Serial Reblogger

reblogging fics that don't go with my buckybarnesfic blog. 30+

[chiefdirector]

Brendon Park with a SO who has nightmares about a bad time in their life. He always holds them close and talks to back to sleep.

Nightmare | Brendon Park | The Pitt

Sleeping through the night was something normal for most people. A solid eight hours where nothing, or no one, can disturb you. A few sacred hours that were yours alone.

Brendon Park had not slept through the night in about five years.

He used to be a deep sleeper. Sharing a room with two brothers made it a necessity to be able to sleep through pretty much anything. He used to have to have two different alarm clocks just to get up in the morning, and he still does. Except that he is usually awake by the time they start to ring.

But he didn't mind, because it meant he was there for you.

Every night, normally around four in the morning, Brendon would wake up to your small whimpers. When you had first gotten together, he hadn't even recognised the sound in his sleep, but now he was attuned to it. Most of the time, when he was awoken to you small sounds, he would wrap his arms around you, hoping that your subconscious would recognise his comfort. And it worked, usually.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

It was around two in the morning when the whimpers first started, but not even Brendon could calm you. It wasn't long before you jerk yourself awake, holding back a scream.

"Hey, hey, hey baby, it's okay," he whispered, arms still around you from before. "You're okay, you're safe."

You had never told him what the nightmares were about, so he could only imagine. Not that he would want to, with the way your dreams tormented your sleep every night, he hates to think what could have caused you so much pain.

So he would settle for reminding you that you were safe with him always.

"Can you take a deep breath for me, just like I am?" He said, bringing your hand to his chest so you could copy his breathing pattern. When Brendon felt your breathing align with his own, did he continue. "You're okay sweetheart."

"I know," You say for the first time since waking up, "I'm sorry."

He leans back on one arm, already knowing where this conversation is going. "You don't have anything to apologise for, not in the slightest."

"I woke you up... You have an early surgery."

Brendon shifts, looking at the red flashing lights of his alarm clock, "Yeah, in half an hour. It's no problem, sweetheart."

He could see you were going to argue again, so he shifted back down so he was lying flat on the bed. Once he was settled, he then manoeuvred you so you were tucked properly into his side, head resting over his heart Brendon often put you in this position, he had said it was so you could be reminded he was with you always, but he knew it was because his heart was yours, and you had the right to hear it's every beat.

"Come on, let's go back to sleep." He encouraged, letting his voice go soft. Only to be met by you shaking your head into his chest. A clear no.

Not that he could blame you, whatever plagues you every night must be bad, and he wouldn't want to be haunted by bad dreams every time he slept. So he decided to talk.

"So I got an amputation this morning at six, below the knee. Left leg. I've been with this patient a while, the same one that came in the ER a few months ago, which you wanted me to amputate there and then. Well he finally came around. He will be able to have so much more freedom after this surgery. And then Garcia and I have to do mandatory training with HR. Apparently my bedside manner is 'not optimal' which I think is-"

Brendon kept talking, knowing that eventually that his voice, and the vibration of his word through his chest, would lull you back to sleep. But he didn't mind at all, he would do anything if it meant that you could sleep peacefully.

—

@carriagetovolterra I love your user!

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[bullet-prooflove]

The Change Up: Brendon Park x Reader

Summary: When you struggle to reacclimate at home Brendon realises you need a change up.

SET AFTER:

Rockstar - Brendon Park meets his match against PTMC's fiery new attending.

Pussy Wagon - A spilled drink leads you to see a different side of your nemesis Park The Shark.

The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren't the only explosive thing happening at Jesse's Fourth of July party.

A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot...

This Is Not A Love Story - Brandon tries to set a rule after a 'sticky' situation.

The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.

Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.

Is He Prettier Than Me? - Brandon gets curious when he learns you have other plans.

The Drawer - Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.

Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.

Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.

An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.

THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.

Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...

Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.

Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.

A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.

The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David's calls once and for all.

The One That Hates The Ravens - David's attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.

The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.

Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.

His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.

The Cost of Dignity - Brendon's greatest secret comes with a cost.

A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.

The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.

Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.

Baby Shark - Once a year Brendon always ends up back at the aquarium.

Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.

The Call Out - Brendon's focus on wedding planning is disrupted when he's called out to the scene of a multi-car pile up.

Good Hands - Abbot reminds Brendon you're in good hands as they proceed with the amputation.

Flayed - Brendon's world crashes down as he learns the truth about the accident.

Ten Things I Love About You - Brendon discovers a pink envelope in the pocket of the jacket you were wearing at the time of the accident.

The Parent Trap - Brendon faces your parents, leading to a surprise revelation.

Sledgehammer - Brendon struggles to cope in the aftermath of everything that's happened.

Et Tu Marianne? - Your mother throws Brendon under the bus after you wake up from surgery.

The Fucking Patient - Abbot has some harsh words for Brendon regarding your care.

Chemistry - You and Brendon finally have a moment alone to talk.

A Serial Absconder - Your habit of disappearing leads to a healing journey Brendon doesn't expect.

Home - Brendon introduces you to your new home after the accident.

It’s your first day in the house and reacclimating is a problem, a big one.

You love the house. You love all the work Brendon, and your father have put into adapting it. The fact it already feels like home despite the fact you’ve only just rolled through the door.

So, the real problem, you realise. The real problem is you.

You don’t seem to fit.

Literally.

That side of the couch you always sit on when you’re catching a Raven’s game, you can’t get comfortable because it seems too low for your leg and if you tuck a cushion underneath it puts strain on your hip.

When you wheel yourself into the kitchen to make a cup of tea you realise the kettle is unobtainable, pushed back against the backsplash in its usual place. Any attempt to lean over in your chair results in you almost tipping it over and falling out.

It’s the same with the bookcase, there’s only one bookshelf you can comfortably reach and it’s the one directly in front of you with the framed pictures of you and your parents, you and Bren. The books are either too high or too low to grasp.

“I need a grabber.” You say glumly as you sit in your wheelchair alongside the couch, your chin on your hand as you watch the Bengals get slaughtered by the Steelers. Even your archenemies bitter defeat isn’t doing much to improve your mood.

“We can get you one.” Brendon says from his position on the couch as he twists his head, his full attention coming to rest on you. “But what you really need is a change up.”

“What does that even mean?” You ask, scowling as you attempt to decipher his words.

His gaze slips to your stump, his dark eyebrows furrowing as if he’s doing math. You can see the cogs slowly turning and it pisses you off even more than you aren’t part of whatever conversion he’s doing in his head.

“Alright…” He says finally, rising to his feet. “We’re four weeks post op so I think I should be able to get away with doing this.”

“What are you– ummphhh.” Your question is drowned out when he literally picks you up from the wheelchair and tosses you over his shoulder.

“Does this hurt?” He asks, adjusting his grip because you’re now about five pounds lighter and your weight disruption is a little uneven.

“No you neanderthal, it doesn’t.” You land a smack right on his ass from your new vantage point. The sound vibrates through the room and you can feel his smile against your hip as he playfully bites your ass through your shorts, making you yelp.

“Good.” He says taking you with him on his journey into the open plan kitchen. “Because we’re going to fix some shit.”

He sets you down on the worksurface carefully, adjusting your hips with his palms so that your stump isn’t hanging over the edge of the counter. “What about the kitchen isn’t working for you?”

You run your hand through your hair, shoving it away from your features as you gesture at the kettle, the biggest offender in this space. “Everything is too far away when I’m in my chair. The appliances, the teabags, the mugs. I almost fall out of it, trying to reach them.”

“Shit.” He states his eyes sweeping over your form before assessing his own. “I forgot you’re almost a foot shorter than me so when I was testing out what you could reach with a dining chair...”

“Oh.” You say, because that is incredibly romantic in its own special little way. “You actually did that?”

“Yeah.” He says scrubbing his palm over the back of his neck as he pulls a face at his own mistake. “I thought I was being helpful, but I guess there were some factors I should have taken into consideration.”

“You were helpful.” You assure him as he drifts towards the opposite side of the kitchen and begins to adjust the location of the appliances you like to use. “You just forgot I’m a shortass.”

The edges of his mouth tip up as he shifts the kettle into a more manoeuvrable space, the tea station comes next, along with the mug you like to use. “Alright then shortass, you can do the things on your side of the counter and I’ll do mine.”

It takes a couple of minutes for the two of you to reorganise the kitchen but in the aftermath, you feel better already, seeing everything you need within arm’s reach. It’s a good step towards your independence, especially when Brendon returns to work in a few days.

“Ok passenger princess.” Brendon parks himself between your thighs, his palms coming to rest on the counter alongside your hips as he steals a kiss. “What’s next on our agenda?”

“The bookshelf.” You tell him, your fingers running his hair making him arch like a cat against you. It’s getting a little long these days, just enough for you to grab in your fists if you were that way inclined, and you do feel inclined, very inclined. You’re just scared of how different things are going to be when you do eventually decide to get back on that horse. “I can only reach the shelf I’m eye level with, so we need to move the pictures to a higher one and those ones down…and they’re in the wrong order.”

That kind of thing, it drives you absolutely fucking crazy. You can’t wait to pull them all off the shelf and reorganise them.

“So, the problem is you can’t reach your billionaire romances or your murder mysteries. We can fix that… hold on.”

His hands slide under your ass, grasping it so your core is snug against his cock. Your fingers lace at the back of his neck as he lifts you again, holding on for dear life as he manhandles you.

Christ you’ve missed his, having his hands on you. There’s no tentativeness, no unsurety, just the skilled dexterity of the man you love as he carries you back towards the couch.

“Oh, what are you…” He sets you down on his side of the sofa, the one that hasn’t been indented with years of you sitting there.

“I’m putting you down in my seat.” He explains, rearranging the cushions behind you. “You have a different shape now, so you need something a little more firmer, that’s more supportive of your leg. How does that feel?”

“Better actually. A lot better.” You admit, testing the flexibility of the cushion. It’s unrelenting under your weight, keeping your thigh situated without putting additional pressure on your hip.

“Good.” He says, moving away to procure your books but you catch his hand, tugging him back to you.

“Bren.” You say softly, the anxiety filtering into your voice. “I want to talk about sex.”

“OK.” He says dropping down into the seat alongside you. His arm rests on the back of the sofa, his fingertips stroking gently through your hair, soothing you as you try to find the words.

“You know things are going to be different right?” You blurt out and his eyes narrow as he tries to understand your concerns. “I’m not the same person I was before, my body is… it’s not that I don’t feel sexy, which is weird because I lost a leg and that makes most people feel incredibly unsexy. It’s just when we do get to do that again… I’m going to need help, our go to positions, the kinky shit we did… I’m not sure of how much of that we’ll be able to do anymore. We’ll have to make adjustments, it’s probably going to be a little weird...”

“You mean we’ll get to explore lots of new and interesting things together.” Brendon breaks into the conversation, his fingers trailing along your jaw, tipping up your chin so he can look into your eyes. “I think, when you are ready to dip your toes back into the pool the two of you are going to have a lot of fun figuring out what works for us.”

“Yeah?” You say almost shyly as his thumb traces over the shape of your lips, dragging the lower one down just enough to make sparks shoot through your body. “You really think that?”

“I know that Rae.” He says softly, leaning over to capture your mouth. That kiss, it’s filthy. It makes your heart race, your blood pumping through veins as his tongue swipes along the seam of your mouth. “You and me, we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

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[starstruckunknown-princess]

Jump (For My Love) - Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Summary: Rupert wants what he can't have -- you.

Word Count: 297

Warnings: Rupert is a menace, could be read as angst?

Song/Lyric Prompt: Jump (For My Love) - Pointer Sisters / "I know you like what you see"

There's history here, but with a word limit I couldn't delve into it more. Let me know if you want more RCB -- Rivals is back! Such a soap opera but I love it anyway. As ever, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

June Jukebox Scribbles Event

My June Jukebox Scribbles Masterlist

"Don't you look especially delicious today," Rupert's voice startled you as he leaned over your shoulder and whispered directly into your ear. The Jones' garden party continued on around you.

"I know you like what you see, Rupert," you replied, not bothering to look at how close he was hovering to you. "But believe it or not, I didn't get dressed with you in mind today."

"Then for whom did you dress, my dear?" he asked, scanning the crowd over your shoulder.

"I dressed for myself, and because appearing naked at social functions is generally frowned upon."

"I certainly wouldn't mind you showing up naked," he purred into your ear, which had you supressing a shiver. "Nor would any man here, I bet."

You scoffed, "The last thing I need is more desperate men making moves on me."

"Do I strike you as desperate?" he asked. You straightened as you felt Rupert's fingers trace along your lower back. Your grip on your drink tightened and you took a stiff sip.

"I know for a fact that you're not. You have your pick of any woman here, yet you waste your time flirting with me."

"Dearest, flirting with you is a cherished hobby of mine," he insisted, his fingers along your back becoming more insistent and his lips hovering dangerously near your neck. "And if I have my pick of women, I choose you."

You turned to face him, taking a step back to put some distance between you. "But would you choose me for more than a quick fuck? For more than a weekend of bliss? Because I'm looking for something real, Rupert, not something that will peter out on your usual timeline."

You left Rupert rooted to the spot, gasping like a fish out of water.

[azriona]

June 7 Drabble - Jumping In

A NAFTK prequel drabble. Steve & Reader, General Audiences, 100 words exactly. It is a direct follow-on from yesterday's drabble. This drabble meets the requirements @societynsoelsscribbles June Jukebox Scribbles (Jump (for my love) by the Pointer Sisters).

Summary: You think Steve has already saved you enough--but even if you hate him doing it, he'll just keep doing it again.

"What the hell did you do that for?" You slam your locker closed, unwilling look at Steve, whose mouth is a thin line, eyes are wide with surprise. "It's not your problem, Steve, I can handle the press just fine—"

"You shouldn't have to deal with their misconceptions." Steve's tone is cool and solid, 89% Captain America. "Part of my job is protecting my team—that includes you."

"Steve." Your lean against your locker. "You can't keep jumping in to save me."

Steve's hand is heavy on your shoulder. "Sure I can. And one day, you'll return the favor."

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[ceijoh]

a little small talk, a smile, and baby, i was stuck

pairings: brendon park x f!reader

Park hates you, or so you think. And so what happens if one night you question him as to why?

warnings: smut. creampies. hints of robby x reader (but not really). park being readers biggest and silent supporter but posing like an opp. teasing. bantering. park's in love with her, your honour. park cooking for reader. biting kink (both!) dirty talk. park being narcissistic. a little bit of choking. banter for days. fingering. park being condescending. praise kink! excessive use of parenthesis from yours truly. aftercare from the shark <3 oh he is soooo soft for her.

notes: this is technically part one to the series! but you can definitely read it as a stand alone, as i made all the parts so! i decided to break it up because it was hella long, and i thought it would be more enjoyable this way! as always, let me know what you think!

word count: 6.1k+

based on the blurb that i did here: it started out with a kiss

dont go wasting your emotions masterlist | the pitt masterlist | masterlist | ask

There was no doubt about it, Brendon Park hated you. You had no concrete proof, but it was a feeling. You don’t think he hated you at first sight, but maybe, most definitely, the second or third time he met you. 

You could feel his ire towards you whenever the two of you were in the same room. Robby often having to step in so he wouldn’t be too harsh, somehow that action eliciting more snark from the surgeon. 

Which was a blow to your ego, you admired him, one of his nicknames was ‘Ortho God’ for a reason. Call it a need for approval or whatever, but you hated the fact that he seemed to hate you with no reason at all. 

Not adding to the fact that you thought he was attractive, something that would never leave your mind because who in their right mind would find Park the Shark attractive? He was cocky, rude, blunt and had a God complex. 

But still. 

There was something about him that just made you gravitate towards him. Maybe it was his seemingly unshakeable confidence, his competency in his job, or the fact that his brain was probably as big as his forearms. 

Tired of him pretending you don’t exist when he walks into the same room as you, was what brought you here today. 

