part from yours, traveling down your throat. He nips and sucks at the exposed skin as nimble fingers undo the buttons on your shirt. One of Loki's hands settles against your back as he lowers his head to take an achy nipple between his lips—your back arches against his mouth as he teases the bud with his tongue and teeth. You hardly realize your hips grinding against him until he growls lowly at the friction. Loki's other hand slides across your waist to dip beneath your shorts. Two digits plunge into your already dripping center and his thumb lightly strokes your clit, reveling in the breathy moans coming from you at his hands. He toys with your body like an instrument he's played all his life, a smirk plastered on his face as you grind against his fingers desperately. Quickly, frantically, you undo his pants, pulling his erection out and stroking him.

Loki momentarily loses his rhythm when you touch him and you take advantage of the moment's reprieve to shimmy out of your shorts. It's a bit awkward to do with his dick in your hand admittedly but you manage- although Loki makes it no easier, staring at you as he sucks his fingers clean of your juices. Distracting man. Freed from the barrier of clothing between you, you line him up with your entrance and sink down with a satisfied hum while Loki tosses his head back with a groan. You ride him eagerly, relishing in the drag of him against your walls, the feel of his hands squeezing your hips, the quiet cacophony of grunts and moans leaving his lips. You pull his shirt over his head exposing his pale, sculpted chest to your gaze, but more importantly your hands. He never says anything about it but you know for a fact Loki always cums harder when you mark his skin with evidence of your little trysts. You drag your nails along his body, harsh enough to see the red trails left in your wake, and hear the way Loki's breathing changes at the action. 

Loki, just as in tune with your body as you are with his, watches for the moment signs of an impending orgasm start to reveal themselves before his hand slips between you two, fingers finding your clit again. Your hips stutter for a moment at the stimulation but you only ride him harder as he rubs your bundle of nerves. Loki can feel the moment you tighten against him and with his free hand, he takes over rocking your hips against his as the waves of your orgasm make it impossible to keep pace. He allows you to ride it out before he flips you on your back rutting into you, chasing his own orgasm. When his muscles tense up and his grip on your hips tightens you drag your nails down his back, the groan he releases deep and long as he spills into you. You bask in the afters of your orgasms for several minutes before eventually, you tap his shoulder needing to get up.

"Well this has been fun, as always." You say stretching as he sits up.

"Kicking me out already darling?" He smirks.

"No, you're welcome to hang around but I have to shower." You shrug standing.

"Shall I join you?"

"If you do that I'll need a shower from the shower." You kiss him quickly.

"Seems fine to me."

"Of course it does." You roll your eyes. "Oh I have a date on Saturday so I'll have to let you know if you're still coming over that night." You tell him while you remember.

"A date?" He blinks at you.

"Yes, a date."

"With who?"

"Just a guy I met at a coffee shop." You shrug.

"You never mentioned a guy at a coffee shop." Loki tries to keep his tone light though he's not sure how successful he is.

"I'm mentioning him now. No biggie. Anyway, if you're sticking around I made stir fry- help yourself."

"I'd love to but I actually have something to do at the tower so I have to head back but enjoy your evening, have fun on your date, and maybe see you Saturday." Loki is quick to tug his shirt back over his head and tuck himself into his pants.

"Alright have a good-" Loki's out the door before you can finish your sentence, "night?" You frown to yourself for a moment but don't let yourself dwell on it. He said he had something to do, maybe it was important. No need to assume anything more.

The next few days you're pretty giddy thinking about your date on Saturday with the cute guy from the coffee shop. By the time Saturday rolls around and you're meeting up with Marcus you've barely managed to get your excitement under control. The date is as fun as you could've hoped, you go to a  jazz bar and spend the night giggling over drinks and food while lovely music acts as a soundtrack for your evening. You're even humming to yourself as you walk home from how much you enjoyed the evening.

Back in your apartment you take a shower and get ready for bed with a smile still on your face. Marcus has already suggested going on another date and you're not exactly against the idea of seeing him again. 

It's the next morning, when you're making breakfast that the calm before the storm ends. Your back is turned so you don't notice Loki appear in your apartment until he speaks.

"You know normally I wouldn't care if you left me hanging- but seeing as you went out with a stranger it would've been nice to know if you were alive." Loki's voice makes you jump and almost throw your spatula.

"Christ- Loki we've talked about that. Don't appear in my apartment without warning!" You scold him with an eye roll.

"You're avoiding the subject."

"I'm not. I just don't appreciate being jump scared in my own apartment. Especially not at 11 am on a Sunday. But on the subject, I didn't realize you worried so much about me, I'd have shot you a text when I came in." You shrug.

"Y/n." Loki sighs.

"Is something the matter Loki? Avengers getting under your skin again?" You chuckle.

"What?"

"You seem grumbly this morning. Something get to you before you came here?" You ask.

"I'm not grumbly. You're just- excited. What's with that anyway?"

"Dude- you poofed in here talking about the reason I'm excited. What?"

"All this over some guy?" Loki scoffs.

"He's a very sweet guy thank you very much." You stick your tongue out.

"Oh please." He rolls his eyes.

"If you're just going to be a downer Loki go back to the tower, you're not about to ruin my good mood."

"I'm not being a downer, I'm simply here to remind you not to be impressed by little shit. Him having manners shouldn't make you this giddy." He says.

"I didn't say anything about manners. And besides what would you know? it's not like you're trying to impress me." You let out a half laugh as you speak. Loki pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing as he looks at you.

"Is that what you want from me?"

"No? I mean- that's not what I was implying." You say.

"What are you implying?"

"That you don't have a leg to stand on in the dating conversation, it's not exactly your area of expertise." You shrug.

"I guarantee anything that coffee shop boy did on your little date I can do a hundred times better." Loki scoffs.

"Yeah right." You roll your eyes.

"I'm a god y/n, don't tell me you think I'm at all as mediocre as your mortal men in any capacity."

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah there's a lot you don't say it seems." He crosses his arms.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You frown at him.

"You may not admit it but you're comparing me to your coffee shop boy. It's a battle he'll lose in the end but I'm sure you'll hold out as long as you can."

"Loki we fuck a couple times a week. There's really no reason to compare you two. You're categorized differently." You shrug.

"Categorized differently?" He quirks an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah. He wants to date me. You- don't. So, no need to think about you versus each other."

"You have no- You don't even know this guy."

"You are very much missing the point." You shake your head.

"You are the one missing the point."

"Oh am I? And what point might that be Loki?" You smirk, leaning against your counter with your arms crossed.

"Gods you are so stubborn." Loki huffs out crossing your apartment. Loki's hand cups the side of your face and kisses you fiercely. It's like second nature to you, the way you react immediately, matching him each moment. When he pulls away he doesn't step back, still so close you can feel his breath against your lips.

"You're- a strange being Loki." You say softly.

"It's you that makes me this way."

"I haven't done anything." You say with a slight shake of your head.

"You've gone on a date." He says.

"Well yeah but that has nothing to do with-"

"Y/n." He cuts you off.

"Loki." You say back.

"I love you."

"You what?" You blink at him, so shocked you lean back to look at him better.

"I love you." He says again.

"When did that- what?"

"I love you."

"No, I don't think you do." You shake your head.

"I do. Y/n I do and I may not have said it before but I'm saying it now. Please don't tell me it's too late." His eyes search yours, for what you're not sure.

"Too late?" You frown.

"Your coffee shop guy. I can't lose you to him."

"I don't understand- how long have you felt this way?" You ask.

"Too long."

"Then why not say anything before today?"

"I couldn't, I couldn't when it counted, but I'm saying it now. And I'm hoping I haven't waited too long because- I cannot imagine staying on this dreadful planet without being able to see you, to hold you, to call you mine- like a shrike to your glorious thorn, I cannot survive without you."

"That's rather poetic of you to say." You say carefully.

"It's true."

"I- your timing is- what am I going to do with you?" You shake your head.

"You said dating is 'not my area of expertise', allow me to show you how very false that is."

"Are you asking me on a date Loki?" You smile.

"I'd like to ask for more than that but we can begin there, sure."

"I'm not opposed." You say.

"Very well, enjoy your breakfast. I'll be back this evening to take you out." Loki finally steps back, a cheeky smile on his face.

"Where are we going?" You ask.

"That will be a surprise."

"Well, what should I wear?"

"Whatever you like. You'll look amazing in anything." Loki smirks.

"That's not enough infor-" before you can finish Loki disappears in a flourish of green sparkles. "-mation." You say to the empty air. "Nice. Guess I'll wing it." You mutter to yourself. You can't even manage to be fake mad at him for more than a moment, the possibilities for your upcoming night out filling you with delight as you make breakfast. So, maybe you do want more from him, since that's a possibility now.

***

[binniesbooks]

hi fayebae(again), clearly our convo from insta got to my head, once again feeding ur soobin delulu(that's what I'm here for) bf!soobin x reader! (soobin and reader is dating and are living together)

it was mayb a few days before your cycle, which meant that you were hornier than usual. you waited for soobin to get home from work until you fell asleep. let's say your horny thoughts were really apparent as while you were having wet dreams, your moans were also happening in real time. and that's what soobin came back to. you moaning his name, asking him to fuck you deeper.

soobin couldn't hold back his thoughts either, and ended up joining you in bed. he starts leaving kisses along your prominent jawline, which he loved so much, until he reached your mouth, giving you soft pecks to wake you up from your slumber.

you were shocked when you realized that everything happening in your dream was happening to you in real time.

"wanna tell me what you were dreaming of? i heard you moaning my name and I want in on it." soobin said

(you alr know!! SMUT SMUT SMUT LETS GO hehe i hope it awakes smth in you gahh <33) enjoy~

• ENGAGEMENT RING

SB 000 .F23 2024

wc 2.9k

pairings officeworkerbf!Soobin x ovulatingfem!reader

warnings slight fingering, edging, marking, breeding kink, cum play, mention of marriage (+ anything I've missed)

faye's note this would be special for my fellow moas who has sharp features like me. (I think this fic would come out a little bit biased than the others, please don't roast me 😖 I have a prominent jawline, and she's just feeding my delusions these past few weeks 😭😂) I just had to do it. Nevertheless, I hope you still enjoy this one, please just disregard the personalized features 😖😖😖)

"Bin, seriously! My back hurts so damn much," you groaned as you tried massaging your back for the nth time today.

