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husbandhoshi · 2 months

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title: ghosted pairing: seungcheol x f!reader wc: 6.1k, mature/18+ only! tags: based on this drabble. porn with a considerable amount of plot, fwb to lovers, rich guy!cheol, yn is able to be picked up. horrible terrible excessive amounts of fluff. smut tags below the cut. everyone say thank you to @wuahae for reading this over :)

smut tags: softdom!cheol, unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), spanking/biting, yn has hair that can get pulled, mild ass play, boob stuff, fingers in mouth.

you think you have seungcheol's number memorized.

well, you definitely should have by now, with how many times you considered deleting it. instead you ended up changing his contact name, first to seungcheol club, which is where you met him. second time--rebound guy. the third iteration, your roommate had made it DO NOT TEXT, and you had left it like that because she was probably right anyway.

for better or for worse, you are not very good at following instructions. you're two and a half weeks fresh off of a heart-to-heart with your friends where you agreed that no, the best way to get over your ex was to not get under somebody else, and yes, you should absolutely stop sleeping with a guy who brags about being a playboy.

so you deleted his number and your text history, and everyone swore up and down that this was a good thing.

and you're sure you were on the same page as them until about five minutes ago, when you were doing your laundry and you had come across one of his white button-up shirts.

(he let you keep it because he said you looked better in it than he did. that morning, before you left his place, he had buttoned it all the way up for you--don't want anyone else looking at you the way i do, he had said. plus, the amount of hickies he had left behind were in no way presentable to the general public.)

the effect this has on you is instantaneous and humiliating.

"fuck. fuck," you groan, now scrolling through your camera roll to look for literally any screenshot with his number in it.

there's one from back when he was rebound guy--he had sent you ten dollars in apple cash so you could buy a coffee when you said you were too tired to fuck. you ended up coming over that night anyway, and you both watched four hours of law and order until you fell asleep on his couch.

there are a handful from when DO NOT TEXT had sexted you in the middle of the workday, which you kept for posterity and nights alone with your vibrator.

and then, finally, a few weeks before that, when things were simple and he was just an unsaved number in your phone--hey, i know you ran out this morning, but i wanted to let you know i had a great time last night, if you know what i mean. even with the winky face emoji, it was a strangely wholesome text from a first time hookup.

you favorite the screenshot and curse the fact that you have never had good impulse control.

you up? i miss you.

the words fly so fast out of your fingers, you have no time to consider whether or not this is a good idea. you vividly recall the time he told you he had never seen the point of putting a label on a relationship, which was the whole reason your friends staged an intervention in the first place.

still, the white shirt on your bed taunts you. even thinking about it makes your head spin.

yeah. let me send you an uber.

that too--he had money, and he wasn't ashamed to spend it on you. between that and the dick, you don't think you're willing to squander your luck.

besides, seungcheol is still rebound guy. you're still getting over your ex, and he's just a quick fix in the meantime. you tell yourself this, and you keep telling yourself this until you're out the door, without a second chance to tell yourself otherwise.

"can't go long without getting your back blown out, huh?"

this is the first thing seungcheol says to you, oblivious to the fact that you were planning on forever ghosting him less than an hour ago.

"as if you didn't answer my text almost immediately," you laugh, letting him help you take your coat off.

"never said i wasn't happy to provide," he replies. his gaze is hot, sticky, like he's forgotten what you've looked like already. "i think it's been almost a month. i thought you got tired of me or something, you know."

"of course not. i...i got busy."

it's a half lie. the other half? you wouldn't dare admit it, but you missed his apartment a little. partly because it's much nicer than your own, but the bachelor pad decor was starting to grow on you. (and maybe the bachelor, with it.)

"work was good today?" you ask, letting him draw you in by the waist. his hands are so warm as he draws them up and down your sides, underneath the cotton of the thin shirt you have on.

"oh, please," seungcheol says, his grin now hovering right over your lips. "don't play innocent. you didn't come here so i could talk about my job."

he's right, so you let him kiss you. it's hot and fast and it tastes like his twenty dollar mouthwash, which you take small pride in because it means he would have been sleeping if his hand wasn't on your ass right now.

seungcheol has never been slow nor patient. your shirt has come off, and he now thumbs at the waistband of your jeans, grasping at the button to undo them.

"i don't think i even know what you look like with pants on," he says, lips dragging against the shell of your ear. "you always dress up when you come here, and it all ends up on the floor. pity."

you feel all the heat in your body surge towards your core. somehow your jeans are already on the floor and seungcheol's palm is fanned over the thin lace of your panties.

"thought about me the whole way here, huh?" two fingers are meanly sat over the seam of your cunt, pressing the damp fabric to your skin. "let yourself get all wet for me on the car ride?"

"maybe," you manage, not wanting to betray the embarrassment in your voice. you don't need his hand there to know how wet you are, and yet you know he's doing it to tease you anyway. he finds the bump of your clit over the fabric, now clingy and warm over your skin, and runs his thumb over it. "what else was i supposed to think about?"

"no need to be shy. can't lie with such a needy pussy." he chuckles as your thighs squeeze helplessly around him. "it's cute."

before you can protest, he pushes your panties to the side, now undoubtably soaked through, and his fingers find your clit again. it just takes two, three, rough strokes to draw the pleasure out of you like a fire in your belly.

"cheol," you whine. somehow things always end up like this--you, almost fully naked, and him, still with all his clothes on. he likes reminding you of it too, now enjoying the way you press against him, searching for skin. instead, you feel his cock under his sweatpants, right up against your thigh, and it only turns you on further.

your hands find his waist, but between the new welt he's sucked into your neck and the paralyzing feeling of his thumb on your clit again and again, you falter. your fingertips hover on the downy hair peeking over the band of his sweats, and you've never ached more to have him inside you.

that's all seungcheol needs to yank you back in line. "bed. now," he says, and you listen.

his apartment is big, and the walk feels dizzying as he follows behind you. what's even worse is that you can feel his eyes rake over you--he loves it. the humiliating stumble of your two left feet, the glistening slick at the apex of your thighs, how your panties cling to your ass, now ruined.

even now, as you clamber onto the bed like you're learning to use your limbs for the first time, he loves how easy you are for him. but you can't help it--no one fucks you as good as he does, and that was the reason he was rebound guy in the first place.

"face me," is his next command. at the foot of the bed, first, he pulls off his shirt, and your eyes wander first to his chest, then to the trail he's got down his stomach, teasing you as he pushes down his sweats.

one of his hands, strong and veiny, disappears under his waistband to play with his cock. you watch the slow flick of his wrist and see the shape of his length underneath the fabric, and you almost start salivating.

you're sure he's punishing you by now.

"you're staring, pretty girl. use your words." a turn of his wrist, and he groans. he might just make himself cum like this, and the notion that it wouldn't be somewhere inside you absolutely shatters the last bit of pride you had left.

"need you in my mouth, cheol," you whine, now sitting up straight against the headboard, as if looking any more pitiful would persuade him to join you.

and he does, just not in the way you want him to. instead, you watch his sweats fall to the ground before he kneels on the edge of the bed, on the end furthest from you.

"what, you think i'm gonna give it to you easy? after you made me wait for you?" you are not thinking straight enough to decipher what this means. who knew ghosting a fuckboy would have actual consequences, but you watch his grip tighten around the fat base of his cock and decide this is not the time to play detective.

so you swallow your pride and all your questions and you crawl. you crawl all the way down the seemingly endless length of his king sized bed, feeling seungcheol's gaze swallow you whole, and you like it.

when you stop at the foot of the bed, you take pause to look at seungcheol, really look at him. his eyes are dark, almost unrecognizably so--maybe it's the way you so readily make yourself perfect for him, arching your back just how he likes and letting your swollen, wet mouth fall open like you've never wanted anything more than him.

"so pretty like this," he coos. he runs a thumb over your bottom lip, feeling it quiver under his skin. you feel the saliva pooling in your mouth; it's as humiliating as it is desperate but you can't help yourself. it feels so good to be touched, and seungcheol's clings to you like nothing else.

he pushes his fingers into your mouth, almost to the back so you choke. you're at the point where you'll take anything, so you suck. you let your tongue run all over the digits, long and calloused enough that you can only dream of having them inside the other half of you. he pushes onto your tongue, wanting you to taste him, and you whimper, the feeling harsh but not unwelcome.

"dumb mouth just needs something in it, huh? my girl will just suck anything?"

you can't talk, so you whine around his fingers, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. he's been playing with his cock with his free hand, forcing you to watch him trace every vein with his own skin instead of yours. you hollow out your cheeks and suck him nice and tight, trying to fool yourself otherwise.

then he laughs, low and quiet--as fun as it is to slut you out, he's never been patient. "open wide, darling." he slides his fingers out from your mouth before pulling your hair out of the way. thank you, you want to say, but it's quickly washed away by the shock of his cock between your lips, rough but never too much so.

god, you didn't even think you liked sucking dick that much, but sleeping with seungcheol for this long must have altered your brain chemistry for the worse. his familiar, heavy warmth sits on your tongue, and you can't help but moan around him. you love the stretch of your jaw, the way his eyes always wrench shut no matter how in control he is.

"fuck," he groans, carding a hand through his hair. "slutty little mouth's made for me."

you hum around him, taking him all the way to where your nose skims the dewy curls on his abdomen and all you know is the scent of his heat. you're drooling so much, thanks to all the fingers in your mouth not too long ago, but you don't care. you run your tongue on the veiny underside of his cock, back and forth, savoring the hurt in your cheeks and all the spit on your chin.

seungcheol makes a low-pitched, strangled noise, the first time you've seen him crack tonight, and it sends another gushy wave of heat to your cunt.

you toy with his slit, let the salt of his precum fill your mouth, and suck hard around his cockhead. your scalp stings wonderfully with how he pulls at your hair, and you lean into the feeling. a deep breath through your nose, and you sink down again. the way he hits the back of your throat makes you yelp pitifully, but you persist like a dog to a bone. again, again, and you're gagging on your own spit as your throat spasms around him and you go cross-eyed.

he's all about control, but he lets you have this--perhaps he likes seeing you give yourself to him without him asking. he doesn't have to lift a finger, and you'll still choke around him, bruise your own throat. surely that had to mean something, but you'll chalk it up to some astrological sexual compatibility you're unaware of at the moment.

"enough," seungcheol finally says, voice gravelly, and he pulls you off him by the hair. "fuck, you probably would've cummed from that alone, huh?"

meanly, he reaches over your back to grab at the strings of your underwear so it digs into your cunt. you cry out, feeling the warmth of arousal leak all over your twitching hole, even between your ass. he's right--any more, and you really might have cummed all over yourself.

" 'm so wet, cheol," you plead, toes curling as he pulls the elastic of your panties further back. "please, please, please."

he releases the band, and it snaps hard against your skin. it feels like electricity as it connects with you, and you cry out again, the noise high-pitched and whoreish.

"gonna need you to face the other way if you want me to fuck you, darling," he says. "my baby likes it best from behind, right?"

you have nothing left in you but insatiable desire. you turn around to face the headboard, still on your hands and knees. seungcheol runs a careful hand down the curve of your spine before landing a hard slap on your ass. your skin sings, and all the blood in your body feels like it's been turned to fire.

"cheol," you warble, pressing your face into the sheets. your pussy actually hurts from how neglected it is, and when the second slap comes down, your clit aches like a bruise. "need you so bad...can't believe i went so long without you."

the words just fall out of you but you think they're true regardless. you were really fooling yourself thinking you could go the rest of your life without this. somewhere deep inside you, in the working part of your brain, you wonder if he's come to the same conclusion. that underneath the show, all the greed and the meanness, he missed you too.

"you must really need to get fucked," seungcheol chuckles. "you've never been this nice to me."

"not true," you protest, muffled by the sheets, and he laughs again. then he peels your underwear down your thighs before spreading your ass underneath his palms, and the cool air makes you twitch under him.

"you smell so fucking good. fuck." he groans, low and desirous, and it's the last thing you register before you feel the swell of his nose, his lips, as he buries his face in your cunt.

it's all too much at once--it rips a squeal out from your chest, one of those slutty, loud ones he loves, and it spurs him on further. you feel the wet pressure of his tongue, first between your folds, then up to the tight ring of your asshole, still messy with your arousal.

"o-oh my god," you cry. the pressure in your belly is now wound tight; you're so, so close and he's barely even started. he seems to know this, and deprives you of his mouth in lieu of his two fingers. the change in sensation is instant and toe-curling. something, anything, is finally inside you, and it's better than anything you have ever known. he drags the pads of his fingers brutally over your g-spot, loving the way you cry and tremble beneath him as your orgasm builds.

"have you had enough, pretty girl?" seungcheol asks, voice cruel, teasing. it's a rhetorical question--before you know it, his fingers are gone, and you instead feel the length of his cock between the curve of your ass. he's got a hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you down, just so he can see you struggle to push yourself against him.

"n-no," you reply, voice catching in your throat. you feel the head of his cock against your slit, and your thighs tremble with anticipation. not good enough. it only takes him a few times, rocking against your cunt, for you to crumble. you ask for things you can't even remember, and it's then when he pushes into you, so meanly you really do forget what words mean.

seungcheol swears under his breath, and his grip on your ass feels tight enough to bruise. your cunt flutters around him, god, you forgot how fucking big he is, but he doesn't give you much time to get used to it. his pace is unforgiving, and his hips slam into your ass like he's trying to fuck the sound out of you.

"cheol," you hiccup, listening to your voice jolt with every thrust. " 'm so full...."

"yeah? you like how i fill you up?" he squeezes your ass hard, and you moan into the sheets. "better than anyone else?"

"o-only you," you reply, slack-jawed at the feeling of being split open so well and the delicious, unending drag of him against your walls. "just you."

this seems to satisfy him. he enters you, deeper still, until it feels like he's in your stomach.

"so fucking tight," he says, from somewhere deep in his chest. "you need me to stretch you out like this every once in a while, yeah? you take it so well, pretty girl."

all you can do is moan his name. it's what you've been doing, and at this point, it's the only word you know. he bottoms out again, and the pleasure is so white-hot it feels like it burns.

it only takes two, three, punches into your cunt for you to come undone. you're gushing, gushing around him, babbling something incoherent, and still he is unrelenting. you feel your mouth move in an attempt to tell him you're too sensitive, and he only shoves his cock deeper in you so he can feel you clench hard around it.

then he pushes your head into the sheets, deeper still so the neighbors won't write him up in the morning, and fucks you again. you foolishly think another orgasm will break you, but all it takes is for him to press his thumb into the dip of your asshole and tell you he's going to fuck you in both holes one day for you to fall apart again.

by the time he's done with you, your legs feel boneless and you don't even want to think about the situation between them. (you had asked him to cum in you, and he did. there was so much, he had to push some back into you with his fingers, and you cummed one more time.)

you feel seungcheol's dead weight slump onto the bed beside you. you're still face-down, but you turn as far as you can to look at him. it's unfair how he still looks good now--his bangs, dark and curly with sweat, crown his forehead, and you watch his long eyelashes flutter shut.

"fuck," he groans. "how does every time with you get better?"

somewhere inside you, in the parts that still work, you feel a small gleam of pride. it feels traitorous, in a way--the whole point of being friends with benefits was that it was supposed to be conditional, but you're running out of conditions. clearly, it didn't take much for you to come back and not regret it.

seungcheol laughs at your silence. "did i break you? no," he jokingly whines, and he rolls onto his side to return your gaze. he brings a hand up to brush the hair out of your eyes, as if that would somehow magically repair your body. but it does feel nice. "please speak."

"maybe broken. to be determined." seungcheol grins stupidly when you say this, and you watch how his eyes crinkle up at the sides.

usually, it's every man for himself at this point in the night. seungcheol will order takeout and draft some emails, and you hobble over to the bathroom so you can pee and use the shower. he leaves you alone for this part, which is the perfect opportunity to mix all his fancy shower gels together like you're a kid again.

but today seems different. you lie there for a beat in silence, watching each other blink. then seungcheol gets up, slowly then all at once, and walks over to your wrung-out body.

"i'm picking you up," he says, like a warning. "hopefully you're not afraid of heights."

you think he's joking until you feel the strong cords of his forearms--one around your middle and the other under your legs. you didn't even think you were able to be picked up at this point in your life, but somehow he's got you flush against his chest now, almost nose to nose with him.

"wait," you waver, suddenly feeling self conscious about literally everything. you're sticky and smelly and you're not curious to find out if your post-coital form will scare him away. "seungcheol."

"you really plan on walking yourself over to the bathroom? you couldn't make it to the bedroom earlier, and i hadn't even fucked you yet."

"hey!" you protest. he laughs, and you can feel his whole body shake. "wait, i can't laugh too much, or i'm gonna start leaking."

"you've got another thing coming if you think i'm afraid of a little body fluid."

seungcheol bumps the bathroom door open with his ass, which is somehow the funniest and most endearing thing to you. you flip on the light, and he sets you on the counter like it's just a normal friday night for the both of you.

he turns the shower on and turns back to look at you. "how hot do you want it?" then his eyes narrow playfully. "are you one of those freaks who likes getting their skin boiled off?"

"well, you can answer the first half of that question on your own."

"ok. freak."

while he messes with the shower knobs (he's got one of those showers with three separate showerheads), you take a moment to do some more snooping. the first time you were here, you did go through the various things he had on his counter. most of them are still there--the overpriced moisturizer you shamelessly use when you stay the night, a quarter-full bath and body works foaming soap, and a folded up hand towel with his initials on it.

there are some newer additions too. you don't miss how the little jar for your toothbrush is still there, or a small tube of lip gloss you had forgotten to take back a few months ago. he restocked the hand lotion that you said you liked, too.

you're starting to think that there is a small possibility that you are no longer friends with benefits. you're not dating either, but something somewhere in the middle. but how do you say something like that? how would you know, especially when seungcheol is a self-proclaimed forever bachelor who may never, ever date?

you have no time to think about this any further.