“Why the fuck do you hate me? You asked, bitterly swallowing the liquor and pointedly ignoring Park’s amused chuckle. “That’s fucking disgusting,” you passed the whisky to the man next to you. 

“That’s what you get for not ordering those fruity drinks,” he remarked, gladly taking the drink from you and downing it. If you noticed he moved the drink so his lips could be where yours were, you didn’t say anything. 

“How do you know what I drink?” Flagging down the bartender, you asked for your usual go-to and turned to Park. “And you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“I don’t hate you,” he eventually answered, in a tone that suggested that you were stupid to think that he hated you. “I hate how you act Robinavitch.” 

You pulled back, “Excuse me?” 

Park rolled his eyes, “You’re dewy-eyed every time he comes around,” he started. “I’ve seen you in action, you’re tough, you know your stuff, you command the room, you’re willing to get down and dirty, but when you’re with him, or if you think he’s around?” Park made a disgusted face and scoffed. 

“You’re clueless, as if being in a trauma bay is a field trip for you, and you’ve never encountered an actual medical case.” 

Balking at this criticism at your person, you were quiet, mulling over what he said. You tried to remember all your encounters with Park when Robby was around. Grimacing, you could see where he was coming from. 

Were you really like that? When you were with Robby? If someone like Park - who doesn’t come down that often sees it, who else does? Were you the fucking laughing stock of the ED?

Fury and embarrassment ran through you and you steeled yourself, “What’s it to you?” 

“I want you to be the best,” he answered, ordering another whisky. Park turned to you and under the light you saw the intensity in his eyes, the blatant expression almost too much for you. “I know that you can be the best.”

You were stunned at his words. 

“You can’t be the best when you’re too busy making sure that Robinavitch is noticing you, or whether he’s fucking one of the nurses again,” Park said truthfully. 

You want to say that Brendon Park is a liar. That he uses people to gain advantage. But he doesn’t. He’s mean, crass, blunt, impatient but not a liar.  

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Park glanced at you, watching as you fiddled with your drink. 

You scoffed, “Could have fooled me.” 

“I don’t want you to waste your potential. I’ve seen too many people in this field make themselves smaller so they can have the hot shot attending,” Park explained. 

“Speaking from experience?” You quipped and you mumbled an apology when he threw you a glare. 

“You have promise, you could make a good Chief one day, can’t do that when you’re too busy crying in an on-call room when you found out Robinavitch was fucking Hastings,” at the mention of the two people that have been the cause of your tears for the last few weeks, Park saw you tense, and then you relaxed. 

“That was one time!” You cried out. 

“You’re too attractive for him anyway,” he threw out, gulping down his shot, while looking at you through his peripheral. 

“Is this your way of getting into my pants?” You snipped. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he smirked. “But no, if I wanted to fuck you I don’t need to use pretty words.” 

“Oh really?” You sneered, and deep down inside you hated yourself because you knew he was right. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Why because you’re such an Ortho God that me having sex with you would give me some of your godly medicinal powers?” You hissed, narrowing your eyes, trying to figure out his plan. 

You followed the path of his mouth turning to a smirk, “No, I just know that you find me attractive as much as I find you attractive.”

You feigned a disgusted noise, snorting into your drink, “I never said I found you attractive.” 

“Oh, so do your eyes just follow everything attending that walk through the ED?” He remarked. “And do you accidentally like years old posts on their private Instagram as well?”

“That wasn’t me,” you mumbled, downing your drink, embarrassment alive and well, digging itself into every crevice of your body. 

Park laughed loudly, “Sure, baby,” the drinks making his lips a little looser. “Pretty sure I have a screenshot somewhere.” 

At the nickname, you squirmed in your seat. You weren’t uncomfortable per se, just confused that Park was talking to you like this. You squinted your eyes and poked him, trying to make sure that it was him in front of you. 

“What are you doing?” He leaned back, trying to figure out what you were doing. 

“Why are you talking to me now?” 

He took a moment to say anything to you, a silence that you filled by looking at him. 

“You did well today,” he begrudgingly said. Thinking back to your day, you remembered exactly what he was talking about. Park was called down for a consult, you were the resident in charge of the case. 

You caught something that the others didn’t see, that Robby didn’t see. They brushed you off at first, and you were frustrated at the lack of trust in your judgement. It wasn’t until Park came into the room and backed you up that people believed your claim. 

“A compliment? From Park the Shark?” You heard him huff and you could practically hear him roll his eyes. 

You didn’t know if it was the flowing of alcohol through your veins, or the fact that Park was actually talking to you, or the fact that conversing was easier than you anticipated. More comfortable and fun that you could ever imagine that you wanted to continue to talk to him. 

“So, back to that screenshot,” you smiled sweetly. “You were lying about that, right?” 

Park laughed and you watched, mesmerised at the rare sight. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” turning to you, a gleam in his eyes, “But if you don’t believe me, I can always show you back at my place.” 

“Smooth,” you rolled your eyes but downed the rest of your drink. 

You both stared at each other, knowing what each of you wanted. As if you were telepathically connected, Park paid for both of your drinks and looked expectantly at you. 

“I’ll call an Uber,” Park pulled out his phone, looking at you when you let out a breath through your nose. 

“You’re presumptuous,” you said but hopped off your chair, grabbing your things. 

“He’s on his way, let’s go,” putting his phone back, he waited for you to go past him, his hand landing on the small of your back. 

-

You were tense next to him, Park could feel it. Taking initiative, he placed his hand on your thigh squeezing once. You looked up to him, tracing his jawline with your eyes. 

“If you don’t want to do this, say so,” Park said, being uncharacteristically gentle. “I can book an Uber for you when we get to my place and we don’t have to speak about this ever again.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Now I really know you want to get in my pants.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he pinched your thigh, causing you to yelp and the Uber driver to look at you. Nodding at him reassuringly, he looked back to the road.

“Are you always this mouthy?” 

Shrugging you turned to him, “Guess you just have to find a way to make me shut up.” 

Park grinned and the sight of his canines made you swallow. There was something so animalistic about him when he smiled at you like that. Feeling your heart begin to race, you felt yourself lean up. 

A clearing of a throat broke the two of you apart, you mumbled an apology, but didn’t move away from the warmth of Park. 

-

“I hate you,” you glared at the man between your legs. 

Park threw his keys by the side table and smirked at you, “I can live with that,” placing his hands on the back of your thighs, he squeezed once. “Up,” he commanded and you obeyed. “Good girl,” seeing your reaction at those words, Park filed the response away in his brain, fully intending to use it within the next thirty minutes. 

Lifting you up, you felt your back hit the door, and before you could complain, Park placed his mouth over yours. It was soft, softer than you thought his lips would be (not that you ever thought about his lips before this). Moaning quietly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

Deepening the kiss, you could feel his tongue slowly trace your bottom lip. Parting your lips, Park slowly slid his tongue, lazily allowing it to map out your mouth, your own tongue docile waiting for his command. 

“So needy,” Park smirked against your mouth, his tongue collecting both of your saliva from your chin and licking it back to your mouth. Feeling emboldened you stroked the underside of his tongue with yours, earning a groan from the man. Grasping the hair at the bottom of his neck, you pulled, eliciting another groan. 

Park pushed you closer to the door, his cock beginning to grind into your stomach, “Feel that, princess? Hope you can take it.” He swallowed your moan, this time completely taking over control, moving one hand to the back of your neck, he wrapped his hand around your hair and this time, it was him that pulled. 

Licking up your exposed neck, he could hear your panting from above, wanting more of your noise, Brendon sank his teeth in gently to the meat of your shoulder. 

“Brendon,” you gasped, his teeth leaving an imprint on your soft skin. You rutted against his bulge, earning a hitch of breath from the man in front of you.  

“I’m not going to fuck against my door,” he said against your lips. “Come on.” 

You briefly looked around his room. It was nice. Clean and precise, just how you thought Park’s room would be (again, not that you ever thought about that, definitely not), a few personal touches here and there. 

Feeling laughter bubble out of you, “Is that a picture of yourself on your table?” 

“I look good,” you looked back to the picture and he had you there. He did in fact look good, very good. 

“You’re narcissistic,” you replied. 

“I have good reasons to be,” he pulled his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room. You took a moment to look at him. The plains of his chest, the sprinkling of his chest hair, how broad his shoulders are. Just how fucking big he is. Wetting your lips, your eyes dragged down his happy trail, eyes landing on his bulge. 

He closed the distance between the two of you, clashing your mouths together again. Park grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, hands straight going to your ribs. You let your hands wander around his chest, eventually landing on his belt buckle. 

Biting his bottom lip, you moved your mouth down his neck, mouthing open kisses down his stomach. You heard him curse above you, spurring you on, you kissed the tent of his pants, your hands working on unbuckling his belt. 

Tugging his pants down, you noted the wet spot on his underwear, kissing the outline of his cock, you felt Brendon place his hands on your head. Pulling down his briefs, you watched his length appear. Practically salivating, you couldn’t help but lick the precum on the tip of his head. You rolled the liquid in your mouth, allowing it to coat every crevice. He tasted salty, masculine, and you wanted more. 

“Fucking hell,” Brendon gritted out, as his fingers gripped your hair. 

Sitting back on your heels, you took a moment to look at him. He was huge, to say the least. Big and thick in all the right places, a thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You took a moment to just admire his length, fingertip trailing against a particularly prominent vein. 

Licking your lips, you opened your mouth, ready to taste him properly. Before you could, you felt a tug on your upper arm. Brendon looked down at you, “Not tonight. Been thinking too long about this to not be in your pussy right now.” 

“You’ve thought about this?” You cocked your head to the side, and Brendon looked down at you and a little light flared up in his chest. 

Before you could think about what he meant, Park yanked you, grabbing your face and messily kissed you. Grinding his leaking cock into your stomach, you moved your hand downwards until you were able to grasp it. 

He hissed as he felt your hand on him, slowly twisting your hand up and down, spreading his precum around the head of his cock. Briefly pulling away from him, you brought up your hand and locked eyes with him. Sensually licking his cum off, you watched as his nostrils flared, his breath getting heavier, looking down you could see his cock twitching. 

With what could only be described as an actual growl, Park wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck, and roughly yanked you back to his mouth. 

“Get your fucking pants off,” he commanded against your lips.  

Kicking the rest of his pants off, you did the same, almost falling when it got caught on your ankle. “Careful,” he mumbled gently, as he caught you. 

Removing your pants for you, he laid you down on the edge of his bed. “Cute,” Park smirked as he stared at your underwear with cherries on there. His eyes focusing on the large wet spot. 

“Shut up, I didn’t know I was going to have sex with you,” you whined, closing your legs slightly. 

“So you would have worn something different if you did know?” He said arrogantly, and it took everything in you to not kick him in the head. Hot as he might be, he was still the arrogant Park you knew. 

Sensing your annoyance and that you were going to say something, he leaned forward and licked you through your underwear. A moan escaped your mouth as you felt him suckle your clit through the fabric. 

Tasting you, Park grunted and he felt himself subconsciously move closer to you, arms coming beneath your thighs and yanking them to his body. Kissing across the span of your pelvic area, you yelped when you felt him nip your inner thigh. 

Rutting into his bed, Park would have been ashamed of his actions, acting like a teenage boy tasting his first pussy, but you were here. You were under him and he really didn’t fucking care if he came right now just from tasting you. 

Having enough of the fabric in his way, he ripped the cotton, apologising by placing a soft kiss on your mound, eventually sliding down to your clit. 

“Prettiest fucking pussy,” as he spread your lips, your hole clenching at his actions. “Taste so fucking good,” he said against your hole. Lapping at your slick, your hands hovering near his head before you threaded your fingers through his hair. 

“Brendon, fuck,” you cried out, head falling back as you thrusted up to his face. Cupping your ass, he pulled you impossibly closer, allowing you to practically ride his tongue. 

You could hear the lewd slurp of his mouth, feel his drool combining with your slick. Brendon thrust his tongue into your hole, trying to get as much essence as he could, swallowing it down like it was his life elixir. 

Placing his thumb on your clit, Brendon growled as he felt you tighten even more against his tongue, moving away with an audible pop, he dragged his fingers down until he was at your entrance. 

Flicking his eyes back up to you, he watched as you arched your back as he entered your hole with two fingers. He closed his eyes at your warmth, the tightness and smoothness of your channel. He pressed deeper into your heat, eventually landing on your sweet spot. 

“Bren,” you sighed out as he began curling his fingers. You clenched your jaw, breath taken away from the sheer size of his fingers. 

Needing his tongue on you again, he pulled out his fingers, dipping them into his mouth and moaning at your taste. 

“You have the sweetest fucking pussy, baby,” he mumbled against your clit, sucking it into his mouth, Brendon almost rolled his eyes to the back of his head at the noises you were making. “Can’t believe you kept her from me.” 

You usually would have hated men referring to your pussy like that but fuck if didn’t turn you even more. Running one hand through his hair, your other hand gripped onto his forearm. Brendon shifted his hand to hold yours, interlocking fingers as he pushed his face closer to your heat. 

Feeling your release coming embarrassingly close, you tightened your grip on his hair and hand, your core tightening, you cried out, a long elongated noise as you felt your orgasm wash over you. You rutted your pussy against his face, prolonging the pleasure that you were receiving. 

Panting and trying to regain some sort of clarity, you slowly released the grip you had on his hair. The gel completely gone, you almost felt bad at how messy he looked, but all it did was turn you on. 

Sitting back up, you saw your release glisten against his face, you reached for him, needing to taste him. Crashing your mouths together, you cupped his cheeks, feeling his stubble against your palms. Dragging him down to you, you unashamedly licked around his mouth, collecting your juices and melted your mouths together again. 

Practically on top of you, you felt his shaft weep against your stomach, feeling drops of his precum dropping. Sliding yourself up, you wrapped your legs around him, letting his cock slide between your folds. Grunting into your mouth, Brendon followed your movements, his cock itching to be in you. 

Dragging you up his bed, Brendon reached for one of his side tables, opening up, blindly feeling around for something, all the while keeping his lips on yours. Bringing out what he needed, he slammed the drawer shut, and regretfully pulled away from you. 

Moving to open the foil packet, you grabbed his hand and looked at him, and against your all medical instincts, you shook your head, “Want to feel you.” 

Brendon breathed through his nose and for a second you thought you made a mistake. The next moment you saw, was him throwing the condom across his room, arms caging around your head, his weight slowly being placed on top of you. 

Gripping the base of his cock, he tapped the head a couple of times, your hips jolting trying to chase the feeling. He slid against your pussy again, his pre completely dripping down to your hole. Brendon groaned as he squeezed the base of cock and moved his hand up, forcing more of his precum to land on your clit. 

Spreading the liquid using the tip, you threw your head back, relishing in the feeling, as the man above you gritted his teeth.  

“Brendon, please,” you begged, eyes starting to tear up. You could feel yourself clench against nothing and it was aggravating to know he wasn’t in you yet.  “Please, I need you.” 

He stared at you, and for a moment you felt like you were prey finally being found by the big bad predator. Park kept eye contact with you as he slowly encompassed everything that you could see, everything that you could feel. 

Sliding into you slowly, Park watched as you closed your eyes at his size and the stretch. A blissful sigh leaving your lips as you felt him hit home, eyes closing at the fit. When he was flushed against your hips, he let out a strangled groan of your name. 

“I’m good,” you breathed out, nodding your head. 

“How do you want it?” 

You fluttered your eyes open and looked at the man above you, his gaze intent, “What?” You stuttered. 

“How do you want me to fuck you?” He elaborated -- the way he would explain simple medical terms to the medical students, but his tone was different. It was soft. 

“Slow, rough,” you gulped, a small sliver of embarrassment making a home in your chest, and you broke eye contact with him. “Hard,” you mumbled. 

Squishing your cheeks together with one hand, he turned your head to lock eyes with him. “Don’t,” he breathed as he began to pull out slowly, keeping his eyes on you, watching your reaction as he plunged harder into your pussy. Hands grasping his bedsheets, you arched your back, a loud moan of his name leaving your mouth.  