Your body has been aching for a while now as your cycle was nearing. And there were no other symptoms to check, other than your aching lower back and a pounding headache.

Soobin was panicking, again. He doesn't know what to do first. Should he check on the food that he was cooking, answer the ringing phone, or attend to your needs?

You chuckled as you watched him pace around, not knowing what to do.

"Turn off the stove first, loverboy. Then answer the phone." You were now sprawled out on the couch. You tried your best to stretch, straighten, and relax your back. It just felt like you were being torn into two.

"Yes, I sent it already. All right. Let's check it tomorrow." Soobin was speaking to someone on the phone. Maybe his manager?

"Is something wrong?" you asked when he hangs up.

Soobin hums, sitting down on the couch in the free space just above your head.

"I think my manager misplaced, no, probably deleted the file I sent him," he said, gently stroking your hair.

You moved up a bit, making his thigh a makeshift pillow as you nuzzled your face against his abdomen.

"You're gonna go out early tomorrow then?" Your voice muffled with his shirt as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Looks like it," he sighs. "Lay on your stomach, I'll give you a massage," he adds.

"Dun' wanna," you pout, burying your face more in his abdomen.

"Come on, little bun," he coos, still running his fingers through your hair.

You eventually gave up. Especially since you were feeling so sore and achy in your lower back. Soobin gave you a massage just enough to ease the pain in your back. Not too much pressure, not too little.

After eating dinner and watching him do the dishes—he doesn't want you to do it, of course—you trudged your way to the bathroom. You wanted a warm bath. And a warm bath should be shared by two, right?

"Soobin," you warned. Soobin was planting wet kisses on your shoulder as you two were soaked in the water. The tub is overflowing as you two move.

"Yes, little bun," he answered innocently as he grinned.

"I wanted to relax," you said, rolling your eyes as you leaned on his chest, your head resting on his shoulder.

"Relax then. I know you're cycle is near, I just want you closer to me," Soobin muttered under his breath as he wrapped his arms around you. Your eyes were closed, relaxed from the steam coming from your warm bath, until you felt a wet, cold, slimy thing touch your skin.

"Hmm, Soob..." Your voice came out soft and whiny.

Soobin continued kissing and licking your shoulder. His kisses became open-mouthed as they traveled up to your neck.

"Fuck, Bin h-hah..." you squirmed, clutching his hand that was wrapped around you, tilting your head sideways to give more access to your neck.

"Ahh!" You yelped as you felt him sucking on your skin. His tongue is dancing across the red mark on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Bin, please..." He knows you want more. He could feel it. Five years of dating isn't nothing, he totally knows you now. What you want and what you don't.

Soobin pulled away, rubbing the mark with his finger. "Let's go and dry up, we might end up catching a cold," he announced.

"Soobin!" You screamed when he got out of the tub and grabbed the towels. He was silently smiling to himself. He got you all worked up, only leaving you wanting more.

After slipping on your pajamas, you quickly buried yourself in bed. Creating a huge distance between the two of you, pouting at what he just did.

Soobin stretched his hand out to reach your waist, trying to pull you closer. You swat his hand and place your pillows between the two of you. "Don't get any closer, I hate you," you pouted. Soobin only chuckled at you. He didn't move, and you fell into a deep slumber.

You woke up with a warm feeling on your cheeks. You snuggled closer to what you thought was your pillow, but weren't pillows supposed to be soft? They are in no way hard at all. You couldn't remember a time when you had a hard and warm pillow.

You opened your eyes to meet a shirtless man—your boyfriend. You were snuggled close to him, with his arm acting as your pillow. But his arm wasn't on your waist, it was just laying on his own waist.

"Hey Mr. Bunny, didn't I tell you not to get close to me?" You gently poked his chest, causing him to groan as he woke up.

"Hmm?" Soobin hums, clueless as to what was happening.

"I said, I told you not to get close to me, and you're even shirtless," you nagged.

"Excuse me, Miss Ma'am, you were the one who snuggled close to me, in this hot season at that." He yawns, his voice deep, hoarse, and sleepy.

"Why would I do that?" You questioned, still angry about last night.

"You don't believe me, don't you?" he chuckled, "Check the CCTV."

Your eyes flew towards the CCTV on the corner ceiling, flashing a small red light, almost invisible to bare eyes. You clicked your tongue, you know that CCTV footage could stand as big evidence.

"I hate you, Bin," you muttered, burying your face in his neck as you ran your hands along his fairly toned chest and abs before wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Mhm, I love you too, little bun," he said, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

"What do you want for breakfast?" You asked, still feeling his body warmth radiating off of him.

"Little bun, I want some morning sex," he whispered, gently stroking your hair.

"Don't joke around like that. You're not the one to want those types of things." You pinched his waist as he chuckled, wincing from your pinch.

"You need to get up now, you're going out, right? I'll cook something for breakfast real quick." You sat down on the edge of your bed, fixing your hair. Soobin only sprawled his whole body on the bed. "Wake me up when breakfast is ready, I still want to sleep." His lips were pouty as he uttered his plea.

You gently tapped Soobin's shoulder to wake him up. "Bin. Wake up now, you're gonna be late," you whispered. Soobin grunts and only stirs for a bit before continuing to sleep.

"Loverboy, wake up now." You dipped your head down, kissing his shoulder.

Soobin's eyes flutter with your warm lips touching his fair skin. He smiles to himself, realizing you're giving him shoulder kisses.

Soobin turns, pulling you in for a kiss and a tight hug. Getting up to start preparing for the day.

"I'll get going now, little bun. Take care of yourself, 'mkay? I love you, sweetie," Soobin kissed the tip of your nose before closing the front door. You heard the car engine switch up and the faint sound as he drove away.

You plopped down on the couch, watching your favorite show, when your doorbell rang.

It's not Soobin, you're sure. He never rings the doorbell.

You peeked outside from the window, and you saw a delivery guy standing in front of your house. You open the door slightly, keeping the chain lock intact, just to be sure. You don't want your boyfriend to come home and find you dead.

"Ma'am there's delivery for Mr.... Choi Soobin?" The delivery guy reads the package. It was a small box. "Please sign here as you receive the package," he added.

You thanked the delivery guy and watched him stride away before locking your door.

You sat on the couch once again, turning off the TV as you searched for a cutter or a pair of scissors in the drawer just beside your couch.

You carefully cut the package. It's not yours, but Soobin never questioned you, even when you kept opening his packages. At least he knows it's safe.

You opened the small box, and a shiny little piece of jewelry was neatly sitting inside the box. Your initials and his surname were written in small letters, on a pendant.

You smiled, chuckling to yourself as you wore the necklace and took a picture of yourself. Your jawline was prominent as you looked sideways, taking multiple shots to send him.

Loverboy <3

You: I just received a package, loverboy. I love you :* [5 image attached]

Loverboy: Oh, I even forgot that. That's supposed to be my gift to you, but it was shipped so late. It looks pretty on you, little bun. You're so pretty. I love you so much :)

You felt so excited wearing the necklace, however, your shared apartment always felt empty whenever Soobin was out. It was boring. It was plain. It was just a building whenever he was out—a complete contrast to a home whenever he was with you inside.

After you've completed the chores you were supposed to do, eating your late lunch, and sneaking in an ice cream, the food coma kicks in.

You felt so sleepy, so you headed inside your room. "I'm just gonna take a small nap and wait for him," you muttered, scrolling through your phone to shake off your sleepiness.

You stopped scrolling when you saw a video in your gallery—it was Soobin, and it was a mirror shot. He's shirtless, only wearing his work slacks, and you were on his lap, his dress shirt only draped over your shoulder.

And you were reminded once again about last night. How he kept on fueling your heat only to leave you unsatisfied.

Your ovulation wasn't helping either. Feeling a lot more horny than usual. Especially with your boyfriend being as hot as freshly made bread.

You're body felt on fire as you clicked the video, he was moaning as you kept grinding above him. You played it so many times that it even served as a lullaby to you, slowly lulling you to sleep.

You didn't know how long you were asleep. It was only supposed to be an afternoon nap, but you haven't woken up yet. You didn't even notice the sound of the engine turning off in your garage. Nor the click of the key on the front door. And even the opening of the door to your bedroom.

Soobin watched your sweaty figure sleeping on the bed. Your brows are creasing, your fingers are twitching, and you are clutching the sheets. Small whines and soft whimpers are coming out of your mouth.

His eyes caught the phone warning for a low battery. Soobin swiped on the phone, almost throwing it back to the bed with how hot the phone was. The short video is on replay.

"Soobin..." His head snaps towards your figure as he watches you squirm.

"B-bin... More. N-need you..." You were whimpering. Soobin felt his tiredness suddenly melt away as he felt his cock twitch underneath his pants.

"Please... Deeper ohh, fuck..." Your moans were so soft that they made his stomach twist. You sounded so subby.

Soobin sat beside your sleeping figure, gently caressing your cheeks. Carefully putting away your hair strands, that were stuck against your sweaty forehead.

"Mmmph!" Your head turns to the side, as you rub your thighs together.

Soobin couldn't hold it any longer either. He dipped his head down, kissing your exposed and prominent jawline.

This was only one of the things he really loved about you. Your unique features. Your sharp facial feature completely contrasted with your soft heart.

Your breathy moans made the hair on his nape stand up, it felt too arousing for him. Especially how your lips were being caught between your teeth as you kept on clutching on the sheets.

Quickly slipping out of his buttoned shirt, he bends down once again, gently grabbing both of your wrists to pin them above your head as he continues to kiss your jawline. Soobin left pretty marks on the junction of your neck and shoulder, making him more worked up as your moans got more high-pitched.

His lips move back to your jawline, and he pulls back a little to hover above you, giving you small pecks on your lips as he slowly grinds above you. His hard and throbbing cock felt choked inside his pants.

Your eyes flutter open, grunting at the heavy feeling. Your eyes are meeting his pretty ones.