"sooo," seungcheol hums, wiping his hands with a bath towel. "i'll be in the bedroom. you want me to order chinese?" you watch him linger around, lamely, like a stray dog.

"wanna join me?"

he smiles, ear to ear.

"thought you'd never ask."

morning comes slowly.

you wake to birdsong and the quiet chatter of the city beneath you. the sun from the curtains is buttery and warm on your bare skin, and time seems to drag its feet. it feels perfect, which is a word you would have never used in relation to any of this, and yet nothing else seems more appropriate.

last night, after your shower (in which you learned that seungcheol always makes his hair into a shampoo mohawk, without fail), you talked for hours over the fattest spread of takeout you had ever seen.

the plan was to put on the office and dissociate like usual, but he finally answered your question about how his day at work was. (tumultuous and drama-filled--that was his first mistake. you love drama.) strangely, by the end of the night, you learned that you had more in common than you thought with a man whose watch collection was valued higher than your entire college education.

"you up?" seungcheol's morning voice comes out sounding like a croak from behind you. you're sure he's about to complain that his arm is asleep from your big head on it, but he doesn't. instead, he settles deeper into your warmth and pulls you closer by the waist.

"yeah," you reply, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own.

you grab your phone from the nightstand, wondering if your roommate has discovered your betrayal and has blown up your phone. she has, so the two voice memos and twenty text messages in the group chat are no surprise to you.

what is a surprise is the text you get from your ex. can we talk? it reads. it's the first time you've heard from him in months--before that, he had broken up with you (over text) and then proceeded to block you on every platform possible.

your mind starts to spin. you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to text him back. just for closure's sake, you tell yourself, as if you haven't cried at least seven separate times about this. but you will admit, seungcheol has been a great diversion. you don't remember the last time you had a cry, and any progress was good progress to you.

complicating things, said diversion has slotted a leg between yours, and his hand has found its way to your ribcage, distractingly close to your chest. such are the consequences of only wearing a shirt to bed.

"you're so warm," he murmurs, right in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. his hand creeps up, now right over your heartbeat. it doesn't really take much for your body to respond--his fingertips find your nipple, and with a light squeeze, you're already arching back into him. "is this ok?"

"yeah," you breathe. you're distracted, but you figure the best way to un-distract yourself is with a new, better distraction.

now emboldened, he rolls the skin between his fingers, finding he loves the way you shudder underneath him. quickly, he moves out from behind you to hover over you instead, propping himself up by his forearms, and pushes your shirt up over the swell of your tits.

"you good?" seungcheol asks, lips flush to the skin over your heart. he presses another wet kiss to one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth.

"yeah, why?" you have half a mind to hold his head down so he can't ask more questions and ruin the point of being a distraction in the first place.

"dunno." he switches to the other side, licking over a mark he's bitten into your skin. "you looked at your phone and you seemed worried. also, you're frowning, and it's not a sex frown."

damn. you guess you're easier to read than you thought. you don't even have the heart to ask what the fuck a sex frown looks like.

seungcheol's mouth returns to your nipple, and he sucks hard, making you gasp into your palm.

"my ex," you tell him. there's no point in keeping it a secret. the first time you slept together, you had made it clear what your intentions were, which is what made this arrangement work so well in the first place. "he wants to talk or something."

"that asshole?" then another suck, and you keen into him. "you're too good for him."

it's literally one of the three appropriate responses he could have chosen from, but it still feels like a compliment to you. almost too much so.

"yeah. i guess." your voice sounds more wobbly than you'd like, but you chalk it up to the fact that he's now pressing his lips down your middle, all the way down to your core. "hey, i'm ticklish."

"i know." he kisses your belly button, and you smile in spite of yourself. "you smell good, by the way."

"it's your forty dollar body wash," you remind him.

"damn right it is." you feel his breath fan over your thighs, and your stomach flips with anticipation. "legs over my shoulders. you know the drill."

"you don't have to do this, you know," you say, before immediately regretting it. you have a spectacular knack of self-sabotage, which you think seungcheol knows by this point. "you've been really nice to me."

"am i not allowed to like being nice to you?" seungcheol jokes. "would you prefer me to be mean?"

"no," you laugh. you don't know how to ask what he meant. what made yesterday and today so different? it feels like you're on the edge of something, coming close to what you could only describe as more than casual affection, more than desire. "go back to being nice. forget i said anything."

you put your legs over his shoulders, like he asked. one good orgasm wouldn't solve the ex problem or this new seungcheol problem you are starting to discover, but it sure would help you think more clearly.

his lips are soft on you. he has none of the urgency or greed of yesterday; instead, he takes his time with you. his mouth skims over your inner thighs, lightly, drawing out all the breath from your lungs. you make a small noise of impatience, and you feel the stretch of his grin against you.

before you have a second chance to complain, you feel the heat of his open mouth over your cunt, as to drink your taste up. then his tongue, warm, insistent, on your clit, circling it before he sucks.

"o-oh, fuck," you whine, voice muffled by the back of your hand. it feels too early to be loud, and you're already embarrassed by how sensitive you are.

"don't text him back," seungcheol says. he's replaced his mouth with two fingers, now leisurely teasing you at your entrance.

"don't worry--" you manage to say this before he crooks the pads of his fingers into you, right at your sweet spot, and the words are stolen from you. "--about him."

"i'm serious." he laps at your cunt, and with his fingers still buried in you, the feeling makes you dizzy. "did he ever make you feel like this?"

"n-no," you whine, now with your palm shoved right against your mouth. he's added a third finger now, and the stretch is so good, you're going cross-eyed. "never ate me out."

"what?" you hear him tsk between your thighs as his fingers still. "he's missing out."

it's then that seungcheol must have resolved to give you the best head of your life, because you think you black out after that point.

his lips return to your clit, and the pleasure is so startling, you can feel your thighs squeeze shut around his head. unfazed, he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your hole, still fluttering, unused to the size.

"close, 'm so close," you mewl, hips now lifted to chase his tongue. he indulges you, gives you the flat of the muscle to grind against as he stuffs you full.

your other hand finds his hair, and it only takes a moment, a slight pull, for him to moan into your heat--the sound breaks something inside you, and you're gasping, crying out with your high. by now, there are marks from your teeth in your palm, but something about the sting only makes the feeling better.

seungcheol stays sealed to your cunt, removing his fingers only to replace them with his mouth, eager to taste you. he lingers until you're shaking and whimpering, spent from your orgasm and too sensitive to endure another.

he looks up at you, swollen lips and bedhead made worse, and a surge of affection overtakes you.

"kiss me," you tell him, and he does.

it's long, and it's slow, not even close to any of the ones you've had before. you wrap a hand around the back of his neck, and he sighs. you don't think he's ever done that before.

when he pulls back to look at you, it feels as though the air has changed. there are words pushing at your lips. this isn't casual anymore. it can't be, not with what just happened.

yeah, the sex is good, but the first thing you thought of this morning wasn't you or your saturday plans or how to endure the dismay of your entire friend group, it was about him. if didn't count for something, you don't know what did.

"seungcheol, i--" you pause. his eyes are so brown, it's distracting you, and you start to second guess yourself.

"is it about your ex?" he interrupts. "if he asked you to get back with him, would you?"

it's not his question, but his insistence that takes you by surprise.

"n-no." you watch his gaze flicker at your hesitance, and you don't like it. "no, i wouldn't."

"good, because--" he pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. you try to read his expression, but he can't even meet your eyes right now. "look, i know i haven't had the best track record with dating. i don't even think i know how to date."

"what are you saying?" you ask softly. there's a part of your heart that feels like it's peeling itself back, in a good way.

"i'm saying i want to try." and when you still look confused, he continues. "dating you. if you'd let me."

against all odds, past all the swirling, terrible emotions in your chest, there's a bright surge of relief, of joy. the last time you saw him look so vulnerable was when he reached into his oven to pull out a tray of cookies and burned his hand because he forgot a glove. maybe this whole thing would crash and burn, but you like him enough (honestly more than enough) to try with him.

so you smile, and you watch him frown and pout and look unbearably terrified, and you smile harder.

"ok," you say, playfully feigning indifference. "you can try."

instead of replying, he kisses you again, and it's even better than the first one.

when you finally head out that morning, there's a lightness in your chest.

in the doorway, seungcheol pecks the top of your head before showing you his phone. "which emoji do you want?" he asks, completely seriously. "i want the blue heart."

you pull out your phone to find his contact, which still shows his plain number, just like old times.

"i'm unsaved?!" his jaw drops open like he's animated, and you laugh.

"gotta go," you tease. "see you later."

it's only in the uber home (that he called for you, of course), where you finally put in his real, government name, for the first time. finally, it feels a little more right.

choi seungcheol, it reads. with the blue heart.

#mine #seungcheol #seungcheol smut #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you #seventeen smut #scoups smut

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 6 months

Text

Cod BF/GF Scenario

Letting go of their hand while you're out in public, in a semi-crowded area

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

Heavily inspired by this post and by @lxvvie TikTok, credits to the side photos here. The rendered photo is of course by the CoD community's favorite @ave661.

They notice almost immediately, you didn't even have a chance to let go yet, in the middle of loosening your fingers that were tangled against theirs when they tightened their grip by reflex. Enough to keep your hand but not to cause you any pain or discomfort, you let out a giggle indicating to them that you were messing around. Yeah you will not regret that later..

Characters: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Alejandro Vargas, Valeria Garza, König, Keegan P. Russ, Philip Graves.

They had to do a double take, they ended up walking a few steps away before noticing and they place their hand out and started signaling you to put your hand back in theirs, you didn't and just laughed so they walked back to ask you what was wrong. When you told them nothing and it was just to see their reaction, they looked almost offended. Never joke about something like that again, they almost thought you were going to break up with them from then and there. More likely they were very touchy and a little clingy for the rest of the day. Pretty much looked like a kicked puppy when you tried doing it again.

Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Alex Keller, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Philip Graves.

Oh they looked so offended, how dare you let go of their hand?! Yeah you brought that on yourself, it's more likely this will turn into a whole prank war between the both of you. Of course they still went back to hold your hand again but this time you CANNOT pry it off, you started it so you don't really have room to complain.

Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

Cool, calm, and collected, they first thought nothing of it but then you started doing it multiple times. They asked if you okay but you smiled and nodded, made them more confused. Then they caught sight of your attempt to not laugh, they thought of it as good fun, they might get you back later on so watch out for that.

Characters: John Price, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Keegan P. Russ, Nikolai Belinski.

A/N: I'M FREAKING OUT BECAUSE @blingblong55 AND OTHER POPULAR CREATORS HAD BEEN LIKING MY POSTS LIKE OH MY GOD. Y'ALL NEED TO STOP GIVING ME HEART ATTACKS.

Small note: I wanna tag this Creator so bad on my fave CoD creator list because I feel like they're so underappreciated and their works are so good, I saw their acc through @puff0o0's blog and I think they have their mentions off for people who aren't mutuals ahaha.

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angelstate · 4 months

Text

Husband!Ghost x Wife!Reader.

tw: sensitive content, read tags before continuing!

Husband!Ghost is at peace when he’s by your side, you made him feel less alone in the world, like the hurt of his past goes away every time he looks into your eyes, you are a remedy for his aching heart and he couldn’t be happier for having found you after thinking for so many years he was unloveable.

you treat him like he is worth something. like he isn’t Ghost, the soldier whose job caused the death of his family, he is Simon, your husband whom you want to build a family with, he can begin to understand how you feel safe enough to wish something like that but doesn’t tell you his concerns.

he doesn’t want to bring you further into that side of him, doesn’t want to make his doubts yours and risk losing you, not wanting to make you get a bad feeling, to think of him what he thinks of himself.

Husband!Ghost believes in a brighter future, and unlimited possibilities of how life would play out for the two of you, how will you look with the passing of time, how beautiful age will look on you, he wants to see you live, wants to grow gray hair with you and laugh about how you finally time catches up to you, making you look old yet beautiful, always stunning in every way.

his young pretty little wife, the reason he wakes up and takes a breath of fresh air, filling his lungs his oxygen and no longer the smoke from cigarettes that worsened his health at a slow but real pace. and he stopped smoking for several reasons, but you are the biggest and most important one, the main one that makes him use his self-control for something more than just managing his emotions, but to have a much longer future with you.

Husband!Ghost was suicidal for most of his life, wanting nothing but the torture of being alive to end sooner than later, he craved the relief of death, the weight of his burdens to be taken off of his shoulders. He was aware of how much of an extreme measure that was, he wasn’t actively trying to kill himself, but carelessness disguised as selflessness gave him free rein to sacrifice himself, to die a hero even though he felt like he was no good at all.

he has never meant to cause pain to those he cherished though, as small as that is, he has no place in his heart for a lot of people either way, his past uses most of it, storing the ghosts of those he loved that he didn’t have the chance to bury, the little space left used to put you in it along with his teammates.

He has you on his mind though, and that is a much more complicated place to get into or leave, his consciousness being his worst enemy and best friend, keeping everything and everyone alive even if they are long gone. but you aren’t gone, thankful, he wouldn’t be able to deal with your death.

but you are alive, breathing next to him, the sweet smell of your shampoo lingering in the pillowcase and sheets, serving him as a reminder of your existence, that he hadn’t imagined you. That you had been just there, right by his side and he would most likely get you back.

Husband!Ghost is good at letting go, at not letting things get to him no matter how disturbing they are, and he is able to keep his composure at all times, breathing in and out before acting out a plan, having overthought the worst of situations late at night, wanting to protect you from the evils of the world even if that was the last thing he did.

He values your peace and your safety, he guards your steady heartbeat so it never falters, so it never stops no matter what. He is tired of death, he doesn’t want to say goodbye to another person, not you, God, please anyone but you.

Husband!Ghost had already lost Johnny, his mother, his brother, his niece, his sister in law and so many more people because the world wasn’t kind, the universe having a personal vendetta against him, dictating that he should suffer and spend the rest of his years with vengeance seething on his chest.

He doesn’t enjoy violence as much as he makes it out to be, he doesn’t enjoy the nonwashable stain of blood on his clothes or the unending heaviness on his chest, he likes the peace and quiet that pristine clothes and a clear mind can grant a person.

and he envies you sometimes, how your hands are clean from violence and how you smile at adversity with confidence that you’ll get past the hardships life gives you, you seem so content with fighting for your happiness, having to use tooth and nail to get to the simplest of milestones because life isn't kind.

Husband!Ghost doesn’t understand a lot of things in this world but doesn't dare to ask questions, not to you, not to anyone. He lives clueless in some ways, emotions not being his strongest point, but he manages, and he tries in silence for you, always for you, everything for you.

And he goes to therapy in secret, not wanting you to know, not because he thinks it makes him look weak, no. He just wants to keep you out of the darkest parts of his life, the ones that keep him up at night, the ones that make him want to kill himself because he shouldn’t have survived.

He sometimes regrets having survived.

Husband!Ghost worships the ground you walk on, remembers every little detail about you, the way your voice turns high-pitched when you’re excited, the way you flutter your eyelashes when you’re about to cry, the way you look away when you know you did something he advised you not to do alone. he has engraved every aspect of you on his head, repeating them in a loophole when he’s struggling.

God how much does he struggle without your continuous presence, it seems unfair of life to part your path constantly, tying a rope around your waist and pulling you away from him every time he is close enough to reach you. He is your husband, so why does life behave so maliciously?

Husband!Ghost loves you too much to bear the sight he has in front of him, and he knows one day the universe would pull you away from him completely, he knew he was doomed to lose you from the beginning, it was only a matter of time before his peace was interrupted by the grasp of a destiny he didn’t want to live.

but right now isn’t about putting blame on someone, on a higher being he didn’t believe in or a destiny he wasn’t sure existed or not, maybe it was all his doing and he’s just blaming a more powerful source to take away the weight on his shoulders, to make his misery easier to carry as times goes on.

he moves closer to you, his steps heavy as he dares in a second of bravery and adrenaline to step closer to you, his heart pounding on his chest in a way that makes him want to throw up but he carries on.

he kneels next to you on the bathtub, his hands reaching under the water to hold your body, limbs unresponsive to his touch. he pulls you out of the water, not caring that his clothes are getting wet, he pulls you on his lap, holding your lifeless body like it’s made of iron, his grip strong and unkind, he can’t bring himself to be kind, and normally such grip would form bruises but the lack of blood flowing through your veins doesn’t make it possible.

He doesn't remember much of that evening, the flashing blue and red colors seeping from the bathroom window reminds him of false hope, and the cold wind hitting his face and your body hidden away by a black bag reminds him of the unkindness of the world he thought often about.

Widower!Ghost looks at your face and he thinks you're pretty, you’re prettier than he remembers as he sees you dressed in all white, your hair styled in the way he remembered you had it on your wedding day, your makeup simple but adding the color on your skin he knew you had lost a long time ago.

and if it wasn’t for the casket and your chest not moving up and down he could’ve sworn you were alive. He stands next to you for a long time, not moving and nobody dares to pull him away. They knew he wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of being away from you when the lifetime he had promised you together would no longer happen.

Widower!Ghost knows you left at your own will, that you left because you couldn’t keep yourself alive any longer and a small part of him is glad you went out on your terms, but the other huge part of him is devastated.

Because he loves you with the same strength religious people love their Gods, his love for you is poetic, it is guttering, it’s a flame of fire that doesn’t stop burning, no matter the amount of water you may pour in it. And he may just be one man but he loves you with the force of a thousand.