“That’s fucking right,” he purred against your neck, hands going to the back of your thighs, throwing them over his shoulder. Folding your legs, Brendon leaned on his forearms, as he held the rough pace. “Good fucking girl, taking my cock so well.” 

He was rewarded with you clenching your pussy tighter and a strangled noise coming from your mouth. 

“Feel so good,” you babbled, turning your face to kiss him. 

He grinned down at you, “Yeah, is that right, baby?” He pulled out to just his tip and you whined at the loss, “Who’s making you feel this way?” 

“You, just you,” you cried out, your hands reaching for the back of his body. Hanging on to him, “Brendon,” you moaned, eyes clenching tight. 

Roughly sinking back into your cunt, you let out a scream as you dragged your nails down his back. He kept at that rhythm, leaning on one forearm, other hand reaching towards to engulf the right side of your cheek. 

Caressing it softly, he looked down at you; sweat lining your forehead, your lips parted, cupid's bow just waiting to be kissed and Brendon didn’t want to ever forget this. Teeth latching on your jaw, not biting, just holding you there, one of your hands drifted to the hair on the base of his neck. 

“Where?” He mumbled against your jaw, lips moving to your lips.  

“Inside,” you panted, clenching your pussy. “Birth control.” 

You heard him briefly curse under his breath, his lips mouthing against your neck. “You just let anyone cum inside of you?” 

“No, just you,” you whined, your nails digging into his shoulder. “Just want your cum.” 

At that, Park’s eyes lit up, his face twisting into an animalistic look, brutally thrusting deeper into you, “That’s fucking right,” he growled against your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”  

Dragging his lips down from your mouth, he licked your neck, all the way down to your shoulder. “Tell me,” he mumbled and you grew confused until you felt his teeth sink into you. 

Clenching around him, you felt another rush of heat through you. “Brendon,” you gasped, breath hitching, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Fuck.” 

Softening his bite, he licked the mark, thumb moving down to circle your clit. “You want me to fill you up, huh?” Brendon taunted, as his lips found yours again. “Want me to breed your little pussy?” 

You nodded, tears running down your face, “Please, Brendon,” you cried out. 

Dragging his cock slowly, he pushed in and gave a little grind of his hips. Crying at the sensation of the tip of his cock grinding into your g-spot, and his hair catching on your little nub, you were in a euphoric state of mind. 

Breath hitching, you could feel your pussy pulse around his cock, your stomach tensing. You could feel your orgasm approaching. 

“Cum around me baby,” he said against your ear, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Wanna feel you.” 

Shutting your eyes, you jerked your hips upwards, “Fuck!” It was all too much, his words, his touch, his cock, everything. With one last grind against your sweet spot, you let out another scream of his name as you felt your release go through you. You squeezed his shoulders, nails breaking into the skin. Panting his name, all you could do was hold onto him, as you felt your cum coat his cock. 

Pulling him to you, Brendon dropped his head to your neck, licking the sweat accumulated there. Feeling the spasms of your pussy, Brendon stuttered in his thrusts. 

“Best fucking pussy,” he groaned out, hand on your neck and face nuzzled into the crook of it. “Feel like you’re made for me.” 

You nodded at whatever he said, head too fuzzy to register anything with the exception that his hips were snapping faster now, trying to chase his own release. “Fucking best girl, yeah? Gonna fill you up.” 

With a final growl of your name, you felt him spill inside of you. Your hips jerking as you felt him continuously fill you up. “That’s my girl,” he panted against your ear, licking the apparent tears coming from your eyes, as he felt his cock twitch a couple more times. 

Placing kisses from your ear to your cheek, he travelled until he met your mouth. Grasping your face softly with his hands, he looked down at you, blue eyes blown with lust but the most gentle you’ve ever seen. 

“Holy shit,” you panted, blinking rapidly trying to make sure you were still alive. “Fuck, Park.” 

At your reaction, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Good to know it was good for you as well, sweetheart.” 

“Good?” You asked in astonishment. “Jesus, Park. That was mind blowing.” 

Grinning, he shifted his forearms, he looked down and the sight made him pause. Your slick was all over him, a white ring at the base of his cock, your wetness all over his pubic hair. Mesmerised at the sight, he leaned further back, spreading your folds, he shallowly thrust into you. Whining at the overstimulation, you grabbed his bedsheets, heart starting to race again. 

“Look at you,” he said in a soft awe. He paused for a moment, to just memorise you on his bed; dishevelled, tears running down your face, his marks along your body. Fucking beautiful. 

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the same time. Slowly lowering your legs, you felt him massage your sore hips as you hissed as they hit the bed. 

One hand slowly coming to caress your cheek again, Brendon couldn’t help but lean down again to kiss you. Unlike the previous times your mouths met, this time he met your lips softly. He slowly deepened the kiss, his lips working in a way that you didn’t expect from him. You felt him take his time to guide his tongue into your mouth, massaging your tongue with his. 

Reluctantly parting from you, he stared at you, blue eyes locking with yours. Brushing away the strands sticking to your face, you felt your heart jump at how he was looking at you. Gulping, you reached up and traced his cheekbone, admiring how pliant he was at this moment. 

“Stay,” he said softly, his tone completely different to a couple of minutes ago. Getting up he went to another room, which you presumed was the bathroom. You really tried not to admire his backside but Park truly was a god in terms of his physique alone. Watching as he walked back, you saw that even when he was soft, it was still a sight. 

“Spread your legs, baby,” he asked softly, and you did so, wincing as you opened your legs for him. 

You took a good look at him, as best as you could in your post sex haze. Admiring his thick thighs, you wondered what it felt like under your hands; to touch, to squeeze. Coming closer to you, you pondered on how his body would feel to just touch innocently, to have him wrapped around you. 

“Thanks,” you said in appreciation, staring at the way he was so gentle around you. 

Cleaning himself up, you watched as he threw the towel into his hamper. He stood by his dresser, leaning against it as he just looked at you. Running his eyes through your state. 

“What?” You chuckled, and a sense of insecurity ran through you. This was after sex. After the adrenaline and horniness of it all. Wanting to wrap his bedsheets around your body, you forced yourself to just stay. 

“You’re pretty,” was all he said and you were taken aback from the sincerity in his voice. Softening at his words, it was your turn to stare at him again. He stood in a way that radiated confidence, something that could never be shaken. 

“Go pee,” taking you out of your thoughts, you stared at him. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I have a spare glass on the counter. Are you happy with tap water?” 

“What?” 

He rolled his eyes and crossed the room to get to you. Gently picking you up by your pits, he sat you up. “You need to pee. You should know that, being a doctor and all,” and there he was. The annoying man you’ve become accustomed to. 

“I know that,” you snapped, slapping his hand away. 

Ignoring the wobbliness of your legs, you stood up, and you instantly regretted it as you almost fell face first on his floor. 

“Park,” you whined as you felt his hands supporting your body, you tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he wouldn’t give. 

“Are you always this annoying?” You moved to slap his thigh. “Jesus, if you’re still this annoying I need to fuck you harder.” 

“I’m going to pee now,” and with that you closed his bathroom door on him. 

You left his bathroom, and scanned the room, trying to see if you could see your clothes. You knew what came next, and you wanted to limit the amount of awkwardness that you’d inevitably feel. Padding over to where you vaguely saw Brendon throw your shirt, you frowned as you saw nothing. 

“What are you doing?” Park watched you with an impatient stare, noticing that he had put on some sweats and a shirt, you took a moment to drag your eyes down his figure. 

“Uh, going home?” You scrunched your face, and began trying to find your clothes. “Where are my clothes?” 

“I put them in my hamper, I’ll wash them tomorrow for you,” he jerked his head to the basket in the corner of the room. 

“Why?” You asked, confused. Isn’t this the part where he kicks you out? Tell you ‘thanks but don’t ever bring this up’. “Don’t you want me to leave?” 

“Did I say I want you to leave?” He got you there. But still this was the normal procedure. Rolling his eyes, he walked over to you, and dressed the extra shirt in his hand on your body. 

Leading you back to his bed, he laid you down and crawled over your body, “I’m not done with you.” 

-

Waking up, you turned over, hands reaching out for a warm body and opening your eyes when you didn’t find him. 

You slowly walked down, clad only his shirt, you observed for a minute, just seeing Park in his natural habitat. You saw him being at ease in his kitchen, if someone told you that you would be watching Park the Shark making breakfast with only his sweats on, you would have told them that they were crazy. 

Running your eyes down his back, you saw the marks that you left and pride (and a bit of embarrassment) filled you. 

“Morning,” you greeted, walking right beside him. 

Park ran his eyes up and down your body, “Morning. You look good.” 

“Sure, Park,” you knew you looked like a mess. Hair not even brushed, his shirt on you askew, and toothpaste residue you accidentally left on said shirt. 

You looked around at what he had, and you thought of what you could help with. 

“Just sit,” he jerked his head to his table, as if reading your thoughts. “I’ve got it covered.” 

Sitting down, you watched as Park continued to cook, you sat there in silence as you admired him. You wondered if he was like this every morning, or after every hook-up he had. Shaking your thoughts, you didn’t need to know about that. 

“I don’t know what you wanted,” Park spoke as he flipped the final pancake. “I don’t do this so I just made what I would usually have,” turning the stove off, he picked up the plates. 

“What? You don’t treat all your hook-ups like this?” You teased, heart lurching a bit, but you managed to ignore it. 

“No,” he answered bluntly. 

“Oh?” You asked, your mouth working faster than your brain. 

He looked down at you. “No. If I did sleep with someone, I wouldn't take them here and I certainly wouldn't make them breakfast.” 

“So what, am I special?” You teased, your heart lurching in a different way. 

Brendon didn’t say anything in response, just looked at you, and an unfamiliar (but welcoming) warmth made its home in your veins. 

Placing the food down, your eyes bulged and your mouth started to drool. “And I wasn’t lying,” Park said as he put your plate in front of you. 

“Huh?” 

“You look good.” 

Silence stretched until he sat down, Park really had no reason to lie to you. He already had you last night, several times in fact, and then this morning too before both of you truly woke up. 

The compliment sat on your chest and you didn’t know what to do with it. The warmth from before really hammering its presence. 

“Coffee?” You asked, not seeing anything on your side. 

“What do you usually have?” 

“Matcha,” and at that you heard him snort, making you throw a piece of fruit at him. 

“Of course, you do, princess,” Brendon rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I don’t have that,” as he made a mental note to place it on his list. 

Telling him your alternative preference, he got up and walked to his machine. “I can make it,” you started, getting up from your seat. 

“I got it, just eat,” and with that he turned his back to you. 

Taking a couple of pancakes and a few extra bits and pieces, you began to dig in. 

“Who knew that Park the Shark could cook,” you teased as you placed the pancake in your mouth. Moaning loudly, you looked to the food and to him, “Holy fucking shit, you made this?” 

“My mum made sure that I could cook,” he said as he placed down your coffee. “Said that I’m not a man if I don’t know how to cook for my woman.” 

Swallowing your food, you hummed, “Let me know her name and I’ll personally thank her.” 

“Are you working today?” Was all he said, despite the fond smile on his face. 

“No, I’m off for five starting today,” you replied, shoving another piece into your mouth.  “Good,” he looked over his coffee, eyes trained on your face. “Eat up because I’m going to fuck you all day today.” 

park taglist

@realwhoreforfictionalmen | @noisynightmarepoetry

don't go wasting your emotions taglist

@melsunshine

[send-noodles-not-nudes]

#30: Anything But | Steve Rogers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OC (Adelaide Stone)

Warnings: messy feelings, kind of a breakup, sadness, Steve being physically incapable of telling the people he loves that he's in love with them.

Word count: 300 Times word count has successfully been ≤300: 20

For the June Jukebox Scribbles challenge hosted by @societynsoelsscribbles | June 6: Alt lyric—When they say your name, I just act confused.

You DO NOT have my permission to repost or upload my fic anywhere, including into an AI, tumblr, or other sites! Reblogs only!

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Adelaide didn't think Steve leaving would affect her. They were just friends with benefits, really, if 'friends' was even an accurate term for whatever they had. She knew he was leaving. Even if the Accords and this whole Bucky thing were none of her business, she at least paid attention to it. He'd even asked if she would hate him for leaving. Like he needed her permission. Like she had stakes in it. Like they were anything more than what they were.

Now, after he'd left in the middle of night without even a proper goodbye, there was a void in her life that couldn't be filled with other fuck buddies like Eddie or Matt or even Natasha. Perhaps the worst of it all was that their relationship had been a secret, that she didn't have anyone she trusted to confide in about what happened. Anyone else in the Tower, even Tony, could admit they missed him without batting an eye. Meanwhile, if someone brought up the deep melancholy she'd adopted after Steve's absence, Adelaide just acted confused. "Honestly? I forgot he even left," she'd say with a laugh about as far from convincing as she was from patient.

Across oceans and borders and perhaps a couple continents, Steve waged a similar war. Sam posited his idea for a place to hide out—"Hey, what about Adelaide?"—and Steve snapped to attention like the wayward soldier he was. "Huh?" "They didn't teach you geography in 1602?" he teased. "Adelaide puts us about as far away from the States, Russia, and Sokovia as we can be. Plus, it's fall over there; gets us out of the heat both literally and metaphorically." "Australia," Steve said dumbly, his head still a million miles away. "…Right. H-How about Darwin? Or Perth?"

Anything but Adelaide.

a/n: if you saw the title and immediately thought "cMERE I WISH I WAS A MAYFLY ON THE RIVER TAYYYY" we can be friends.

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[send-noodles-not-nudes]

#31: How High? | Dean Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC (Alicia Cooper)

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, Dean being self-sacrificial for love, Alice worrying about him, desecration of a book.

Word count: 537 and i regret none of them Times word count has successfully been ≤300: 20

For the June Jukebox Scribbles challenge hosted by @societynsoelsscribbles | June 7: Song—Jump (For My Love) by The Pointer Sisters.

You DO NOT have my permission to repost or upload my fic anywhere, including into an AI, tumblr, or other sites! Reblogs only!

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It was no secret that Dean Winchester would do absolutely anything and everything for the woman he loved. What was a secret was the little bet Sam and Alice had made to see how ridiculous the requests could get before he would catch onto it.

It started off organically. Alice had worn the wrong shoes for spelunking on a rainy day and stared hopelessly at a puddle in the parking lot, wondering how to cross without getting her shoes muddy. Without her even saying anything, Dean stripped off Sam's jacket, using his confusion as an opportunity to lay it down for her to walk across like they were in some cheesy movie from the 40s. He ignored Sam's angry hiss of "you literally could have just picked her up, dude!" but knew he might pay for it when payback got the opportunity. Later, after Alice had carefully laundered his jacket and when Dean wasn't around, Sam had brought it up.

"You know he would genuinely do anything for you, right?" He sounded disturbed. "I never asked him to. He's just sweet like that," she hummed dreamily. "Is it terrible that I wanna see where and if he draws the line?" "He has boundaries, Sam! He's not thoughtless! …but I am kind of curious, now."

It started small. Carrying things, doing chores, giving massages; standard couple-y things he did without batting an eye. Then, Sam upped the ante, and Dean found himself answering her calls mid-exorcism, leaving Sam to deal with a wraith by his lonesome so Dean could pick Harper up from school, trying to tame a Hellhound because she jokingly suggested getting one as a pet. No matter how crazy the request was, his answer was always "as you wish".

It got so absurd that Alice decided to cut off the bet, worried over how easily Dean would put everything on the line to make her happy with little to no concern for himself. She must have read the same page twenty times over before she worked up the courage to speak. "Deanie?" "Hmm?" "If I asked you to jump—" She didn't even have time to finish asking before he answered. "How high?"

Something about that broke her heart.