"Wanna... Wanna tell me what're you dreaming about, little bun? Hm?" Soobin asked, staring down at you, brushing his tongue over his red lips.

"You keep on moaning my name, it's making me feel aroused, you know," he grunts, bucking his hips.

"B-bin?" Your eyes widened, realizing this was not a dream. The real deal was already in front of you, no, above you, rather.

"Yes, pretty. The owner of the name you k-kept on moaning, hah..." His hips started rolling again as his eyes caught the dainty chain wrapped around your neck. "You look beautiful, it suits you," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

"Please," you whined, feeling his hardness pressing on you.

"You don't have to beg this time, I'll gladly give it to you." Soobin pressed on your wrists above your head with only a single hand, while the other travels down your body, feeling your curves.

"My beautiful lady." You bit your lower lip as you looked at him in the eye, doe eyes pleading for more intimate skin contact.

"L-let's get married, soon. I n-need you to carry my babies," he stutters as blush crept on his cheeks.

You nodded, wanting to be with him forever and build a family together.

"Are you on the pill?" he asked, unzipping his pants with a single hand.

"N-no," you whispered. "There's a condom in the draw--"

"Can we do it raw? Fuck, please." His hand is now pulling your pajama shorts away. "Please, baby. Let's do it raw, please," he begs.

You felt the swirl of butterflies in your stomach. You haven't seen this side of Soobin yet. It feels new yet excitingly familiar. Being with Soobin, he had always practiced safe sex. Begging you to take the pill every time and always check to see if there's still a condom left.

"O-okay loverboy. Let's have it your way." You smiled at him, nodding.

Soobin lets go of your wrists, making you wrap one hand around his nape and the other on his back.

"You can be as wild as you want, bun."

Soobin slides in slowly, making you feel raw for the first time. It felt so different. You could feel every vein and curve of his cock. His warm shaft felt hot inside your wet cunt. Your head thrown back to the pillow as he pushes, reeling in the new feeling.

"H-hah! Fuck, S-soobin!" You let out a wanton moan.

"Mhhmp!" he buried his face in your neck as he thrust slowly, loving the new and raw feeling too.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, as you pulled him impossibly closer to you as your other hand clawed on his back.

"Hell..." Soobin winces at the pain from your nails clawing against his back. Maybe it was just him, but they felt sharper against his skin. Multiple long red marks are now visible on his back.

His thrusts were painstakingly slow. He was obviously living in the moment.

His lips and tongue wander on your skin once again. Leaving wet kisses and hickeys along your shoulder and chin. One of his hands sits under your head, holding you still. The other carefully massaging your mound.

"Lil bun... Baby..." he whispers, his pace slowly getting a bit faster.

Your answers turned out to be moans, whines, whimpers, and groans. You couldn't form coherent words.

"Will," he pauses, giving you one harsh thrust. "Will you marry me?"

You were lucky you could even let out a chuckle after receiving a harsh thrust.

"W-will you marry me, y/n?" He asked once again, his thrusts became harder and faster.

"Fuck, ahh! Y-yes!" You held his arm tight, jaw clenching at his fast pace.

"Mmmph! Ahh.." he tried muffling his moans by keeping his mouth closed and just letting out breathy moans.

"B-bin, I'm c-close..." You whined, your hands flying towards your mouth to cover it.

"Be loud," he commands, prying both of your hands away from your mouth.

One more harsh thrust pushed you to the edge, cumming and creaming on his cock, as a wanton moan of pleasure and overstimulation washed over you.

The hot and sloppy feeling made Soobin reach his own orgasm, spurting inside your walls.

He sweeps his hair back, still thrusting inside you from time to time, making sure you'll carry his babies.

Soobin pulls out, some of your mixed essences spilling through your hole. Soobin swipes a glob of it.

He then grabbed one of your hands, swiping the glob of cum on your ring finger in a circular manner.

"I'll ask again, will you marry me?" he chuckled.

"You're really dirty, Choi Soobin, but yes," you answered, smiling ear to ear, still catching your breath.

"Let's see who's the dirty one," he taunts as he swipes his finger once again on your seeping hole, making you suck on his digits.

"My pretty and dirty wife," he smirked as you looked at him with eyes full of lust. Deliciously sucking every drop from his fingers.

@binniesbooks 2024

[whoskimii]

plsplspls baby im in some serious need for some toji fluff like cuddling after a looong day… i need this man so bad😔

𖹭 WON'T YOU SNUGGLE ?! - TOJI FUSHIGURO

★ cuddlin' after a long day ft. toji fushiguro!

with a weary sigh, toji let himself fall on the squeaky couch. his muscles, which were becoming atrophied over time, were achy. lately, he'd been noticing that every time he came back home in the evening, he was in need of a massage.

and of course, you were more than willing to help your man.

sure, he wasn't old. he was only in his mid-thirties but he has had younger days. he still had the spirits but he'd never refuse being pampered by you, his cute little woman. he stretched his arms over his head before standing up with a small groan.

he made his way to the kitchen before opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. with the fresh beer in hand, he returned to the living room and lit up a cigarette. he sat back on the couch and opened the drink effortlessly. before taking a first sip, he exhaled a thick cloud of grey smoke and watched it with tired but keen eyes.

"toji." the simple sound of your sweet voice was enough for his tense body to relax. you stood behind the couch and placed your hands on his broad shoulders as you began massaging them. the muscles felt firm and strong beneath your delicate hands. without turning around, he lifted his beer towards your direction. the sight made you smile. "you know i don't drink, silly," you reminded him. he shrugged and placed the beverage on his lap before lifting his cigarette towards you. "you know i don't smoke either."

he scoffed lightly. "yeah. maybe you should." his words made you frown. "mhm ? and why is that ?" you asked curiously. "you really need an explanation, dollie ?" when you didn't respond, he continued. "alright, then. 's because you're always so tense." you giggled. "aw, yeah ? coming from you, huh ?" you pinched his tense shoulders, earning a hiss from him. "hey, wha' was tha' for ?" you only smiled and leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "maybe 's for getting on my nerves, old man."

he rolled his eyes but he couldn't deny the pang of amusement he felt. "yeah ? 's for gettin' on your nerves, mhm ?" he echoed. "maybe i'm older than you but you're definitely more uptight than me, sweet thing." he teased. "hey ! 's not 'cause i don't drink that i'm uptight." you remarked with pouty lips. "you don't drink 'n you don't smoke either." you nodded. "yep. there are other ways to have fun without getting wasted, oldie."

he stood up and made his way around the couch to face you. he towered over you, placing his massive hand on your waist. "careful, lil' one. you don't wanna mess with this oldie." he said sarcastically. "aw, yeah...?" you placed your hands on his chest before planting a quick kiss on his scar. "yeah." he confirmed.

his lips found yours. "would really like to do all the nasty shits i've been thinkin' about all day but i'm too tired." he mumbled against your lips. they tasted sweet. like always. "let's cuddle instead."

your hand grabbed his bigger one. you led him to the bedroom before shutting the door once you both stepped into the cozy space. toji laid down and rested his head against the headboard, waiting for you to join him. when you finally did, he wrapped his big, strong arms around your soft body and held you close. he buried his nose in your velvety hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. "you always smell so damn good." he remarked in a whisper.

after that, he tucked his head in your neck, subconsciously drawing lazy patterns on your tummy at the same time. you snuggled into his side and closed your pretty eyes. you felt peaceful. toji always managed to make you feel safe. given the man, it wasn't difficult to feel at ease around him when you found yourself on his good side. "y'know i care 'bout you, mhm ?" he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by your skin. "i always do. always will."

his words made you smile. he was seen as such a cruel, heartless man, but with you ? it was another story. "now that i'm thinkin' about it, 's funny that a lil' woman like you can make me feel... that way." you hummed. "that way ?" you tilted your head. "you make me feel fuzzy inside." he instantly lifted his head and grabbed your chin, although with a tender grip. "but if you ever tell anybody i said that—" you giggled. "i know ! i know. i won't. they wouldn't even believe me, anyway." he grunted. "no. they wouldn't."

you made the toji fushiguro feel fuzzy inside.

for my sweet baby @megvmijx <3

[godsfavdarling]

My guardian angel

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader words: 790 summary: You get sick but thankfully, your boyfriend, Spencer is there to take care of you! warnings: none! a/n: This was a request for a male!reader, but when I finished, the gender wasn't really specified anywhere, so I changed it to gn!reader. I hope that's okay <3

The BAU had been called out on a particularly challenging case, one that had taken you and the team to the outskirts of a small, remote town. The days were long and grueling, filled with interviews, searches, and endless paperwork. Throughout it all, you had been feeling off—more tired than usual, slightly achy, but you pushed through, not wanting to let the team down.

By the time the case wrapped up, you could barely keep your eyes open. Spencer noticed immediately. As the jet landed back in Quantico, he took your hand, his eyes filled with concern. "You don't look well," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "Let me take you home."

You tried to protest, insisting that you were fine, but a sudden wave of dizziness hit you, and Spencer had to catch you before you fell. That was the last thing you remembered before everything went black.

When you woke up, you were in Spencer's bed. The room was dimly lit, and you felt disoriented. Your body was drenched in sweat, and every muscle ached. You tried to sit up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Hey, hey, easy there," Spencer's soothing voice filled the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at you with worry etched on his face. "You're burning up. Just rest."

"Spence?" you mumbled, your voice hoarse. "What happened?"

"You fainted," he explained, brushing a cool cloth over your forehead. "You have a high fever. I'm taking care of you."

You tried to protest, but the fever had made you too weak to argue.

Spencer gently held out a glass of water and the medication, his eyes full of concern. "You need to take these, okay?" he said softly. "They'll help bring your fever down and make you feel better."

"Everything's spinning," you muttered, feeling the world tilt around you. "Like... like a carousel."

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes filled with sympathy. "I know. Just try to rest. I'll be right here."

For the next few hours, Spencer stayed by your side, never leaving you for more than a few minutes at a time. He read aloud from one of your favorite books, his voice a calming presence in the midst of your feverish haze.

At one point, you reached out and grasped his hand, holding it tightly. "Don't leave," you whispered, your eyes glassy with fever.