Widower!Ghost contemplates leaving the same way you did, he contemplates the repercussions of his action, the “what if” that stumbles upon his plan as he makes it, mind concentrated and focused as he studies his choices, and he thinks about it over and over again. a cycle forming in his head as he loses the light in his eyes before he even makes the final decision.

and it seems cruel to pull you away from him, it feels like a punishable offense to take you away from him with how much he feels for you, with how much he values your existence by his side, the smell of your perfume on the pillowcase, the warmth of your skin on his.

Widower!Ghost feels as if his life had ended when yours did, and it seems only fair in his mind that he stops delaying the inevitable, that he takes the steps he felt fearful of taking when he was a teenager and had things to lose.

this time he doesn’t have anything to lose, you took everything with you when you perished in the bathtub. Ghost takes a deep breath, a mouthful of pills and a glass of water later is everything he needs.

He lays on his bed, staring at a picture of the two of you, his eyes feel heavy but he refuses to close them, not yet at least. He needs one last look at your face, the sound of your voice replaying on his mind one last time before he finally lets go.

God, you always said I love you so sweetly in his ear, he’s going to tell you he loves you too when he sees you again.

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everythingelseisextra · 10 months

Text

Give Yourself A Reason

Part Four: Petty Criminal

Part Six: My Body Is Here

Description: A late night call from Tommy comes after days without hearing from him. Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, talk of guns, language Word Count: 2723 Tag List: @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek

As suddenly as it started, it seems to end. No word from him, no reaching out from you. No effort placed into a relationship from either of you. The bridge between you begins to rot. Your life goes back to gray. The lack of color is worse because you had the chance to add some into your life and failed to take it. It was within your grasp, but your fingers fell short. You insist to yourself the same few words you’ve been saying to yourself since you were young; adapt. Change. Accept. You will not let this loss, this small, meaningless loss, shake you. You’re strong.

But you’re alone. And the more the days pass, the less you sleep. Shadows crawl under your eyes, puffing them, glazing them over, and your body grows heavy once again. You spend the night hours reaching into your chest, trying to find something to hold onto, some identity that you can use to keep yourself going, and fail to find it. Hollowed out, made of cobwebs and ancient wishes, you’re a ghost more than anything. More haunted than the coat sitting on your kitchen chair, the one you stare at while you eat, the one he gave you. You thought, maybe, he’d come to take it back. You know better, now.

Sometimes, you wonder if you let him get too close. If when you pushed back against him or when you finally gave in, maybe you revealed something he didn’t like. Other times, though, you think it was him. You think he let you see, if only for a few minutes, the bits of fear that every human has. And you think that maybe, maybe he shies away from letting others know that part of himself, letting others know he’s human.

And, sometimes, when you think of him, all you get in return is a void and a strange, strangled yearning for closeness that you don’t understand. Like some old, wiser part of you saw him as equal to yourself, and now cannot let go of the idea of him being near you.

You sell one of your horses. His training finished, his manners perfect, it’s time for you to let go of him. It’s part of the job; saying goodbye. Letting go of a creature that mirrors your soul so perfectly, that reacts fluidly to you, that forgives and forgives and forgives all the stupid mistakes you make. You smile and nod at his new owners, and, once he’s gone away in the trailer, you clean the empty stall. The sun sets, sending liquid gold to paint the interior of the barn, and you drag your weary body back to the house for another night of desperately wanting to rest but finding yourself unable to.

You stay in the kitchen that night. There’s no point in lying down. You stare blearily at the coat hanging on the chair across from you, listening to the ticking of the clock. Counting the seconds. Counting the minutes. Counting the hours. A dull headache spreads between your temples, and you hang your head, closing your eyes. Maybe you can drift off. Maybe you can trick yourself, insist that you’re not trying to sleep and then manage to sleep anyway. You don’t want to think anymore. You want to rest.

Time slips away from you. Swirls into colored patterns in front of your eyes. You lean your head back and sigh. This, you think. This again. This, maybe always.

Your phone rings and you jump so aggressively you almost fall out of your chair. You stand and stumble over to where it sits on the kitchen counter. It rings. Rings and rings. You stare at it, then, slowly, pick up.

“Hello?” Who the fuck is calling you at half past midnight?

Silence on the other end. You wait a few seconds, then go to put down the handset, irritated that your stupor was interrupted.

Someone speaks on the other end, halfway down to the receiver.

You lift it back to your ear. “Who is this?”

“Tommy.” His voice comes even more gravelly over the phone than in person, low and dull, as if he is just as exhausted as you are.

“Hi,” you say slowly. “Is… is everything okay?”

More silence.

“Why are you calling me?”

No response.

“Alright. It’s late. I’m… I’m putting the phone down.”

“I’m looking at a gun.” His words are slow, quieter than usual, without confidence. “I’m looking at a gun and I’ve called everyone. Only one to pick up is you.”

You suck in a breath. “Where are you?”

“Sitting at my desk.” There’s a click and your blood goes cold.

“Put the gun down, Thomas.” Your voice pitches. “Put the fucking gun down.”

A pause, then a small clunk as he does as you told him.

“Thank you.” You bite your lip. “Do you want— do you want to come stay with me? Just for tonight?”

When you listen, really listen, you can hear his breathing, slow and shallow. You can’t feel your hands, and without realizing it, you’re floating, outside of your own body, a kind of quiet panic you haven’t felt for years.

He doesn’t answer you. You speak quietly, quickly, softly, leaning on the counter. “I can’t say I know exactly how you’re feeling. But I’ve had some run-ins with myself before. All the guilt and the shame and the self-hatred just becomes too much and you numb out. Until you can’t feel anything at all. And, since you’re already free-falling, why not go all the way? Why not go to sleep and not wake up? It’s exhausting to fight every day. ” Your voice grows slightly choked, the phantom feelings of the past creeping up on you, long-dead but still haunting. “I’ll tell you why. Every day that you wake up and face the same fucking fight that you did the day before is a triumph. I don’t know what you spend your days doing, but I want to, and I don’t doubt that it’s more work than most people do. And it matters. Every little thing you do ripples out, and suddenly, you’re connected to a whole web of people. They didn’t not pick up because they don’t care about you. It’s the middle of the night.

“And here’s the thing; the sun will come up, or maybe it won’t. This will change or maybe it won’t. But you, Thomas Shelby, are a fighter, and you’ll adapt. As exhausting as it sounds, that fight to exist is the most honorable thing you can do. I don’t think you get the credit you deserve for that.” You look down.”No one does.”

He’s quiet. You hear him take a deep breath. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah.” You nod to yourself. “How long have you been looking at that gun?”

“Few months.”

“This is the first time you’ve told someone.” It’s a statement, not a question. You don’t need to ask. You can hear it in his voice, the desperate quality of needing someone to respond to him, to listen, even, or just be there. You’ve heard it in your own voice before. That innate need to be with another person, no matter how estranged they are to you, when something like a crisis strikes. Self-protective, because sometimes it’s easier to die than to change your life alone.

“First time I’ve considered pulling the trigger.”

“Do you mind if I ask what happened a few months ago?” It’s a risky question. You ask it tentatively, aware that this could lead to something worse.

“My wife took a fucking bullet for me.”

Your chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“Yep.”

“Do you want me to come to you, or do you want to come to me?” You’re not giving him the choice to wait out the rest of the night alone.

“No need.” He lets out a tight breath.

“Yes need.” You glance down at yourself, clothed in a light t-shirt and sweats. “So, I’m coming to you, then.”

“No. If you insist on—”

“I do.”

“Fine.” His lifeless voice drags on the words as he speaks. “I’ll come. Expect me.”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Don’t bring weapons.” You manage a weak smile to yourself. “You’ll be safe with me. You don’t need them.”

A deep breath, then; “Okay.”

He hangs up. Your hand drops the handset without your permission, letting it crash down wildly to the counter. Fingers closing into a fist, you close your eyes, trying to breathe, trying to hold yourself together. You think about the spiral, the urge to dive off into the deep end and never resurface. The desolate need for silence and the hatred once you get it. The repulsion of other people but the all-consuming loneliness. The strange lightness forming at the thought of letting it all go.

Yes, you’ve been there before. You’ve let the darkness fool you once.

You won’t let it take him. Not tonight. Whether he tried everyone else before, he called you. He told you what was happening. He was scared enough to ask for help.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring at his coat in the kitchen before his headlights are in your unpaved driveway. You open the door to your house and wait for him there.

His eyes flick sullenly to you, then fall, shameful. Your heart jolts and you shake your head. “Tommy. Look at me.”

He releases a breath, a few feet away from you. You’ve never seen him like this, without the suit, without the mask of intensity he always seems to wear. In front of you now is someone completely devoid of defenses, horrifically vulnerable. He looks up, meets your eyes.

“You’re no less of a man because of this. You’re no less of a gangster, or a fighter, or a businessman, or whatever you want to call yourself. Okay?”

“Yes.” His eyes stay even with yours this time, though hollow and empty. “Okay.”

You step back to let him in. Your single-floor house includes a kitchen and sitting room, a bedroom and tiny bathroom, and a small living room. You lead him to the latter and sit down in an old armchair in silence. He stands in the entrance, looking around for a moment, then wanders over to the worn-out couch, sitting without a word.

There’s silence that hovers, proving the emptiness of the night to be thorough, even in the safety of your house. Moonlight filters in through the small window, and faint rays of it catch in his eyes, lighting the broken look in them.

You speak first. “I assume you don’t plan on sleeping?”

He shakes his head, a tiny movement, barely noticeable. His eyes are planted on the small coffee table between you, staring without seeing.

“I haven’t been sleeping lately. Don’t worry about keeping me up. I’d be awake either way.”

No response but a slow blink, eyelashes glistening faintly.

You watch him for a moment, then, cautiously, you explain a little. “I… went through a lot. And there was a long time where I didn’t think life was worth it anymore. You know what I used to do?”

His eyes flick to you, steadying on yours.

“I’d give myself a reason. Something little. Maybe I’d make plans with friends for the next day, so I felt obligated to make it there. Maybe I’d let myself spend some money at the end of the week. Maybe there’d be some new animal I needed to care for. Anything. Anything to get me through the rough patch.” You shrug. “I’ve been where you are, and that’s what helped me. Do you have anything you can think of that would do that for you?”

“No. It’s all work. All fucking work.”

“I… I think I can give you a reason.” You lean back in your chair, looking up at the dark wood ceiling, wanting to give him some sense of privacy. You don’t need to be staring into his soul.

“Yeah? I’d love to fucking hear it.” He grows bitter. You ignore it. It’s easier to be mad than scared.

“I have an open stall. I sold a horse a few days ago.” You close your eyes. “I’m going to the racetrack to pick out a new horse at the end of the week. You could come with me, if you want. You can… you can have partial ownership. Help me train it.”

“Give myself a reason, eh?” You hear him give a dead chuckle. “Buy a horse.”

“Well, no.” You smile a little. “I’m paying for it. You just get it for free.”

“Why would you do that for me?” He sounds too tired to grow defensive, too exhausted to put up a real fight, but still, he doesn’t trust you, not completely. “What do you want?”

“Honestly?” You fold your arms into your lap, opening your eyes to meet his. “I want you. I want you to stay alive so you can be in my life. I don’t know why. I don’t know what it is. I just get this sense about people and I have one about you. You’re not scary to me. I want you to stay here, on this earth, so that I can know who you are. And if that means letting you have one of my horses, well, fuck, I guess that’s what we’re doing.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful. There’s a little more than emptiness in his eyes, now; a flicker of curiosity. Then, seconds later, it’s gone, and he’s looking back at the coffee table. “You don’t want to know me.”

“Pretty sure I do.” You cross your arms. “And you don’t get to tell me otherwise.”

“There’s something rotting in me. Came from my mom. Don’t have the words to describe it. It’s— it’s bad. Once you see it, you won’t want to know me.”

You shake your head, looking away and smiling. “God… That’s exactly what I think about you, Tommy. Exactly what I think when it comes to you knowing me.”

You feel his gaze on you, feel the faint warmth of his attention wash over you.

“What about we agree, before we start this… thing, that we forgive each other’s rottenness. That whatever comes up, we’ll deal with it and move on. Since we both think the other will see something they don’t like. It’s not our fault, anyway.”

He scoffs. “You say that now.”

“Yeah. I do. And I’ve seen a lot of shit. I think you’d be surprised at what won’t phase me.”

He nods, small movements of his head, and his eyes flick over you.

“What do I have to do to prove I’m tough enough for you?”

“You don’t.” There’s a hint of something stronger in his voice, though still weary. “We don’t need to start this off by proving something to each other.”

“Well, we really started this off with me spraying you with a—”

“Yes.” He waves his hand, as if physically swatting away the thought of it. “I know. The only one to put me in my place.”

You smile. “I’d do it again, too.”

He nods again, slower, this time, and his eyes slide closed. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

You lower your voice, even it out, try not to shake him from this calmer state. “Friday, then. We’ll go to the track on Friday.”

“Friday.” He repeats. He sits back on the couch, head falling back onto the arch of its highest point.

“And we’ll keep figuring things out there.” You close your eyes, too, mimicking his movement of leaning his head back. “Give you a reason outside of work.”

Silence from him. The faint sound of his breathing, slow, steady, reaches you. You curl your legs up onto the couch, folding your arms in, so you lie in an upright fetal position, head resting on your knees. And, like that, sharing the space of your living room, you slip into a fitful, but deep sleep.

When you wake up, he’s gone. Light filters in from the window, rays stretching out to land on the coffee table. You blink in the early light, and sit up to find a note, sitting resolutely in the ray of sunlight.

Friday. I’ll come pick you up.

Thank you for giving me a reason.

-Tom

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaker blinders fandom #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

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ghostsvacuumcleaner · 10 months

Text

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night.

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired.

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks.

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life.

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter.

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.”

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand.

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly.

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby.

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name.

Some things aren’t supposed to happen.

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own.

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours.

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees.

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.”

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.”

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you.

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

#simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fic #simon riley fluff

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hmshermitcraft · 5 months

Note

the taurtis tag is SO empty. I am here to FIX THAT.

————

There is something following Grian.

Everyone’s caught glimpses of it - earlier seasons, it was a rare sight. Whatever it was, it was barely formed, cradling a broken soul waiting to mend.

but as time went on, as seasons passed, it grew stronger. more visible.

there’s blue. there’s headphones. black hair, if you squint.

protective isn’t necessarily the right word. simply…tied. whatever the being is, it’s tied with grian, and probably will be for a long while. sure, maybe it’s protective of it’s other half, but it’s…

…well, when it’s anything to do with grian, pranks are a must. it’s mischievous and silly, to put it lightly. half of them wonder if it’s secretly ‘ghost-writing’ half the stuff grian does.

no one has the heart to tell grian. he always gets this wide eyed stare whenever something like this is brought up - they don’t want to hurt him.

pearl, however, has no such qualms.

————

you pick the ending!

They've spent a long time watching to determine if this spirit is aggressive, or has negative intent. Yet, despite some of their best efforts to find something wrong, the spirit seems passive. No more mischievous than Grian himself.

The ghost seems aware they can see it. It disappears when they go on dates (though, sometimes, they can spot it hovering in the distance, watching them closely.) If there's a few of them in one place then nobody can see it.

The whole thing is creepy, and Grian's reaction is enough to scare them off. And Pearl respects that. But she's known Grian for a long time. That man could bottle up a hurricane if it meant he didn't have to acknowledge a single bad thing that happened to him.

So she rolls her sleeves up and does what she does best. Traps him through societal politeness until he explains just what is haunting him. She doesn't even care about the tragic backstory or anything, she just wants some basic context.

It turns out Grian... Had an idea. But he didn't want to let himself believe it. The ghost is Taurtis and Grian describes him as an 'almost'. And then he died. Obviously, he's still sticking around to make sure Grian isn't (or is) getting into trouble.

Pearl can respect that. And by the way, Grian, try and make peace with your past for a change, jeez. Not everybody gets a second chance like this.

#hermitshipping #ask #grian tag #taurtis tag #pearl tag #polyhermits #taurian #mod 🎀#death tw

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random-thot-generator · 9 months

Text

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 7

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

SEVEN: Can't Let Go

SIMON GHOST RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: A week has passed since the argument in the alley, and Reader's hurt has been replaced with a seething anger that leads her to make a spur-of-the-moment decision out of spite. However, her poor choices lead to a potentially dangerous situation.

(PLEASE MIND THE TAGS. This chapter could be triggering for some readers.)

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bad Coping Mechanisms, Allusions to sex, Threat of dub/non-con sexual situation, Brief Violence - Reader's a scrapper, Threat of violence though not acted upon... yet, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Ngl, this was a bitch to write. I had no less than three other alternative versions of this chapter, before choosing this one, but thankfully had some help along the way. Massive props to @glitterypirateduck for the much-needed advice and input. I ended up leaving the badger out, babe, but I hope you like the chapter, regardless. 😉👍)

[Image via TENOR]

Word Count: 5020

Chapter 7

...I ain't tryna find fate, it's too late to save face I can't get away, maybe there's no mistakes

You break me, then I break my rules Last time was the last time too It's fucked up, I know, but I'm still

Outside of the party, smokin' in the car with you Seven Nation Army, fightin' at the bar with you Tell you that I'm sorry, tell me what I gotta do 'Cause I can't let go...

—Post Malone, 'Chemical'

The walk to work is nice.

Blue skies and tattered clouds arch overhead, the remnants of puddles from an early morning shower reflecting the first sun you've seen in days. The world smells fresh and green and new, the signs of spring brightening your mood. It makes you feel light, the first time in a week you've felt like lifting your head to look around.

The first time since your fight with Riley.

