Price doesn't do aftercare, he's made that point blatantly obvious from the first night together.
Well, he doesn't do aftercare for himself. John has the decency to wipe you off and make sure you're okay, you wouldn't keep coming back to him otherwise, but when you try to look after him? Complete shut down.
"C'mon, sir, let me take care of youā" you beg for the third time, giving price your best pleading eyes. You run your hand over the hair on his chest, one leg hooked over his waist in that way you know he secretly likes.
"I'm fine." He grunts, shutting down already. Tensing up, about to push you off and escape like he always does when you lean foreward.
"Awww, no fun, sir. At least a kiss?" You pout, holding his jaw and pressing your lips to his. The faint taste of smoke and whisky on his tongue, mixed with the flavor of you.
Price jolts suddenly, pulls back, eyes narrowed "what the hell did i just swallow?"
Your delighted smile is the last thing price sses.
....only to wake up...still in bed? But, no, the sheets have been changed, and price feels different. Mouth minty, teeth brushed when he runs his tongue over them. He smells clean, too, as if he took a shower. Not to mention how for once his knees don't ache to the core.
He narrows his eyes at the ceiling. His wrists are cuffed to the bed.
...there's a weight on his chest, fingers curling into the hair between pecs.
"Glad you're awake, sir. Have some soup cooling off for you." Your voice drifts up.
Really, price should have expected it. That the one person willing to sleep with him consistently is also willing to fucking drug him for the sole purpose of aftercare.
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Sometimes the house became almost painfully quiet when Simon was away. Not the good kind of quiet, the kind that settled softly over the room and let you breathe for a while. This was different. A strange, persistent silence that felt like something was missing from the walls themselves, like the whole place had forgotten how to sound like home.
You did your best to fill it.
Books, music, little cleaning spurts that turned into reorganizing entire shelves, and, most often lately, cooking. Cooking helped. It gave your hands something to do and your mind something to focus on. It was soothing, for the most part, until you made something you knew Simon would have loved, and there was no one there to tease, taste, or steal the first bite.
Still, tonightās recipe had gone well. The kitchen smelled warm and rich, all garlic and herbs and something sweet lingering underneath. You stood there with a plate in one hand, ready to finally serve, when you heard it.
A shuffle. Then a low groan from the front door.
Your whole body went rigid.
Simon was not supposed to be back for another week. You were alone. No guests, no deliveries, no reason for anyone to be at the door at all.
Someone was breaking in. Shit.
You went cold all at once, every lecture Simon had ever given you on self defense flashing through your mind, but panic left no room for careful thinking. You grabbed the plate tighter, your knuckles whitening around it, and moved before your brain could catch up.
The lock rattled, the door bursting open and you swung.
The plate shattered spectacularly against the head of the very tall intruder.
For one breathtaking second, you stood frozen, half expecting a stranger, a threat, anything else.
Instead, a familiar grumble filled the doorway, "Fucking hell."
Your soul left your body.
āSimon?ā you gasped, throwing your hands up in horror as adrenaline shot through you so fast your fingers trembled.
He staggered inside, a duffel bag slipping from one shoulder and thudding to the floor. One hand braced against the wall, the other pressed to the side of his head.
āAre you okay?!ā you gasped.
āI got smashed with a plate. What ya think?ā he muttered, eyes shut tight.
āYou were supposed to be back in a week!ā
āMission ended early,ā he said with a pained groan.
āWhy didnāt you tell me?ā
āWanted tā surprise ya.ā
You stared at him.
Then gestured wildly at the ceramic graveyard on the floor.
"That is objectively the worst possible strategy for someone who constantly tells me to be careful because of all the enemies you've made."
He gave you a flat look. āNice. Blame the victim.ā
"The victim broke into the house like a raccoon with military training."
He huffed "rude."
āJust go sit down,ā you said, already ushering him toward the sofa. āIāll get the first aid kit.ā
He kicked off his boots with a grunt and dropped onto the couch like all the bones in his body had collectively decided to quit. By the time you returned, kit in hand, he looked tired in that deeply worn-out way that made your chest ache, guilt gnawed at you like a tiny feral creature.
"Si, I'm so sorry," you blurted the second you sat beside him. "I genuinely thought someone was breaking in and then the door opened and I panicked and my body moved before my brain did and I hit you andā"
"It's alright, sweeāheart," his voice came soft, steady.