"I'm not going anywhere," Spencer assured you, squeezing your hand gently. "I'm right here."

As the night wore on, the fever slowly began to break. Your breathing steadied, and you drifted into a more restful sleep. Spencer stayed awake, watching over you, relieved to see the worst of it passing.

When you woke up again, the sun was just starting to rise. Your fever had significantly reduced, and you felt more coherent, though still weak. You turned to Spencer with a tired smile. "Thanks for taking care of me, Spence. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Spencer leaned in and kissed your forehead. "You don't have to thank me. I'd do anything for you." He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes filled with love and relief. "Just promise me you'll take it easy for a while, okay? No more running around getting sick on cases. And you tell me next time you’re not feeling well."

You chuckled softly, nodding. "I promise. As long as you promise to always be my guardian angel."

Spencer smiled, his heart full. "Deal."

Over the next few days, Spencer continued to take care of you, ensuring you were comfortable and had everything you needed. He brought you meals, kept you hydrated, and even managed to make you laugh with his quirky sense of humor.

One evening, as you were starting to feel more like yourself, you looked over at Spencer, who was sitting next to you, reading a book. "You know," you said, "I've always known you were smart and caring, but.. the way you take care of me… I love you."

Spencer looked up from his book, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I love you too. I'm just glad I could help. You mean the world to me, and seeing you like that... it was hard."

You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Spencer leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "You don't have to thank me. Just promise me you'll always let me take care of you when you need it."

"Promise," you whispered, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the fever.

[httpsleclerc]

Drabble request! Oscar x I'm going to take care of you now❤️

Thanks, I love your writing xx

my favourite Aussie boy!!!!

You groaned quietly as you heard the front door open, knowing that Oscar was gone and you hadn't cleaned up your shared apartment like you promised you would. You don't know what had come over you and how you had gotten so sick so quickly, but the day after Oscar left for the weekends race, you felt terrible - achy and sluggish, your body feeling heavy any time you tried to move from your spot on the couch.

"Y/N, love, I'm home," He called out to you quietly, noting that from the fact that the living room was only illuminated by the highlights of the race playing on the TV, that there was a high probability you weren't feeling well. You were always ready to meet him at the door, and any time you weren't had alarm bells ringing in his head.

He frowned slightly as he noticed you on the couch, bundled up in yours and his blanket, wearing one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweatpants yet still managing to look like you were freezing. Littered around you were various strips of painkillers, congestion relief tablets, tissue boxes - You well and truly looked pitiful.

"Hey," Your raspy voice greeted him as he crouched down in front of you, giving you a comforting smile as he pushed stray strands of hair away from your face. "'m sorry that the place is a mess, I was going to clean it but I feel so...terrible." You explained to him, worrying that he would be angry at you for not doing one simple thing such as cleaning your apartment.

"Don't worry about it love, we can do it when you're feeling better," Oscar assured you, still giving you that damn smile, the smile that even though you felt like your chest was being crushed in a vice, you felt was lifting your down mood - God, you loved him. "Now, let's get the TV off, and you into bed." He turned a lamp on and the TV off, helping you sit up without having to shed any of the layers of blankets that you had piled onto yourself to try and keep yourself warm.

"Wouldn't it be better if I slept in the spare room? I don't want you get you sick, Osc," You said sheepishly, as if it were your own fault you had gotten sick. He chuckled quietly at your concern for him and smiled, picking you up and holding you in his arms to carry you to your shared bedroom.

"I don't care about getting sick, I just care about making sure that you get better, love," He said, unwrapping your layers of blankets as he placed you in your side of the bed you shared, getting you tucked in to try and retain some of the heat you had managed to get in you. You decided it wasn't worth fighting your boyfriend about this, if he wanted to look after a sick you, then that was his decision and it wasn't one that you were going to disagree with.

"I'm going to take care of you now, okay? I love you."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)

love ur works, hal ❤

A Good Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV

A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it. 

Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details. 

Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost. 

A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch. 

The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter. 

Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow. 

Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace. 

His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better. 

It had been a long few months. 

Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days. 

Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.

There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth. 

Hell, he really must be tired. 

“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough. 

A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home. 

He was just Simon to you.

Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks. 

Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.

As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before. 

“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face. 

Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.

How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly? 

Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful. 

But he was a stiff man; a stoic one. 

He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.” 

Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow. 

Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech. 

“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?” 

You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office. 

There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer. 

All of it is uneventful. 

He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three. 

One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.  

Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.

Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.” 

The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top. 

‘Save for Simon.’ 

The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?

He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly. 

With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet. 

The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine. 

“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen. 

Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.

“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”  

Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.

“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.” 

“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.” 

Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home. 

He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”

She’s warm.

His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily. 

“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second. 

“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.” 

A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper. 

By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points. 

Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.

Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened. 

The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.

—

When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.

This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.

“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?” 

The lie comes easily.

“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression. 

“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…” 

He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception. 

Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two. 

It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it. 

“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision. 

“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?” 

“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?” 

“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”

You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe? 

Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul. 

You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.

The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away. 

Coated in fear and lies.

Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up. 

You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt. 

Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life. 

With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.

TAGS:

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[1d1195]

Right Here Extra I

You can read the original story here: Right Here

This is just going to be a collection of little moments between them based on this ask from a sweet anon 💕 Hope you like it

~2.2k words

Warnings: vomiting, sick, nausea, etc. Otherwise it's going to be fluff, fluff, fluff.

“Cause you’re perfect, lovie.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Perfect for me,” he shrugged so casually. As if he said it to anyone that was worried about their self-worth.

As if he hadn’t just thawed the last bit of ice that was in her body.

It was her annual physical. She was sure. The cacophony of sniffles that were in the doctor’s waiting room made her feel sick before any of the germs had a moment to really incubate in her system. She wished she had a mask in her purse, or they had offered/mandated it in the waiting room.

Because now she was laying in front of her toilet. A towel that was balled into a pillow and the cold tile her only relief from the flu symptoms that plagued her. She wasn’t sure she called out from work. She thought she did, but if she managed to actually call her boss in between vomiting she would have been genuinely surprised. But she hadn’t had the strength to lift herself off the floor in hours. Only long enough to heave into the toilet before falling back asleep.

It pained her to say it, because she would have died if Harry was to see her this way, but she longed for him. The way he would take care of her, the way he would dote on her. She could imagine his voice so clearly it was like he was actually rubbing her back soothingly.

“S’okay, lovie,” he whispered in her ear. “M’here. M’right here,” the figment of her imagination felt so real, his fingers cool on her clammy, damp skin. “Poor baby,” he murmured. She moaned softly, her stomach clenching and cramping even though there was long since anything to expel from her stomach.

The figment was nice. Like an imaginary oasis that she saw on TV shows when she was little. It let her drift to sleep.

After she managed to throw up again.

*

The tile was warm and soft now. The air smelled of eucalyptus and menthol. She groaned quietly. The pain in her stomach had stopped completely. In fact, she swore she was feeling hungry. Carefully she got out of bed taking slow steps because she felt weak and exhausted. There was no concept of time that she had spent while asleep.

She opened the fridge to get her water pitcher. “Kitten?” Harry’s voice asked, startling her so badly she dropped the pitched cracking and spilling it on the floor.

“Harry!” Her socks started to get wet. He grabbed her by the waist as gently as he could, mindful she wasn’t feeling well and didn't want to upset her stomach anymore than it already was. He lifted her as if she weighed as much as penny and settled her gently on the counter. “What are you doing here?” She grumbled feeling self-conscious. Her hair was off her face, pulled into a twist to the side of her head.

“Y’didn’t come t’work,” he bent to the floor with paper towels cleaning up the water.

“I have the flu or a stomach bug.”

“I know."

Her head was still pretty achy—maybe the hunger was doing her in but regardless Harry’s laissez-faire attitude about him being there was not helping. “What do you mean ‘you know’?”

“Y’didn’t come t’work,” he repeated. “I called you ‘bout ten times t’make sure you were okay,” he explained. “I was so worried, lovie. Then I saw y’on the floor—”

Her stomach rolled again—this time with uneasiness and embarrassment. “No you didn’t,” she whispered and covered her face. Harry didn’t understand her reaction. He tossed the paper towels in the trash and put the broken pitcher in the sink.

“S’matter, beautiful?”

“You saw me?” She croaked.

“Well—”

“Oh my God,” she groaned.

“Lovie, y’had me worried half t’death,” he repeated. “Why are you—”

“I am so disgusting and I can’t imagine—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he rolled his eyes and put his hands on her thighs. “Y’were sick. Nonetheless y’were still beautiful. Even sprawled on the bathroom floor...not that it even matters, lovie... I wish y’called me. I would have been over sooner,” he frowned.

Part of her believed him. That figment wasn’t her imagination after all. Harry really did come and take care of her and dote on her. Even though she didn’t call him, he still showed up. Her heart felt all kinds of confused because she was so embarrassed. Her hair was a wreck, and she was almost certain she smelled faintly of vomit. It was not a good day. “I thought I dreamt that you were here,” she mumbled.

“Yeah? S’that a good thing?” His smile had a smug quality to it. Like he was glad she missed him even if he was a bit distraught with worry over her.

She nodded. “I think I look terrible, but... I... I wanted you to take care of me,” she admitted. “That’s really hard for me to say out loud,” she added. But she didn’t need to. Harry already knew that.

“I know,” he assured her and cupped her face. His hand felt cool compared to her still damp skin. “Y’don’t look terrible. Y’look so much better than y’did when I found y’on the floor. Scared me half t’death,” he repeated, skimming the back of his hand along her face. He pouted ever so slightly. “Wish y’texted me, lovie. I was worried something happened t’you.”

“I didn’t want you to get sick,” she frowned. “You’re probably going to now,” she reminded him.

“No... I went to the company flu shot clinic like a good employee,” he joked.

She rolled her eyes. “Some of us had a budget meeting that paid for you to get that flu shot.”

“You’re mean when you’re sick,” he chuckled. Sighing, she pressed her face to the front of his shoulder.

“I smell like throw up, don’t I?” She mumbled.

He nodded against her. “S’okay. S’important part of the relationship.”