You push the thought away. You're not going there today. Not again. You worked through the worst of the hurt and disappointment, and now you've settled into a comfortable, quiet fury that you keep wrapped around you like a warm blanket when the chill of loneliness creeps into your bed at night. You don't miss him, you don't want him, and you sure as hell don't need him. He's just one more bitter lesson you've had to learn the hard way. You won't make the same mistake, again.

Well... not again, anyway.

A car beeps its horn behind you, and you glance back to see Jerry Finch, the lorry driver who delivers the kegs to the pub, waving at you from a black sports car. You give a half-hearted smile and wave back, your steps slowing when he steers his car to the curb.

His window rolls down, rap music thumping before he turns it down. Leaning on his arm in the open window, Jerry tips his chin down to look over his aviator sunglasses at you, a smooth half-smile on his lips. "How ya doin', Dee? Headin' to work?"

You nod, stepping closer to his car, trying to ignore the way he looks you up and down before meeting your gaze. He gives you an appreciative smile and ticks his eyebrows up, ever the flirt. You sniff in amusement and squint against the sun to see him better. "Morning, Jer." You nod at his car. "No lorry today. This your day off?"

He gives you a charming, almost boyish smile and nods. "Yeah. Had some business here in the village, though." He glances down towards the pub, then slants his gaze back to you, thumbing at his bottom lip. "I can give ya a lift, if ya like. Goin' that way, anyhow."

You hesitate but then nod in acceptance. It's just an acquaintance from work offering you a ride, nothing wrong with that. He smiles and motions for you to get in, once more letting his eyes wander over your figure while you settle yourself into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt.

"Thank you," you murmur, glancing up at him, then away. Jerry's never been one to hide his interest, taking every opportunity to flirt with you when given half a chance. Of course, it makes you feel good to have a handsome man flirt with you, but it also makes you a little leery, too. You try to be nice, but you don't want to encourage him, something that Fiona fusses about every chance she gets.

"Bloody hell, Dee, give the bloke a chance. He's got a good job, he's good lookin', fit as fuck, an' he's gaggin' t'get with ya. What can it hurt?"

Rationally, you know Fi is right, but you can't help yourself. There's just something about him. You can't put your finger on it but being near him just feels... off. You clear your throat and look out the window, your eyes catching on a dark gray Gladiator parked in front of the Tea Room.

Riley.

You can see him standing inside through the tall Georgian windows, chatting with Margie, the owner. She's handing him a bag and a to-go cup that you know will be filled with English breakfast tea brewed strong, with a splash of milk and two sugars, the way he likes. Your heart squeezes in your chest as you watch him exit the building and get in his truck.

Riley's been avoiding the pub when you're on shift. Fiona says he's been showing up in the evening, sitting in his usual spot while nursing his Dewar's. She also doesn't fail to mention Tessa Harker has been chatting him up quite a bit lately, too. It hurts to hear it, but you only give a tight smile and mutter, "Good for him," much to your friend's irritation.

Fiona and Ollie have both noticed the way you and Riley have been avoiding each other, but apparently Riley has kept mum about the argument, as have you. You had wondered if he would spread word about your other job at the Grind out of spite, but no one has mentioned it so far, and for that you're relieved, but you're still wary of what he might do with the information.

"So, what time ya gettin' off work?"

The question draws your attention back to the big man sitting beside you. Did he notice you staring, you wonder. "Um, I get off work at five."

"Then what?" he persists, and you know where this is going.

You shrug, keeping your eyes focused straight ahead. "Then back home, I suppose."

"Come out with me, instead," he suggests, shooting another one of his charming smiles your way. "There's a nice Italian bistro in Blackheath. I deliver to 'em. Nice place, good food."

"Oh, um, well..."

He chuckles and reaches over to pat your knee. "No rush, sweetheart. Got all day t'think it over, yeah?"

Again, the feeling that something is off with him comes to the fore of your brain, but you smile, regardless. "Yeah, sure. I'll... think about it," you reply, knowing your mind is already made up. You just have to think of a nice way to let him down. Again.

Jerry gives your knee another pat, which turns into a sly caress that has you flinching away. He huffs a laugh at your reaction, giving you a playful 'just-kidding' grin, before he lifts his hand and places it back on the wheel. He has big, beefy hands, thick fingers with blunt tips, a working man's hands. You usually find that attractive, have often admired Riley's large hands and long, supple fingers, but for some reason, the sight of Jerry's ham fists curled around the steering wheel makes you feel uncomfortable.

The car comes to a stop in front of the pub, and you're quick to unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door. "Thanks for the ride, Jer," you say, one foot already resting on the pavement.

"Think nothin' of it, love. Glad t'give you a ride anytime," he murmurs, suggestion heavy in his tone. He flashes another smile at you, winking again. He does that a lot, and you find it annoying. "I'll stop by later, see if ya want to go out for dinner, yeah?"

"Y-Yeah, sure. Okay."

You get out of his car and sketch a little wave as he pulls away, then turn to head inside the pub, only to come up short. Riley's standing right in front of the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes fixed on Jerry's car, which is now rounding the green.

"Friend o' yers?"

It's the first words he's said to you since last Sunday in the alley, and the way he says it instantly gets your hackles up. You square off with him, casting a disparaging look over him. The proper thing would have been to offer you an apology, but you know better than to expect anything like that from him. Instead, he leads with a question that sounds both accusatory and insulting, all at the same time.

Typical.

"Shouldn't you already know? That's what you're good at, isn't it? Keeping tabs on me?" you snap, glaring at him.

You make a point to bump his shoulder as you pass by him and enter the pub. He's on your heels in an instant, following you through the door, obviously irritated by your response. You ignore him as you round the bar, pulling the strap of your bag over your head before placing it on top of the bar to take out your phone and a paperback.

"Wot? Ya got nothin' else t'say, doll? Tha's not like ya."

Your eyes snap up to glare at him. "Thought we said all that needed to be said last Sunday," you hissed at him, trying to keep your voice down, knowing Ollie would be back in his office.

Simon plants both hands on the bar and leans in, his dark eyes scathing as they pin you to the spot. "I wasn't finished talkin'. It was you that fuckin' ran off," he growls in return, but manages to keep his voice to a low rumble.

Your brows shoot up in mock surprise. "Oh! How terribly rude of me. I suppose I should have stood there until you were finished insulting me." Your eyes narrowed as you sneered at him. "Fuck you for that, by the way."

He's wearing his black surgical mask today, so his angry scowl is more evident than usual. He shoves off the bar in a fit of temper, hand coming up to jab a finger at you. "Like I told ya last Sunday, me an' you need t'talk, an' this time yer goin' t'bloody listen to wha—"

Your snort cuts him off. "We have nothing left to discuss. You made your opinion of me quite clear. But hey! At least I know where I stand with you now. Don't worry, though. I'll keep my distance. Wouldn't want to embarrass you by being seen associating with a slag, right?"

"Dammit t'hell, Dee! I never fuckin' called ya that. I never thought that. Would ya just bloody lis—"

"Riley, lad!"

You both turn to see Ollie heading your way, a pleased smile on his face. Shooting Riley one last venomous glare, you turn your back on him and make for the swinging door leading into the kitchen, his frustrated growl giving you a sense of grim satisfaction as you slip through the door. Fuck him. You hope he stays pissed off for the rest of the day.

You can hear the two men talking as you go back to hang up your jacket, eyes wandering over the unused kitchen as you pass through. What you wouldn't give for a kitchen this size, and here this one sits, unused and abandoned. You had mentioned a time or two that adding a small menu would bring in more business, but since the last cook quit, Ollie hasn't been too keen to fire up the kitchen again. It's a pity, really.

"Dee, love."

You glance over your shoulder to see Ollie standing at the service window. "What'cha need, Ol?"

Mind makin' me an' Riley a cuppa an' bringin' 'em to the office?"

You frown, wondering what happened to the tea you had seen Riley with before. You shrug it off and nod. "Sure thing, Ol. Be right out with 'em."

"Thanks, love," he says, rapping his knuckles before disappearing from sight.

You rinse out the electric kettle and fill it with water, then plug it in and switch it on before grabbing three mugs and the tea tin. You consider making Riley's tea wrong, just for spite, but that would be petty, even for you, or as Riley would call it, bratty. You sniff. He's a fuckin' brat. A bratty arsehole.

You scoop instant coffee into your own mug then add the tea bags to the other two cups, before going to the fridge to take out the milk. It's become routine for you to make both men's tea, your hands going through the motions while your thoughts wander back to Jerry and his dinner invitation.

Your first instinct is to turn him down, as you have all his other invitations, but the memory of how pissed Riley looked as he watched the other man drive away gives you pause. He always did eye Jerry with open suspicion, his instant dislike of the other man never something he tried to hide. He's never said why he doesn't like Jerry, but it didn't change the fact that it would probably piss Riley off to learn you were going out to dinner with him.

Maybe you are petty after all, because now your mind has changed. You are going on a dinner date this evening after work.

Setting your mug of coffee in the window to retrieve later, you take the other two mugs with you out of the kitchen. Rounding the bar, you head towards the narrow hallway that leads to the bathrooms and Ollie's office, walking slower to not spill any of their tea. You can hear their voices through the door as you stop to announce your presence. It's Riley who opens the door for you, not bothering to move out of your way as you slide past him with an irritated expression.

"Move, ya big lump," you grumble lowly, which gets a soft sniff of amusement from him. Arsehole.

"Ah, thanks, love," Ollie says, reaching out to take his mug. You set Riley's on the edge of his desk near the old club chair where he always sits. "Mind closin' the door on yer way out?" Ollie asks.

You give a nod, turning around to see that Riley is still standing in your way. You go to step around him, and he steps in your way again. You blow out an aggravated breath and raise your eyes to his, the urge to shove him again making your hands twitch. When he quirks a brow up at you, you grit your teeth and glare at him. Then an idea sparks in your brain. You look back over your shoulder at your boss.

"Say, Ol. Ya mind if I cut out a little early this evening? I've got a dinner date with Jerry the lorry driver."

Ollie nearly chokes on his tea before he manages to get his cup set down on his desk. His sharp eyes dart between you and Riley, an odd expression on his face as he tries to make sense of what's going on. He finally clears his throat and gives a curt nod. "Yeah. Sure, love. No problem."

You give him a sweet smile that turns spiteful when you turn your head back to the man in front of you. "Thanks, Ol," you reply, meeting Riley's furious glare. "Excuse me. Need to get back to work."

You can see his hands balling into fists, and it sends a thrill of sadistic glee through you. You'd rather die than look away from him right now, a smirk appearing when he has to hold his tongue and step aside for you. By the time you reach the hallway and close the door behind you, you're damn near giddy. The smirk on your face grows to a full-on wicked grin by the time you reach the bar again.

Satisfied with the good, hard poke you've just given the proverbial bear, you begin your prep work, humming a catchy pop song under your breath.

You manage to avoid any more close interactions with Riley, though he hangs around the bar your entire shift, giving you a baleful glare every time you draw near. You make it a point to ignore him, chatting with the other customers, talking and laughing like you weren't bothered at all by his brooding presence. You see him visibly stiffen when Jerry comes swaggering in, his signature charming smile already in place.

Before he can speak, you step to the bar and offer him a sweet smile. "Hi, Jer. Ollie said I can leave early, so we can go whenever you like."

Jerry can't hide the surprise on his face, but he swiftly recovers as he leans an elbow on the bar to bring his eyes level with yours. "Good. Been thinkin' 'bout it all day," he murmurs, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

You stiffen, discomfited by the look in his eye, but try to hide it by ducking to grab your bag from beneath the bar. When you raise up again, a pleasant smile is plastered on your face. "I just need to grab my jacket and tell Ollie I'm leaving, then we can go."

"'Course, sweetheart," Jer replies, watching you as you round the bar and head for the hallway. He catches Riley staring at him and lifts his brows, giving him a smug little smirk, which you honestly think is stupid of him. Despite Jerry's size, you have no doubt Riley would mop the fucking floor with him. You roll your eyes. Men and their stupid bloody posturing.

The sooner you get this over with, the better. This game is quickly losing its appeal.

Jerry offers to take you home to change if you want, but you decline, honestly not comfortable with the idea of bringing him up to your flat. He seems a little perturbed when you turn down his offer but then shrugs and drives to Blackheath, instead.

As he said, the little bistro is nice, the food delicious. The conversation is lackluster, though, but you weren't really expecting much. Beyond talking about himself, Jerry doesn't seem to hold much interest in other topics. Big surprise.

Once you're back in the car, he drapes his arm over your seat and leans in, a sexy smirk on his face. "So, where to next, sweetheart? Your place or mine?"

Your brows shoot up in mild surprise. "I thought this was just dinner," you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. "Moving a little fast, don't you think?"

He tips his chin down, giving you a knowing look. "C'mon, Dee. We're both adults here. I've seen how you an' that other barmaid check me out. Not that I'm complainin'." He gives you one of his smarmy winks, and you fight the urge to wrinkle your nose in disdain.

You sniff and give your head a small shake. The audacity of this bloke. Did he honestly think you were just going to drop your knickers because he bought you dinner? "Yeah, I think I'd rather go home by myself. I have work in the morning."

Jerry draws back, blinking. "Are you serious?" When you roll your eyes, he scoffs and tilts his nose up, as if he can't believe you are turning him down. "Whatever. Your loss, sweetheart," he mutters with a slight sneer and starts the car.

The drive back to Banfield is tense and awkward, but you honestly prefer the silence. When Jer finally speaks up, you startle out of your thoughts. "Mind if I take a shortcut?" he asks, his tone off-hand.

You shrug. "Fine with me." If it gets you home quicker, you're all for it.

Yet when he veers off the main road onto a country lane, you frown. You aren't familiar with this particular backroad, but from the direction you're going it doesn't look like you're heading towards home.

"Are you sure this goes to Banfield?"

Jer slants a condescending look at you, a shitty little smirk pulling up a corner of his mouth. "I drive for a livin', sweetheart. Ya really think I'm goin' t'get lost on the way to bloody Banfield?"

Your eyes roll up, but you hold your tongue, yet after another five minutes with nothing even closely resembling civilization in sight, you can't keep quiet. "We should be in Banfield by now. It's just a ten-minute drive from Blackheath. Are you sure you took the right road?" You glance around at the dark, unfamiliar landscape. "I don't even know where the hell we are right now."

"I took the scenic route," Jer drawls, waving a hand. He then drops it on your knee and gives it a squeeze. "Chill out, sweetheart. We'll get there. Eventually."

Apprehension creeps up your spine like the drag of an icy finger. You don't like this. This man, who you really know nothing about, you now realize, is driving you out to the middle of nowhere. "Maybe you should turn around."

Jerry glances over at you again, and this time the look in his eye makes the small hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Maybe you should try to relax." His hand slides up your leg to grip your thigh. "I'd be happy t'pull over an' help ya with that, sweetheart."

And there it is. The reason for getting you out here alone. You aren't even really surprised, always knowing in the back of your mind that there was something off with him, though you chose to ignore it this time, just to spite Riley.

Hindsight really is a bitch sometimes.

"Jer, I told you I wanted to go home," you murmur, trying to keep your voice low and even.

He huffs, a smug expression on his face. "C'mon, Dee. Stop playin' hard t'get. It's jus' me an' you now. Your boyfriend doesn't have t'know. I can keep my mouth shut. It'll be our little secret, yeah?"

"My boyfriend?" you blurt out, confused.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, right. Sorry. Your friend," he sneers and then scoffs. "Don't act like ya don't know who I'm talkin' 'bout. That scarred up freak with the mask who's always up yer arse."

"What the fuck did you just say?" you choke out, fury strangling your voice. You're ready to claw out his eyes for what he said about Riley.

Jerry waves a dismissive hand at you. "Enough with the games, Dee. I know ya only went out with me t'make him jealous, an' I'm fine with that, really, but don't ya think I deserve some sort of... ya know, compensation for playin' along?"

Rage consumes you, hot and prickling beneath your skin. "Take me home. Now!"

The cold, flat look in his eye chills you to the bone. "Not 'til I get what ya owe me, sweetheart. Don't look so offended. I doubt this is the first time you've paid up for somethin' by lyin' on your back."

The hard slap you deliver to his smug face has him swerving across the narrow road before he slams on the brakes, sluing the car around in the loose gravel. You only manage to free your seatbelt before he grabs you.

"Are ya fuckin' crazy, ya bitch?" he yells in your face, shaking you hard as he shoves you back against your door. "Ya could'a killed us!"

You jab your thumb in his eye for his trouble. He bellows in pain, releasing you to clutch at his face, freeing you to reach behind your back to paw at the latch. The door flies open under your weight and dumps you out backwards onto the gravel. When his hand seizes your ankle in a crushing grip, you frantically kick out with your other foot. Though you're unable to see from your position on the ground, you revel in a brief moment of satisfaction when you feel it make solid contact with his head, and he yells in pain again. Yanking your legs free of the car, you scramble to your feet, snatching your bag from the ground as you sprint for the woods.

Too terrified to look back, you run headlong into the tree line. You stumble through the undergrowth, feeling the spindly branches and thorns tear at your clothes and snag in your hair as it rakes bloody scratches into your exposed skin. You trip over tree roots and stub your toes on stones hidden beneath the moldering ground cover of dead leaves. All the while, Jerry is bellowing like an enraged bull as he thrashes through the foliage somewhere behind you, shouting threats and curses at you the whole time.

When you inevitably fall flat on your face, you skid across the forest floor to hitch up at the base of a huge oak. You have just enough time to crawl behind its massive trunk before Jerry comes crashing through. When you hear him approach, you clap your hand over your nose and mouth to muffle the sound of your gasping breaths, terrified he will hear you. Your eyes go wide when you see him pass by your hiding spot close enough that you could reach out and touch him, if you wanted. Scared beyond reason, you press your back against the rough bark of the oak and pray he doesn't see you when he pans the flashlight on his cell phone around.