Her book dropped haplessly to the ground, bending pages, when she held his face in her hands in desperation to make the gravity of her words sink in. "I want you to take care of yourself," she pleaded with trembling breath. "You don't have to do anything for me. I can handle myself." Dean offered her a gentle smile and slipped his hands over hers. "I know," he said softly, "I want to do things for you."

"All you ever have to do for me is love me." "Pssh!" he dismissed with a scoff. "I've been doin' that for twenty years; give me something harder!" "Kiss me?" she suggested, tentative, like she was asking the world from him. Dean's smile widened to encompass ear to ear, those earnest apple-green eyes falling from her gaze down to her lips. "Always."

Soft, sugar-sweet, and with a love for the eternities, his kiss was all she could ever want or need, and he was all too glad to give it.

a/n: now i kinda wanna write the flip side to this bc you bet your ASS there isnt a single thing on heaven hell or earth that alice wouldnt do for dean. that shit goes both ways 🫵

also a special thank you to beta reader and dear friend @cueloki who served as the inspiration for dean stealing sams jacket instead of his own. she said jackets are sacred so i decided dean just gets to be mean 💚 (for anyone worried, cue did not seem to approve of being mean to sam. but i thought it was funny so i changed it)

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[soelstress]

Running Hot

Characters - Johnny Storm x GN!Reader

Summary - The Human Torch is running hotter than usual

Prompt - Jump (For My Love) - “I can feel you getting hotter. Oh baby”

Warnings - nothing but fluff

Word count - 285

A/N - My seventh entry for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Soon as I saw this I knew Johnny was perfect. I nearly went with something different 😉

A/N 2 - Society made the banner

Johnny writhed and moaned as your touch caused goosebumps to erupt all over his body. Thick fluffy hair dampened by sweat at the roots while his blue eyes were bright against his flushed face.

“Please…”

“I can feel you getting hotter.” Johnny’s body suddenly tensed and his eyes became unfocused before a giant sneeze erupted. “Oh baby” you murmured sympathetically watching as his eyes switched from blue to golden. Grabbing another frozen washcloth you placed it on his forehead. Steam rose immediately from the material. Reaching for your phone you adjusted the temperature in the room along with the lighting noticing that Johnny was now squinting.

“After everything we’ve been through, everything we faced… this is how it ends.”

“You’re sick, not dying. With all the time you spent in subzero temperatures flaming around instead of riding in the Fantasticar like everyone else I’m not really surprised.”

Johnny glared around Reed’s lab before pouting up at you. “If I’m sick why can’t I sleep in our room?”

“Has the fever melted your brain, hothead?” Your teasing tone followed by another light stroke of his face caused his initial hurt to fade into comfort. “You chain sneezed so much you burst into flame and set the bed ablaze! Reed’s lab and the kitchen are the only places with a fire suppression system since the foam malfunction. I don’t think Reed or Sue would be happy if you torch any more furniture.” Grumbling in defeat Johnny settled back on the cot Reed sometimes used when pulling an all-nighter. “Get some sleep and I'll check on you in a while.” You barely made it to the end of the corridor.

“Achoo! Achoo! ACHOO!”

WHOOSH.

“AW COME ON!”

[bbfwrites]

Jump In

Character: Lee Bodecker

Prompt day 7: Jump (For My Love) - Pointer Sisters

Summary: Lee is hesitant about some of your ideas

Here's the prompt list of you want to participate.

“Oh! Turn down this road!” You said gesturing to the road.

Lee's brow furrowed. There was nothing really down there. “Why?”

“Live a little, we can go to the lake. It'll be pretty now that the sun's going down.”

Lee hesitated. He didn't think there was a public access route. Begrudgingly, he turned and followed the dirt road down. 

Once parked you hopped out the car, cutting across someone's backyard. You didn't think twice about this but Lee apparently did as you heard your name hissed from behind as he hurried to catch up with you. 

“Lee, c’mon,” you said and stepped onto a wooden pier that jutted out into the water. 

Lee eyed the house. “Keep your voice down. We need to go. We shouldn't be here.”

“Let's go swimming, Lee.” You stripped off your shirt and then your shorts leaving you in your underclothes. Lee had a hard time thinking rationally. He really wanted to join you but he didn't know who owned the house and didn't want the law called when he was the law.

You waited half a second before jumping in the water. Lee was pacing a bit on the dock. “Jump in, Lee. The water’s nice.”

Lee was certain the water was nice but he didn't want to lose his job on account of trespassing. “Why don't you come out and we can just talk.” He was already unbuttoning his shirt.

“I don't want to just talk, Lee. I want to swim.”

Lee groaned and finished undoing his shirt and pulling it off. “We shouldn't be here,” he said and took off his belt and pants. 

“You say that but I know you like what you see,” you teased. 

You watched as Lee jumped in and splashed near you, watching as he swam over to you. “You're awful. If I get arrested for trespassing and lose my job as a deputy, I'm going to move into your house since I won't be able to pay anything.” There was no acid in his words, there never was. 

You let out a laugh and put your arms around his neck. “You won't be arrested for trespassing. My parents own that house and pier. They just don't live there.”

Lee pulled you closer to him, “let's make some noise then.

[thezombieprostitute]

Look, Don't Touch

A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: “I know you like what you see”

Word Count: 298

One benefit of being a personal fitness trainer was access to the gym equipment. Hal was always good about keeping himself in top form so he could help people. The plus sized clients were always incredibly nervous about hurting him, despite his reassurances. It always tokk a demonstration, him moving or catching clients, for them to become more confident in their movements, and less nervous that their size would be a problem.

He also knows he's good for business. Maybe not "free" advertising, but close to it. When he worked out, especially without his shirt on, more people would come into the gym, either to see more of him or to mimic him. Hal's dreams of being an actor may have gone awry, but whenever he feels the need to put on a performance, to be surrounded by admirers, he's got quite the outlet.

A pretty lady gets close and Hal knows she's probably new around here. The regulars know the rules: no touching, no flirting. Not with him. Hal makes a point of avoiding eye contact with her and she seems to take it as a challenge.

"Sir," she bats her eyelashes, "do you think you could help me with this machine?"

Hal stops his workout and smiles softly at her. "Listen, I know you like what you see, but I'm taken."

Her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment and she apologizes, backing off.

Hal's grateful she isn't doubling down like others have. He has no problem telling flirts how they just don't compare to you. How they'll never be as wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, and perfect as you are for him. He might like attention, but you're the only one allowed to do more than look. A small sacrifice for the honor of getting to be with you.

Tagging: @agustdboyoongie; @alicedopey; @alphabetically-deranged; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @iwudbutnah; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @stellar-solar-flare;

[send-noodles-not-nudes]

#32: Father-Son Chats | Evan "Buck" Buckley & dad!Bobby Nash

Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley x OC (Spenser Diaz) ft. dad!Bobby Nash listen. i do not care that adoption papers were never filed. buck is bobbys SON and i will hear nothing else.

Warnings: Bobby choking on food (not graphic) bc his son is stressing him tf out, kinda happy kinda sad epilogue, allusions to Bobby's passing.

Word count: 297 with a 377 word epilogue Times word count has successfully been ≤300: 21

For the June Jukebox Scribbles challenge hosted by @societynsoelsscribbles | June 7: Alt lyric—Then make a move before you try and go much further.

You DO NOT have my permission to repost or upload my fic anywhere, including into an AI, tumblr, or other sites! Reblogs only!

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From the moment they met, Buck couldn't stop talking about her.

Spenser was Eddie's sister and he'd already gotten a black eye for the mistake of calling her a MILF in Eddie's presence (a statement he still stood by, and a mark he thought was absolutely worth not backing down on his stance), so Bobby was the one who wound up hearing the bulk of Buck's ramblings. "She's the one, Bobby, I can feel it," he sighed, head so far in the clouds that it'd left the atmosphere. "I think I'm gonna marry her. I'm already looking at rings."

Bobby choked on his lasagna, coughing so hard that, for a moment, he thought he might need to do the Heimlich maneuver on himself because Buck was currently too absent-minded to notice. "Easy, tiger," he laughed and set the rest of his food aside so as not to risk another round of choking. "You need to slow down and make a move before you try to go any further. You're talking to me about rings, and she hasn't even said yes to the first date yet."

Buck sighed, but remained undetermined. He'd been putting off asking Spenser out for weeks, wanting to find the perfect way to do it and somehow keep it a secret from Eddie to avoid having his apartment 'mysteriously' burned down. "You're right," he nodded, "I've been waiting way too long. I'm just gonna ask her right now!" He left the table and a half-eaten plate of cold food behind, confidence in his step as he walked over to her. "You mean on a date, right? Not a proposal?!" Bobby called after him, a little terrified Buck was about to drop on one knee at his advice.

She would have said yes either way.

Epilogue

Bobby passed before he got to see his kid get married. He was with them in spirit, of course, but it wasn't the same. Buck still went to the graveside pretty often to talk with him, give him little updates on how things were going since he left. 15 years after he and Spenser got married, with the two of them starting to go gray, they still stopped by to fill him in.

"Norman graduated," he told the headstone, shaking his head. "Kid's smarter than I am, four times over. Got his master's in electrical engineering. Theo's starting middle school. He's growing like a weed; I can't believe it. The girls are just a year older than him, so they all get to be back in school together. I think they really missed him last year because he couldn't test out to be in the same grade as them.

"They know about you, by the way, even if they never got to meet you. And, get this: Spenser—I was right about her, by the way; she is the one—Spenser wants us to adopt a set of twins she met at work. She's almost 55, and she wants to take in a pair of toddlers! I think she's crazy. Aren't you gonna tell her she's crazy?" "It's a little boy named Nash and his sister is Bobbie; I think it's a sign!" she argued. "Right, Bobby?"

As if on cue, a flyer from someone's funeral a few hours prior flittered out of the nearby trashcan and onto the grave. Picking it up, Buck saw the picture on it was of a couple and their kids—six of them, with the same age ranges as Spenser and Buck's four kids and the twins. Spenser pointed to it excitedly, never one to see coincidence. "See?! It's meant to be; Bobby agrees!" she exclaimed. Buck let out a long groan but didn't argue.

"The other parents are gonna think we're their grandparents," he sighed, dread apparent. "Speak for yourself, youngblood!" Spenser scoffed. "They'll think you're dad, but I have ten years on you. I'm gonna look like the abuelita." "Just please don't ask for a baby when I'm 60." "Blame Grandpa Bobby. He's the one that sealed the deal."

a/n: that gif of buck is just making me think that he announces hes finally dating spenser over the radio. mans gonna tell the whole world he is so fucking happy about it he just wants everyone to know

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[annsfics]

♡ the better woman ♡

♡ pairing: sammy bryant x fem!reader

♡ synopsis: now happily married to the kind of woman sammy could only dream of before, he's a very satisfied man. but... something seems to be bothering you tonight. once you're finally in bed together, you divulge the reason for your quiet disposition this evening. afterward, you prove to him yet again just how smart he was for wedding you.

♡ content: misogyny & internalized misogyny, anti-tammi, reader is a pregnant housewife, blowjob

Sammy often calls you his guardian angel. Because coming home to you is blissful heaven. There's no shouting matches, unhinged hysterics to deal with because you did something ridiculous while he was at work earning a paycheck and putting his ass on the line to provide for you, or a wreck of a house to clean up when he walks through the door.

No, just peace and quiet and calm.

Vacuumed carpet, mopped hardwood floors, polished countertops, laundered uniforms, a fresh assortment of fruits and vegetables in the kitchen, and faintly flickering candles on the coffee table which is complete with tidily organized stacks of magazines for your own respective interests.

And there's always toilet paper under the bathroom sink.

After his mess of a divorce, he was lonely, sure, but also very reluctant to ever get involved with someone ever again. After all, what if the new woman he chose turned out to be just as unstable as the last one—if not more so—and took him for all he was worth yet again, simply because he was trying to do the right thing by being a hardworking man?

Going on a reluctant search was never necessary to begin with, though, because there you were all along... From the very beginning, ahead of his filing for legal separation.

Before Sammy made you a happy little housewife, you'd been a waitress at a local diner, which he soon began to frequent after every shift, in an attempt to unwind and decompress before going home to a wife he resented.

You were a balm to his ragged nerves. Always sweet and sociable, and willing to lend an ear to listen to his woes when he actually had the energy to speak.

It gutted him that you were working ten hour shifts—and on sneakers that were being held together with naught more than duct tape, at that (he always felt guilty anytime he left you less than a $30 tip, even if all he ordered that evening was a glass of ice water). Meanwhile, Tammi was at home getting high with a damn teenager who stole something he stretched himself so fucking thin over to provide her with in the first place.

He should've known photography was going to be another whim just because she was bored.

At that, instead of being thankful, she instead reminded him of how he wasn't enough—or doing enough—when she harped on and on over the phone about wanting to move into a house he could never dream of affording while he was just trying to do his goddamn job.

Pushing it all down, his anger manifested in other ways before long.

It made him seethe watching other men put their hands on you when you came by to refill their coffee, or bring them their ordered meals because they somehow felt entitled to you.

When he started pulling his badge to get them to back the fuck off, or leave altogether, is when he knew that he was absolutely whipped.

Whenever Sammy would try to flirt, though, your eyes would always drift to that bothersome gold band that he desperately wanted to flush down the toilet and forget about entirely.

He was fucking terrified of losing you.

So, he filed and risked half of everything—his savings, pension, personal property, and financial assets—just for a chance at having something better by your side before the day finally came where you either disappeared from the diner's outdated interior in search of more favorable prospects elsewhere, or you slipped through his fingers altogether while another man put a wedding ring on one of yours.

No more does Sammy come through the front door and toe off his black rubber boots before you suddenly appear before him. Pressing yourself affectionately to his chest, you wind your arms tightly around his neck and grant him a soft peck on the lips.

"Welcome home," you whisper. Running your fingers through his soft auburn curls, you rest your forehead gently against his. "How was your day?"

Snaking his arms around your waist, your husband gives you a careful squeeze while a contented smile crawls its way across his lips and feeling of uncontainable warmth fills his heart. "Better now."

Sliding a heavy palm over your swollen belly, the corner of Sammy's lips twitches when your little one kicks excitedly.

"He missed his daddy as much as I did," you murmur.

Falling back a step, you tug Sammy past your two's cozily decorated living room. "Go ahead and take a hot shower. Dinner's just about ready."

He smooths a hand down the back of your head. "Did you—"

"Grocery list is all checked off," you remark with a confident nod. "And the gentleman at the auto store even changed my wiper's for me."

He frowns slightly. "I could've done that, baby."

You pad into the kitchen. "Think it's just something they do," you state with a shrug. "One less thing for you to worry about."

Squeezing your backside, you squeak quietly while Sammy chuckles and heads back to the bathroom to wash up.

It's always the little things that she would've never even dreamed of considering which repeatedly confirms that he made such a great fucking choice in his second spouse. Like a carefully folded pile of clothes waiting on the edge of the bed for him to change into after bathing.

Happy wife, happy life indeed.

While Sammy is all too happy to be chowing down on a heaping plate of steaming hot wings, and sipping from a cold bottle of beer in-between hearty bites after suffering through a grueling day amongst the crime-riddled streets of LA, he's acutely aware of how quiet you are tonight.

Maybe the grocery shopping should've waited until he could make a trip out this weekend instead. You already do so much. What, with cooking and cleaning and growing his baby in your womb...

Tacking on a trip to Sam's Club was a task that should've been placed on his calendar, he thinks, not on yours that's already so full.

When it came to Tammi, what he wanted mattered little, if at all. But he fears with you—since you never tell him no—that you somehow feel obligated to meet his every demand because he's the breadwinner in the relationship.

You even went so far as to encourage him to sign a prenup incase he "decided he made a huge mistake" and "wanted to undo it with no financial fallout."

Sammy refused to allow papers to be put between you, though. Not a single one.

No way in hell, because he was sure this time.

He just hopes that you don't feel...trapped.

Are you happy? Do you feel safe, loved, protected, and appreciated? Worshipped?