“To smell like throw up around you and look like I laid on the bathroom floor for a day?”

“In sickness and in health, lovie,” he shrugged. Her heart skipped a beat. Did he know how intense that sounded? Did he care that he was giving her a slight arrhythmia? That was a vow for people who got married and lived the rest of their lives together. They’d only been together a handful of months. He couldn’t possibly love her that much already. “Go shower, m’gonna make y’some soup.”

He paid no mind to her silent, internal spinning. She felt overwhelmed with love for him. It made her stomach ache all over again. A flutter that made her wonder if she had a stomach bug at all or if it was just the feeling of love for Harry with no place else to go.

As soon as she felt well enough to stand on her own for longer than ten minutes, she was going to kiss Harry until he couldn’t breathe and make him feel like he had the flu.

*

Harry thought if it was any colder her toes were going to fall off. The fireplace was on the maximum, full heat. He wondered why on earth she decided to walk to his apartment. “It was a ten-minute walk, Harry,” she rolled her eyes.

“I would have come get you, lovie,” he grumbled. Her stubbornness would never cease to amaze him. Her tenacity was one of his most favorite qualities she possessed. But the softness she allowed—like when he cared for her while she wasn’t feeling well—or right now, when her body was warming under the blankets, was when he swore he knew everything about her. Everything. It didn’t matter than she kept things from him. Little things or big. In the soft moments he knew her. When her guard went down he knew every inch of her. Every fiber of her.

He adored her.

“That would have been unnecessary.”

“It’s freezing outside, lovie. Y’could’ve gotten frostbite.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want my car to get stuck here. This made more sense.”

Harry frowned and came out to her in the living room. Leaving the cookies on the sheet on top of the pre-heating oven. “Y’don’t want t’be stuck here?” He sat beside her freezing figure even though she was snuggled under three blankets. Harry made sure her face didn’t get accidentally covered and that she had movement of her arms as well.

“No, I want to be stuck here. I don’t want my car to be stuck here.”

His frown morphed into a grin. He tucked his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Feeling for if she tensed because he pressed to close to her or not. “I hope we’re trapped for days,” he murmured.

She smiled and turned her face to his and stole a kiss swiftly and sweetly. As cold as her lips were, Harry thought there was nothing on earth as warm as her kisses. His whole body reacted to the gesture. Part of him thought he was frostbitten—the way his fingers and toes tingled. All she did was brush her lips on his and it felt like heaven. Better than heaven.

“I love you,” she whispered. He stopped, pulled away and looked at her for several seconds. Harry willed his mouth to move but he couldn’t. The shock was so great. The feeling and excitement so immense he was speechless. “Oh,” she pulled her arms from the blankets. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I was—” she cleared her throat, completely embarrassed. Of course he didn’t love her. She was insane. She hated him for the better part of two decades. Why would that suddenly be fixed with a proclamation of love? “Please...just forget I said that,” she stood and paced away from him nerves plaguing her and now being trapped here seemed like a horrific idea.

“Whoa, lovie...stop,” he finally stood up and grabbed her hand. She refused to look at him. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “S’jus’... y’caught me off guard,” he admitted with a shy smile.

“Well, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

He frowned. “Why’s that?”

“You obviously realized that me hating you for twenty years was not what you wanted in a relationship,” she looked at her fingers. “A claustrophobic baby is not what you want in a girlfriend and you definitely—”

“You didn’t hate me,” he smiled mischievously. Like it was a secret that only he knew. Maybe he did. Because there was no way she hated him all that time if she was suddenly in love with him now. Right?

“I guess not, but you obviously don’t feel the same way,” she refused to make eye contact with him and which made Harry unbelievably happy despite the fact she was so uneasy. As much as he hated to make her uncomfortable, something like this: an innocently mocking moment and still very sweet was one of his favorite past times. Like all the whispers he created at work.

“Kitten,” he chuckled. “I can’t believe y’said it before me,” his smile was so sweet. The kind of smile that made her chest hurt. The one that made her fall so hard for him—especially while they were away on business together. “I love you to pieces, beautiful,” he promised. “I jus’ never thought y’would say it before me,” he cupped her cheek and kissed her softly on the lips. All of her muscles relaxed, making Harry smile. “Y’thought I didn’t love you?”

“I don’t know why you would,” she murmured.

Her body was still chilled from the wintry air and he wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off and make her warm in front of the fire in the most primal way. But she felt so perfect in his arms. It was indescribable. He didn’t want to move. He considered quitting his job and quitting her job on her behalf just so he never had to leave that spot.

She loved him. She said she loved him. “Cause you’re perfect, lovie.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Perfect for me,” he shrugged so casually. As if he said it to anyone that was worried about their self-worth.

As if he hadn’t just thawed the last bit of ice that was in her body.

Harry always sensed that she held back just the tiniest bit since they started dating, officially. It was the reason she was so obstinate with him. Never letting him fluster her at work in front of their colleagues, why she refused to move in (although he supposed asking her to move in on the first day of their real relationship was too much), and how there was always the littlest moment of hesitation whenever he complimented her—like she didn’t fully believe it.

All of that melted as much as the iciness of the outside air melted from her in his apartment. He watched the hesitation disappear in her eyes and he swore her body released the tension she had wound around her. Over twenty years of tension finally released from her muscles. Harry was surprised she didn’t collapse. “You really love me?” She whispered.

He nodded. “Course, lovie,” he smiled and kissed her forehead, melting her further. "Always have."

--

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[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic - Cox

Words: 934

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Remus burrowed beneath the blanket and winced as pain shot through his hip. He could just about hear his laptop, hopefully, he’d be able to nap and somehow wake up magically cured. He huffed out a dry laugh at the thought. Yeah, and then the winning lottery ticket would float into his room through the open window, and he’d finally find someone to publish his book, and Sirius would confess his undying love.

Sure.

When he awoke there was a steaming cup of tea and a bottle of water next to him, with his pillbox beside it. He tipped the pills into his mouth, downed the water and tried to stay awake long enough for the tea to cool, but didn’t quite manage it. When he next woke up, the tea was cold, and Disney Plus had the nerve to ask him if he was still watching. What else would he be doing?

As he sat up slowly, his bedroom door inched open and Sirius poked his head inside.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He said, and Remus swore his cheeks flushed slightly. “Would you like more tea?” Remus nodded, and Sirius came in and grabbed his mug before retreating to the kitchen. When he returned, Remus was half propped up on his mountain of pillows. “You don’t look comfy.”

“I’m not comfy.”

“Can you sit up?” He asked, setting down the tea. Remus sat up reluctantly and Sirius leaned over him to fluff up the pillows and rearrange them. Remus tried his best not to lean in to better inhale the scent of Sirius’ lavender conditioner. “There you go.”

He leaned back and found himself much better supported. “Thank you.” He smiled weakly, “And thanks for the tea and the pills.”

“No problem.” Sirius perched on the edge of his bed. “Is there anything else you need? Food? Chocolate? Company?”

Remus mulled this over for a moment. “Chocolate and company sound good, as long as you don’t mind watching Scrubs.”

“Sounds good to me, Moons.” Sirius patted him on the arm as he stood to go and get the secret chocolate that Remus kept behind the juice in the fridge.

Once they got settled and Sirius got up to press play and then got resettled, Remus felt calmer. Yes his joints ached and his bones felt like lead, but if his body had to feel like this, it was much nicer to be spending the time with Sirius, in his bed, with chocolate, listening to Dr Cox rant.

He used to shut people out when he got flare-ups. He’d felt like he was a burden and he didn’t want to bother people with his issues. James, Lily and Sirius had held a mini intervention, complete with a hysterical PowerPoint presentation about why they wanted to help him on bad days, and good days too, apparently.

“If we were in Scrubs, you’d be Dr Cox,” Sirius said after a while.

“You and James would be JD and Turk.” He replied, “Would that make Lily, Carla?”

They both laughed, Remus, clutching at his ribs. Sirius frowned.

“Don’t laugh if it hurts!”

“Don’t say funny shit to me then!” He shot back with a grin. “It’s fine, it’s nothing compared to the rest of it. I can cope with achy ribs.”

“What hurts?” Sirius turned so he was on his side, facing Remus.

“Hips and knees mostly. Also, my left wrist keeps doing a weird tingle.” He shrugged, angling himself towards Sirius, but not quite rolling over, for the sake of his hips. Sirius was still frowning at him. “Hey, it’ll pass.” He reached out and touched Sirius’ arm. “I’ll be fine in a day or two. Maybe even tomorrow.”

“You slept through two cups of tea earlier,” Sirius said quietly. “That’s concerning.”

“I take sleep whenever I can get it when my body hurts like this. It’s good, it helps me recover.” He looked at Sirius’ face, “Are you worried?” He nodded, “What about?”

“Just… you.” He mumbled, “I just wish there was something I could do to actually help.”

“You don’t think bringing me tea, pills and chocolate and then curling up in bed with me to watch 2000s sitcoms counts as actually helping?” He squeezed Sirius’ arm gently and paused as Sirius’ eyes flicked down to where his hand was resting. “Pads, you’re such a massive help. I appreciate you so much.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one reassuring you?” Sirius huffed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I know it’s frustrating, or concerning, or whatever.” He traced his thumb over Sirius’ forearm. “But it is what it is. Unless you’ve become a wildly rich and determined doctor overnight, you’re doing everything you can.”

Sirius nodded eventually. “Thanks. Sorry for making your illness about me.”

“It’s a nice change from it being about me.” Remus smiled over at him, “I really do appreciate you.”

“I love you.” Sirius’ eyes were wide as he realised what he’d said. “I mean— I—” He sighed, “No, I mean, I love you.”

Remus stared at him before a grin broke across his features, “Yeah?” Sirius nodded, looking anywhere but Remus’ face. “I love you too.”

Sirius’ eyes were on his and the intensity in them made his stomach somersault. “You do?”

“Uh, yeah.” Remus moved his hand up to the side of Sirius’ neck and ran his thumb along Sirius’ jaw. “Two things though. One. If you want to kiss me, you’ll have to come over here, I love you but I love my hips more. And two. Could you check the window for me? I’m expecting a lottery ticket anytime now.”