A strangled noise issues from his throat before he growls out a frustrated, "Fuuuck!" You can see him pacing back and forth as he rakes his hands through his hair. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was panicking. "Crazy fuckin' bitch," you hear him seethe under his heaving breath, growling again. "Fine, ya stupid cunt!" he shouts at the dark woods, throwing his arms up in the air. "Find yer own way home, then!" He then turns around and stomps back the way he came, still uttering curses.

You don't dare move, not even when the sound of his heavy footfalls fades away. You don't dare move, not even when the only thing you can hear is the wind rattling the tree branches overhead. You don't dare move, not until you at last hear the distant sound of a car motor rev to life, the sound gradually diminishing until you can't hear it any longer. It is only then that you are brave enough to slowly stand up on your shaking legs, only to lean once more on the trunk for support as a sob finally tears free from your chest.

You remain that way for several minutes, trying desperately to regain your composure, even as your brain keeps circling around the notion that Jerry's departure is some sort of ruse to lure you back out into the open. It's the idea of spending a cold night alone in the woods that finally has you lifting your head to take in your surroundings and evaluate your situation.

At first glance, it seems pretty dire. You have no idea where you are, you're too scared to venture back onto road for fear of Jerry lying in wait somewhere, and it's pitch dark out tonight, not even the wan light of the moon visible in the overcast sky to help guide you through the woods.

Your only real option is to call for help.

Reaching into your bag, you take out your phone, cursing under your breath when you drop it due to your trembling hands. The glow of the screen is a small comfort as you unlock your phone and open your contacts list. You stare at the emergency number, finger hovering.

If you call the police, there will have to be a report filed, and then there will be an inquiry to investigate your claims. You already know it will be your word against Jerry's. His solicitors will no doubt drag your name through the mud to discredit you, and he will probably still get off with nothing more than a light slap on the wrist, if he even gets that, because he actually didn't do anything to you, at least not physically. Hell, you had done more damage to him than he had to you. He could claim you attacked him, and he wouldn't even be lying.

You look back down at your phone, one name standing out like a beacon in the dark. When you see that name, you think of home, of safety, the two things you want most right now. You select it and hit the call button, holding the phone up to your ear and praying there will be an answer. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear the line connect.

"Whad'ya want, Dee?" a gravelly, annoyed voice growls into your ear, and a sob escapes your throat, you are so relieved to hear him.

"Ruh... Riley? P-Please, Ri... please. I n-need you..."

No one in the White Dog knew what to think when the usually quiet giant that sat at the end of the bar suddenly erupted out of his seat, the bar chair toppling over. "Doll! What's wrong? Where are ya?" he barks into his phone.

He apparently doesn't like what he hears.

"He fuckin' did what?! " he growls, a look of pure murderous rage igniting in his dark eyes. As he listens to you, however, his rage is tempered by his troubled concern. "Are ya hurt, love? I swear t'God if he―" His hand clenches into a trembling fist, even though his voice is now a low rumble. "Please don't cry, love. I know, I know, but I'll find ya. Ya know I will. I'm on my way right now. Just... keep yer phone on for me, yeah?"

He's already making for the entrance as he says this, the murderous look returning as he mutters, "I'll kill that bastard," before he barges through the door. He hits it with such force, it slams into the outside wall hard enough to shatter the frosted safety glass. He doesn't even acknowledge it as he runs to his truck and tears off down the street with a bark of tires the next instant, leaving a silent pub full of stunned onlookers in his wake.

Prev. >> Next

Taglist: @stillinracooncity @cumikering @cutiecusp @deadbranch @ghostlythots @thetiredtoad0-0 @glitterypirateduck @gothgirl6-6-6 @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @shuttlelauncher81 @luminousbeings-crudematter @crunchlite @delilah-grimes @bobochacha

#simon ghost riley x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #ghost x fem reader #simon ghost riley x frenemy fem reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #Frenemies/Tenderness AU #Love Thy Frenemy

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sleepy-wyvern · 1 year

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The Love Interest | Ethan Landry x female!Reader Smut

READ HERE ON AO3, This will be a multi chapter smut

Scream 6 re-imagined as the love interest of (protective) Ethan Landry!

Tags: tbd, will include violence and blood

Synopsis: Starting the semester as Anika's roommate the last thing you had expected was to be roped into a murder mystery, your life hanging on the line. When you meet Ethan Landry at a halloween party, his cute nervous charm pulls at your heart strings and things escalate.

Note: my lovely eddie fans, I have a request im working on and plan to post tomorrow <3

Spoilers below (plus first chapter ~2.8k words, rest will be on AO3 to follow click here)!

I included many scream 6 scenes (especially towards the end) so major spoiler warnings!!! This will be a longer, multi-chapter series I intend to write (WITH SMUT!) until the end of the movie plus a little epilogue. Be prepared for some angst and drama, I promise it ends nice!

When shit hits the fan, he can't keep his eyes off of you, lest something bad happen to the first love of his life he watches your every move. In fact it made him nervous when he couldn’t see you or know where you were. It made you feel safe, comforted even, but it wasn’t always that way. Unbeknownst to the reader, he is hiding a huge dark secret.

NOTE: The rest of the fic will be available on AO3 but heres the first chapter!

The white ghost mask looked sorrowful, almost regretful, as it held the sharp knife up to your throat. Strong hands pressing the blade just enough for hot liquid to drip down to your chest. The dark alleyway concealed you from any onlookers and any reach for help as you desperately tried to pull the black gloved hand away.

"I'm sorry," the voice was a whisper in the wind.

You thought back to how stupid you had been to trust him. But could you really blame yourself? For desperately wanting someone to trust, someone to protect you when it felt like nobody else was there for you?

When you first really talked at that Halloween frat party, he was eyeing you from across the room. He wore a homemade knight costume out of cardboard and duct tape, his hair curled from behind the helmet. You thought it was cute and endearing- the attention he gave you from afar. The knight you desperately wanted.

Two Nights Before Halloween.

You were all dressed up as your roommate Anika hauled you along to “the Halloween party of the year,” or as she called it. Tonight you wore the iconic Mia Wallace set from Pulp Fiction; short black bobbed wig, white button up shirt and of course bell bottoms. The one fun part of these parties was dressing up.

Your film studies class had been raving about the party, and you weren’t doing great in terms of friends having just moved to the city. So why not go to a party? Especially since your peppy, overly encouraging roommate was going and wanted to drag you along. She had spent the last couple of hours in your shared room perfecting the best pumpkin look she could, no doubt to impress, and you knew she would.

She was dressed in a cute bright orange pumpkin shirt with matching bucket hat, ready to party and drink the night away with her heels clicking on the city sidewalk in front of you.

You put one white ear bud in your ear, playing your On Repeat playlist to try and calm your nerves.

“There will be lots of boys there,” Anikas' voice piped up, sensing your unease “you like boys right?”

It was no secret Anika and Mindy had something going on. While she framed this as a chance for you to mingle, you knew she wanted a chance to get closer with Mindy. Still, you played along. It wouldn't hurt to find your own love interest.

“Sometimes,” you reply with a sly smile. Truth be told, you weren’t exactly interested in the fuckboys these parties tended to attract like fruit flies. Your type was softer, kinder.

Looking back at you, her curled brown and blond hair flowing in the wind. She always looked gorgeous, like a supermodel except with a sweet edge rather than sharp. Her face turned from optimism to concern upon seeing your expression. She stopped in her tracks, putting her arm around you in a tight reassuring hug.

“You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to,” she reassured.

“I know,” you smile at her “thanks but I want to. I’m just nervous.”

“It’ll be fine, I’ll introduce you to all of mine and Mindys' friends,” she squeezed your shoulder tightly as you nod, her black painted lips turned up into a smile “I’ve got your back.”

You make your way to the party with her arm linked through yours, confidently carrying you both. The trek seemed to take forever even though it was only a couple blocks away, your legs feeling numb against the New York air.

You hear the party from a block away, loads of students coming and going with different costumes making you feel uneasy. Strangers laughed, bickered, and had loud chatter as they walked seemingly from all directions. Strangers with intentions unknown, people you possibly will never see again. Classic New York people traffic. Normally, you didn't mind or even enjoyed the city aesthetic. Now though, there was too much happening. Sirens blasted as cop cars drove down the street, lights flashing harshly in your eyes reflecting off of glass windows and puddles. Part of you wondered where they were going in such a hurry, but you decided it best not to think about it right now, cop cars were constantly coming and going somewhere in the night.

As you approached the building you let out a deep breath of air, fuming with weed and alcohol. People stood everywhere, in the house, outside on the lawn, on the sidewalk, dressed in different wacky costumes. Normally you’d take the time to appreciate every one, all of the different references they had if they were clever. These kinds of parties though, most people just grabbed the first thing that made them laugh or looked sexy from the halloween section.

Stepping inside the frat house was like stepping into a portal to another world. The music, sounds, scents, lights and everything seemed more enhanced.

“I need a drink” you decided out loud to Anika, fixing your wig nervously.

“Agreed” she nodded, guiding you to the table of beverages.

You both grab your own cliche red solo cups as you pour drinks. Whatever it was you didn't care, you just needed the fire down in your stomach to fill you with courage.

“Hey,” some guy spoke to you as he just refilled his drink, raising his eyebrows with a smirk.

You pressed your lips into a fine line, giving him the most uninterested tone you could muster “hey” by the time you spoke his attention was already gone, eyeing up his next target's skimpy outfit and walking toward her like a predator.

Anika giggled at you then filling up her drink, “I thought you liked boys.”

“Not that kind,” you mutter in disgust as you fill your cup, staring into the liquid wondering what it was. Anika had told you but the information was lost to you.

“What kind then?” she swished the liquid in circles in her cup curiously.

You shrug suddenly unsure how to answer “Nerdy, cute, fluffy haired boys.”

“Ah, the first murder suspects,” Anika laughs as you answer, gently smacking her shoulder.

“Well, let’s drink to you finding a boyfriend” Anika smiles, holding her cup up to you “or just some good dick.”

You laughed as you clinked your plastic cups together in some form of celebration and your eyes met his. Brown and sweet, they reflect the faint party lights, glancing away nervously when you notice him looking, as you gulp down some alcohol. You knew him to be Ethan Landry. Clearly his costume wasn’t store bought, pieced together with cardboard scraps and grey duct tape. You imagined him slaving away at it the night before, watching some scary movie as he cuts the pieces from his helmet. Your lips curve into a smile at the thought.

He was shy of you but you found it alluring. You were shy too so you never really talked much, but had a mutual friend group. Anika was a thing with Mindy, who knew his roommate Chad. A semi-complex list of connections that brought you two together at events like this.

You knew Mindy, Chad, Tara and her sister Sam, had survived a brutal attack and moved here for an escape. You, Anika, Ethan and even Tara’s roommate Quinn, sometimes felt like outsiders to them. Not that it bothered you, you understood they needed each other more than ever after what happened. It just strengthened the bond you all had, the supporting cast so to speak.

You mingled around with some of Anikas’ friends, chattering as the music hummed in your ear drums but really the only one you clicked a little with was Mindy and Tara.

“Scary movie fan huh?” Mindy drilled you “what’s your favourite scary movie?” She wiggled her eyebrows, pulling Anika close to kiss her cheek. She wore a multi-colored sweater and you were guilty to admit you weren’t sure if it was from a horror movie or not, something you should know in order to be considered a “true” horror fan.

Anika batted at her shoulder “how can you even joke about that, after what happened to you?” her lips twisted in a scowl.

Mindy shrugged “consider it a coping mechanism” she kissed Anika on the top of her head as she sighed, melting down any irritation Anika may have had.

“I don’t even know how you can go to parties anymore,” Anika said with an edge of sadness “you know, after almost being brutally murdered at a house party.”

“I think of it as being struck by lightning, odds are it won’t happen twice.” Mindy shrugged, pulling Anika closer by the waist.

“Guess I better stay close to you then,” Anika giggled into Mindy as they shared a cute, passionate kiss.

Suddenly you felt awkward and looked about to find a place to cool off underneath your hot wig, and give Anika some privacy. Sighing in defeat you slump against the worn couch. You were so engrossed in all of the sensations you didn’t notice you sat next to Ethan the cardboard knight.

After a minute of shared silence his nervous voice chimes in your ear, slightly startling you but you don’t show it. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else than here,” he takes off his helmet and lays it in his lap after he speaks.

You were taken aback, the light party music that played in the background seemed to dim. His light brown curls bounced as she shook his head away from any helmet hair. The action, though not intended to, made your heart pound in your ears as you imagined what it would be like to bury your fingers in his hair. A thought which was dangerously close to other, more escalating ones, so you push it away.

“Yeah, well, you’re not far off” you smile into your cup before looking up at him “I’d rather be watching scary movies, I’m only here because Anika invited me” you admit.

His nerves get the best of him and he glances back down at his helmet with a smile “me too. Oh uh, I mean about the scary movie part.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, interest piqued “what ones?”

You shift your body to face him, straightening out the creases in your button up shirt. His face grows red as his nerves hit but clearly you hit a spot of interest with him.

“Slashers,” he admits, a little nervous perhaps that he’ll come off weird, fiddling with his helmet.

Your eyes sparkle under the muted party lights “I love slashers! They’re like, my comfort movies” you say with maybe too much enthusiasm.

He equally matches yours though, as if you chipped away at his invisible mask of insecurity “I would’ve panned you for more of a Quentin Tarantino fan.”

“Oh I am, don't worry. Pulp fiction? Django? Kill Bill? You have me there. But slashers have my heart, just I couldn’t turn down a chance to dress like Uma Thurman tonight.” You admit.

“Understandable, pulp fiction is probably what really got me into movies” you bob your head taking a drink as he talks, “what’s your favourite slasher?”

A thud of someone dropping something behind you made you turn your head, Ethan’s gaze following yours before you answer.

“Mmm, I gotta say I’m a fan of Stab,” you admit, dabbing the sour liquid off your lips careful not to smear your makeup.

Your drink wasn’t pleasant, but it silenced your nervous thoughts which without it, you would’ve been long gone from this party. Something sweeter, and fruitier would’ve been nicer but you’ll take what you could get. The smooth ease of the conversation for you helped.

“Really?” His eyebrows raise, shocked.

“Yeah,” You admit, “I know it’s cheesy and has all of the tropes but that makes it easy and fun to watch. Also entertaining.” You run your black painted fingernail along the rim of your cup, Ethans eyes trail down to watch your hand movements.

“Well how about Halloween?” He asks, tapping his fingers against his cardboard helmet nervously, perhaps unintentionally mimicking you.

You think for a moment before responding “well, I’d like it more if they didn’t kill the dog,” you say sadly, “honestly though I loved it. My go to Halloween movie, I try to watch it every year at least.”

“Ah, fellow dog fan” he nodded “I can understand that.”

“Have you watched the new one? Halloween ends?” You asked him, remembering it has just been released not long ago “its playing in theaters now-”

You’re cut off by the sound of a scuffle (to put it lightly). Peering over at the stairs you notice it’s Chad shoving a taller guy in a white shirt.

“Oh no,” Ethan lets out a sigh.

Normally, you’d want no part of these things trying to stay as far away as possible but you notice Anika taking interest. Leaning forward you see Tara desperately trying to end the altercation, voice too dim against the music and other chatters to hear what she’s saying.

Ethan side eyes you as you grip the side of the couch nervously. Sam, seemingly coming from nowhere, tasing the man in the crotch as he falls to the floor muttering profanities.

“What have our roommates gotten us into?” you say with humor, though you feel nervous about the situation.

“Hah, yeah,” Ethan says, looking over at the group as you stand up, “it’s fine since Sam always carries a taser.” He watches your expression and seems relieved when your body relaxes from his words.

You follow Anika and the group outside wondering what happened as Tara storms out. The cold air was reassuring against you and you took solace in the quieter atmosphere. You start to hear your own music in your ear again, realising you never took the ear bud out.

“Tara,” Sam calls out to her, who is walking ahead of the group “will you stop?”

“I can’t believe you did that, you embarrassed me!” Tara calls back while still walking.

Chad and Anika walk ahead of you and Ethan, unsure of how to react yet.

Suddenly you turn to Ethan whispering, “Hey, uh how about that movie? I remember there’s a playtime soon” really you just figured they would want some privacy.

Chad unfortunately hears and looks back to Ethan raising his eyebrows with a cocky grin, to which Ethan scowls at. In unison, Anika looks back with her mouth open, surprised as well and redness rises quickly to your cheeks.

“Y-yeah, I’d love to,”a raised eyebrow from Chad makes Ethan backtrack a little, “if you want.”

“Anika,” you scold, “I’ll call you later,” you speak with a firmness in your voice that signals her to behave.

She nods, trying to not interrupt the bickering sisters as you and Ethan trail back, the voices slowly fading out of earshot.

You sigh to diffuse the tension, bringing your phone up to change the music “I figured that was a conversation we shouldn’t hear-” you pause to rephrase “at least I shouldn’t.”

“No, yeah, you’re completely right,” Ethans body was rigid as if nervous.

You smile at him softly when an idea pops into your head “Do you like music?” you ask, realizing how stupid that question sounded after the words left your mouth, but he doesn't seem to notice.

“I do,” he replies and you hold out an ear bud, his hand grazes yours as he grabs it, you shiver from his warmth.

Your earbuds are wired which renders him to stand closely to your right side. For a moment you’re so glad that you opted out of the wireless ones tonight as the heat from his body radiates onto yours.

“I just realized I have no idea where I’m going,” you laugh as you walk down the sidewalk after a minute of listening together.

“Right, new to the area,” Ethan looks down at his feet as you walk in unison “I know the way, it’s not very far. Students like movies.”