He nudges your socked foot beneath the round wooden dining table you're both seated at, and smiles when you look at him. "You okay, baby?"

You nod and nibble on a piece of chopped celery that's drenched in ranch. "Just tired."

Sam's well of worry deepens.

"Alright," Sammy groans while dragging you into his lap now that you're both in bed. "You gonna finally tell me what's been on your mind all evening?"

Your eyes flit to his and he immediately takes note of the look of hesitation he finds within.

Curling your fingers against the warm, freckled skin of his bare chest, you worry your lower lip between your teeth.

"Is it...somethin' I did?" he questions warily. "Are you—"

"No," you state softly while cupping his stubbled cheek tenderly in your hand. "It was something that happened at the store. I planned to tell you. I just... Wanted you to be fully settled in for the night before I did."

Gripping either of your hips, he leans back against the fluffed pillow behind him. "I'm all ears, angel."

"So..." you begin while resting a hand over his shoulder. "I was done shopping and went into the baby aisle to browse for a bit before I checked out. And..." you sigh exhaustedly. "Tammi was there."

He sits up the least bit straighter.

"Nothing happened, though," you swiftly reassure. "Apart from a verbal confrontation."

"Tell me," he insists.

"I felt like I was being stared at. Turned out I was right when I looked over my shoulder. There was a moment of recognition, which she commented on: Good, you know who I am," you relay in a snide voice meant to mimic her own. "I told her that I've seen photos. When she saw that I was pregnant, she sort of flew off the handle. Started screaming that I was a whore who stole her husband from her and destroyed her life. That I was a homewrecker, a slut..."

You shake your head while blinking back unbidden tears.

"Thankfully, an employee was nearby. He broke it up and threatened to call security on her if she didn't leave. Her being forced out of the store when she wasn't done shopping only set her off further. She was yelling the whole way out the door."

He squeezes his eyes shut to force down a broiling torrent of pent-up rage. "I'm so sorry, honey." Opening his eyes again, Sammy cups your shoulder—adjusting the strap of your nightgown where it's slipped down your arm. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I had food to get home and put away. If I did, I knew you would've come running." You chew your cheek. "Or you would've made things worse by having it out with her in the parking lot."

"This bitch..." he murmurs. "Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, I'll never be rid of her."

"I wanted to tell her that it wasn't what she thought. That you and I never had an affair, but—"

"Not entirely true," he interrupts. "No, we never screwed before my marriage was dissolved, but there was definitely emotions being exchanged."

You rest a hand atop your belly. You've tried to give her grace; understanding in her numerous issues. But you think you've finally reached the end of your rope with it all.

No wonder he was so eager to have you instead after all the bull she put him through. She nearly made a monster out of a good man, but you've done your wifely duty and healed his troubled heart.

"Cunt," you whisper.

Sammy barks a laugh and leans forward. "I'm sorry, did my perfect little do-gooder wife just say what I think she did?" he inquires with an amused, toothy grin.

You study him from beneath hooded lids while smirking salaciously. "She never deserved you," you continue. "I'm the better woman."

Now it all comes out, he thinks with satisfaction.

"Yes you are," he rumbles while cupping your ass cheeks in both his hands and kneading the plump skin. "In every way."

"Mhm," you hum while slowly nodding. "Actually know how to keep house," you add. "I have dinner on the table every night, and I spend your hard-earned money wisely. Except for when you spoil me," you murmur with a shrug while grinding down against his semi-erect cock. "I do whatever you tell me to like a good girl."

"Shit," Sammy rasps while throwing his head back.

"I'm thankful for the home you've provided, and all the nice things you give me," you continue while leaning forward and trailing soft kisses along his chin. "I'm so lucky to have such a good man who gave me his last name. Who put his baby inside me where it belongs."

His cock stirs against your thinly-clothed pussy.

"Let me help you relax after such a long, hard day," you mutter while tugging off your nightgown.

Lying on your back in the middle of the bed, Sammy is resting back on his haunches while continually sliding his swollen, twitching cock between your shimmering lips.

Gripping the velvety shaft firmly in your fist, you plant a wet kiss atop the oozing mushroom tip before circling it lazily with your drooling tongue.

"Fuck, such a good girl for me," he utters.

You open wide, and Sammy eases his erection into the back of your throat. Cradling the base of your scalp in his palm, he rocks his hips and moans when you eagerly swallow what he gives you, just like always.

"You're right," he whispers while gazing down at you with unabashed adoration. "Better in every fuckin' way."

Gagging happily on his hard length, your eyes flutter closed when your husband sinks two calloused fingers between your slick, pulsing walls.

[paradoxrose]

Hold Fast: Blast Radius

Series Summary: Steve Rogers is used to leaving once the crisis is over. But after Hurricane Cora devastates a small Texas town, recovery stretches into weeks of flooded roads, crowded shelters, and rebuilding beside someone who seems determined to hold the entire town together alone. Somewhere in the middle of it, staying in each other’s lives stops feeling temporary.

Chapter Summary: You told Steve to think before he acted. For once, he let himself slow down and do just that. Some things break all at once. Others break so slowly you don't notice until the pieces stop moving.

Words:, 4,437

A/N: I apologize for the delay in posting. Life sometimes sucks. Anyway, here is the next chapter. Your author lives on feedback. All errors are mine.

Chapter warnings: Talk of infidelity. Swearing.

Series warnings: Disaster Relief!Steve Rogers x Community Leader!fem!Reader; Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter; Slow Burn; Emotional Infidelity; Eventual Romance; Eventual SMUT

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended. This is not written for profit.

Part One - Part Seven

It was quiet when you woke up. Your hand was still tangled with Steve's from the night before, and you smiled a little. For a moment you just lay there listening. No sirens. No radios. No people shouting for help. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and the occasional noise drifting up from the firehouse below.

Turning your head, you looked at Steve. Even asleep, he looked exhausted. Some of the tension had faded from his face, but not enough. Whatever sleep he managed last night clearly had not been enough to make up for everything that had happened. 

You brushed a piece of hair out of his face and made a decision. He needed rest. Carefully you slipped your hand from his and got out of bed before heading into the kitchen.

The apartment was still cool from the night air. You started a pot of coffee and made a simple breakfast of oatmeal, adding a little cinnamon for flavor while the sunlight slowly filtered through the blinds.

By the time you were filling your travel thermos, Steve wandered out of the bedroom, looking half awake. "Morning."

"Morning. Coffee?"

He nodded immediately.

You grabbed a mug and poured him a cup. "I promise it's better than hotel coffee."

That earned a weary chuckle. Steve settled onto one of the stools at the counter and wrapped both hands around the mug while you fixed him a bowl of oatmeal.

For a few minutes neither of you said much. The apartment filled with the smell of coffee and cinnamon while the quiet settled comfortably around you.

Eventually Steve glanced up. "So, community center this morning."

You bit your lip and shook your head. "No."

His brow furrowed immediately. "No?"

"You still look exhausted and you're trying to keep busy."

Steve made a noise of annoyance into his coffee.

That made you laugh. "I know. It's easier to just keep moving."

Setting the bowl down in front of him, you leaned against the counter. "But yesterday was a lot, Steve. Take the morning. Rest. Shower. Go for a walk. Process."

He stared into the oatmeal for a moment before sighing. "Yeah. Okay." He looked at you again. "Then what?"

You screwed the lid onto your thermos. "Then you meet me at Mindy's down the street for lunch." You grabbed your keys from the counter and slipped them into your pocket. "We can talk about everything then."

Steve dug into the oatmeal and let out a long breath. "You sure I can't just come with you this morning?"

You shook your head immediately. "Nope. Rest."

The look he gave you said he was not thrilled with the answer. Unfortunately for him, you were not changing your mind. On your way out you squeezed his shoulder. "Take your time to process everything before we talk."

Steve nodded slowly. Then you left him with his breakfast, his coffee, and, for the first time in a long while, nothing he absolutely had to do.

He finished his breakfast, rinsed out the bowl, and left it in the sink before pouring himself another cup of coffee. 

A siren sounded somewhere below from the firehouse, and for the first time since leaving Grayport, his shoulders loosened slightly. The sound should have been annoying. Instead, it felt familiar. Comforting.

With a heavy exhale Steve sat down on the overstuffed couch and let himself think. It had been a long time since he had really stopped long enough to do that. Usually there was another deployment. Another emergency. Another report. Something else demanding his attention before he could sit with how he actually felt. Now there was nothing. Just a quiet apartment and his own thoughts.

Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through old texts and photos without any real destination in mind. The deeper he went, the more he realized how much of it involved you. Messages. Calls. Photos from Port Reyes. Updates from deployments. Dumb conversations he had forgotten about entirely.

Then he hit a picture of Peggy. His stomach twisted.

Yesterday it had felt like he was not allowed to be angry. If he was honest, he had drifted too. Maybe not the same way, but he had drifted all the same.

Now, sitting alone with nowhere to run from the thought, he realized that was not true. 

He was angry. Angry at Peggy for sleeping with Jack. Angry at himself for leaning on you instead of dealing with what was wrong in his marriage. Angry at both of them for letting things get this far without saying something. That was the real problem. Not the affair. The silence. Years of it.

Years of coming home and feeling alone while sitting beside the woman he married. Years of conversations neither of them had. Years of pretending things were fine because neither of them wanted to be the first person to admit they were not. And then finding out everything had finally broken in the worst possible way.

Steve dropped his head into his hands. God, it hurt. He knew he was not innocent. He knew that. But that did not stop it from hurting. 

Could Peggy not have talked to him? Could he not have talked to her? The answer to both questions was painfully obvious. Neither of them had. That was the tragedy of it. Not one mistake. Not one affair. Years of choosing silence.

His eyes drifted back to the phone in his hands. Grayport had not started any of this. But it had exposed it. That was the moment he crossed a line and finally admitted it.

You had become the first person he wanted to call. The first person he looked for. The first person he wanted to tell things to. If he was being completely honest with himself, he felt more like himself around you than he had around Peggy in years. 

Even sleep came easier. At first it had been a cot in Port Reyes. Then hotel rooms during deployments after talking to you. Then Grayport. Somewhere along the way, hearing your breathing nearby became enough to quiet parts of his brain that otherwise never seemed to shut off.

A short laugh escaped him. How had he managed to lean on you so completely without stopping to examine what that meant?

Then again, maybe that was not really the question. You were not the reason his marriage ended. The marriage had been fading long before that. He had stopped turning toward Peggy years ago. 

For a long time he simply sat there staring out the apartment window while the morning moved on around him. Eventually the coffee grew cold. The anger remained. The hurt remained. But for the first time in a long while the truth felt clear. 

The marriage was over. Not because Peggy slept with Jack. Not because of you. Because somewhere along the way both of them had left and neither had been brave enough to say it out loud.

He finally got up, and by the time he finished, the apartment was spotless. The cleaning had given his hands something to do while his mind worked through everything else. Papers were organized. Counters wiped down. Supplies sorted into neat stacks.

For the first time in years, Steve felt like he was actually looking at what he thought instead of simply reacting to it. 

Around noon he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Locking the apartment behind him, he made his way down the stairs toward the street below. Across from the firehouse he could already see the sign for Mindy's. And for the first time that morning, he knew what he wanted to say when he got there.

Coming from the other direction, you met him at the door. "You look better."

Steve snorted. "I don't feel it."

You reached out and squeezed his arm. "Well, you do. Now let's get some food."

He followed you inside and smiled as one of the waitresses waved you toward your usual booth. "Do all the waitresses in town know you?"

Sliding into the booth, you smirked. "Well yeah. You think I actually take time to cook?"

That earned a laugh as Steve sat down across from you.

The waitress appeared a moment later, not even bothering with a menu. "Your usual, honey?"

You laughed. "Yes, please, June. And whatever my friend here orders, he wants a piece of pie too."

Steve immediately looked offended.

June only smiled and turned toward him. "What can I get you, sugar?"

He picked up the menu anyway, pretending he had options. "Unsweet tea and a club sandwich. No tomatoes."

"Sure thing."

Once she was gone, you tossed a sugar packet at him. "I've never asked. What's with you and tomatoes?"

Steve caught it and threw it right back. "I can't even remember where I was, but I got a burger with a rotten tomato on it and didn't realize until I took a bite. Completely ruined them for me."

Your face twisted in disgust. "Yeah, that'll do it."

June returned with the drinks, and both of you waited until she disappeared again before settling in properly. For a moment you just watched him over the rim of your glass.

He still looked worn out. Not physically this time. Something deeper than that. The kind of exhaustion that came after finally admitting something you had been avoiding for years.

Setting your drink down, you leaned back in the booth. "Okay."

Steve immediately knew where this was going.

You pointed at him. "Yesterday you told me you thought your marriage was over." The teasing ease that had settled between you faded slightly. "Now," you continued, "how about you explain that one?"

Steve took a sip of his tea first and rolled his shoulders, staring down into the glass. "Peggy slept with someone else."

Your eyes widened immediately. Without thinking you reached across the table and took his hand. "Wow." For a moment that was all you could manage. Quieter, you asked, "Are you okay?"

Steve squeezed your hand and let out a short humorless laugh. "No. I'm pissed." He stared out the diner window for a second before continuing.

"But not just about that." His jaw tightened. "I'm mad I thought I wasn't allowed to be mad. Mad we got to this place at all because honestly..." He shook his head. "This has been a long time coming."

You rubbed your thumb across his knuckles while trying to process everything he was saying. "Why didn't you think you could be angry?"

Finally, Steve looked up. "Because I think I left too." The words came out softer. "Just not the way Peggy did."

June appeared with both sandwiches, setting the plates down before disappearing again. Neither of you touched them immediately.

Steve looked down at the table. "I started leaning on our friendship more than my marriage." He huffed softly. "Hell, I only called Peggy once from Grayport."

The guilt was obvious. You sat with that for a moment before picking up your sandwich. "What are you going to do?"

Steve finally reached for his own lunch and took a bite before answering. "What can I do?"

He swallowed and shook his head. "As far as Peggy's concerned, I walked away a long time ago. Maybe not physically, but I did." He stared down at his plate. "And after what she did..." He let out a slow breath. "I don't think I can trust her anymore."

You took a drink of tea and sighed. "I wish I knew what to tell you to make this better, Steve." His eyes lifted to yours. "But I don't think it's that simple."

A faint smile touched his face before disappearing again. "Yeah." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "I think you're right."

For a few moments both of you ate silently. Then Steve reached over and spun his wedding ring, an old habit he had never really thought about before. This time he stopped. His gaze settled on the gold band. For a long moment he just stared at it.

"All these years," he said quietly. "All the disasters. Everything." His thumb brushed across the metal. "I've never taken this off."

You watched him carefully but said nothing. 

Slowly Steve pulled the ring free and held it between his fingers. Not looking at you. Not looking around the diner. Just looking at the ring. The weight of it. What it meant. What it had meant. 

He turned it over once as though searching for something he had missed before. Then finally he nodded to himself. "I know what I need to do."

With that he slipped the ring into his pocket, leaving behind a pale band of skin that had not seen sunlight in years. 

Neither of you spoke for a while after that. The conversation had changed something. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But permanently.

The rest of lunch passed in a quieter sort of understanding. The kind that comes when there is nothing left to explain and no easy way to fix what comes next.

Together you and Steve spent the next two days at the community center. For Steve it gave him something to do with his hands while he worked through everything else. He moved boxes, organized supply closets, fixed shelves that had been leaning for years, and somehow turned cleaning out a storage room into a mission. By the end of the second day the back closet looked better than it had in years.

On the third morning Steve received a call. You watched him step outside to answer it, his expression immediately shifting into the focused look you had seen a hundred times before. When he came back inside, he was already reaching for the jacket hanging over the back of a chair.

"What's up?"

"Train derailment." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Rural Illinois."

You nodded. "When do you leave?"

"My team is heading out now." A faint smile crossed his face. "I told them I'd be a day behind."

That earned him a confused look.

Steve leaned against the desk and sighed. "I've put it off long enough." The smile faded. "I need to go home and handle things first."