You worked carefully, cleaning the scratches on his forehead and the small cuts along his shoulder. He didnāt even flinch much, though he did keep staring at you with that quiet, warm look that always made you feel like you were the only light in the room.
āBeen through a dangerous mission,ā he said, āanā get home to get clocked by me wife.ā
āIt wasnāt on purpose,ā you said, glaring at the cotton pad like it had personally offended you.
āNever said it was.ā
āYou are being very smug for a man who got ambushed by dinnerware.ā
He huffed a laugh. āUsually wives greet their husbands with kisses and hugs. Not ceramic warfare.ā
āI was trying out a new greeting method.ā
He raised one brow. āNext time, how about a pan to the face?ā
You let out a helpless laugh. āShut up.ā
āYou hit me.ā
āI thought you were breaking in!ā
āStill counts as domestic violence, luv.ā
You snorted despite yourself, and he looked absurdly pleased with that.
Once you finished, he leaned back into the couch with a long sigh, still horrified and still trying not to laugh at the stupidity of this entire situation. He tilted his head toward you.
āOn the bright side,ā he said, āI do know for certain youāre safe when Iām gone.ā
seconding these tags by @ragsy:
#if the social consciousness has decided that duckduckgo is the Only Othet Search Engine#might i suggest 'go duck yourself'
Warnings:Ā this fic could include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Character: mob!baker!Steve Rogers, reader with arthritis
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.š
Youāre distracted as you get to the front of the line. You feel bad to have caused all that drama. You can sense the woman who came in with Devin glancing at you as you roll up to the counter, turning the wheels to get close. You didnāt even think of what you wanted.
āUm. May I get⦠a strawberry turnover, please?ā You ask, too edgy to read the menu.
āOf course. Anything else?ā The cashier asks. You know her. She works at the grocery too. Or did.
āNo thanks. I appreciate it.ā You take out your change purse.
āDonāt charge her,ā the owner calls through as he brings out a tray of pastries and slides it into the display. āComped.ā
āThank you,ā you eke out. You put a tip in the jar instead.
āIf you want to find a table, we can bring it to you.ā He offers.
āOh, itāsā¦ā you swallow. āOkay.ā
You donāt want to draw any more attention. You look around and find a table by the window. You stare at the chair. The wooden seat wonāt be good for your tailbone.
You let go of your walker and grab the chair. Itās heavier than you expect. You drag it and it scrapes on the floor loudly. You keep your head down, straining to lift the feet off the wood.
āI got you,ā a voice grits and someone approaches. Itās him. Steve. The owner.
āSorry I⦠donāt want my walker to be in the way.ā You let go as he takes the chair and moves it to another table.
āAll good,ā he assures you.
You roll your walker around and grip the handles as you sit, locking the brakes. You nod and thank him under your breath. You canāt look at him. Youāre too embarrassed. You shouldāve got the pastry to go.
āIf you need anything else, let them know at the counter.ā He says.
āYouāre too nice,ā you stare at the table.
He leaves and you fidget restlessly. Youāre used to the sideways glances and kids pointing, asking loudly whatās wrong with you. Youāre too young to be like this. You know that, they really donāt need to remind you.
You move your purse onto the table and take out your little notebook. You go over the grocery list you made before you left your place. Shoot, you didnāt write down oats. You used the last ones this morning.
Steps approach and the scent of freshly warmed pastry kisses your nose. You look up as Steve sets down a scalloped saucer with a gooey turnover drizzled in lacy icing. You smile and close your notebook.
āOh, thanks. Thatās sweet.ā You murmur. āIt smells⦠looks delicious.ā
āNot a problem. Youāll let me know if itās too sweet.ā He says.
āUm, Iām sure itās good.ā You frame the dish with your fingers. āThank you.ā
āEnjoy.ā He claps his hands together and backs up.
You shrink down and examine the dessert. You peel apart the warm pastry and nibble on it. You get some of the filling on the next bite and your cheeks pinch. Itās better than the danishes you get on clearance at the shop.
You eat slowly as you dare to look around. You always liked baking but it was hard for you to stand too long in the kitchen. You always kept to quick and easy meals. Anything you could leave in the rice cooker or just boil water to add. Sandwiches and soup were the best.