You laugh slightly “good, being lost in New York for a third time isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”

You look up at him and as he smiles back, for the second time tonight, you see a glimpse of him through his mask. True and genuine, a reflection of his soul perhaps, the city lights flash in his eyes when he looks down at you. Such a gorgeous smile, you think to yourself admiring the point of his canines giving a side of him you have yet to see.

“Lead the way, my cardboard knight.”

----

💙💙💙💙

Let me know if you like or enjoy, no matter how new/old this fic is when you read it, I love and appreciate every notification! Be gentle, I'm very new to fic writing.

Have a great day my lovely reader!

-Wyv

#scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x reader #scream 6 ethan landry #scream vi ethan landry

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tardis-technician · 4 days

Text

Doctor Who Ghost!AU

The absolutely mortifying ordeal of being known (<-- has never written fanfiction before). This is inspired by the talented @g1ngerbeer's wonderful doctor who ghost au, specifically the aquarium comic from this post. Donna and ghost ten going on little outings means the world to me. It’s not actually a full fic, just a drabble that sort of got away from me. Hope you enjoy!

In the past week, Donna had gone to a natural history museum, a science museum, and the zoo. She hadn’t been to any of them since she was a kid, and hadn’t had any desire to go to them since. However, the two of them had recently discovered that the Doctor could leave the house as long as he was tagging along with Donna. Ever since, he’d been begging her to take him to all sorts of places she’d never go on her own. She’d made a fuss about it, but the poor sod was dead (probably) and good company (when he wasn’t getting her into trouble.) It seemed like the least she could do.

She had to admit, it was slightly more interesting than the school trips she’d gone on as a kid. For reasons neither of them knew, the Doctor had a vast and random collection of knowledge, some of which Donna knew to be true, some of which sounded like it was probably true, and some of which was completely bonkers.

“They don’t mention the witches.”

“What?” replied Donna.

It was the first museum they’d gone to. The discovery that he had a strange amount of trivia in his brain, and then the information itself, had been interesting at first. However, they were getting close to hour three of walking around (or floating for him.) She’d been zoning out a bit, considering offering to get him something at the gift shop in an effort to get him closer to the exit.

“Nothing in here,” said the Doctor, gesturing around the Shakespeare exhibit they’d found themselves in, “says anything about the witches.”

“What do you mean witches?”

“Well they gave him some trouble, didn’t they?” he said, looking perplexed.

What ensued was a ten minute debate in which the Doctor absolutely insisted that he remembered hearing somewhere or reading somewhere that Shakespeare had a spot of trouble with witches, but that it was all resolved in the end except for the fact he never did get a chance to finish that play. Donna, convinced he was messing with her, allowed the argument to reach a volume at which people started staring. She sometimes got weird looks while she surreptitiously tried to whisper responses to the Doctor, but she’d forgotten herself to the point it looked like she was gesturing angrily at thin air.

In an effort to avoid getting kicked out, they decided to agree to disagree. Or the Doctor had decided that, and Donna had decided it was a lost cause. She was able to persuade him out of the museum by letting him pick out a snow globe. At that point, he had a working theory that he used to be some sort of historian. But then everywhere they ended up going he seemed to be an expert in some sort of field, barring some outrageous historical claims and his seeming inability to separate whatever sci-fi he’d watched on telly from actual facts. He’d given up the theory, but seemed pleased by the fact that whoever he was had been very clever, and even more pleased about being able to show off.

A few days later they’d gone to a planetarium, and the Doctor started spouting off facts as soon as they walked in the door. Donna had mostly stopped reading information where they went, just listening to the Doctor ramble instead. He went on about the formation of the moon and the planets, relative ages of things and what compounds they were made of. They’d made their way to the theater, where you could sit back and they’d put on a projector to make it look like you were in space. Donna had actually been the one to suggest the idea for their latest outing. Her grandad loved stargazing, and he’d taken her to the planetarium all the time as a kid. It’d been a while, and it looked like the technology had gotten a bit of an upgrade since the 70s.

The Doctor had been grinning madly, still going on about supernovas, but when the projector turned on he stopped mid-sentence. Donna looked over to see him unnaturally still, gazing at the stars.

He looked absolutely lost.

She tried to whisper his name, get his attention, but it was like he was somewhere else. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out and hold his hand. When the lights finally came back on, he flinched like someone had hit him, but still didn’t break his gaze from the ceiling. She waited for the theater to clear out before trying to talk to him.

“Doctor?” she asked. “Are you ok?”

“I don’t know, I-”

He still wasn’t looking at her, just staring up at where the stars had disappeared. Eventually, he turned to face her again. She couldn’t be sure with the soft glow coming off of him, but she thought there might’ve been tears in his eyes.

“Donna,” he said quietly. “I think I lost something.”

#tenth doctor #donna noble #dr who ghost au #god I literally haven't written narrative fiction in years (it shows) and I've never published fanfic #the power of doctor who #idk if I formatted stuff right #paradox posts #fanfic #doctor who fanfiction

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loveandleases · 8 months

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How would the ROs react (deep into the relationship stage after the Chris drama is well and truly behind them) if they accidentally ended up stumbling upon a poorly hidden engagement ring in MC's stuff?

Cuuuuute. Such a cute ask. Below the cut anon. 💍

❤️ Cam - He picks up the ring, turning it around between his fingers. It takes him a bit before he realizes exactly what he's looking at. When the realization dawns on him he drops it. "Shit! Shit..fuck...where'd you go you bastard."

Once he finds it, while he's elbow-deep in the drawers, he chuckles to himself. Instead of putting it back where it was, he puts it in the drawer of his bedside table. Instead replacing it with the ring he got you.

He won't say anything, yet..okay maybe it will slip later tonight.

💙 G - Should they put it back? You had it hidden for a reason right? They don't want you to think they were snooping. Something in their gut tells them this is a good thing...finally a good thing. You two are moved on from the past. So surely this is a good thing.

G will place it back, and be somewhat quiet the rest of the day. Stuck in their head as they tend to be. It might seem as if they're even giving you the cold shoulder. When in reality they wonder if they should see what kind of ring you like...maybe the one they wanted to give you before.

💚 Kara - She is giddy, as in she won't even pretend she didn't see it. She will run to mc holding it like it's some ancient relic with a large price tag. "It's for me, right? Yes, say it. I mean it's my size..." She squeals, placing the ring on her finger.

If MC wanted it to be a special moment, sorry. Because Kara will not take it off, it's her new favorite accessory. Don't worry she will give you a new one later tonight.

💛 M - They actually like wearing rings, something to fidget with when they're nervous. Is that what it's for? They'll test it out, slide it on and then off, as if they're going to develop some kind of super power.

They hide it away, willing themselves to not write about this, not when they allow you to look at their notes now. M will be so pensive until you pop the question, and when you do mentally they will compare it to every engagement in media...then realize this is far better. Sorry for the tears, it's happy tears.

💜 Isaac- They expected this, they did. It was going to come eventually. Yet they are still shaken. Not because they don't want this, but because they do and that might frighten them even more than actually getting engaged/married. Isaac had never gotten this far, never healed this much.

They won't be prepared for when it happens, floundering their acceptance of your proposal. Give them a bit, because when you do Isaac will accept, as wholeheartedly as possible. "Thanks for being patient."

🖤 Ardent - "Kitten!?" he slams the drawer closed, gripping the ring.

When you come into the room he shoves it towards you, he's really going to develop a wrinkle between his brows squinting like that.

"Here I thought the only ring you'd ever give me was for my dick." He cracks a smile, tossing the ring up and catching it again.

"What were you doing in my drawer?" You reach for the ring but he holds it higher up. Yeah, no chance you're getting it back.

"Now, now. Be nice and beg for it." he dangles it in front of your face, before tapping your nose with it.

"Ardent, give it. It's not for you." even you weren't convinced by that lie.

When he hears that, he moves to block you in. The dresser is now at your back, and Ardent is very much pressed against your chest. "It damn well better be. This better not be anyone else's. " he moves to tilt your chin up, ghosting his lips against yours. "Be good, and I'll give yours tonight."

#loveandleases #love and leases #twine wip #if wip #upcoming if #asks #cam #ardent #g #m #isaac #kara

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dovabunny · 6 months

Text

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the day - Here all along

Soap met Simon when the man was on leave. Beautiful, mysterious Simon had walked past Soap's coffee shop a few times, before he mustered the courage to come in.

Meanwhile, thinking the huge man must've been stalking or creeping on one of his pretty female clients, Soap had stomped out to confront the man- only for the man to awkwardly apologize and ask him to dinner. The twist gave Soap such whiplash he...

... said without realizing what was happening.

For three blissful years Simon would come home to him every chance he got, sometimes even just for 3 days between missions.

He told him things he legally was not allowed to, but Soap was his 'home' - a place where he was just Simon, not Ghost or a soldier or a killer or a victim. A man who loved with his whole heart and wanted no secrets between them. Something neither of them had ever had.

They cooked together, Simon talked him into getting a dog named Riley, they made future plans and talked about him retiring.

Then Simon comes home from a bad mission. He was put on medical leave for wounds that were not all physical but refused to talk about what had happened- what had rattled him so. He wasn't himself - cold, blunt, quick to anger, and distant in a way Soap's never seen him in their years together.

Then Simon finds the rings Soap had been hiding.

Simon had been impatiently digging through his art supplies looking for tape when he found the box.

When Soap came home from work it was to Simon sitting in the dark, the box on the table.

His home had never felt as cold as when Simon's voice demanded "what's this."

Soap fucked up, but he wasn't even sure how. He stuttered something about where did he find it when he noticed there was a pile of his sketches too - torn out of his journals, clearly not too gently. All the ones of Simon's face.

"You KNOW why I can't show my face! You KNOW how I feel about this! I refuse to take photos with you so you do this???" He tosses the sketches across the table.

"They're all I have of you when you're gone so long! I didn't-"

"And the rings!? You ALSO know how my parents' marriage went so why the fuck did you think I'd want that? Or did that just not matter either?"

Soap stares, the tension that had been on Simon's shoulders since he arrived a few days ago now turned on him. Soap swallows hard. He had never for even a second felt scared of Soap. But he saw it now... Saw 'Ghost' overtake Simon.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll burn the sketches and get rid of the rings. I'm sorry, baby. Let's just forget this?" He tries to step forward.

"This was a mistake..." Simon whispers and it feels like a knife to the gut.

"...Si, love, what are you?"

"I said this was a mistake."

Simon gets to his feet and it's then that Soap spots the packed bag. Si throws it over his shoulder as he makes for the door.

"Simon, no! Baby, please - I'm sorry! Please, don't leave like this!" He reaches for him but Si shrugs him off and doesn't slow down.

His world collapses as the door closes behind the man he had given his heart, soul, and future to.

Simon doesn't return his calls or texts. Texts apologizing, begging, texts angry and hurt, texts reminding him he's loved and he has a home here whenever he's ready.

Then the number is disconnected.

Then he gets a letter in the mail that ends with "Our deepest condolences" and a pair of dog tags.

Five years later. Soap has tried to move on, but just couldn't. He still has the rings. Wishes he kept at least one sketch. His shop does well, Riley is getting old, and so is Soap. He keeps busy, and sketches less. Even after all this time when he puts pencil to paper his hand wants to draw Simon.

Then torn, crumpled pages on the floor with boot prints on them flash in his mind and he puts the pencil back down.

This morning he sat in his little kitchen and pages through the local paper when he feels his blood run cold.

Last week's festival was the highlight of the moment, the newspaper covered in photos taken at the event. But in the background of one looms a painfully familiar figure.

Soap grabs his phone and rings the paper. "Photo three, page two- at the fountain - when was that taken?!" The journalist is baffled - all of them last week.

That can't be. It can't be! But he knows that figure, those shoulders, those curls. he's in the shadows but outlined, angled towards where Soap's little trailer stand was.

Soap pulls the dog tags out of his shirt - always around his neck all this time. Is Simon.. alive?

And...near?

Soap looks at the shadows all the way to work, peeking around all day to try to spot a man that shouldn't be there - convincing himself he isn't crazy.

At closing time he had enough. He prints a page and sticks it to the door when he locks up.

"Si, if you're reading this grow a pair and come home."

Later that night there's a knock at the door. A familiar tall man, new scars and silver creeping into blind curls, but just as beautiful as he remembers. Unsteady hands hold a bouquet of his favorite flowers.

"Is this still home?" He asks

"Ours. Always." Soap smiles through the tears.

#simon had a bad mission and had to relive some bad memories #the only way he could get out of the military was Laswell and price letting 'ghost' die so Simon couls retire #but a day hadn't passed that he didnt regret leaving Soap like that #but he still hated himself for dragging soap into his twisted life and putting him at risk just for loving a dangerous man like ghost #he was planning to just lurk and watch over soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish

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simp-ly-writes · 6 months

Text

Returning to Home-Base (pt.2, v.1)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, & Task Force 141 (+ Laswell)

Summary: You begin to question it all, especially when Simon does not return; yet you have a family around you to support when all the memories come baring down.

Warnings: 1,204 words, death, mourning, panic attack, crying, overall angst yet there is healing by the end.

A/N: decided to flesh out the ending of the last part more in this chapter, here is the more "unhappy" ending; I may have cried while writing this section, ngl. ("more-happy" ending coming soon!).

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Returning to Home-Base Series (pt.1) (pt.2, v.1) (pt.2, v.2) you are here

You opened the door to black boots staring at your face; head hung as you pitifully predicted the words that would echo down the hallway and into the forefront of memories.

Hello Sir/Ma'am, we regret to inform you that your significant other...

Your ears started to ring as your hands began to shake, your body did your best to never hear the next words, already starting to grieve.

Simon Riley had been fatally wounded while on deployment and he has died...

Your eyes blurred, as nausea began to bile up at the back of your throat; choking down tears as your body began to sway in the doorframe, your hand grasping for the knob.

He was a brilliant solider, a respectable man, who held honour and respect in the eyes of many...

Your world was spinning, your heart was shattering against the tiles as your face moved to catch it.

We cannot provide the full...

You could not process the rest of the speech they undoubtedly practiced together on the car-ride here as you felt the cold brush against your cheeks and the world turned black.

You wake up moments later in your bed, the officers are gone but you notice Soap is by your bedside holding your hand and giving it a squeeze as he notices your eyes adjust to the afternoon sun hanging in the sky. As you see Gaz with his back turned to you; looking out the window with his shoulders hanging low as he grabs for a chair. John guards the door; looking over the scene- picking at the skin of his hand as his chest rises and falls in an uneven manner. Eyes blinking rapidly.

Tears well in your eyes while viewing the state of them all, your chest growing heavy as your breaths begin to become more shallow, Soap squeezes your hand that bit harder while putting his forehead to your shoulder. You feel his sadness meeting your own as he whispers out condolences to the group that fall on dead ears.

You look over and see Gaz facing you, his hand on the chair now hovering over an all too familiar duffle bag that has you latching on to Soaps frame as you both anchor to each other.

You feel the bed dip as John slides in to the other side and Gaz sits at the foot of the bed holding a silver chair with two tags hanging off the bottom, crushing them between his palms as he breaths deeply and begins to explain how Simon only spoke about you in his final breaths as Joh held your other hands in his, looking up towards the ceiling fan; almost if preparing himself.

He said that he was never sorry for doing what be believed as the better action- and that you would always know and understand this. He told me of the strength that you held within yourself, and your sureness that made him feel protected, feel the release of everything, feel at home with you near.

He takes a deep breath in before continuing as Soap shuffles his body more on to the bed.

He told me that he never meant to be so distant in recent days; he...

Gaz hesitates before continuing,

He was planning on marrying you, yet was worried that if he spoke to you for a moment too long he would have asked you to marry him in the bathroom or gas station before he got the chance to go down on one knee in that park you both went on your first date.

Gaz lightly chuckled at the statement, shaking his head as you heard John and Soap do the same. John spoke next while looking into your eyes with kindness flowing through his irises,

We could all see the light in his eyes as he spoke about you no matter the situation, drunk at the bar, waiting in the hangar, or driving to the next checkpoint. He loves you.

Soap hummed in agreement; his eyes flickering between his partners- and then meeting yours in a silent exchange while passing an object into your palm.

You looked at the shimmer through the blinds as it reflected into your eyes; gleaming joyous in an almost mocking reaction. It was a beautiful ring, simple yet elegant in design just as you had dreamed of.

Slipping it on to your ring finger you held it up to your face and smiled sadly at it, at what could have been and took a deep breath in and out.

You thanked each man individually, leaning over the bed to give a proper hug and then offered to put on a kettle; a much needed distraction to settle with your overwhelming thoughts.

Days to weeks and weeks to months, than years; the task force slowly moved themselves in to your apartment as you all helped each other to regain balance.

John would cook breakfast in the morning for the group as the smoke alarm wold go off as Gaz burned the bacon once again, complaining about your stove being too different. Your laughter filled the house as they all stopped and smiled at you- beginning to heal.

You and Soap would go grocery shopping together while making the most horrid dad jokes and skits down the isles. Racing each other to the elevator with bags lining up your arms; enough to feed an army.

Gaz and you would watch reality TV shows together every night, predicting your theories on who would last longer on the show between the two of you in good fun while cooking dinner.

Laswell was coming over a few nights later with her wife for the bi-weekly board games night. This time to celebrate your recent promotion at work; you shake your head- smiling as Gaz paraded the paper around the house and praised the living daylights out of you.

Throughout the night as drinks got served and John had his ass handed to him in UNO as Laswell mocked the captain in fake pity while adding her plus four. Your apartment eventually got a noise complaint from the neighbour as Soap threatened to flip the table during monopoly when Gaz refused to give him the last pink tile.