[rotrightthrough]

Together part 1

Emma and her sister Kate had been practically attached at the hip since infancy, inseparable sisters who insisted on doing everything together. And that meant everything. They dated at the same time, graduated at the same time and were even married on the same day, holding a gorgeous joint wedding. It was both of their dreams- well mostly Kate’s but who was Emma to upset her sister?- to complete every big milestone together. Which was probably why Kate was so irate to find her sister had gotten pregnant before her.

“You promised!” She had screeched. “You promised we would get pregnant at the same time.” Kate turned her head around from her sister, cheeks flared. Truth be told the two had started trying at the same time, the only issue was that it was taking a bit longer for Kate and her husband to hit the jackpot. Emma had rubbed her sister’s back and placated her the best she could.

“It’s ok, we’ll experience all the major stuff together.”

Kates face had screwed up in displeasure. “No we won’t, you’ll give birth before me, then your baby and mine won’t share a birthday.”

Emma had mumbled at that, mentally raking over the situation. Kate was right, she would probably give birth before her. But it would probably not take Kate much longer to get pregnant so.. “then I’ll wait. I’ll make sure we give birth together, I’ll make sure that our babies share a birthday.”

Kate had sniffled, eyes batting in the way a child’s might when asking for a toy. “You mean it?”

Emma had only smiled a nodded. “Of course, we’ve done everything together up until now, right?”

“And you’re alright doing my birth plan?”

Emma had no idea what that entailed but seeing as she and her sister were so similar she knew it had to be something relatively mundane. Besides, what was the use in upsetting her sister further?

So Emma had settled on a pleasant smile and nodded. “Of course, whatever you’d like to do.”

Emma mostly forgot about her promise as the months passed, Kate finally managing to conceive a full month later than her. Even so the twins did everything together, as they always had. Baby clothes shopping, ultrasounds, everything. The biggest issue was Kates attitude. She was always a temperamental person but pregnancy made behavior worse tenfold, as she began constantly demanding things from everyone around her, including Emma, despite the fact Emma was farther along than her. Still, Emma attempted to be compassionate as best she could. This was her sister after all.

Emma eventually made it to full term and beyond that, with the belly to prove it. The mass of her stomach sat heavy on her pelvis, drooping lower each day. Every task had become an impossible one, with her walk turning into more of a waddle whenever she seldom attempted the near Herculean task that walking had become.

One sunny day in June Emma began to feel twinges in her lower back, an achy pain radiating across her entire body. It seared through her like the heat of a griddle, a pain so intense she had never felt anything like it before.

“Ooo hoo..” she moaned, arching her back as she began to feel the pain spread to her stomach. Her belly began to tighten and squeeze, like a lemon being juiced. The pain only worsened as time inched forward, coming in fierce waves of pure torment. Through the pain she heard her phone ring. Once, then twice, and then an incessant third time. She managed to waddle over to her phone, hand braced on her lower back. “H-hi.” She managed shakily, rocking her hips in a vain effort to ease the immense pain.

“Em? Is that you? You good?” Kate asked, voice sounding far more flagrant than concerned.

Emma exhaled sharply, rubbing her baby bump with her free hand. The surface was stretched taunt like a drum and hot to the touch. “Um yeah, I think I’m in labor.”

“What?!” Kate screeched, causing Emma to wince away. “You promised we’d give birth together. That our babies would have the same birthday.”

“Yeah but I didn’t think our pregnancies would be a full month apart.” Emma mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean you can go back on your promise. If you have this baby before I have mine I’m never talking to you ever again.” Kate huffed.

Emma felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t lose her sister. Not after everything they went through together. “But..”

“My due date is in 2 weeks. You’re already 2 weeks overdue, you can hold it in a little longer.”

“Kate that’s not how it-“

“Don’t be selfish Em.” Kate spit before hanging up.

Emma groaned as she felt yet another contraction grip her, sending another jolt of pain down her spine. “Not now baby. Not for a few more weeks.” With any luck Kate would go into labor early. Yeah. She’d go into labor before her due date and then this could all be over. Emma’s phone rang again and she groaned involuntarily as she picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Hello darling.” The warm voice of her husband Rob cut in. “You doing alright? No pain today right?” Emma grit her teeth, lowering herself onto the bed as gently as she could.

“Just the normal amount, pangs and stuff.” She mumbled, holding back a sigh of relief as the contraction ceased.

“Ok.. listen, my boss wants me to go on this business trip for 2 weeks, I obviously told him no but-“

“No!” Emma exclaimed before giggling nervously. This was her opening, if rob was here he’d see she was in labor and force her to go to the hospital. She couldn’t let that happen. “I mean no, you should go, baby. You’re up for that promotion remember? This could be what gets it for you.”

“I know but you could give birth any day now, it feels wrong to leave you alone.” Rob sighed.

“We’ll call everyday, and I’ll tell you when the baby gets here. This promotion could be life changing for us.” Emma soothed.

“Alright.. if you’re sure. Just make sure to take it easy and call me if anything happens.”

Emma clenched her thighs together as a fresh contraction hit her. “Oh fuck..” she breathed under her breath.

“Em? Honey? Are you ok?” Rob cut in.

“Just gas. Really bad gas.” She said frantically. “Gotta go.”

“Wait Em-“

And with that she hung up.

She gripped her pillow tightly until the contraction released her from its clutches, emerging sweaty and exhausted. She could do this. She heard first births took a long time. What damage could a few more days or weeks do. No not weeks. She couldn’t do weeks. So her brain settled on the soothing option and rubbed the underside of her bulging belly, hoping the calming motion would soothe the restless child within her. She could make it.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i had a worm wiggle it's way into my head when 'work song' came on on my way home today.

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,949 | rated: T

cw: major character death (no gore, nothing descriptive, though it's stated that Eddie was sick and getting weaker, then implied that he dies.)

Eddie Munson’s mother was a witch.

He didn’t know this until he was stricken with the same sickness that took her from him years and years before, but he knows now.

He knows from the small chest he found buried deep in his and his Uncle’s attic one day after learning of his ailment, and the handful of months he should expect to have left, from the local doctor. 

The chest was brimming with scrolls, tomes, candles, stones, herbs, vials, even a small pewter cauldron.

“I shoulda known,” was all Wayne had said, heeding Eddie’s beckoning call that hazy afternoon. 

Eddie sorted through everything he had found; spending hours every day flipping through each book and journal, deciphering his mother’s handwriting and the spells she had inscribed onto the pages. 

He even started to try a few; his mother’s ‘powers’, per sae, had come from the earth around her, writing in the largest, most disheveled of the journals that all she had needed to do was to listen to Mother Earth herself, listen to what she had to tell her.

So, Eddie practiced.

Small things at first, like seamlessly re-attaching the snipped off head of a daisy back to it’s stem, snipping it off again only to regrow an identical one in it’s place. Even starting a broken branch of the pine outside the Munson home on it’s way to a new green version of what was lost.

Eddie counted himself very lucky that Wayne was not one to believe the church’s nearly unhinged ramblings about witchcraft being the work of the Devil, and let Eddie practice a couple of the other simpler things on him.

“Jus’ don’t go thinkin’ I’mma let you chop my head off, boy.”

Wayne’s body aching from following their ox around all day with the plow? “Here, drink this, it should help.” It did.

Couple of Wayne’s fingers get snapped under the same ox’s hoof? A little harder, but he managed; the digits sore and achy that night, but good as new come morning.

“There a hair spell in that book, Ed?” Wayne joked one morning over breakfast, a good three quarters of the way through the six months the doctor gave Eddie, and a couple after finding Maggie Munson’s secret.

“Hmmmm….I dunno Uncle Wayne,” Eddie flips through his journal absently, “I think a Get Your Hair Back spell is too close to a love charm to work right. You could end up with hair all over your body and not just on that beautiful, shiny, head o’yours.”

“Love spells are touchy,” Maggie’s journal had said, “There are a rumored few that work, but only for the truest forms. I’ve tried some simple potions and charms…Al still left..and if they didn’t work…” the rest was easily filled in. 

“Oh yeah? Then how's about a Cure What Ails Ya spell? Got one’a those in that there book?”

“Why? You feeling sick, Wayne?” Eddie half-jokes, trying to veer away from having this conversation with Wayne again.

Wayne’s quiet as Eddie focuses intently on the book infront of him, trying, and failing, to scoop up a bite of egg onto his fork without looking away.

“Ed,” his uncle starts, soft and pleading once again, “Is there really nothin’ that can help ya?”

Eddie huffs, dropping his fork onto his plate and pushing it and the journal away from him. Definitely something a younger boy would do, not the nearly 25 he is now. “Why don’t you give them a look, huh? ‘Cause I already have.”

“Ed–”

He snaps his head up to glare at the older man. “What is it Wayne? What?” Eddie snatches the journal back up off the table without looking. “I’ve looked okay? Through Mom’s and through every damn book in that attic. And there was nothing. Nothing! You think she would’ve left if there was?” He stands sharply, knocking the small faded blue table away as he does. “Would’ve left m—”

His free hand wraps around his middle, nausea and the spins taking him for a ride a the sudden movement.

“Hey, Hey, sit back down son.” Wayne stands as well, coaxing him back into his chair. 

The nausea spells have become more frequent, the dizziness even more so, as the months have worn on, so Wayne ties up Eddie’s hair (growing thinner by the day), walks the short few steps to the pitcher of water he’d pulled from the well that morning, and pours some into a bowl, grabbing a clean(-ish) rag on his way back. 

Wayne smoothes the cool damp rag over Eddie’s face and neck, slowly and deliberately until the nauseous feeling passes.

“‘M sorry, Uncle Wayne, I know you’re just worried.”

“It’s alrigh’ boy, I shouldn’t’a pushed.”

“I’m still doing better than most,” Eddie says, voice tilting up at the end, “I think it’s ‘cause of the magic.”

“Thoughtcha said there wasn’t no cure in that book.” Wayne states, moving to empty the bowl. 

“There’s not,” Eddie closes his eyes, relaxes back into his chair. “Doc thinks Ms. Wilson had the same as me and Ma, and you saw how quick it took her.”