You hold up your sticky finger and lick your lips. You sit up as you sense someone coming close. Itās Steve. Again. He puts down some napkins.
āThank you,ā you say.
"How did you like it?" He asks.
"It was good."
He sets down something else. The paper bag crinkles as a peak of crust shows through the little plastic window in the bag.
āSaw it on your list,ā he says. āSourdough. But if you prefer ryeā¦ā
āThatās⦠too much. I couldnāt.ā You wipe your fingers, your hand shaking a moment. āReally, Iām on my way to the grocery shop.ā
āOne less thing on your list.ā He insists. āReally, I donāt mind.ā
You crumple up the napkin and sit back on the walker. You zip up your purse and hang it on the handle. You push yourself to your feet and release the brakes.
āI do. I appreciate the turnover but thatās already too much. Iām okay.ā You assure him. āIt was nice of you to step in earlier but⦠thank you. Just thank you.ā
You slide your walker out from behind the table and reach for the plate and napkin. He swipes it up first. āIāll take care of it.ā He says.
You thank him one last time. You angle around and make your way across the bakery. As you near the door, he brushes by you and gets there first. He holds the door open.
You brace yourself as you let the wheels off the ledge. As you pass, he reaches to put the loaf on the seat of your walker. You gasp as you step down and pause. You look at him.
āI said no.ā You insist.
āTake it.ā He insists. āMy treat.ā
You stare at him. Even if he wasnāt standing on the ledge, heād be huge. You wilt and purse your lips.
āThank you.ā Once again.
You continue outside and donāt look back. Youāre embarrassed. It might be all in your head. Maybe no one really noticed the whole episode but it wonāt be easy to forget. This is why you hate going out. Even in a small town like this, or maybe because itās a small town, people judge.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Warnings:Ā this fic could include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Character: mob!baker!Steve Rogers, reader with arthritis
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.š
Itās rare that you see a rush in the small town. The lazy rhythm of the remote community is just your speed, not that you can go very fast. Itās not about when, just that you get there.
Ivy greets you as you pass by her pulling weeds from her garden. You wave, one hand still on your walker, and say good morning.Ā You continue on, leaning into the metal frame as you roll the wheels over the cracks.
You turn onto the main street and focus on the wooden sign jutting out from the center. You noticed a few weeks ago when it went up. The banner announcing the grand opening has since been disposed of. You avoided the furour of the exciting premier, knowing you would only get jostled, even lost, in the chaos.
Now you feel good enough to make it down. Not without real purpose. You desperately need to do a shop after procrastinating for far too long.Ā
You pause and wait for Len to pass in his dusty white truck. He gives a beep and a wave. Sometimes, heāll drive you back home if he catches you on the way. Heās one of the nice ones; one of those who see you. Then there are those who pretend they donāt.
You cross and push your wheels over the curb. You can feel the inflammation in your hips already. You make slow progress along the crooked sidewalk. It dips at points and in places the grass along the edge is higher than the pavement.
You slow as you get close to the bakery and admire the handpainted calligraphy on the sign; Brooklynās Best Bakery. You stop in front of the windows and look at the baskets of buns and rolls on display. You can smell it all as the door opens after a customer.
You press on as a couple approaches. The man holds the door for the woman and follows her through. You try to catch the door after them and it hits your walker and knocks you back. The bell jangles above.
You wrench your walker away and let the door close. Itās not the first time itās happened. You thought they wouldāve seen you hurrying to get in after them. Of course, you canāt expect everyone to hold the door but you werenāt that far behind.
You angle and open the door, using your back to keep it open. You push on it and pull your walker close, turning it through the door. You grunt as you lift the wheels over the high step that leads inside.
As you roll through, the door swings shut and spurs you forward. You hit a shelf with the wheel and steady yourself. You check to make sure you didnāt knock anything over.
To your surprise and disappointment, thereās a line. Oh well, you have to wait. Other people exist too.
You join the line and turn your walker to sit on the seat, your bag dangling from the handle. You rub your hips and lean to the side. The last x-ray showed degeneration at the base of your spine and in your tailbone, a little in your hips.
āExcuse me,ā a deep voice comes through.