Laswell and John were bright red in the face, doing their best not to laugh and catch the fury from the two squad members while you snapped pictures of the scene and sent them to print in your office.

The next morning you hung the new pictures in the hall while dusting off the entrance table; placing the keys in the bowl while moving yet another plant Gaz had added to the apartment. As the pot shifted and dirt fell to the floor, you saw a polaroid underneath of a skull masked figure standing beside you, eyes crinkled in a smile as yours did the same while putting it in the corner of the mirror, above the table before you continued to clean.

Your freshly inked tattoo reflected in the mirror as you put the mens boots in the closet; the rest of the boys smiled down the hallway at your interaction and then rapidly returned to their chores before your head turned their way as you laughed at their antics.

╰┈➤ A/N: Thank you all so much for the support on this fic series so far! Truly means the world to me that people enjoy reading my silly, stupid writing. I have a more HEA (ghost is alive) fic version coming up soon so that everyone is happy!

Returning to Home-Base Series (pt.1) (pt.2, v.1) (pt.2, v.2) you are here

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simp4konig · 7 months

Text

König finding out that you are hard of hearing

Gender-neutral Reader

*Slow burn

Word count: ~4265

Always ignoring your Colonel, König takes it into his own hands to finally turn your attention on to him.

What he doesn't anticipate... is that you have actually been hard of hearing all along.

*‼️Mature themes**‼️ (mostly in the form of König's overly sexual[ised] fantasies and downright delusional thoughts of you). König is a MAJORRR pervert, and you're oblivious. 😋💅✨

I AM BACK!!!! 😳😳FROM THE *DEAD*!!!!! ☠️💀🧟‍♂️And ive fot a lil smth planned for you Ghost lovers ;)

*Many thanks to -—>@trepaika<;—-🤭💖✨💓💞🩷💕 for proofreading this !!😇😇 I had no energy whatsoever to read it afger typikg this out so i am so honoired that you took time out of your day/night to help mw out and it rlly means alot 🥹🥹💙💙🩵🫂💙🩵 you better do yoir fucking biologu work afterthis 😡😡

*Thabk you so much to @reyner-lee for this request!! 🥰💖💖💕 Initiallt, i was aiming for a "idiots in love" plot where König and reader are both oblivious😩😩😩 . .... made König veey mentally unstable and psosessive instead ☠️☠️💀, mb broski😇💁🏼‍♀️🧚✨🌟💫💕💞💞💕✨

no but seriouslh i didnt mean to mwke this so mature it was meant to be a FLUFFY(mayb a little bit angsty 😳) fic as ALWAYS😡😡 so im SO sorry for dekivering something COMPLETELY different to what u probs had in mindbc lets face it this is completely diffetent to whay i initially hwd in mind too LMAO😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

*Part of the KönigxKing series (drabbles with loose plot, no world-building just a collection of one-shots)

*Edited 14/10/2023 for typos

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika

...

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when your hearing worsened.

As a soldier, heightened senses were something of a blessing, especially in high-pressure situations: a 20/20 vision, a gut feeling, or even just the ability to distinguish the most indistinguishable of sounds that others would miss was something of a life-saver.

Literally.

Hairs standing on end and goosebumps running down arms could alert a soldier — you — to an assassin sneaking behind them, hand with a knife glistening under reflected light in the dark, poised ready to slit their neck.

Instead, you could save yourself in the nick of time by executing them before they had the chance to do so.

Stealth on missions was a lifeline. To sneak in and out, to extract intel, evading all detection all the while, and to disappear when you hadn't even appeared on the enemy's radar in the first place made you breathe easier on the journey home.

The ability to hear footsteps in enclosed spaces and pinpoint the exact location of someone through a mis-step on a creaky floorboard or a squeaky door hinge was vital. Crucial. An important distinction between life or death, between success and failure.

Obviously, you were no super-soldier. In fact, your eyesight was below average — having to wear contact lenses specifically designed to be as discreet as possible so you weren't a walking lighthouse sending a signal to your postion always — and you could never separate the feelings of foreboding from the foreshadowing of what was to come, the fine line between imagination and intuition blurred.

However, hearing shuffling that others wouldn't, muffled footsteps upstairs that others couldn't, hushed voices around the corner that others would miss, gave you and your team the upper hand.

You weren't the best, but you proved damn useful, more useful than someone that could see in the dark or a person that had some omniscient sixth-sense.

At least your hearing used to be put to good use. Could have been put to good use.

Up to the point when a grenade blew off right beside you on a mission.

No time to realise, no time to react, and no time to recover from the shock, let alone alone to dive for cover, a blast flung you to the side, arms and legs flailing mid-air like a lifeless ragdoll. Time seemed to slow down, and for what felt like an eternity — mere seconds in reality — you were suspended in the air.

Body suddenly thudding on solid ground with a deep thump, you hit your head so hard against the pavement that you had thought you cracked your skull. Debris toppled over your stomach, dust making your eyes tear up and cough painfully, collapsed brick all around you.

You groaned in agony as an ear-splitting ringing inside your head nearly broke your forehead in two.

You couldn't raise your limbs, body limp and weighed down by what felt like a tonne, but could feel the thick waterfall of blood through the open wound on the side of your head; staining your uniform, streaming into your mouth, the metallic taste and smell on your tongue and in your nostrils.

Confusion, disorientation. Bewilderment.

Seeing double, figures running to and fro looked like a dozen, and panic stiffened you.

Desperate blinking eyes squinting to try and make sense of the scene before you, head spinning and unable to think clearly, struggling to lift the limbs that each weighed a tonne, all you did — all you could do — was lay there. Limp.

No one was nearby to help you, and your anxiety intensified: it was just you, and broken debris to keep you company, all noise muted aside from the high-pitched screeching.

Not much is clear from that incident after that. Memories are hazy and unclear.

All you remember are hands tapping your face, tugging your arm and willing your eyes to focus. Then, those same hands suddenly lugging you up by the scruff of your collar and slinging you over their shoulder. Finding yourself being lifted off by a helicopter, and ultimately passing out in the end.

Medics told you your ear drums were inverted, turned inside out from the force, and ear canal blocked by dust. Thankfully, all you required for the head injury were a few stitches, and you wouldn't suffer any brain damage.

Still, the news of becoming hearingly impaired made your world come crashing down.

Yes, you'd still be able to process sounds, they assured, but not as well as you used to.

An official diagnosis was made, and condolences were given to you, for there was nothing that could be done to fix your hearing. You were practically inoperable as the risk was too high, and you could go permanently deaf if the procedure was to go wrong.

You didn't reveal you having a hearing impairment to anyone — why should you, anyways? Things like this happened, and there were people in your faction that have had it worse.

Besides, it wasn't like you would be permanently deaf or anything, you reasoned, so the only thing to do was keep working.

Like you used to. All things considered you were a good shot, with good aim, with good spatial awareness and reaction times.

You could keep working, keep serving your country.

Yet you didn't work like you used to.

How intensely you stared at people, their face, eyes darting from theirs and their lips, was passed off as you being attentive.

No one would have considered that you were desperately trying to keep up with everyone else, and feeling like you were left behind. To fend for yourself as the world moved in triple speed, while you were still processing your new circumstances.

Of course, no one noticed the change.

And König, for one, sure didn't.

Completely enamored by you, he thought it foolish, really, to be so taken by a soldier, one below him in ranks and younger than him.

Yet, he admired you, was your secret admirer, and let his feelings blind him to what could have been so easy to see.

Well, to onlookers, his admiration for you was far from secret. In fact, it was obvious. Very obvious.

Initially, people joked that you were going to be reprimanded by the Colonel, taught a valuable lesson for some mishap you had committed, when you'd be pulled aside. Not a single one could have forseen König's behaviour towards you.

Stares, only strategically turning his head when you looked in his vague direction. An aura of threat, had it not been for the way his eyes sparkled. Held a particular glint that no one could pinpoint his intentions, and his needing to excuse himself to go to the restroom and not return for half an hour.

Walking behind you, guarding you at all times. Making sure he figuratively — and literally — had your back. A hand that would roam, explore, and push its limits, figuring out how low he would have to go before you broke, before you'd beg for more.

Demonstrating combat moves to you under the pretence that it would help fix your reaction times, all an excuse to be near you, to touch your mid-section and rest his hands on your body for seconds longer than necessary.

Touches that he would commit to memory, that would help him reach his climax behind closed doors at the thought of feeling your bare skin, and the feeling of your clothed body having to suffice.

No, none of it showed intent to humiliate you like they thought he would; rather, it was evident that their Colonel had taken a liking to you. Favoured you among the rest.

Obviously, no one saw the perverted nature behind your interactions, the side that König revelled in.

You always seemed to appreciate the gestures, albeit hesistantly, and would blush up to your ears and would flash him an uncertain yet award-winning smile, one that made blood rush up to his face and lower half as he wondered what other sorts of facial expressions you could be making, and whether that smile would stay if you saw his most intimate self.

However, you rarely paid him any attention afterwards. Would go on about your day, as if he wasn't even there.

Ignored him, as if he wasn't worth your time, or even your acknowledgment.

He'd attempt small-talk with you when you were on your own, trying all he could to find common ground, to keep you interested —or, butt in the conversation when someone else diverted your attention from what should have been on him — but, throughout it all, your facial expression was blank. Like you didn't even recognize him.

Eyebrows furrowed, wondering why your colleague stopped talking, you'd only come to realise that König existed when they'd nudge your side with their elbow, whispered frantically in your ear, and when you turned back around you'd jump up with seemingly exaggerated fright, blushing.

Stuttering and sputtering apologies to your superior with a bowed head, eyes avoiding his, König thought that there was a triumphant smirk that you were hiding, a strut as you walked, back turned as you flaunted your way out of the room in a mischievous manner.

Teasing, testing the waters to see how long you could go on without admitting that he was there next to you, to see how long König would last before he broke.

Oh, the things that you were doing to him.

Fury brewed in König, and he'd stew over your (his) one-sided interactions, your blatant ignorance of him, your complete disregard of him. Regarding him as not worth your time, and seemingly ignoring him with an air of superiority.

So imprudent, so rude, and such a daring little thing. So fucking naughty.

Contradicting urges of wanting to yank you by the collar into a passionate kiss in front of anyone and everyone and marking you as his in his private quarters became near impossible to contain. To put you in your place, and prove that you weren't all that that you made yourself out to be.

After all, brats like you had to be tamed, and König would not stand you demeaning his ego like that.

Reprimands from unsuspecting soldiers got harsher. Spitting at others in a rasping voice, barking commands loudly from the background. Drills became a living nightmare — everyone a target for König's relentless bullying. Sparring became relentless, and damn-near a deadly duel as he was unrelenting, remorseless.

König needed to release his pent-up frustration somehow.

König hated that his love was unreciprocated, and would be in a bad temper, stomping around the grounds looking for an inferior to abuse.

He loathed how you made him feel, yet loved what you made him feel, his feelings intensifying when you were in eyesight, and the knuckles of his fists turning white, shaking with rage as you frolicked off with some dummkopf, some piece of shit saukerl that didn't pay attention to you like he did, not considering the higher-ranking alternative.

Figuratively speaking: as, let's face it, König was the full package; and literally speaking, as he had a full package of his own to satisfy your every need, and would convert you to his lover in an instant.

You were an enigma. König couldn't read you at all, and was in internal turmoil.

Why couldn't he win you over? Were you really that high-maintenance, or playing hard to get?

You had to like him back. There was no way you weren't doing this on purpose.

Were you really that unbothered? Unbothered by his advances, not caring at all?

Or, were you really just proud, too full of yourself to pay respect to your superiors?

Really, König should have taught you a personal lesson if that had been the case, one so personal you'd learn to never disrespect him ever again, and be as respectful as a little darling as ever.

...Yet you? You couldn't have been more oblivious.

Sensing a presence in the background as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone, you only became vaguely aware of something off about König when you realised the intensity of a stranger's stare, bearing down on your neck.

Glare. König's glaring at you from afar, camouflaged in the corner by the shadow of the dimly-lit room, the few flickering light bulbs all the more unnerving.

Only in close proximity did you become aware of your Colonel, imposing even while sitting down, tall even with his being hunched over.

Accidentally meeting the eyes behind the veil draped over his face, he unapologetically took up as much space in the room as he could, back straightened to his full height and long legs wide spread apart in an act of dominance.

Those eyes pierced yours, and made you shiver, all intentions of small-talk drying in your throat and, in fear of becoming tongue-tied and losing your cool, you said nothing.

Why was he just... staring at you like that? Did you do something wrong?

It made you shudder, and you shivered, trying to shake off the ominous feeling.

Never in a million years would you have thought that König had any sexual romantic interest in you — if anything, with that grim expression you'd have thought he'd had a bone to pick with you.

He looked absolutely terrifying. A beast of a man, with penetrating eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, König was undressing you with those same eyes. Penetrating, yes, but imagining scenarios where he himself would he penetrating you.

He made himself so inviting, with the spot on his lap reserved as a seat especially for you, reclining on a chair with a head in his palm as he gazed at you in interest.

He even considered making a gesture with his hand, a beckoning finger signalling for you to "Come here", just to make it loud and clear that he was welcoming you, and wanted you exactly where he had positioned himself.

Until some soldier entered the room, saw you and hit you up, starting casual banter and exchanging sarcastic remarks, which made you laugh. The tension melting in your body, you allowed yourself to relax, and forgot about what was looming in the very same room.

To König, the man was flirting with you, and with the way you had a hand clasped over your mouth, practically swooning over the guy, it was solidified.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, he jolted upright, and the chair he was sat on was nearly flung backwards from his sudden action, a deafening screech echoing in the room.

Two pairs of eyes on him, he beckoned the man over to him:

"Come here. I have a duty for you, sergeant."

Only this time, he wasn't at all inviting, and even the man beside you knew he was in for it big time with how König's fury was seething.

"Toilettendienst, weil du ein Stück Scheiße bist."

Cackling, and a sly, venomous smile under his veil. "I'm sure you'll love it, seeing as you can't mind your own business."

Your encounters with König were terrifying, but you tried with all your might to keep them out of your mind. After all, you were still struggling to get by, so to be so on edge would only make matters for you worse.

Having people repeat what they said to you over and over again was passed off as bad signal or static over walkie-talkies, yet without being able to read their lips you were practically deaf and couldn't interpret the gargling, speech drowned by the feeling of your head being underwater.

However, you managed. Managed to keep afloat, somehow. Clung on to your life raft, despite the crashing waves of the tide that flung you from side to side.

And, lulled into a false sense of security, you were contracted for another mission.

Just like before, and on all the other missions before all the ones before your injury, all seemed to be going smoothly.

No sudden movements, no noises out of the ordinary. Nothing amiss.

Except, suffocating silence had shifted and pushed its weight down against you, swirling and following your movements as it had slowly tied a noose around you and your crew's necks, making it difficult to breathe.

But you shrugged it off. You rationalised your nerves as post-morbid jitters. No way was it a gut feeling.

It was unusual how well things were going, and was second-guessing yourself after not having had been deployed in ages.

Your guessing proved to be true, and it was a shame that you realised this too late.

Ambushed out of nowhere, bullets and blood were all that you saw; blasts and bangs were all that you heard.

No one escaped unscathed. Every single one of the operators had sustained some sort of injury, yours minor scratches compared to gaping bullet wounds, stabs in the abdomen, and broken bones.

Intense guilt plagued you for hours, days afterwards, and you were unable to look those colleagues in the eyes for days, weeks afterwards.

How could you let that happen?

Clawing up the ranks until you were finally trusted, finally deemed worthy, it shook you to your very core that you failed to forsee any of this. Failed your colleagues. Failed.

No one blamed you, because they didn't connect the dots that you were the common denominator behind both incidents, the one that catastrophically failed your allies.

König, seeing you in your most vulnerable state, pounced at the opportunity to finally confront you once and for all. To settle the doubts in his mind and come to a solid conclusion.

He wasted no time in hunting you down as you were walking, alone, a predatory look in his eyes.

At last, cornering you in a remote area where no one would interrupt, nor allow you weasle your little way out of it again:

"King."

You dropped your head, avoiding his gaze. Readying yourself for the severe scolding, being berated by König, you dropped your head, cowering below him.

"Before you say anything—" mumbling under your breath, "—I will admit this myself first."

"I... I messed up. Messed up completely on this mission. I'm— I'm so sorry for endangering your men, for nearly getting the entire crew killed. It was my fault."

König's eyes widened a little. This was the most you had ever said to him in one conversation. And you sounded so... sincere.

...Could he have had the wrong perception of you all along? Were you just... Timid? Shy? Maybe a little bit introverted even, and not one for socialising?

No, that couldn't have been right.

He needed to interrogate you, press you for information, put you under pressure. You'd break then, and he'd finally figure out the truth for himself.

"Ja," he spat shortly, voice unwavering and eyes betraying no emotions. "You did mess up. My men are all injured."

You were mortified when all you could interpret was harsh gibberish. None of the words made sense to you, and you couldn't differentiate any consonants from the syllables.

You breathed in deeply, feeling so foolish for thinking of asking this, and prepared yourself for the worst:

"Sorry, sir? Can you repeat that?"

König was the one to be bewildered this time. For a few agonisingly long moments, he needed to process what you had just said. Your request.

Finally, it sank in.

Oh, you were in for it now.

What did you mean "Sorry, sir?"?

You ignored him, have been ignoring him for all this time, and you had the gall to give him attitude?

Worst of all, to fail to pay attention when he is was scolding you?

No. König wasn't having it.

Both hands slammed against the wall above you, with such a force that even you could hear a deep crack of splintering brick.

With you trapped, he wasn't about to let you go until you learned your place.

"You're not going to say anything anything more, maus?" He leans in closer, steel-blue eyes betraying no emotion baring into yours. "Pip-squeak has lost its voice, has it? You really should learn manners."