You understood immediately. Nodding, you grabbed your keys from the desk. "I'll drive you to the airport."

The trip back to the apartment was quiet. Steve packed while you made sure he did not leave anything behind. His charger was still plugged into the wall beside the bed. A sweatshirt was draped over the chair in the corner. Somehow, after only a few days, little traces of him had already found their way into the apartment. Neither of you commented on it.

Once his bag was packed, the two of you headed for the airport. Steve was quiet during the drive, his attention fixed mostly out the window. The closer you got, the more distant he seemed, already turning over whatever conversation was waiting for him back home.

At the terminal you walked with him to the ticket counter, then through the crowd until you reached the TSA checkpoint. 

Neither of you seemed particularly eager to say goodbye. Without a word you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Steve hugged you back immediately.

"If you need a place in between deployments," you said quietly, "you can always come back."

For a second his grip tightened. Then he pulled back enough to look at you and smiled. "I'll hold you to that."

You smiled too and nudged him toward security. "Be safe. Let me know when you land."

Steve nodded. "Will do."

He gave you one last wave before disappearing into the checkpoint.

You stood there a moment longer after he disappeared into the crowd before turning toward the parking garage. The community center still needed you, and there was plenty of work waiting when you got back. Driving back, you found yourself already waiting for Steve's message.

The flight home was uneventful, and Steve retrieved his truck from long-term parking before sending you a quick text letting you know he landed safely. Instead of heading home, however, he found himself driving across town toward an old friend. One who was definitely not expecting him.

The sign for Nelson and Murdock looked exactly the same as the last time Steve had seen it. Taking a steadying breath, he headed inside.

The bell above the door chimed softly. "Hello, how can I help you?"

Steve smiled despite himself. "Hey Matt. It's been a while."

Recognition crossed Matt's face immediately. "Rogers?" He stood and offered his hand. "What brings you to my part of the world?"

Steve returned the handshake and sighed. "I need your help, Matt."

Something in his tone must have carried through because Matt's expression grew more serious.

"I need a divorce lawyer."

Matt's eyebrows rose slightly above his glasses before he motioned toward the chair across from his desk. "Not my usual case," he admitted. "But sit down."

The office felt strangely quiet once Steve settled into the chair. Matt pulled his laptop closer and began asking questions, moving through them with the same calm precision Steve remembered from years ago. Assets. Property. Finances. Length of marriage. Separation dates. The practical process of dismantling a life that had once felt permanent. Steve answered each one as honestly as he could.

Eventually Matt's fingers paused over the keyboard. "Has there been any infidelity?"

Steve stared at the desk for a moment before nodding. "Yes. Peggy had an affair."

Matt absorbed that without reaction and typed a few more notes. "Are you filing because of the affair?"

The answer came before Steve even had to think about it. "No."

That finally caused Matt to stop typing altogether. "Then why are you here?"

Steve looked down automatically at his left hand. The ring was gone now, leaving behind only the pale band of skin where it had sat for years. Funny how something so small could feel so strange to be without.

For a long moment he said nothing. "The affair didn't end my marriage," he finally admitted. Saying it aloud made it feel more real somehow. "It just made me admit it was already over."

Matt nodded once and returned to typing. "Irreconcilable differences then."

Steve let out a slow breath. "Yeah."

That was exactly what it was. Not one mistake. Not one betrayal. Not one terrible moment. Years of distance neither of them had known how to bridge.

The rest of the meeting passed quickly after that. A few more questions. A few more signatures. Then Matt printed the paperwork and slid it across the desk.

Steve stared at the stack for a second. It was not very thick. Strange how the end of a marriage could fit into so few pages.

"Here you go," Matt said. "Sign your portion and give the rest to Peggy."

Steve gathered the papers and stood. "Thanks, Matt."

"Good luck, Steve." The words followed him all the way to the door.

The bell chimed again as Steve left the office. For a moment he stood on the sidewalk staring at the papers in his hands. The stack of papers felt heavier than anything he had carried in a long time. This was it. No more thinking about it. No more circling around the problem. Now he had to go home and tell Peggy.

Leaning against the hood of his truck, Steve signed his portion of the paperwork before sliding it carefully into a folder. His nerves only got worse once the pen left the page.

Instead of heading home immediately, he found himself driving across town toward an old mechanic shop. When he pulled into the lot, he realized just how long it had been since he had come by. The place looked exactly the same. The same bays. The same stained concrete. The same smell of oil and metal hanging in the air.

Walking into the first bay, he spotted Bucky almost immediately. One of the mechanics nudged another and pointed in Steve's direction. Bucky turned, blinked once, and barked out a laugh. "As I live and breathe. Steve Rogers. You're alive."

Steve smiled despite himself. "Sorry it's been so long, Buck."

Bucky wiped his hands on a rag and shrugged. "What's a few months between friends?" The joke was light, but as he got closer his expression shifted. He had known Steve too long not to notice when something was wrong. "What brings you by today?"

Steve gestured toward the parking lot. "Got a minute?"

Bucky followed him outside without another question. Once they were alone, Steve leaned against the side of his truck and got straight to the point. "I just saw Matt." Bucky waited. "I'm divorcing Peggy."

The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Bucky nodded. "Yeah."

Steve frowned. "Yeah?"

Bucky shoved the rag into his back pocket. "I thought you already had."

A disbelieving laugh escaped Steve. "What the hell does that mean?"

Bucky sighed and looked out across the lot for a moment before answering. "It means I can't remember the last time you talked about Peggy like she was your wife."

That landed harder than Steve expected. For a second neither of them said anything. Then Bucky looked back at him. "I don't think anybody's shocked, Stevie."

Steve stared down at the pavement.

Bucky reached over and squeezed his shoulder once. "I think we're mostly sad."

When Steve looked up, Bucky continued. "We've all been watching the two of you drift apart for years. You just didn't seem to see it yourselves."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a slow breath. "Yeah." The word came out tired. "Okay." For the first time since leaving Matt's office, something in his chest loosened. Not because it hurt less. Because someone else had finally said it. After a moment he straightened up.

"I'll probably be out of town for a while. Not just because of deployments."

A grin immediately spread across Bucky's face. "You mean Texas."

Steve pointed at him. "We're not doing this."

Bucky laughed outright. "Sure, sure."

Steve groaned. "Seriously."

Waving him off, Bucky took a step back toward the garage. "Go talk to Peggy." The humor faded just enough for the sincerity underneath to show. "I'll see you when I see you."

Steve nodded. "Thanks, Buck."

Getting back into his truck, Steve shook his head. Somehow that conversation had been both exactly what he needed and completely irritating. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably the most Bucky thing imaginable.

Pulling into the driveway, Steve sat in the truck for a moment staring at the house. He could not remember the last time it had truly felt like home. The porch looked the same. The siding was the same color. The flower beds Peggy maintained so carefully still lined the front walk. Nothing had changed and yet standing there he felt more like a visitor than someone returning home.

An unfamiliar car sat in the driveway. Steve knew exactly who it belonged to.

With a slow exhale he got out of the truck. The front door opened before he reached it and Jack stepped outside. For a moment neither man spoke. Jack simply nodded once. Steve did not nod back. They passed each other without a word.

By the time Steve stepped inside, Peggy was already waiting in the living room. "Now you come home." Her arms folded tightly across her chest. "It's been four days, Steve."

Steve sighed. "Yeah. I needed time to think." His gaze drifted briefly toward the driveway. "Didn't mean you needed to bring Jack here." The bitterness slipped through before he could stop it. "Or did you sleep with him in our bed too?"

Peggy visibly recoiled. The expression on her face immediately made Steve regret the comment, but not enough to take it back. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Look, I didn't come here to fight."

The anger was still there. He suspected it would be for a while. But it was not why he had come. "What's done is done. I'm angry, but I know I hurt you too, Peg."

That seemed to catch her off guard. For a moment she just stared at him. "What did you come here for then, Steve?"

Steve took a deep breath and pulled the paperwork from his pocket. The papers suddenly felt heavier than they had in Matt's office. "I think we both left a long time ago, Peg." He handed them to her. "It's time we let the paperwork catch up."

The room fell silent except for the rustle of paper as Peggy flipped through the documents. When she finally looked up, surprise had replaced most of the anger. "You're giving me the house?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah." The answer had been easy. "It's always been more your home than mine. The joint account for the bills can be moved into your name. I already changed my pay allotments."

Peggy swallowed hard and looked back down at the paperwork. "So that's it?" The question sounded smaller than before. "We just get divorced."

Steve's smile was sad. "Be honest." When she looked back at him, he continued. "When was the last time before Jack that you didn't feel alone with me?"

The question landed exactly where he knew it would. Peggy opened her mouth. Then closed it again. Her eyes dropped to the floor. "I guess you're right." The words barely made it above a whisper. After a moment she looked back up. "Are you going to stay with her?"

Steve rolled his eyes. The question was inevitable. "I have a deployment." His tone was not angry. Just tired. "And after that, it's really none of your business anymore, Peg."

A hard line formed across Peggy's mouth. "That's fair."

For a moment neither of them spoke. There should have been more to say. Years together reduced to a handful of sentences and a stack of legal paperwork. Instead, there was only silence.

Finally, Steve nodded once. "I'll come get my things after I deal with this derailment."

Peggy nodded. Neither moved closer. Neither reached for the other. The distance between them felt older than the conversation itself.

With one last look around the house, Steve turned and headed for the door. Illinois was waiting. And for the first time he could admit leaving felt more right than staying.

Outside in his truck Steve texted you again. 

Gave Peggy the papers. Headed to Illinois.

Your reply came back quick. 

I'm sorry. 

Be safe. 

Please comment or message me if you would like to be added to my tags list.

@catchmeupimgettingoutofhere, @dylansjustme, @thejemersoninferno, @starlit-sith, @castielscaplan, @masterofdumbassery, @thatisamericas-ass, @powersofwhorenessandslutness, @s4miii7

[thefictionalmanswhxre]

hi you!! this is really weird but i got the idea from a movie i watched. so Brendon and reader have been married for sometime, they both work in the hospital and it’s been a rough few months so they’ve been distant…in bed you know, like they don’t do that at all and reader feels guilty and thinks that if they don’t sleep together again he’ll cheat on her if he doesn’t already (of course he’s not)

𑣲 𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘩 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘸/ 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢

𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑫𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑴𝒆

warnings! 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵/𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣, 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴, 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘸𝘤: 𝟏.𝟖𝑲+

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆ ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ⛆

Your day goes by in a haze. Work was the same as always but you’re distracted.

You’ve been distracted a lot recently.

The last few months have felt heavy. Not only has work been overwhelming but your husband, Brendon, well, that’s been the heaviest part.

Between both of your jobs becoming busier, you both haven’t had much time together.

You both used to have ample time in a week to meet up for lunch, go explore downtown, go out to dinners, have date nights, and everything in between. But lately these things have become dry, especially in the bedroom. 

During your five years of marriage, this has never been a problem. Not to this extent.

You didn’t think much of it until it had stopped completely. Some days you were too tired or other days Brendon was tired too or busy working and not home as much. 

The few times you had been eager to be under him, it never made it past a heavy makeout and some groping. 

You acknowledged it had been a combination of you both not being up to it but then your mind began to wander.

Recently you had been trying to get things back to how they were only to have your advances turned down. Brendon either acted oblivious, was asleep before anything happened or ended up working late.

You thought it had been a mutual disinterest at the time but now?

 You’re not so sure.

Was it you?

Maybe he was bored of you?

He did spend a lot of time at the hospital these last few months. And again you guys hadn't had sex in maybe a month or two?

No, no Brendon wouldn’t do that.

Right?

Maybe you could really initiate it. Buy new lingerie, get your nails and hair done.

That could work.

Hopefully it did.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The next day is your day off and you decide to put your plan into action.

You get your hair refreshed and styled first. Then you go to the nail salon and pick out his favorite color.

Perfect.

Your last stop was a lavish lingerie store in downtown Pittsburgh. The selection was a bit overwhelming but then you find a winning piece.

It accentuated your breasts and made your ass look fantastic. A bonus was that it matched the color of your nails.

He wouldn’t be able to resist.

Once you’re home you fix your hair a bit and apply a light makeup before changing into the lacy material.

—-

About thirty minutes later you hear the front door unlock from your spot on the bed. You adjust your hair and sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands.

Heavy footsteps make their way down the hall towards the bedroom.

Brendon steps through the doorway, scrubs in disarray and a slight frown on his face.

“Hey baby” you say gently.

He briefly looks up as he drops his bag by the dresser.

“Hey.”

You’re taken back a bit.

Hey?

Just hey?

You knew things had been a bit rough these last few months but this is the most distant he's ever seemed.

Like he just acknowledged a roommate and not his wife.

You don’t let the dry greeting deter you.

You stand up and walk up to him.

Running your hand up his bicep and the other up on his shoulder.

“Everything okay Bren?”

He huffs a bit sarcastically “Is it ever?”

Ouch.

You bring your hand from his bicep to his face.

“Maybe I could help you relax, hmm?”

You see a ghost of a grin but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone.

“That’s nice but not tonight.”

He gently moves your hands off of him and walks around you to the walk-in closet.

You stand in the same spot for a moment. Your heart drops into your stomach and a chill runs down your spine.

What. Just. Happened.

Is this it?

Does he not find you attractive anymore?

Is he….

Is he gonna leave you?

You hold back the tears and make your way to the ensuite bathroom and lock the door.

Gripping the counter and leaning against it, you look into the mirror.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

One tear falls, and then another. 

Then another until you can’t stop them from falling.

You hold both hands over your mouth to quiet the sobs that rack your body.

You back up until you meet the wall and slide down.

Your chest heaves from the sobs and agonizing pain in your heart.

He’s gonna leave me.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Brendon cracks his neck as he walks back out from the closet, scrubs discarded and now changed into fresh pajamas.

He sees your side of the bed empty but then sees the bathroom door closed and hears the shower running.

He lets out a sigh and gets into bed as he waits for you. All he wants is to get some rest and have you cuddled up against him. 

Brendon knew things had been a bit strained lately and he felt a bit guilty for not being as present in your relationship like usual but things were starting to get better at work and he hoped you guys could get back to normal now. 

Today has been rough like the last few months but things would change come his next shift.

He just needed to recuperate from today and then he’d have a good talk with you and apologize. Maybe take you out for dinner and a movie.

He smiles at the thought.

——

It’s been over an hour before Brendon still sees you’re not in bed.

He goes up to the bathroom door and presses his ear against it.

The shower is still on.

Weird.

He can’t hear anything else.

“Sweetheart,” he knocks lightly “you good in there?”

No response.

“Baby?” He grabs the door handle to open it but he finds it locked.

Panic starts to seep into his veins.

“Baby please open the door.”

He’s still met with silence.

Brendon’s heart starts to race as he reaches a hand up on the top of the door frame and grabs the spare key sitting there for emergencies.

Once he has the door open he looks around and then towards the shower.

His blood runs cold.

“Sweetheart!”

He runs to the shower where your naked form is sitting, slumped inside against the wall.

He practically rips the glass door off its hinges as he gets into the shower still fully clothed.

On his knees he grabs you by the shoulders and turns your face towards his.

He’s met with puffy, red rimmed eyes staring back at him.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong baby? Are you hurt? Did you fall?”

His fingers press gently but quickly around your head looking for any blood, bumps or injuries.

You slowly shake your head.

“M’fine” you mumble.

He furrows his eyebrows at your quiet words.

“You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that to convince me. C’mon let’s get you out of here. It’s freezing.”

He scoops up your cold body and sits you on the counter by the sink.

He grabs your favorite fluffy towel and wraps it around you, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to help warm you up.

His heart breaks at your sad demeanor.

“Baby,” he lifts your chin up to look at him “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Tears build in your eyes and your chin trembles.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Then the tears fall as you lean your head into his shoulder.

Sobs rack your body and Brendon holds you, tears building in his eyes.