You sit up but canāt see past the couple in front of you. The woman points to the croissants in the display as the manās hand rests on her lower back. He doesnāt seem to be listening as he reads the chalkboard sign above the counter.
āāScuse me,ā the same voice grits and several bodies shuffle apart in the queue. āHey, you.ā
You blink and look over, startled. You peek back, thinking maybe you didnāt see the mess you made after all.
Ā You twist back as a man approaches in an apron. The red fabric is dusted with flour and other ingredients. Heās tall, his shoulders broad, and a dark beard trims his jaw. He wears a short sleeve shirt over a tank top, exposing tattoos on his chest and arms.
āYou,ā he points at the man ahead of you. āThat wasnāt very polite.ā
āHuh?ā The man ahead of you snorts. You think his name is Donny or⦠Dustin?
āYou dropped the door on another customer.ā The man crosses his arms.
āWho?ā Wait, his name is Devin, replies hotly.
āThis lady right here,ā the man in the apron points at you. āIām sure you saw her.ā
āDude, I didnāt see herā.ā
āHow do you know you didnāt drop it on her if you didnāt see her?ā The manās forearms bulge.
āIt was an accident.ā
āSo now you did see her?ā
āNo. I⦠look, uh,ā Devin turns. āIām sorry, really.ā As he looks down at you, you stand, feeling smaller than ever. āI didnāt see you and if the door hit youāā
āIt did.ā The aproned man insists.
āI didnāt see you and Iām sorry I hit you with the door.ā Devin scoffs and looks at the man. āHappy?ā
āNot really,ā the man retorts. āGet your food and get out.ā
Devin huffs again and shakes his head. He mumbles as the woman beside him shifts away.
āExcuse me?ā The man in the apron drops his arms. āYou wanna say something, make sure I can hear you.ā
āI said youāre a fucking tight ass.ā Devin retorts.
āCommon decency is being a tight ass? Well then, you can just go.ā The man grabs Devin by his hoodie and drags him between a set of shelves.
There isnāt much of a struggle as the cafe employee is much stronger, even if heās not as heavy as Devinās rounder build. He shoves the door open and hurls Devin through. He claps his hands then turns back.
āYouāre more than welcome to stay and order,ā he says to the woman as he approaches. āAnd whatever youāre getting,ā the man stops by you. āItās on the house.ā
āWhat? No. Itās⦠okay.ā You babble dumbly, surprised at being addressed.
āNot okay. Not in my joint.ā He sneers.
āUm, okay, uh, thank you, sir. You really didnāt have toāā
āI did,ā he says and offers his hand. āSteve Rogers. Itās my place, my rules.ā
You lean back on your walker, keeping your hand on one side and shake his hand. He squeezes and you nearly dissemble in his grip. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and utter your name out of courtesy.
His cheek dimples as he nods. āPretty. Iām almost finished a batch of strawberry turnovers. Thatās my recommendation.ā He lets go.
Six months after your discussion about tampons, Bucky finally made it. He fulfilled his promise and couldn't be happier.
āSee, my pretty girl. I promised to keep those invaders out of you, and I kept my promise.ā Bucky was busy nuzzling your crotch. His face buried in your lap, he talked to your vagina again. āI got her round, and now we can have as much fun as we want to. No more invaders touching any part of my sweet girl.ā
āBucky, thatās not funny!ā You slapped the back of his head. He was a man obsessed and wouldnāt stop telling everyone, you know how he got you pregnant. āI still donāt know how you got me pregnant on my period. This is impossible.ā
āPerks of the serum.ā Bucky looked up at you, a cocky smirk on his face. āI told you that thereās no chance for your womb to stop my seed from growing inside of you. We made it.ā He said to your vagina, not you. āMy pretty girl only belongs to me now.ā
āYouāre unbelievable,ā you groaned loudly, fingers tangling in his hair. āBucky, we didnāt talk about having a baby yet. Now Iām pregnant only because you didnāt want me to use tampons.ā
āDonāt mention them ever again,ā Bucky growled before pressing his ear to your belly. āYou canāt talk about these monsters in front of our baby.ā
āYou know that the baby will pop out of my vagina too,ā you replied. Buckyās head shot upward, but he didnāt look concerned. He was grinning again. āWhatās so funny?ā
āItās my baby, doll. I donāt mind sharing my pretty girls with my baby.ā Bucky chuckled at your angry expression. He was a little too excited about accidentally getting you pregnant.