Understanding "...going to say anything more, maus?... Pip-squeak... should learn manners" it was enough for you to understand what he was implying, and you were confused. In disbelief. Bewildered.

"S-sir, I—! "

Eyes wide, you shook your head vehemently, hands held up in protest. "—It's not like that at all! I swear!"

König quirked a brow, leaning in closer. Licked his lips inquisitively, curious to hear your defence.

"I've not... been ignoring you, sir. Never. I wouldn't ever do that..."

You trailed off, averting your gaze. "...Or, at least, consciously..."

You bit your lip. Shifting uncomfortably, your fingers fidgeted, fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. How were you going to explain this?

"Y-you see, I'm—"

Bracing yourself, you breathed in deeply.

"—I-I'm— I'm actually hard of hearing."

König blinked twice. It was his turn to be confused, and he pulled away a few inches, concentrating hard.

Seeing the blank look in his eyes, you immediately clarified:

"N-not deaf, obviously! — I suppose I can still hear, in a way — but my hearing is not good. I struggle to understand people."

A defeated sigh. "Communication is tough enough because I'm not good at reading lips yet, and..."

"...with you, it is — would — have been impossible, because of the—"

A weak gesture towards his face covering "—mask..."

An awkward pause.

"L-look sir, I'm sorry for ignoring you. Honestly, I never meant to. It's just I—"

"Never heard," König said, nodding faintly. "I understand."

He understood, alright. Understood what a moron he had been all this time.

God, what a fool he was.

All this time, concocting scenarios of finding a way to prove himself to you, of asserting his authority, of sexually frustrated evenings considering all the possibilities, all personality traits... was all one-sided pining.

Poor thing, you were just oblivious.

He couldn't blame you, and was kicking himself for viewing you as anything other than a pure soul.

If he had known this, known of your condition earlier, perhaps he wouldn't have been so frustrated, so confrontational.

Now, he had ruined all his chances with you by intimidating you out of nowhere.

God, he was such an idiot.

Embarrassed, and not knowing what to say, he sheepishly slid his hands off the wall.

Coughing twice, he cleared his voice, and projected his voice so it was clearer and louder:

"King."

You looked up, face showing shame and genuine guilt.

"Gut. Keep looking at me."

To your surprise, König's hand was reaching up to his veil, fingers hooking under the the hem.

In a prolongued but fluid movement, the fabric was pulled up, and, slowly, slowly, he revealed his face.

His white chin and stubbled jawline came into view first. Only slightly defined, not modelled after some Greek God, yet not lacking definition, either.

Then, thin lips, pale pink and pressed into a tight line.

A hooked nose, crooked likely from it being broken more than once before, neither long nor large nor flat. Perhaps slightly off-center.

Keeping the fabric in place, he would not raise it higher.

After a few seconds of silence, you saw how his Adam's apple moved when he gulped, his lips quivering as he breathed in deeply.

Even seeing the half of his face, he looked handsome to you.

"Well... is this better?"

Mouth moving to reveal white teeth, some misshappen and others crowded, it looked as if he had never worn braces before.

He swallowed thickly, then his hot breath fanned your face, mouth partly-open as he panted in increasing agitation.

Blue-gray eyes looked into yours, no longer domineering. Instead, pleading.

Wanting your affirmation, to be reassured that you would appreciate him partly presenting his identity to you, the most vulnerable part of him.

To be told that you truly did appreciate this gesture after all.

A smile tugged at your lips. "Yes. Much better, sir."

You were touched.

To think, that your commander, your Colonel, the big, beefy, burly man, the masked soldier of towering stature, would go out of his way to be sensitive. To be at the mercy of you.

It made you tear up a little. No one had ever gone out of their way to accommodate you like this, and it left you at a loss for words.

"Sir, I—"

"Nein. Call me König."

Cleared throat. "König, sir—"

A devillish smirk formed on his face, and he shook his head.

"Gott, such a sweet little thing," he cooed, purposefully slowing down his speech so you could interpret it on your own. "Will need to have you getting used to you saying my name, ja?"

Those steel blue eyes had melted. Were warm. Held a fondness in them that he hadn't had before — or, maybe they had, but you had never noticed it until now — either way, you felt at ease with him. With König.

One of your biggest mistakes.

"Thank you, König. Really. For being so patient."

Rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly, you shot him a bashful, lopsided grin.

"I'm sorry that you had to be patient in the first place! I wish I could make it up to you, König. I really do."

König's mind flashed with blasphemous images of you.

Images that he had visualised in vivid detail, when he had been longing for you, longing to have you around him.

He was almost regretting what he had on his mind, yet, he reasoned, it was only fair you gave him a reward.

For his patience.

The smirk on his face became broader. Serpentine.

"Don't you worry, meine liebe. I know of a way."

A cackle, sounding forced and a little too loud to be genuine.

"I'll make sure that you'll be loud enough so that even you can hear it for yourself."

...

Note: i promised yesterdag id get thus oit today ... 🥹Bit late cuz at the time im typimg this ntoe its 22:33 (gonna be later once i proofread this for the final time😫😫) Edit: its 23:25 and i have a test tmr hahaHHhahahahAHAHAHAHHAHAHAA 😍😍😍😍

Hope yoi guys like perverted König 🗿 i for one do 😇😇 (fyi, it was NOT MT INTENTION to write him in this wau I PROMISW😭😭😭😭😭it just sorta happened and i rolled witj it ☠️💀)

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halcyonwrld · 5 months

Text

— FAIRYTALE ENDINGS

PAIRING. Lisa Manoban x Reader

After finding a cherished memento, you begin to think of the past, the present, and where your future lies with your girlfriend. (0.9K)

TAGS. childhoodbesties-to-lovers!au, insecurity, toothrotting fluff

Being with Lisa is the best thing that could’ve happened to you in life.

You two are like magnets; despite being so polar in relation to each other, you couldn't help but attract. If she was the sun, you were the moon. If she were flowers, you'd be a lone breeze. If she was her, and you were always like this, there shouldn't have been a fairytale ending in the cards.

There probably shouldn’t have even been a story to begin with.

But here you both are. Together for nearly a year now, going steady.

Proof of this is the polaroid you take into your hands, something you’ve found on the floor due to the insistent autumn breeze.

You brush away dust with the pad of your thumb and scan the row of photos. This day was sweet. Taken on your third date. You went to a carnival just on the edge of town. The Ferris Wheel, the gimmick games, the prizes--- it was perfect. Everything that your younger self would've never been brave enough to experience alone.

Something you could hardly face then, as you left early after swarms of people began to overwhelm you.

Lisa's cheek lands underneath your thumb. Her smile forever immortalized.

(You were disappointed in yourself that day, mad you’d ruined the date before it truly had a chance to really start off. But Lisa never blamed you. Never got upset. Instead, she got you dinner, took the scenic route back home to cruise, and sang her affection for you to the stars.)

Speak of the devil —or in this case, your angel— and she shall appear; Lisa smoothly wraps her arms around you from behind with a hum, peeking over your shoulder.

She gasps, and you watch in the vanity how she practically lights up the room.

“Oh my gosh, I forgot about these, this night was so fun…” A light touch on your wrist, fingers running over the frayed friendship bracelet on it—the one she made all those years ago— as if trying to remind you of your history together.

“Can I put this in the back of my phone case, please?” she begs, giving you puppy eyes like you’ve ever had the heart to deny her of anything.

You pull away to hand it to her, “You know I don’t mind.”

Lisa’s smile widens impossibly. The corners of her eyes crinkle with her hardly constrained enthusiasm.

It’s only after she realizes her pockets are empty— does she give you a swift peck on the cheek before scampering out of the room.

Heat flushes you from the neck up. You sit on the unmade bed, dazed with a muted rush of tenderness. How does she still manage to make you feel so lovesick way after all of these years?

You’ve always been content with fading into the background of people’s lives. Like a side character. Nothing more than a ghost in your own life as well— but Lisa has never once left you on the back burner. Never once made you feel like a second option. You don’t know what you did to deserve her unwavering devotion, but it’s always overflowing, and all you know how to do is take.

Lisa zooms back into the room muttering to herself, pulling you out of your reverie. Her phone is still missing. You catch a dismayed: why does this always happen, and something like: there’s only so many places you can put your phone Lalisa and then, an annoyed: well it must really be downstairs if it’s not up here because—

You catch her by the wrist before she can move too far and spin herself into a whirlwind. With a placating smile, you hand her the phone that was lost under the heap of ruffled blankets behind you.

“Oh… thank you,” she breathes, exasperated, appreciative.

You’re hardly expecting the way she bends and kisses your forehead, a smile in her voice as she murmurs, “My savior.”

Savior. Maybe that’s what you are for her. Have always been. The one to pull her back in when it all gets too much. You don’t like the odds with your luck, but deep down, you hope it’s somewhat true. Pray it’ll continue to be enough for someone as bright as her. Someone who would be perfectly fine without you.

Lisa plops down at your side, cracks open her phone case, then abruptly pauses, fingers twitching. She gives you one of those weird Lisa looks. The ones you can’t read. Then she places a comforting hand on your thigh. You don’t know what has prompted this; your silence never feels unusual to you. Just that same old tired thing. But Lisa just has a “sixth sense for these things”, her phrasing, not yours.

“You okay?” she asks, voice softened by delicate worry.

Your heart fawns over with that same tenderness from earlier, and —spurred on by a sudden surge of adoration— you lean forward and kiss her square on the cheek. You pull back with a smile,

“I’m always good when I’m with you.”

It feels as cheesy as it sounds. Feels stupid. Wildly vulnerable. Too loud and too unlike you and too this and too that, but it’s everything. What the two of you have formed— and will continue to no matter the hurdles along the way, that’s what matters. What you both will continue to make matter. That’s why you’re here, sitting together in bed together on a quiet November afternoon when you could be anywhere else, with anyone else.

And, there's no ending sweet enough to compare with the way Lisa flusters under your affection, burning brighter than any star you've ever seen.

#blackpink x reader #blackpink imagines #blackpink fanfic #lisa manoban x reader #lisa imagines #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #gg x reader #gg imagines #lisa x reader #halcyonfics

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alwaysjustmina · 4 months

Text

Whispers of Rain

Chapter 10: I can see you in my fate

As always thank you to @papaslittlesunshine for betaing and the encouragement with this story. Please go read all of her stuff, she writes amazing raindrop!!

@midnight-moth for listening to all my depraved thoughts and helping me with a key part of this chapter that I was unsure what I needed to do with it. Go read all of their stuff too, Kilanova will blow you away!

And @kamonart for the wonderful artwork.

Please mind the tags on AO3!

Read the beginning below or in full here.

As much as Dew didn’t want to be in that restaurant flaunted in front of Ifrit’s “friends”, he was worried about when they finally arrived back at the estate. The look Ifrit gave Eidolon when he was helping him in the dressing room, it made his stomach roll. He could take Ifrit inflicting his rage on him, but not Eidolon, especially when it was his fault.

He made sure every touch, every look that Ifrit gave him was returned. Not stepping out of line, hoping that he would forget their chaste touch. Dew ate what was put in front of him, not even tasting the meal, trying his hardest to look like he was enjoying it, but everything tasted like saw dust and had him holding back the gag at the back of his throat.

When he caught a glimpse of Eidolon out of the corner of his eye, he had his head tilted down and his eyes downcast, picking at his nails as he sat there, quiet as a mouse. Dew wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him he would take care of him, he wouldn’t let Ifrit hurt him.

What a joke! He couldn’t even help Rain. He couldn’t even help himself.

When Dew took his eyes off of Ifrit for too long his thigh was squeezed under the table to bruising. The gasps he emitted had the fire in Ifrit’s eyes flaming. When Ifrit snarled under his breath and leaned in to whisper in his ear to “behave”, he knew he still hadn’t forgotten the dressing room.

Dew lost himself to his thoughts as he sat there. He wondered if once he and Ifrit were mated if he could get Eidolon away from him. Dew knew Eidolon didn’t remember his past, how he came to be there with Ifrit, but was convinced it was a spell or something, not actual memory loss. He would have to see what he could find out to absolve it. He wondered what Rain would think of Eidolon, if he would like him. They were both so similar, maybe that was why he was drawn to him. Rain had kept to himself a lot when they were together, so wrapped up in Dew. Dew knew he had gotten close to Ciri and Swiss after the incident with Ifrit. He hoped they were with him in the end, that they had been there to ease his mind, a comforting, friendly face to see as he passed. Maybe Rain had sent Eidolon to him, to help and watch over him. To give Dew a second chance to get it right, to save someone he cared about, loved. He wouldn’t let Rain down again.

Dew was pulled from his thoughts as Ifrit gripped his thigh again, pushing him to stand up. The lunch party going their separate ways. He was quick to stand, Ifrit holding his hand pulling him along. Dew stumbled between the dining room and bar, in Ifrit’s rush to get outside to the car. As he lost his footing his eyes roamed the room, for something to grip to keep him upright. That is when he saw him.

He was seeing things.

At the bar there sat a man who looked a lot like Rain. A lot. His blacker than black hair pulled back under a ball cap, hiding his eyes from Dew’s view. His pale skin gleaming in the soft lights of the bar. Dew blinked, willing this vision to go away.

He was seeing ghosts now.

Ifrit gripped his hand harder pulling him along as he took one last look back. His eyes tracking the ruby red lips as the patron bit his bottom lip with his fangs. Dew urged him in his mind to look up, he just wanted to see Rain’s eyes one more time. One more time and he would be happy to die. The Rain ghost licked his bottom lip before looking up from where he sat, his eyes meeting Dew’s.

Rain.

Dew keened quietly not wanting Ifrit to break this vision before him. Dew met his eyes, tears quickly gathering, he could barely breathe. He didn’t forget how beautiful he was but being met with him again after all this time, it tore his heart apart. He had that love. Why did this happen to him, to them? Dew could see the sorrow reflected in his beautiful blue eyes, that he was sure was in his. The ghost had his eyebrows pinched in worry, his hand quickly going to his mouth to cover those beautiful lips. Before they were covered though, Dew was sure he saw him mouth his name.

Oh, how he longed to hear his voice again, to feel his cool touch. He was greedy, greedy. He got to see him one last time, he needed to savor it.

It ended too soon, as Ifrit pulled him through the door, he lost sight of his Selkie. He couldn’t stop the tears that tracked down his face. He stumbled again on the steps, not because of lost footing, but in desperation of what they had and lost. He would never recover from this hole in his heart.

Ifrit pushed him in the car after Eidolon had sat on the far side. Dew tried to wipe the tears from his eyes before Ifrit saw and questioned what had caused them. But Ifrit wasn’t even looking at Dew, his cold stare was on Eidolon.

“Did you think you could touch what was mine? Did you think you could have what was mine?” His eyes practically glowing red in anger as he screamed at him.

Dew could feel Eidolon tremble beside him at Ifrit’s screams. Dew had his hand on Eidolon’s side under his leg, the seating tight in this car. He pushed his pinkie finger out to rub it along his thigh, hoping it would bring some kind of comfort to him.

Eidolon didn’t respond, he didn’t know if he should, the rage on Ifrit’s face was terrifying. What would he do if he knew of the kiss they had shared? He felt Dew’s finger on his thigh, it was the only thing helping him keep it together. He didn’t want to make it worse for Dew.

Ifrit’s rage didn’t abate, he continued with his beration the whole way back to the estate. Dew tried what he could to calm his fire. The bile in his throat he swallowed down as he laid his palm on Ifrit’s thigh, trying to capture his hand in his. He even tried laying his head on his arm, feigning comfort, but it didn’t work. Dew knew it wouldn’t. Dew was property and that is all Ifrit cared about.

When they got back to the estate, Ifrit led them to their room, joining them inside before closing the door. He was quiet, too quiet as he sat in the chair in the corner looking at the two of them standing there. Ifrit motioned them to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes not allowing any argument as they moved.

“Eli, do you want my Droplet?” His voice calm, but his eyes still held the fire of fury.

When Eidolon didn’t respond fast enough for Ifrit’s liking, he snarled, clenching his hands in tight fists. “You will answer me if you know what is good for you.”

“I…I know he is yours, I’d ne-never, never, touch what is yours,” unable to keep the stutter from his voice as he responded.

Condensation crossed Ifrit’s face before he continued, “I know he is mine, Eidolon. That wasn’t what I asked, now was it?”

Eidolon clasped his hands together, not daring to look at Ifrit. His legs shook as they sat there, Dew could feel it from his position next to him.

“Ifrit, Sir….yes,” He muttered out brokenly, but quickly continued. “I know how to control my feelings though, I won’t touch him, you have been too kind to me for me to break your trust.”

Dew was in shock next to Eidolon, he wanted him. He had a voice to the feelings he knew he felt. He ignored the skip of his heartbeat. This could never happen. Never.

“Hmm. you know what Eli, I give you credit for being honest. I would never have pictured you voicing your wants out loud to me. I am impressed. I can be very benevolent, I can make your dreams come true, would you like that? I know you would. I won’t ask my Droplet his feelings for you, I know he has none. He only sees me now.”

Ifrit sat in front of them in thought, dragging out his silence as long as possible before he continued. “Tomorrow is Beltane, before the mating ceremony, you are granted to take part in the pleasures of the flesh if you wish.”

Eidolon stared at him, not sure what he was getting at.

“You can be with my Droplet,” His voice ripe with derision, “Would you like that?”

Eidolon continued to stare at him before answering quietly, “I will do whatever you and Dewdrop wish, sir.”

Ifrit howled at his answer before standing, “Droplet does as I wish. I wish for you to be with him, so it will be done.”

#whispers of rain #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #raindrop #fan fiction #ghost fan fiction #ghost band #mina writes

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