“Leave you?” He asks confused

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Y-You don’t want m-me anymore.” You manage to say between the tears.

“What?” he leans you back and gently holds your face in his hands.

“Why wouldn’t I want my wife?”

“You’ve b-been distant. I th-thought maybe we could just have s-some fun tonight but then you didn’t want me a-and I’m scared you don’t want m-me at all. That you want someone else..”

The words completely shattered Brendon’s heart.

Had he really withdrawn from you that much that you felt he didn’t love you anymore?

That you thought he’d leave you? 

For someone else?

Fuck.

He had to fix this, quick.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

Your tired eyes meet his.

“First, hear me and hear me clearly. I’m never leaving you. I fucking love you. So damn much.”

He takes a deep breath.

“Second, I’ve not been honest these last few months. Gloria has been making big cuts. Letting go lots of staff, including surgeons and attendings. I heard my name was up on the list of potential ones to go. It got to me and I’ve been hauling ass every fucking day for my job. I didn’t want to admit that I was scared. I’m supposed to support you and give you everything. Give you the world…I couldn’t let you down.”

A tear falls down his cheek and without thinking you reach up and wipe it away.

“Lastly, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I let all of that affect our marriage and make you think I didn’t love you. That I’d leave you. I swore in my vows I’d love you forever and I meant that. Every word.”

You sniffle and take a shaky breath.

“Then why’d you turn me down tonight?”

“I was so upset earlier over everything. I found out I’m for sure not getting let go but I was angry. Angry my name was even brought up for it to begin with. I didn’t want to take that out on you in any form, especially sex. But I think I already did with the lack of it over these last few months. Which again I’m sorry. I just was so overwhelmed with everything and didn’t want to force things and fake it with you. I never want that for us.”

He closes his eyes, willing himself not to cry in front of you.

Then he feels you wrap yourself around him.

“Brendon. I love you. You could never let me down. Even if you did lose your job, I wouldn’t think less of you, be disappointed in you or love you any less. I know that stuff can be scary but next time please just talk to me. This is a marriage. I’m here for you as much as you’re here for me. I can’t support you and be there for you if you don’t let me in. If you’re not in the mood for a conversation or sex or anything, just tell me. I’ll always understand. But I really thought you were gonna leave.”

He shakes his head rapidly.

“God no, baby. Never happening.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I’d survive it.”

He grabs your face and kisses you slowly.

“Also I know I didn’t say it earlier but you did look hot as hell. I’m sorry I ruined that for you.”

You chuckle a bit.

“You can make it up to me later Bren. Right now I just want to get in bed and cuddle my husband.”

He smiles brightly at you.

“For my wife? Anything.”

[101error-not-found]

Sharkbait (ooh-haha)

Summary: People start calling you Sharkbait. One day someone does it in front of Park.

Tags/Warnings: Brendon Park x reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, brief mention of an age gap (40s-20s), mild language, mild power imbalance, watch me avoid talking about medical things

wc: 1,146

a/n: I was possessed to write this in the middle of the night. Mean beefy men have me in a chokehold.

Dedicated to @godmadeaterribleerror . Look! I finished something!!

You didn't really think about it, the first time it happened. You'd been halfway through a chart, awareness pitched somewhere behind you in case someone needed you — someone always did, eventually — and when you heard the name Sharkbait, you knew instinctively Santos was talking to you. She's always giving out nicknames like that, and you didn't have one yet, and people had taken to dragging you over to present for Park the Shark, because apparently you were the only one who could handle him without getting your head bit off.

You didn't really get what the big deal was. It wasn't hard to figure out how to deal with him — that's what you do, after all, assess people and then figure out how to deal with them. He wants clear, concise answers, and respect, so you give him both. Easy.

He's not the kind of person you'd joke with, or get chummy with, not unless he crossed that line first. Even then, best to tread carefully.

But he's not complicated, and he's certainly not scary the way everyone seems to think he is — though you would categorize him as intense. Focused. It's what makes him such a good surgeon.

And sure, maybe he trains his laser focus on you more than anyone else in the ED. Maybe his attention is less sharp when it settles and finds you on the receiving end.

It doesn't mean anything, surely, but that didn't stop Santos from noticing, and it didn't stop her from making a shitty nickname, and if you were thinking a little more clearly, you'd have realized that you should've shut that shit down. Park is your much older, much more attractive, incredibly no-nonsense indirect boss, not to mention, you actually kind of like the guy. He probably wouldn't take lightly to everyone going around implying he's trying to get in your pants, and even if Santos is mean, she's not evil. She'd back off if you needed her to.

But you'd been tired, and distracted, and you hadn't really thought about it that hard. And when she called out "Sharkbait, get over here!" you hadn't corrected her.

Instead, you'd tapped out the last line of your sentence and carelessly called back, "Sharkbait, ooh-haha." It wasn't even a conscious decision.

It's from some fuckass movie you watched when you were eight, and you hadn't thought about it in years, but apparently that one word had been enough to trigger the call and response you learned in second grade. It shouldn't have stuck, either, but then Whittaker had called you Sharkbait while you were talking to a patient, and you'd muttered it under your breath, and now you just can't stop.

Everywhere you went, people called you Sharkbait. Even Robby does it sometimes, when he's calling you over to observe procedures. And you, in a true show of human adaptability, do not stop to think about why it's such a mistake. You hadn't caught it the first time, and you hadn't caught it the second time, and by the third it simply became another thing in the background. Another name, another title, none of them really you.

Everywhere you went, you'd parrot it back. Mostly it was an announcement, a way to say I'm here, I'm paying attention, tell me what you need, without quite so many words. In the more serious situations, it was a half-whispered thing under your breath, a reminder that there would be time where things weren't falling apart, and you would be capable of joy and whimsy again.

Either way, it always came.

Unless Brendan Park was in the room. The Shark walked in, and suddenly everyone was calling your full name like you're George fucking Bush. Even the mention of a consult from him was enough to dissuade the use of it for a few minutes.

All of which led to twenty minutes ago, when you'd been hunched over a trash can, shoveling a granola bar down your throat with such ferocity that you felt simultaneously like a starved horse and the kind owner feeding it.

You'd caught a glimpse of Park gliding through the ED like Moses parting the Red Sea, and had stuffed the last of your precious calories into your mouth in a desperate bid to be done by the time he reached you. Even when you weren't called over to present, he rarely came down without stopping by, so you'd gotten used to putting on your best face on a dime.

You could see that Dennis was going to call you over before he actually did it, so you'd already been shuffling over to the hand sanitizer when you it happened. "Sharkbait! Whittaker says you should present this one."

Your mind knew it was a bad idea — tried to stop your mouth from following through — but habit is a bitch. "Sharkbait, ooh-haha," you fired back, just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the ED.

For a half-second, everyone froze.

Park turned to you, molasses slow. Arched an eyebrow. "You like that stupid nickname?"

You'd blinked at him. Refused to shrink under his gaze, or his tone, or the way it all made your blood sing and your skin burn. Forced your voice smooth and even, just as unbothered as he sounded about... well, everything. "I haven't really thought about it all that much, honestly. Mostly just reflex by now."

Maybe he genuinely believed you. Maybe it's because you've always been honest and efficient. Maybe he just doesn't think you have the balls to lie to him. Whatever it is, he hadn't commented on it further, so you didn't either.

You both pretended it never happened, right up until he disappeared back upstairs, and you allowed yourself a single moment to acknowledge the fact that you may have just lost all your goodwill with the best orthopod in the hospital.

What you don't know is that Park had been the one to start it with an offhand comment to Garcia about the ED dangling you in front of him like sharkbait every time he went down there. She'd repeated it to Santos, and soon it had spread like wildfire. Not what he'd intended, and he'd considered snapping at the mousy boy when he'd drifted by and heard him calling you that a few weeks ago — only to be stopped dead by your sweet little call-and-response, like you were fucking taunting him. Practically begging him to come bite.

The fact that you had the balls to do it with him right in front of you — and then look him dead in the eyes and call it reflex — has just cemented what everyone else already knows.

He wants you.

And if you don't mind flaunting that fact to the whole hospital, oblivious as you may be, he's not going to be the one to stop you.

[sgt-morgan]

Park the shark fic rec!! Where him & his partner (married) have been together for a really long time, however they’ve had a lottt of ups & downs but not in a toxic way but in a right person wrong time type of way. So like they’re both physicians, and so it was hard for them to stay together with everything going on but then they finally end up together. Then the plot of the fic would be them preparing to go to one of their close friends weddings and they have a disagreement/argument so they go to the wedding upset with one another so they’re together but sorta ignoring each other in the tense type of silent treatment way. But when they’re at the wedding their song comes on & its “still into you” by paramore and they just cant help themselves but go on the dance floor and dance it out bc like “after all this time im still into you” & “let them wonder how we got this far cause i don’t really need to wonder at all” and yeah they can make up at the end. Sorta angsty but super fluffy at the end.

Still Into You 🦋

A/N: you got me by the GILLS with this one Anon!

Triggers: AFAB! Y/N, Pregnancy, puking, Illness, angst (ish, I’m bad with angst tbh.) I think that’s it? If there’s more you can always hit my inbox and I’ll add it.

Summary: cause after all this time…

You and Brendon had been snapping at each other all week. Wether it was due to a terrible work week, an onslaught of childhood sickness in the home, or just general exhaustion you didn’t know, but that morning was hell. Brendon slammed the door on his way out, and you cried in the shower. You don’t remember what you had been fighting about, but you knew it was gonna eat at your day.

Fighting was abnormal for the both of you. Twenty years later that’s still the case. You’re stuck like glue, everyday a new adventure with you and your gaggle of baby sharks.

An adventure like this weekend, a wedding for one of your closest friends. A chance for you to get all dressed up and celebrate the love between two people you love dearly, That is, if your husband would ever come home.

You’d planned this for weeks, a fancy wedding, a nice venue, hell, you were the Matron of Honor for Gods sake, you HAD to be there. But your husband did not receive the memo… apparently.

Brendon: I was pulled into a last minute emergency surgery. You’ll have to leave without me

Y/N: what do you mean? Garcia, Sanchez, and James are covering for you. There is literally no way they were all so engaged that you had to get involved.

B: Don’t start.

Now THAT pissed you off good. Don’t start? Really? You’d been fighting all morning, you’d fought all night last night, and you were apparently gonna keep fighting now.

Y: I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?

B: I’ll meet you there tomorrow. Plenty of time for the wedding. No need to be dramatic.

You promptly turned off your phone. That’s quite enough of that. You gathered your kids and got out the door, we’d just see what his mom thought of that.

As you drove you had a lot of time to think about the Brendon you fell in love with and just how far you’ve come. A little nostalgic, a little ‘how the hell did I get myself into a marriage with a man who tells me to not be dramatic?’

There was High school Brendon, the boy you were infatuated with and fell in love with immediately, his silent nature and cool bravado really made you weak in the knees. But to him you were competition. You didn’t realize this at first. To you, he was the sun, and to him, you were a nuisance. He constantly fought to take your place as top student, while constantly also vying for top athlete. (swim team if you could believe it. That Shark nickname started YOUNG.) You weren’t competition in athletics, not even in the slightest, but to his annoyance, you were competition in well… everything else. Star debate team student, star theatre student, star choir student, hell, you were class president for your grade four years running. It was annoying how brilliant you were on top of all that, while he just seemed to struggle his way through. It was infuriating, but he couldn’t help but admit you were amazing. Just a little.

All you wanted however, was to earn his friendship. You were a sweet, melodramatic teen and the more you chased the more he spurned, kinda Shakespearean no?

That was until Jr. prom. You were dressed to the nines, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, and you stood there on porch, waiting for a boy who would never come. Park had planned on staying home, no need to beat around the bush, he was nominated for prom king, and you queen. Like hell was he gonna show up and be crowned alongside you, and have to do some kind of stuffy dance with you. You, infuriating, beautiful, mind boggling you. But he bought a ticket, just in case. He watched from his front porch for two hours. Your dinner reservation had passed and you were one hour out from the penultimate dance, and there you were, still sitting there. God, it was liken watching a kicked puppy.

He huffed, thats it, he’d handle it. Twenty minutes later, he had on a suit that he had only ever wore to his Grtandfather’s funeral this past fall. He had the top two buttons of the dress shirt un buttoned, and he put on his uncomfortable ass dress shoes, and he stomped across the lawn.

You watched, confused as Brendon marched across the lawn to you. You had just become fully convinced that your date wasn’t coming. Your eyes had started to water when Park started storming across the lawn.

“Come on.” He said, offering you a hand.

“W-what?” You looked up and carefully rubbed at your eyes so as not to disturb your makeup.

“We’re going. I’ll get you some dinner after, hope you wanted McDonalds.” He flourished his had again and you kept looking at it, cautiously. “Look, I’m an asshole, I’ve been a little mean to you, but I’ll be goddamned if I let you sit there, looking like that, on YOUR night, and don’t do something about it.”

You took his hand and called out to your mom. “momma! I’m leaving!” The pictures she took that night still hang in your office today.

After that fateful prom evening you and Brendon fell into an easy relationship, loving you was the simplest he ever did.

Brendon came home to a quiet house. You had clearly left for the wedding like he had asked, and after the 45 minute phone call he had where his mother reamed him out for ever speaking to the mother of his children that way, he arrived feeling like a spurned dog, heavy with guilt and dread knowing he shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. He had zero missed phone calls, zero texts, and clearly, zero people to come home to. He sighed, you’d decided on the silent treatment, and he deserved it.

Feeling like a dunce, He went to pack. The first thing he noticed was that you hadn’t touched ANY of his things when you left today. Normally you’d lay out the tie and dress shirt he needed to wear to match you, but this time there was nothing. Ok, fair enough, he deserved that. Then there was the suitcase. Normally, you and he would pack together, putting all your stuff in an old beat up bag that you bought coming home from your honeymoon in Greece. You had left that bag at the top of the closet. It was weird to be sentimental about a bag, but it seems as if you’d packed in a huff, and left him to his own devices. Which again, fair, he had talked to you terribly and you did have five kids to juggle on your way out the door, why pack for your mean ass husband.

He shot you a text with a picture of his outfit choice.

B: I’m sorry baby, I’m on my way. Hope this is good enough.

You left him on read.

You and Brendon worked hard all the way through High-school and started applying to colleges, each of you hoping to get into your dream school, John Hopkins University. You both wanted into their pre med college more than anything. You spent your whole year planning around it, dreaming about your lives in Baltimore. But that’s did not come to fruition.

Instead, you got into Duke and Harvard, and he got in to UC Berkeley and Stanford.

It was devastating. Both your options were across the country from each other. What were you gonna do.

“I can apply last minute to Duke? Hopefully the consider me for a swim scholarship?” Brendon says, petting your head as you cried silently into his chest. Youre laid out on his couch, waiting on his mom to call you both for dinner.

“No Brendon, you already have a full ride at Berkeley. Why give that up?” You sigh, wiping at your tears as Brendon pets your head.

“For you? Is that not a good enough reason?” He says, as if this were a non Sequitur.

“No, I’m afraid not.” You sigh. “I can apply for Berkeley? Maybe I’ll get in? My scholarship funds are mostly transferable, and I can get a job to pay for the rest?”

“With a full ride to Duke already on the table? I don’t think so sweetie.” He groans, pulling you up to a sitting position.

“We just crush the long distance thing. We see each other on holidays, we make visits whenever we can, and you and I just… do our best.” He says, shrugging as if it’s simple.

“Sure babe, do our best.” But deep down, you know what you had to do.

You spent the summer together, went in every vacation together, worked summer jobs at the pool together, did your summer readings together, did orientations together, and of course, you got into a little trouble as all teens do. When it came time to leave for school though, you helped each other pack. You slipped in little reminders for him to stay focused, you made sure all of his things were in the right order, just like he liked, and you made sure that he packed little reminders of home, even when he says he doesn’t need them. Everything seemed fine, then the day you were supposed to leave, Brendon woke up to a nasty surprise.