āI know you got me pregnant on purpose, mister!ā You accused, earning a stunning smile from Bucky.
āI know we never talked about children, but I want to have it all,ā Bucky said, his voice cracking. āYou know, when I was brainwashed and nothing but an empty shell, I never dared dream of having a wife, a baby, or at least a normal life.ā
āYou just ruined the stern speech I prepared,ā you sniffled. āYou can have it all, Bucky. We are in this together, you know. Me and you.ā
āMe, you, and my pretty girl.ā He grinned and knelt to nuzzle your crotch. āShe allowed me to fill her up, and now, we are going to have a beautiful baby girl.ā
Hello, my dear Kris! So after reading the newest fic from the Trapped AU⦠I just canāt stop thinking about those two. And you know me⦠Iām all about making my heart hurt with a little angstā¦
Can we get a snippet or drabble or your thoughts on an angsty moment -and Andyās surprisingly soft reaction- that takes reader by surprise by the end of itā¦
Maybe sheās not feeling well and missing all the comforts of her old life- the things she would do when not feeling well prior to this life with Andy
Or maybe, after accidentally seeing a calendar while cleaning in Andyās office, reader realized a special day has passed or is approaching.
Or maybe she feels a twinge of jealousy when she sees another beautiful women flirting with Andy and sheās so thrown- never once thinking she could ever feel that way with about him
Any little bit of angst where Andy uncharacteristically (at least for now) comforts her in the softest way possible- and maybe this is her kryptonite (and maybe it even turns her on a little) Would Andy use this new knowledge to his advantage? Of course he would š
I just want him to be soft and not so terrifying š„ŗšš«
My heart is so torn šš«
I love them and even him- you evil mastermind!
(Kris šwhile writing this lovely verse)
(Also- I LOVE trash pandas, so I hope you are not offended that I depicted you as one in your evil genius mode š )
Carly! I love this prompt! I had to think really hard about the inciting incident, but once I thought of it, I knew exactly what to do. This Andy can absolutely get soft. That's part of what he wants in his perfect life! It'll just always be on his terms. š
And no offense at all at the trash panda! That's exactly what I look like when coming up with ideas for this verse. š
Pairing: Andy Barber x f!reader - from Trapped AU
Warnings: Just general kidnapping/basement wife/toxic relationship warnings that come with this AU. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
It started with a mug.
Andy presented it to you about a week after you moved upstairs. It was your favorite color (your real actual favorite, not something heād decided you liked) and had a pretty vine pattern etched into it. It was your mug. You drank your tea out of it every day. And you tried to tell yourself that it was bad because everything that came from him was bad. But it was yours. No one else drank out of it. Only you. It felt like the only thing in the world that you actually owned.Ā
And so, as you looked at the shattered pieces on the floor, as you told yourself that this was fine, that it was just another thing in this house full of things, all you felt was immense, gut-wrenching loss. You sank down next to the pile of shards on the ground. Maybe you could piece it back together, or, orā You didnāt know what to do. And you knew you were being ridiculous but you started crying. Sobbing. Youād already lost so much. And now the last thing on earth that belonged to you was gone too, and you were the one who destroyed it.
You heard Andyās footsteps come into the kitchen, but you couldnāt see him from where you were crouched behind the island. āWhat was that crash?ā he asked, harshly. The sob you let out brought him around to where you were. He looked down at you, his hands on his hips. āWhat happened here?ā
You looked up at him through your teary eyes. He was going to be so upset with you. āIām sorry,ā you gasped. āIām so sorry! I donāt know what happened. It fell, and, andā itās gone now.ā You tried to wipe your face clean, but you couldnāt stem the stream of tears.
āYou didnāt throw it?ā Andy asked.