“Mrs. Wilson was nearly 70, Ed.”

“Then how about that boy Carver? He was my age, and Doc gave him six when he came down with it too, was gone in two.”

Wayne shrugs, “The devil wanted him back sooner.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, lifting his head to catch a glimpse of his Uncle’s ‘desperately-trying-to-hide-his-smile’ smile.

Wayne jokes, but Eddie’s been contemplating this for a while now. When he had hit his second month, he was about the same as he was, steadily growing weaker, as what was expected, but nothing like how Ms. Wilson and Jason had looked in theirs. 

Hell, Jason had worked on the docks with Eddie since they were boys; both fit and lean, healthy young men with the musculature to show for their work.

That was when he’d found his mom’s books, and ever since, his health had slowed to a crawl. 

“I think using mom’s magic is helping me.”

Wayne is quiet, cleaning their plates from the table and dumbing the leftover eggs out the window to the pigs. 

“I think it’s your magic now, Eds.”

—---

And so it went.

Eddie’s given six months turned into a year, his magic growing from healing fingerbones, to mending their ox’s broken femur with ease. 

His year didn’t come without worsening symptoms though, and his previously well filled out overalls hung loose around him, his calves barely filling out the tops of his boots tied all the way tight. 

Wayne always kept the faith, so to speak, not a religious man by nature, but Eddie could hear him sometimes in the early morning and late night praying to “Whoever’s got their ears on up there,” to keep Eddie safe, to keep him in their sights when the time came. 

Eddie had been doing work of his own, too. Writing down anything new he found out while sitting with the Earth, listening, watching….

Mother told him through the whispers of the trees, the soft humming of the grass, that he’d know when it was time. 

And that time was within the next few days. 

He felt it in his bones, he felt it in the air when Wayne passed him his birthday gift (a flaky scone with the biggest chunks of chocolate in town, an amazing treat he got once a year) on the morning of his 25th year, he felt it in the very ground he walked on…

He was ready, though he did harbor one regret. One thing he knew he missed out on.

He’d never fallen in love.

Over his last year, Eddie would sit with Mother; amongst the trees, lain back in the field of grass on the hill behind their house, and tell her about them. 

The ‘they’ that he’d likely never meet, the they that would love him for nothing but his love in return. 

Nothing was ever specific, only the vaguest feelings he’d get about them, about the way they’d love, the humor they’d possess, the love for Eddie’s stories they’d have.

And every time he’d speak of them, Eddie’d leave with something that he didn’t realize he had picked up until he was nearly back home. 

A chain of daisies Wayne had plucked from atop his head when he sat down for dinner, a scrap of dark blue fabric he’d found walking through town, a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, the tiny sun bleached skull of a bat.

And he’d write. Over and over, never quite getting it right, but there was something he knew he needed to get out of his very being before he left for good. Something that felt like a promise.

–

The morning came, and Eddie awoke to a silent house. 

Wayne out on the fields already, most likely out helping the folks on either side of them with whatever they needed doing, with only the hens’ clucks and pigs’ snorts keeping him company with the calls from the birds in the trees. 

Eddie got up, slow as slow could be, got himself into his clothes, shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to their small blue table, tore out a blank page of his mother’s notebook and wrote.

Pouring all of what remained within him, Eddie thought of the Earth, of his mom, of Uncle Wayne, and them. His unknown love.

-x-X-x-

Steve Harrington’s mother was not a witch.

But for the last few years, he’s had a suspicion that his Grandmother is.

Everyone says that their food tastes so good because “It’s made with love!”,  but with Mama Harrington, it was real. The love and intent she imbued into her meals was there. And she could cure any ailment.

She would always go on and on about the importance of food, each recipe’s ingredients’ healing powers, and of the recipes and their stories that had been passed down through the years from her mother, and her mother’s mother, all the way to now, where they ended up in a cookbook that’d gone untouched since it was given to Steve’s mother in the late 60’s.

“A gift! Unused for so many years, Steven!”

“I know, Mama,” he nods again, dropping some green something into the pot of sauce bubbling on the stove. “Almost 25 years.”

“Aye! You have catching up to do.” she says, shaking a thick wooden spoon at him.

“Me?” he scoffs, “I don’t know the first thing about cooking, Mama!” Baking? He’d hold his own. Cooking? If his grandmother wasn’t there to help him of on the phone to guide him through a recipe? Kitchen would go up in flames.

“Bah! Watch closely, dear.” she says, shuffling to the pot that stands nearly as tall as her where it’s perched on the stovetop. “It is always your intent behind what you are cooking. You can make anything be anything as long as the intent is there.”

“Even eggs?”

She nods, her nearly fully white bun flopping back and forth on top of her head. “Even just eggs.”

“So if I want a carbonara to help get my friend a passing grade?” he asks, incredulous, but immediately thinking of Robin, who’s coming up on her finals in a couple months (for her doctorate! A PhD! Can you believe that!).

“The intent! Put it into the eggs, into the pasta, I don’t care! But make it for That!”

She throws a concerningly large handful of pepper into the pot on the stove, and gives it a stir.

“Now, this is my Mama’s recipe, and it will help your Pa’s back.”

“How so?”

“Because I told it to,” she growls, glaring at the pot and raising her spoon as if she was going to smack some sense into it.

“Alright, Mama,” Steve chuckles, “What do you need me to do?”

He spends the next hour helping his grandma roll out some of her premade dough for some fettuccine looking noodles, grabbing a wrapped up blob “from the top shelf, Steven. That’s the stuff I made for you.”. 

He rolls, folds, and cuts it as he’s told, then goes to pick Robin up from campus while she finishes everything.

“It won’t take long now, dear, and you shouldn’t either.” Mama scolds, waving her spoon around once again.

“Got it, Mama, be back soon.” He slips on his shoes, looks in on his grandpa in the living room as he passes, grinning at the loud snores he hears from the direction of Pa’s recliner, and slips out the front door to his car. 

In no time, he’s picked up Robin, stopped for a movie from Blockbuster, and is home to the smell of fresh bread.

“We’re home Mama!”

“I’m just setting the table, grab your Pa!”

“Come on Pa, Mama’s got some pasta for you.” Steve says, coaxing his grandfather out of the chair and into his slippers. 

“Ah, perfect, my back’s been real achy lately.”

“That’s ‘cause you sleep in the recliner, Mr. Harrington.”

“How many times do we gotta tell you, Robin? Just call us Ma and Pa.”

Robin plops down in her designated spot across from Ma, “Hey, you should get used to it now; Once I finally get up the nerve to Chrissy out, she’ll come over here all “Mr. Harrington” this and “Mrs. Harrington” that.

“And how’s that coming, Bobs?” Steve asks her, sitting down beside his grandma and immediately passing the plate of bread across the table to Robin’s waiting hands. 

She starts going off at a million miles a minute about her longest standing crush, while Steve shares a look with his grandma, both smirking conspiratorially as Robin takes a bite of the bread.

That’d been Steve’s suggestion, a bread imbued with luck.

It wasn’t a “Love Spell”, Mama said there was none in existence that were worth the pain. But the minimal luck that she had sown before into countless baked goods (especially near February), have had a surprisingly great track record.

With everyone but Steve.

She couldn’t quite figure out what it was that kept him from getting the benefits too, every time she had tried, they had tried, it was an astounding failure. 

First with Tommy Hagan, the carrot cake cookies Steve had presented him with as a special birthday treat back in middle school ended with two missing front teeth and a broken arm.

Then again without even thinking about it, he’d added some luck and hope to homemade chicken pot pies he’d whipped up when he and Nancy were on the rocks. 

It had somewhat worked with Billy Hargrove, but that one hadn’t even been intentional, and he shudders to think about it to this day.

“I don’t know my dearest, maybe it is because you are already tied to someone else?” She had said after her tried and true pot pie recipe failed.

“But it didn’t even work with the one I was already with!” he yelled, sighing deep and pinching the tears away from the bridge of his nose. “She jumped right into Byers’ arms.”

Mama had just given him a pitying look, which was worse, honestly.

Now, he stays far away from any of Mama’s lucky foods, especially with the weird twisting feeling he had gotten the few times he’d tried over the years after leaving Hawkins.

He and Robin came up to Indy for Robin to go to U of I, a year after she graduated, and when Steve was fired from the job that had been paying the majority of their apartment's rent when he was spotted kissing his then boyfriend by his manager….they came to live with Steve’s grandparents, taking to them both with open arms and hearts.

He comes back to the present when his third bite of pasta clears away the last of his headache.

Steve shoots his grandma a knowing look, which she ignores with a sip of wine. 

–

They’re nearly finished with dinner when it happens.

Steve’s listening intently to a story Pa is telling them, something he’s sure he’s hears a dozen times before, when he absentmidedly picks up, then takes a bite of the bread Ma made for Robin.

It’s more than he’s ever felt before.

In the past, whenever Steve’s tried to gain some luck in love, he’s been inundated with flashes, feelings, words, a warmth in his bones that he’s wanted to hold onto forever. 

The feelings grew stronger the older he got, and now, Steve finds himself sitting on a rolling grassy hill. 

It’s not a flash of a vision like before, he’s sitting in the tall soft grass, and his hands are already making a chain of daisies. Nearly done, in fact. 

He finishes it off, turns it around in his hands, then when he goes to put it on…

He’s back at the table with his family, the slice of bread in his hand, and Pa still telling his story.

Steve jumps up, startling the other three, and beelines it to the kitchen, flinging open drawers, searching for just a damn scrap of paper. 

Mama follows him, “Steve, the bread?”

“I was on a hill, chaining daisies, and now I have to get these words out.” He probably doesn't make a lick of sense, but he doesn’t want to lose them.

Suddenly, a pad of paper and pen are passed into his line of sight. He snatches them up, and starts scribbling down as much as he can.

He and Mama stare down at the words on the page. 

“Mama, what is this?”

She is silent for a handful of breaths.