“Dear Brendon,

If you’re reading this, I’ve already left for school. Now I know what you’re thinking, how could I abandon you like this? But the answer is simple but devastating. It’s because it’s time for you to shine on your own.

We’ve spent our whole lives orbiting each other, and I’ve spent all of my teen years hopelessly in love with you. Now it’s time for us to do our own thing.

I will always love you, please do not think that this is because I don’t love you. I just want you to be free to peruse all life has for you in California without me hanging over your head. I love you so much, know that.

Thank you for everything.

Love always,

Y/N”

He sighed, at least you hadn’t left a note, that was good. Now he just had to remember what color your dress was, hope he could pull off the matching thing, and get his ass on the road, he had a wife to apologize to.

You made it to the wedding, and it was as beautiful as you thought it would be. Your friends Heather and Martin had great taste, Heather was there for all four of your College years where you pined for Brendon, and she put up with your nearly Nun-ish behavior. That is, until thanksgiving your senior year.

“That’s it, you can’t avoid it forever!” Heather threw up her hands and flopped down on your bed.

“Pick something at home.” She sighs, “then maybe you can correct the biggest mistake of your life, and marry Brendon. That will at least get you out of the house!”

You bite your nails and look at the options for medical school over and over again, worrying about the best choice until you were blue in the face.

“But what if he picks California? What if found another woman on the beach and wifed her up and had little surfer babies? What if he doesn’t want me anymore?” You fret, tearing at a nasty hangnail drawing blood.

“Stop worrying so much. I swear to you it will be fine.” Heather sighs, pulling your poor fingers from further torment. “If he did move on, that’s a sign that it’s time for you to move on too.”

You nodded and clicked submit on your med school application. Better to try and fail than never try at all.

With all the important things submitted, you packed up and left for thanksgiving, headed home for what felt like the first time in forever.

You spent the first two days of your break blissfully unaware that across the street Brendon had struggled with the same turmoil as you and had eventually chosen something close to California. It was a nightmare all over again and you were both none the wiser. Until…

“Honey could you get the door?” Your mother called, and you hopped up in the middle of watching ‘Planes, Trains, and Automobiles’ with your father to probably answer the third grocery order this hour. You grabbed your wallet onto the poor delivery person who tracked their way out in the freezing Pittsburgh November in order to deliver pie shells or something as equally unserious for your thanksgiving feast tomorrow.

“Hey! Thanks for coming out, take thi-“

There he was, Brendon, and the years had been kind. He had filled out even more, his shoulders and pecs and everything looking perfectly structured and welcoming. His arms were cordoned with muscle and you were practically salivating. Then you noticed what was in his hands.

“O-oh! I guess my mom asked for- from your mom and- you’re here for… oh.” You gestured wildly between him and the kitchen and his house. He still remained perfectly still, perfectly composed. The sun had done him good, perfectly tan and beautiful, and totally not yours.

You went to speak again and he held up the hand not holding a cup of sugar.

“Stop.” He said, still as stoic and unwavering as he ever was. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You answered, flustered, “No.”

“Are you still going to medical school?” He asked.

“Yes, hopefully somewhere close to home.”

“Then you, me, dinner, Friday. No shitty platitudes, no excuses, no more running. We’re gonna talk, we’re gonna fight, then we’re gonna make up. That’s it.” He closed your gaping mouth with two fingers and handed you the sugar. “Friday. That’s it.” He closed the door behind him and you whirled around to see your parents staring as if this was the best soap opera they had ever seen.

“Wha- what do I do with that!” You cry.

“You go to dinner!” Both your parents say vehemently.

Friday comes and you can’t figure out what to do with yourself. You dress up, you dress down, you can’t figure out how to do your hair? You’re a nightmare. You can’t keep it together even a little. In fact, you’re still in your pajamas when Brendon arrives. Your mother must have let him in, because there he is, staring at you dressed in a pair of sweat pants and his old high school swimming sweatshirt. He walks up to you, steady as ever, and starts thumbing at the hem of the sweatshirt.

He’s dressed in slacks and a button down, looking like a million bucks, and there you are, looking like a slob.

“I’m sorry I’m not ready! I didn’t know where we were going or how I should dress and my eyelashes were clumping and-“

Brendon just shakes his head, pulling you into him. “Stop worrying. I don’t like you worrying.”

“But I am worried B! You’re here and you want to hash this out, and I don’t know how to tell you I’m so sorry! How much I’ve regretted not being with you for the last four years! I’m just so tired of pretending I’m happy without you there! It’s so much!”

“It’s fine. I forgive you.” He said nodding, “You were right. There were some things I had to work out in California all on my own. I decided my specialty, I’m done swimming, I took the time to focus on me. I won’t say I was perfect, I tried other women, I tried to forget you, but every single decision I made, every sunny day, hell, every dog I passed on the street I couldn’t help but think to myself how much you would love what I was doing, and I missed you. That’s what this is all about baby, I missed you. I want you, and I won’t settle for anything less than you.”

“But you could have so much better than me!” You cry, and Brendon crushed you to his chest.

“Honestly? No I can’t. I’ve seen what I could be getting and I really can honestly say none of them beat you.” He kisses your head and breathes in deep, “ I was miserable without you, nobody puts up with me like you do.”

“So was I B, so was I.”

So you got back together, and this time you really did make the long distance thing work for you. You called all the time, visited when you could, and made plans to attempt to be matched at the same hospital for residency.

It was in your last year of clinicals that a surprise happened.

“Daddy!” Your youngest squealed into the phone, ready to throw herself through it if she could,

“Hey Cove baby, what’s going on?”

“I tied nummy gween beans!” The three year old beamed, making him chuckle. “You tell Mama?

“You did? wow, brave girl! I’ll tell Mama. ” He says, nodding along to her toddler babbling, “can I talk to sissy?”

“Yesh.” She says and practically flings his mother’s phone at her un suspecting sister.

“Hey dad!” His eldest child, Saylor, answers with a subdued smile much like his own. “I read to chapter ten of Ender’s game, can I have the sequel when I finish? Mommy says it’s her favorite book.”

“Of course, there’s a copy on Nana’s book shelf, but I can get you your own?” If there is one rule you strictly enforce in the Park house, it’s that reading time has no limitation, and money can always be spared for books.

“No, Nanna’s is fine, that means you and mommy have read that copy before?” She says, a curious and sentimental child at heart.

“Yeah, your mommy bought that copy for me special.” He nods.

“I’ll take that one then, it’s more special that way. Do you wanna talk to Capri and Caspian?”

“Yes please, I’d love to see them as well then we can all say goodnight.” He nods waiting patiently as his eldest passes the phone to his twins. He props his phone on the steering wheel and frees up his hands, his twins were born with significant hearing loss.

“Hi dad!” They sign simultaneously.

“Hello little fish. How was your day?” He smiles and signs back.

“We watched Nemo! That’s Mama’s favorite! Nana made us banana bread!” Capri smiled brightly as she signed.

“I got to feed Papa’s fish! He says we can go deep sea fishing when we go see Aunt Isabella!” Caspian beams, referencing Brendon’s older sister who lives with her partner in Florida. “Do you think Mama would want to go fishing?”

“I’m glad you had fun! I’m sure Mama would want to go fishing.” He signs back. “Let’s all say goodnight.”

Brendon grins as all of his children squish in and smile wide singing and saying goodnight in one big virtual hug. Brendon hangs up and remembers how excited and scared he was to be a father. How he was worried he wouldn’t be a good dad, but he was always confident you would be a good mother.

B: The kids all a talked about you tonight, we said goodnight. I miss you.

Left on read again.

After that fateful thanksgiving you and Brendon you settled into your long distance relationship ship. When you first felt off, you hadn’t seen Brendon in a month and a half. You had of course been talking, you talked almost every day, you had done your clinical in Pittsburg and he in California, and it was hard, no lying there, but you had done it, next was residency and you liked it where you were. You felt like you needed to be home, and Brendon was doing all that he could to get himself back home when it was time to match for Residency.

Then came the vomiting. It was consistent, and it was daily, you were vomiting so often in fact, that you kept banana bagging yourself at every opportunity. You had yet to tell Brendon, not wanting to worry him, and when you told your other physician friends, they were really pushing for blood tests, none of you workaholic bone heads thinking of the obvious….

“PREGNANT!?” You cried, staring at the results directly from your attending.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Pregnant.” She said, plopping down next to you on the stretcher you currently occupied in a stupor.

“But- it’s been- and I can’t- oh God!” You were really working yourself up here and the awkward attending was just carefully patting your shoulder in solidarity.

“No need to panic, you still have time to figure things out.” She sighs, finally dropping her arm back to her side, but why don’t you call someone and have them come get you, and you can figure the rest out tomorrow. Keep the scary for today and give the clarity to tomorrow.”

You nod dumbly and get up to go call your mom, Brendon’s mom, a psych ward, anyone. But your stupid fucking fingers instantly dial the one person you needed most in this moment.

“Baby? What’s wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be working?” He sounds so calm and assured, you wish he was here right now.

“Y- yeah? But I’m-“ you were gonna blurt it out right then! Ninja how are you just BAM! Baby!

“You’re what? Anything you say isn’t gonna upset me half as much as you lying, so come on and tell me.” Brendon’s calm and assuring tone works wonders on your stuck tongue.

“I’m pregnant…” you whisper.

Deafening silence on the other end of the phone.

“I’m moving home.” Brendon says with formality.

“What!? Babe, you have a month left before you match for Residency, just wait it out.” You laugh a hysterical laugh.

“None of that is as important as you.” He says with finality, “or our baby.”

That strikes you right where it’s meant to.

“Baby!? How the hell can I have a baby right now! I’m just finishing clinicals! I can’t be pregnant! But I want this baby so bad! What are we gonna DO!” You whisper yell, sobbing into the other end of the phone.

Brendon feels like he’s a million miles away, he’s never felt more useless in his entire life. All he wants, is to cradle you in his arms and reassure you that everything will be ok, you’ll make it, you’ll do it together, but all he can do is whisper platitudes from across the country while you break down in a supply closet.

“It’s all gonna be ok. I’ve messaged my mom, she’s bringing your mom and they’re coming to get you. I’m on the next plane out, I swear, we’re gonna be fine.” He says with finality.

His certainty, and the promise of him coming as fast as he can relaxes you significantly. At least enough to get you out of the supply closet, and waiting in the parking lot for two of the most important women in your life to come and pick you up.

It took Brendon about seven hours to finally get to you, and when he did you were in a restless sleep in his childhood bed, clinging to one of his pillows and wearing his old sweatshirt. His heart clenched as he tucked a stray hair out of your face. He slid into bed and took the place of that pillow you clutched and kissed your head.

“Brendon?” You wake a little.

“Yeah baby, I’m here, go to sleep, we will figure it all out in the morning I promise.”

And figure it out you did, your pregnancy was rough. Especially as the first month or so Brendon was still stuck in California, unable to find a good placement in Pittsburgh until it was time to match for residency. Thankfully, you both matched at PTMC in your second trimester. You started working in Pedes and Brendon in Ortho, while both of you watched your baby grow with fascination. Your reputations of being the best of the best in your programs rose steadily, and Brendon started to grow a fierce reputation as Brendon ‘The Shark’ Park once more. Though it took quite a different tone than it had in High school.

On the day your daughter was born, as a push present, Brendon presented you with an engagement ring. You were married at the court house not three weeks later, a little baby Saylor tucked in between you. Thankfully by that time you had both proven without a shadow of a doubt that PTMC was the place for you, and as Saylor grew up, you both became attendings in your respective fields.

Now you were four kids deep into your marriage of ten years and stronger than ever… except when your husband pulls a stunt like this.

You slept in the bridesmaid suite with all of your friends and the bride to be. Originally you were meant to be sleeping with Brendon, but he had made his choice so you would make yours. Yo read and re read all of his texts, wanting to say something, but not knowing what.

Brendon slept like shit when he was alone, he’d been sleeping with someone next to him for the better part of 15 years, why would that change? Well, he would have been sleeping next to someone last night if he wasn’t such an ass, he’d have the chance to apologize tonight.

The evening started with the beautiful wedding at sunset, Brendon watched you walk down the aisle in near tears, you were always beautiful, but this wave of sentimentality brought on by your little tiff had made him abnormally emotional.

You watched your friends take their vows, and couldn’t help but tear up at the beauty of it, the magic enhanced by the setting sun on a beautiful day. You grinned and clapped along with the crowd as you headed back down the aisle, catching the eyes of your husband with a sad smile.

Brendon sat through the dinner alone. You had been made to sit at the bridal party table with the rest of your friends, and as he watched you drink and eat and chuckle, he couldn’t help but notice how much you have dimmed in the proceedings due to this little silent treatment you were engaged in. His dinner tasted like sand.

The father of the bride gave a speech, and the groom gave a speech, but all other speeches were forbidden. Heather was not a sappy sentimental type. She wanted to eat, and she wanted to party. So you ate with them and laughed, but it all felt hollow without Brendon.

Eventually, the first dance was through and the dance floor opened. And suddenly you heard it, your song.

You first heard it when you were pregnant with the twins. the sentiment of it had made you cry and when you played it for Brendon he had beamed.

“Baby, this is our song.”

So ever since, any argument, bad day, any good day, always ended with the song. It was like waving a white flag.

Then a hand entered your periphery, and there was Brendon, holding out a hand, and you took it.

“Can't count the years on one hand that we've been together

I need the other one to hold you, make you feel, make you feel better

It's not a walk in the park to love each other

But when our fingers interlock, can't deny, can't deny you're worth it.”

It’s starts with a little shoulder shimmy, Brendon emphatically mouthing the words to you as he encourages you to dance. Then you really start to dance in earnest.

“I should be over all the butterflies

But I'm into you (I'm into you)

And baby even on our worst nights

I'm into you (I'm into you)

Let 'em wonder how we got this far

'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all

Yeah, after all this time

I'm still into you.”

You end up in each others arms, smiling and breathless.

“I’m sorry baby.”

“Me too, B, let’s call it a truce.”

Cause after all this time I’m still into you 🖤✨

[soelstress]

Clues And Contractions

Characters - Sherlock Holmes x female reader

Summary - Even Sherlock isn’t always right

Prompt - Therefore I Am - “Don't talk 'bout me like how you might know how I feel.”

Warnings - Sherlock being a clueless muppet

Word count - 299

A/N - My sixth entry for the June Jukebox Scribbles. This was meant to be something angsty but then this man popped up and played keep away with the prompt. It’s bonkers… sorry I’m not sorry

A/N 2 - Society made the banner

You watched as the two men all but crashed into the room. John bent forward hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath while Sherlock slumped against the wall.

“I told you! It was the secretary. Quicker to run. And we’re not late.”

Breathing now even John looked up and the blood drained from his face. “Two out of three Sherlock.”

The renowned detective straightened as he took in the scene before him. The triumphant gleam faded in his blue green eyes as they clocked all the details. Mrs Hudson’s disapproval radiating in waves. Lestrade trying to suppress his amusement. Your clenched fists.

“Ah.”

“Out please.”

The others moved quickly at your request though Lestrade paused at the door. “Don’t be too rough on him.” Lestrade smirked. “Though I can explain away some injuries I’d rather not have the paperwork."

Neither of you answered locked in a staring contest though you could almost hear how fast his brain was analyzing and selecting the right thing to say.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don't talk 'bout me like how you might know how I feel.”

There was a pause. “I wasn’t. I was merely-” His voice trailed off as your gaze narrowed at him. 

“You left to chase a hunch.”

“Well the police were never going to solve it alone. Darling I don’t understand why you’re angry. I haven’t missed anything.”

“All this time and you're still better at solving crimes than figuring out people. I hope our children take after me.” Suddenly you hissed out a slew of curses. Sherlock was instantly at your side and wisely stayed silent as you squeezed his hand in a death grip.

There was a knock on the door before a midwife entered. “Oh Dad’s finally here then. Ready to start pushing?”