āNo! No, I would never!ā You hoped he could see how sincere you were.Ā
He sighed and crouched down in front of you. āExplain to me why youāre so upset.ā
You struggled for a moment, no idea how to put everything you were feeling into words. And you were so scared of saying the wrong thing. Finally, all you could come up with was, āYou gave it to me.ā
āOh, sweetheart,ā he cooed as his face completely softened, no hint of anger or a coming reprimand remaining on it. He gently grasped your elbows, āHere, letās get you up. I donāt want you to hurt yourself on any of the shards.āĀ
He raised you up slowly, then guided you into one of the stools at the counter. Then he went to the little kitchen closet and grabbed the broom and dustpan. As he started to clean up, you rushed to stand. Andy hardly ever cleaned anything. That was your job. āOh no,ā you tried to stop him. āThatās ok, I can do it!ā
He just hushed you, as he quickly made a pile of the shards and scooped them into the pan, and then into the trash. āSee?ā he said, āall done. Itās fine.ā He ushered you into the living room and pulled you down into his lap on the couch, wrapping you tight in his arms. āIāll get you a new one,ā he said softly. āEven prettier than the last one.ā
Without even thinking about it, you laid your head on his shoulder, as he ran his hand up and down your back. āYouāre such a good girl,ā he whispered. āIām so glad youāre here. You make me so happy.ā You knew you should hate that. You knew that it should make you angry. But you were just so relieved that he wasnāt upset with you, you couldnāt help but sink into him.Ā
After a few moments of just cuddling, he spoke again, his low voice right next to your ear. āI think you need a break, huh? How about we just spend the day together? Your chores can wait til tomorrow. Weāll even order dinner in tonight. Howās that sound?ā
You were so worn out, from your sobbing, yes, but also, from everything, so all you could do was nod into his shoulder.
āOk, then thatās what weāll do. Just me and my good girl,ā he said, his voice maybe the gentlest youād ever heard.
literally like 95% of girls have stretch marks on their body and if youāre going to give them a hard time about them then you didnāt deserve to see her body in the first place
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: āAnd he shows them pearly whiteā
A/N2: Reader is plus sized and over 30 years old. No other physical descriptors used.
Warnings: Talk of masturbation. Please let me know if I missed any!
Word Count: 289
Main Story
Amid the chaos after your engagement and before Nick has to leave for his kingdom, there are at least some traditions and ceremonies you find yourself enjoying. Hoviriand royalty traditionally gifts their betrothed a doberman for protection and affection, especially in the time between engagement and wedding ceremony. It is also a helpful gift for someone who is leaving behind their friends and family.
"Oh my goodness, I'm naming you Pookie!" you exclaim as you dote on your new friend. He seems to respond well to the name, even if Nick raises an eyebrow at it. You make sure to thank Nick and Mother for making sure the gifting was done early in the chaos. Petting Pookie helps your anxiety as you're facing unprecedented press attention.
The two of you managed to find some time to talk, even if it's just in whispers between photoshoots. There are things you know you need to tell him before the wedding night. Things that, you pray, won't be a scandal.
"I probably should have said something sooner, but I think I was still dazed from that kiss," you start. Nick's smile turns cocky even as your face heats up. "Though I've never actually slept with anyone, I have...Once I was 'too old' to marry...it's custom for spinsters..."
Nick's smile drops as he takes your hand and looks deeply into your eyes. "You can tell me."
"I've used toys on myself," you quietly confess. "I'm not...physically a virgin."
Instead of being aghast or even patiently understanding, Nick's eyes darken and he grins wide, showing off his pearly white teeth.
Leaning in, almost inappropriately close, Nick whispers, "if you're able, please make sure those toys are brought along for the honeymoon."
Oh my š³ this honeymoon is gonna be wild and if hasnāt even started yet.
What makes me sad though is that, even though she decided to pleasure herself (which is good), she got those toys because she knew deep down nobody would be interested, marriage or not. Poor Emeraldā¦. Nick will have to go very heavy on the praising.
I am happy you decided to go with Pookie for the name š¤
The name was just too perfect not to use! And you know he's going to get the prettiest of collars!
You're not wrong about Nick having to go heavy on the praise. Good thing for her, he's ready to do so and he's already established that he doesn't say things he doesn't mean.
Very few times in his life has gaz been given a direct order from his spouse, and every single time he treats it with the urgency of a mission.
He has never once failed any of your requests....until today, it seems.
"Gaz, baby, you better come home smelling like that tomorrow." You had whispered in his ear last night after hours of sex. Not that you two never fucked, but he swears you were trying to kill him that night, face tucked into the crook of his neck.