“This is why the luck never worked.”

now with a part 2!

also: i don’t know the first thing about being a witch or anything of the sort, nor do i know anything but the basics about cooking; hope im not way way off on anything!!! this is all in fun 😅

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title : four bottles and a maybe kiss

pairing: Jameson Hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis : you are at a bar with the Hawthorne brothers who you’ve grown up friends with. But being with Jameson Hawthorne has always been a little different than the others, it’s always felt like there is something more…

warnings : drinking and alcohol

a/n : this is my first ever time writing in this platform so idk if this is too long or really rubbish, I just hope you enjoy and I’m always open to feedback

tag list : there is no tag list but let me know if you want to be on it :)

The music was so loud I could feel each beat in my chest. The pounding of the song was beginning to match the pounding in my head. I could feel my limbs beginning to ache. I needed to get out of hot, sticky, sweatiness of this place. I knew I wasn’t even the slightest bit tipsy, I’d only had one drink and I’m glad, it was easy to get lost in this place. Eventually I find the door to exit. The cold air laps my exposed skin, drinking up the humidity greedily and I’ve never been more grateful. I tip my head back, shutting my eyes and take a deep breath in. I allow the oxygen to fill my lungs and feel a little calmer, a little less achy. I exhale, thankful for the cool breeze of the night. But it’s not longer before my kind begins to wander as it often does when the rest of the world is silent and it always directs me back to the same train of thought. Jameson Hawthorne.

I’d grown up by his side and him by mine. We had always gotten on, always been like minded people with a high aptitude for various subjects. Tobias had always had a liking for me, approving of one of the family’s few outside connections. I’d always been close to all the Hawthorne brothers but Jameson… Jameson was so different. It never felt like just a friendship, the bond was too strong, too emotional for just that. His familiar smirk often laced my dreams and his bright eyes constantly plagued my imagination. Things like that don’t just happen. From the day we met and every day after, there has been a spark. I can feel the electricity pulsing through my veins when I’m around him and I don’t know if he can feel it too. So I say nothing and of course he says nothing and so we live on. Me, imagining the impossible and Jameson… being Jameson.

Suddenly, reeling me out of my thoughts quite literally, my body jerks forward as I feel something hit my back with force. I slam into the pavement, the impact hard, but break my fall with my hands.

“Oh shit shit shit, I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice says.

My head whips around and my eyes widen, “Jameson?”

‘Huh just the person I was thinking about…’ I think, ‘Fate? Nah.’

I look up. There he is, standing there. He’s just fallen out of the door of a bar but somehow still looks like some sort of Greek god. His face so perfect it’s unfair, eyes so bright it gives the sun a run for her money, a smile so alluring that I’d sell both my kidneys just to see it once.

“Oh hey there Y/N!” he grins as I stand up wiping my hands on the bottom of my dress, “didn’t see you there.”

“You don’t say,” I reply, analysing him. His face was red and rosy, his eyelids drooping slightly and I could see the sweat dripping off of his forehead.

“What?” he asks, cocking his head to one side

“You’re drunk,” I state.

“Nooooo,” he slurs, grinning as he stumbles towards me. He’s about to fall over before I act fast and catch him. I underestimated his weight and falter slightly but managed to pull him back as he’s wheezing with laughter.

“What’s so funny Jamie?” I ask, not bothering to suppress my smile.

“I fell over,” he laughs, “and this is the second time now!”

I sigh, “How many drinks have you had?”

“Four…” he says, hesitating a little while, “…bottles.”

“Jameson!” I exclaim.

“Y/n!” he yells, mocking my shocked tone.

“Four whole bottles!”

“Nash had double,” he defends, putting his hands up. His hair, as unruly as ever, look particularly good tonight. I don’t know what he’s done with it but it made him look so beautiful.

“Is that why he’s cowboy dancing?” I ask, recalling the routine if previously witnessed, that will be engraved into my brain for the rest of my life.

“And screaming Taylor Swift,” Jameson tells me, “I believe when I left it was ‘picture to burn’ but by now it could be anything.”

“Damn I missed that,” I say.

“Gray probably got it on video,” he shrugs, tapping one hand on his leg in a rhythm, like he often does when he’s nervous or distracted or just needs to burn some energy.

“Where’s Xander?” I ask him.

“I don’t knowww,” Jameson slurs, his eyes darting from my eyes to my lips and back again, “but I know where you are!”

I smile softly, folding my arms and leaning on the wall behind me, “and where am I?”

His eyelids fall down and then pry open slowly before he slumps down against the wall, hitting the concrete with a thump. That’s going to be a painful bruise tomorrow.

“You are here, with me,” he laughs, “and I’m really happy you’re here with me.”

“You are?” I ask, my eyebrows flying up, caught off guard at the comment

“Yep, can I tell you a secret?” he asks me, his green eyes sparkling as my stares up at me, clinging to my forearm.

“What’s your secret?” I whisper.

“You have to come down here to hear it,” Jameson giggles, tugging twice on my arm. I oblige and sit down next to him, my back against the wall. He takes my face between his hands and I’m taken by surprise. He’s so gentle and soft. My brain is telling me to pull away but our eyes connect and my brain doesn’t seem to work much after that. I’m staring into pools of lush green emeralds, hypnotising me from any logic I may have had. All I can hear is my heart is thumping loudly in my ears.

“What’s your secret?” I whisper, our faces inches apart, almost touching but not quite there.

“You are my favourite person,” he murmurs, “ever!”

His hands no longer cup my face and instead the tip of his finger is booping my nose. I scrunch up my face and try not to laughs. This was probably the most drunk if ever seen Jameson.

“Really?” I ask him.

“Yep,” he nods.

I can’t believe what he’s saying. I can’t let myself, it would be too cruel. He’s drunk. So very drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He won’t remember a word of it and he probably doesn’t mean it. But he possibly does. Hope blossoms in my chest and it feels so much better than the doubt. My heart is still racing, my cheeks from heating up. Thank god he won’t remember.

“Well that’s nice to know,” I say, “you want to know my secret?”

“Yeah!” he says, like an excitable puppy, practically jumping up and down in anticipation. It’s adorable. But I can’t afford to think that.

“You’re my favourite person as well,” I tell him quietly.

“Really?” he makes her, tipping his head to the side.

“Yuh-huh,” I say.

“That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” he muses, “like a kitten.”

I can’t help myself as I let out a giggle. Drunk Jameson is completely random, spouting absolute nonsense but I love it. I love him. But I can’t love him because he’s just a friend. My smile fades slowly and I sigh silently staring up at the stars in the night sky. Maybe in another life, some other universe we’re written in the stars but in this one… no.

“Don’t stop,” Jameson says suddenly.

I stare at him, confusion painted across my features, “Don’t stop what?”

“Smiling,” he replies, “you’re so pretty when you smile…I mean you’re pretty anyway,” he rambled on, “but that smile…” he sighs as he trails off.

“You’re definitely drunk,” I scoff, getting to my feet.

He quickly scrambles up after me, grabbing my arms so I’m staring right at him, “this is the most sober I’ve felt all night.”

“After four bottles?” I chuckle, “yeah right.”

“Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your eyes are,” he asks suddenly.

“What?” I ask, getting whiplash from the turn of conversation.

“Your eyes…” he murmurs, his finger grazing my jawline.

“Jameson stop this,” I say, pushing him away despite wanting nothing more than his fingers on my skin, “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

I can’t afford to have my heart broken again. I can’t take it. I won’t let myself fall. I replay those sentences in my head over and over, sounding like a mad woman but not caring for a second because I’m too stubborn to let myself go through the pain again.

“I think I do,” he replies, “I could talk about you for hours.”

I have to keep reminding myself he’s drunk. No matter how hard I want to believe that this is real, I know better than to be fooled. Things like this only happen in fiction, not in the real world. Never lose your heart to a Hawthorne, the words are etched into my brain and yet somehow I’m managing to ignore their overbearing call.

“That’s very sweet but you should probably go home and get some rest,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to take responsibility, wishing I was more reckless and selfish so that I’d just take this as my opportunity. But I’m not like that.

“Come with me,” Jameson shouts, a clear desperation in his voice, despite the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere and didn’t plan to. He grabs my hand and pulls me closer to him.

I shake my head, “no Jamie, not today.”

“But I’ll miss you,” he pouts, his hands travelling down my body and stopping at my waist, “and then I’ll get sad.”

I bite back the shiver that is begging to run through me. We’re so close. Butterflies dance around in my stomach, almost as chaotically as Nash when he does his cowboy routine to Taylor Swift. My rational mind is telling me to break free from his grasp but I feel so nice, it feels too natural that I stay.

“You’ll manage,” I tell him quietly.

“I don’t think I will,” he says. I can feel his thumb rubbing circles on the small of my back, “when I’m without you I’m so…” he struggling to find the right word, “down. Nash keeps telling me I should just tell you how I feel but what does he want me to do? Tell you that when you’re not around everything that’s meant to be colourful looks grey or that I spend most of my time thinking about the way your hair curls in the rain or the way I’ve noticed that you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re nervous. Or the dreams I’ve had about you dancing in my arms, your voice calling me yours and the sunset beaches we lay on whole we talk about everything.”

“Jameson…” I whisper, reaching out and touching his cheek tentatively.

“I love you Y/N L/N,” Jameson tells me, looking me dead in the eyes.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” I reply sharply, shaking myself from his gasp. I’m suddenly cold without his warm hands situated on my waist, but I refuse to shiver.

“No! Listen to me! It’s always been you, I truly think it has been,” he says, so convincingly I almost believe him, “from the day we first met there’s always been something there. I felt it and I know you did too,” his voice, so determined, so passionate, “there was no way you couldn’t have. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to tell you all of this but it’s only taken me this long to express it because I’m too much of a coward to try when I’m sober,” he admits, honesty in his shining green eyes, “but I know what I’m saying, I know what I’m doing and I’m so crazy on this high of love that I don’t think the alcohol is even working anymore.”

“I want to believe you, really Jamie, I do,” I murmur, “you don’t know how badly I want this but…” I trail off, unable to finish what my brain wants me to say, getting distracted by the way he’s looking at me.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks me softly, his eyes flicking from mine to my lips.

“Jameson-“

“Your lips look so beautiful,” he says, “Can I kiss you?”

a/n: find more like this on my TIG Masterlist