Gaz doesn't want to admit defeat, but he's crawled through the entire base. Sniffing everything like a fucking dog trying to identify what smell had rubbed off on him. He didn't leave base, followed his normal schedule yesterday, so eventually he should find it.
He's in the middle of helplessly sniffing soap bottles in the hopes he accidentally grabbed someone else's when ghost walks in, postā...whatever he does to workout. He raises a brow at gaz sniffing the soap bottle, but says nothing.
Gaz knows ghost wont say shit about it, given everything he's walked in on ghost doing andā
Wait.
....gaz takes a much to obvious sniff in ghosts general direction.
....that's the smell. Gaz remembers the sparring he did yesterday, how ghost seemed very keen on grapples that time. The smell that had you jumping gazs bones last night was the smell of his lieutenant covered in dirt and sweat.
Gaz contemplates for a moment, looks ghost up and down. He's far from a turn-off, thats for sure. Easily both of your types.
Summary: With the Queen Mother's health returning, plans are made for Loki and Thor to return to their kingdom.
Word Count: ~1k
Warnings: Eating disorders/problems, Past abuse, Past food insecurity. Please let me know if I missed any!
A/N: Reader is female, implied malnourished. No other physical descriptors used.
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Series Masterlist
"The illness itself has been deal with," Mage Beck tells the brothers. "But she will still need time to rest and recover her strength."
"Can your healing magic not do that?" Thor pushed.
Mage Beck lets out a small sigh at the question he hears so often. "If I were to use my magic to make your mother fully hale and hearty, it would not only be temporary but, when the magic itself faded, her body is much more likely to fail her because it has been overcompensating with the aid of the spells. Believe me, it is much safer for her to build her strength back naturally."
"I understand," Loki nods. Thor might have some more objections but if Loki is saying he understands, then he can pester his brother and not the other mage. "May we see her?"
"She is asleep, but you are allowed to sit next to her," Mage Beck confirms with a small bow.
The man hasn't finished speaking before Thor is rushing past. Loki makes sure to thank the fellow mage before heading in.
Tess gives you a look when you enter the kitchen well after most of the other staff. She's been gently urging you to eat more but you content yourself with the leftovers the other servants leave after the dinner rush. It's not as if you can eat much anyways. Besides, this way you don't have to deal with an overly crowded kitchen and the crush of other bodies against yours.
"I made sure to save you a slice of the crumble," Tess informs you. "Wasn't easy, but I know the blackberry are your favorite ones and the sugar'll do you some good."
"Thank you, Tess," you say with a hug.
"And after dinner you'll be practicing your letters?"
"Yes, Tess," you promise, your cheeks heating with embarrassment.
You know it isn't your fault your reading and writing are so poor. Your parents had never pushed your or your siblings to learn more than the basics. There were no books, no writing utensils. When Tess and Mage Beck learned of your low literacy they insisted on upgrading your education. Thankfully Lady Sarah, King Wilson's sister, was willing to teach you alongside her young sons.
"And if I spot any bit of berry on Max's face, you're gettin' a lecture," Tess warns.
That makes you smile. "I can promise I'll be eating the blackberry crumble by myself."
"Glad to hear it."
"My brother and I are needed back in Asgard, but Mother is not yet ready to travel," Thor informs King Wilson.
"She can stay here as long as she needs," the King promises. "I'm happy to honor the longstanding alliance between our kingdoms."
"You are a good man Samuel," Thor says with teary eyes. "We would have lost her without you and yours."
"And don't you forget it," King Wilson says with a smirk. "And we'll make sure whatever people you leave behind with her are taken care of as well."
"Hopefully she will be well enough by the next summit and we can take her home with us then."
As the two kings discuss the logistics of the upcoming departure Loki's mind keeps going to the servant girl and her dog. Maybe he should meet up with them again so Max can see Loki is no longer so distressed. He can still hear the dog's pitiful whines. Almost as clearly as he can picture your beautiful face.
The thought has to be squelched. He's an Asgardian Mage, you are a servant girl in another kingdom. It isn't proper.
But maybe a correspondence? A friendship? To keep up with your and Max's continued health.
The gardens are especially quiet today. All hands that are able are helping to prepare King Thor's caravan back to Asgard. In a rare moment of not being needed, Loki snuck his way out to the gardens in the hopes of seeing you. Though, if anyone asks, he's looking for that sweet dog he met to help him calm his nerves. Sure there were other dogs in and around the castle, but he can easily say Max is the most attentive to strangers.
His shoulders relax a little when he sees the little dog running towards him. He smiles when he sees you chasing after the dog.
"Oh, Your Majesty," you say between breaths as you curtsy.
"Loki, please," he insists, hiding the hurt in his eyes by bending down to pet Max.
"Loki," you repeat. "I wasn't expecting you to come back. Your people have been busy with preparations."
"They have," he nods. "But I wanted to make sure to thank you, and Max, before I leave. The two of you were quite the...comforting presence when I needed it."
"It's the least we can do. We know what it is to need that kind of peace and comfort."
"I was wondering, if...if it's not too forward, if I might...write to you, from time to time. To ask after Max. The pup has quite grown on me rather quickly."
If Loki hadn't had his eyes down, purposefully focusing on Max, he'd have seen your eyes round with shock as your jaw dropped.
"I...I must warn you, I'm not...my reading and writing skills are...lacking."
"Lacking?"
"I've got the basics but my handwriting is that of a child. Reading is a slow process for me."
Shame burns your cheeks. This handsome, kind, royal man must be highly intelligent to be a mage. And you're just a rescue who can barely read and write. The differences between you makes you feel so small, so unimportant.
"Then, with your permission, may I help you practice by writing from time to time?"
I need to send a "per your last email" email because the person I'm dealing with gave me conflicting information and is now trying to make me the problem.
They even had the audacity to screenshot their own email, so I've screenshot their most recent email in the same email thread that counters that other email, and now I'm trying to find a professional way to say, "this you?"
"My apologies, I was under the impression that we were moving forward on the information here [include most recent screenshot] - is that incorrect? Please clarify which is most accurate."
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I have a boss who says āatta girlā to me whenever he approves of something Iāve done. Iām 23. But holy SHIT does it make me blush. Just thinking abt reader getting all fidgety n shit bc a member of the 141 has said smthn like that to themā¦
Nng anonnnn that is so price trying to manipulate his secretary into not snitching @///@
You get hundreds of papers on your desk in a week, yet you somehow manage to catch the discrepancies in his teams accounts of events versus another teams. You brought it to price first, of course you did, he's been spending so much time making sure you trust and rely on him for help.
Sure, he uses your little crush against you, corners you against his desk and traps you in by leaning a hand on it. "Just change it to our account, love, chances are they rushed that report anyways."
"Uhmā I could check the other reportsā" you offer, stumbling and squirming when he growls low in displeasure. "Ahā you're right, i know gaz spends so long making sure his work is right. I'll change it."
You're rewarded with a firm pat on the hip and prices gruff "atta girl."
Thinking about koala hybrid!reader, who is constantly falling asleep, being free use for the sergeants...
Being a koala, your body just doesn't absorb much nutrients, and you naturally spend your day taking naps around the apartment. It's no issue, given kyle and johnny pay for it so long as you keep it clean while they're on leave. A nice, safe space for you to relax.
Oh, but when they're home? You can't catch a break and it's amazing.
You'll fall asleep scrolling through Instagram on the couch, and wake up to soap grinding against your face post-workout, only offering a "couldn't fuckin' concentrate, thinking o' you." When he notices your awake.
Or when you decide to lie down for your mid-morning rest, and wake up to gaz rutting between your thighs. jerking your body roughly against his hips in a way he never does when you're awake. He gentles a bit when you whine, presses a kiss to your temple "might've left some bruises, sorry love."
Of course, non of that keeps them off you when you are awake. It seems one of them always has a hand on or in you in some way.
"Christ, tight today" soap huffs behind you. two thick, hairy arms wrapped around your torso and bouncing you roughly. You rest your chin on the back of the sofa, rumbling happily.
"Can I get a turn or are you hogging it all night?" Gaz snarks, buy he still plops the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table and starts the movie.
"Yeah, just give me a secondā" soap hisses through his teeth, head tossed back as he savours the orgasm. When he finally goes to help you up, he snorts fondly "fell asleep again. You still want it?"
"And give you a cockwarmer all night? Give it to me."
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