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#I always think of her in her soft and bright sweater
lovebugism · 5 months
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hey honey can i request a shy!reader x grumpy!eddie , maybe they’re pumpkin picking with friends & something angsty ensues but then fluffy & after they all go eat at the diner and get spooky themed orders 🤭
thanks for requesting lovie! — eddie gets grumpy on a fall outing with the gang (shy!reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, 1.3k)
fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)
Eddie’s a big ol’ grump at Eugene’s Pumpkin Patch, but he’s being really brave about it. He follows you like a puppy, visibly unamused about the whole thing but trying hard to be a good boyfriend despite his woe.
“Ah! Look at this one!” you gasp at the sight of a pumpkin, in a sea of bright orange pumpkins. 
Swallowed whole by your sweater, you crouch in the tall grass and reach for the tiny round thing hidden in it. The runt pumpkin sits neatly in your palms. “It’s so wittle,” you singsong up at Eddie in a tiny, high-pitched voice.
He smiles despite himself, laughing even though he’s grumpy, ‘cause you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
“I’m gonna get this one,” you announce affirmatively when you rise to full height again.
“You made me drive an hour out just to get the tiniest pumpkin they have?” Eddie asks, laughing still but with a subtle bite of annoyance.
You try to ignore it, though the weight of his aggravation makes you writhe. “But it’s cute…” you defend with a weak shrug. “And also, you have to get one, remember?”
You take a tentative step towards Eddie, standing chest to chest. He huffs and puts his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His chocolate eyes flit around the expansive farm, dull and unimpressed. “They all look the same, so… I don’t think it really matters.”
“It does matter!” you insist, girlish and quiet and stubborn. “You have to pick the one you like the most— that’s the whole point!”
“You’re telling me there’s an art to pumpkin picking?” the boy teases with a crooked grin, tilting his head to the side so his curls bunch at his shoulder.
Still clutching the tiniest pumpkin either of you have ever seen, you nod. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
He scoffs again in a curt laugh. He looks around again, only to point to the one sitting by his feet.
“Alright… How about that one?”
“Eddie!”
“What?” he whines in the same pouty tone as you.
“Can you at least pretend you’re having fun?” you murmur, a bit sad you have to even ask. 
You always spiral when he gets weird, secretly terrified that it’s all your fault. He doesn’t talk, so you overthink. Your brain gets mean, and you need Eddie to make you feel better — but he can’t because he’s weird. It’s unbearable. For both of you.
“It’s cold and rainy and Steve’s pants gave me a headache on the way over and I don’t feel good, okay? I’m sorry,” Eddie rambles with a pout, looking visibly pained about all of it.
Any excitement you had left leaves you like an ebbing tide. “Okay,” you mutter with a soft nod.
“I’m gonna go smoke,” the boy announces. 
He smacks a fleeting kiss to your cheek before he goes but doesn’t bother to invite you to come with him. He doesn’t feel very deserving of your company right now, too selfish in his woe and painfully self-aware about it.
You stand in place while he walks back to the van, feeling utterly alone and unwanted.
“Where’d Eddie go?” Steve wonders when he walks up to you with Robin at his side. 
They carry two pumpkins each, struggling with each of them because they’ve somehow managed to find the biggest ones on the whole farm. You figure they made a bet about it because everything’s a competition with them.
“Um… to smoke, I think,” you answer shyly, embarrassed to have been found alone for a reason you can’t name. “He just kinda… left.”
Robin scoffs. “I think he’s on his period,” she jokes with a gritty laugh.
“Yeah. He said my pants looked stupid before we left. I knew something was up.”
The brunette girl side-eyes the boy beside her. “I think he might’ve been right about that one, Stevie.”
You make a quiet exit when they begin to bicker back and forth. You duck through the bustling pumpkin patch and try not to trip in the tall grass on your way to Eddie’s van. 
Your boots crunch over the gravel of the parking lot. You find him leaning against the trunk, blowing out smoke from his pink mouth, slouching like he’s weighed down by his own sadness. 
“You okay, Eds?” you ask to announce your arrival. 
His eyes widen when he realizes you’re there. He’d pretend to be fine if it didn’t take all the energy he had left. “No,” he answers honestly, then quickly corrects, “I mean— I am, but… I feel bad. I was acting like a dick…”
“Yeah,” you concur with a nod. “You were.”
He’s too shocked to hide it on his face. You’re never normally so confrontational. You’re usually too quiet for that, too soft. And you still are now, because you always are, but he feels like he deserves to see this sterner side of you.
“But it’s okay. I know you didn’t wanna come in the first place.”
He turns on his shoulder when you stand at his side, towering over you as he flicks the butt of his cigarette. “Yeah, but… I didn’t have to be such an asshole to you about it. I feel like I fuckin’ ruined this whole day, you know?”
“We all have our moments, Eds. It’s no big deal,” you assure with a weak shrug and a stronger smile. “We still have the whole afternoon left— you didn’t ruin anything. Doesn’t make me love you any less, either.”
Your words make him grin. Like, really grin — all wide and rosy and boyish. You make him smile like nothing’s ever hurt him. Like nothing’s ever been wrong in his life. Fuck, he’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.
“I love the shit outta you, you know that?” he mumbles but doesn’t give you a chance to answer. He tosses the cigarette to the ground and snuffs it out with his sneaker right before kissing you absolutely stupid.
He wraps his arms around your neck, smothering your face with his. No one’s ever been kissed as hard as he’s kissing you now. The realization makes you smile too wide to kiss him back.
He pulls away from you with a hearty smack. With pinker lips and chocolate eyes, he grins hopefully down at you. “So you’re not mad at me?” he wonders, gentle like a child.
“Yes,” you nod, playfully firm. “I’m very mad, actually.”
Eddie’s smile widens. He knows you’re joking and decides to lean into it. “What can I do then, huh?” he murmurs lowly to you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How can I make it up to you?”
He wants to kiss you again. He wants to get you in the back of his van in a vacant parking lot. He wants you to tell him to make you feel good and not to stop until you’re pushing him away.
You know all of this, ‘cause you can practically read his mind, so you decide to drive him crazier. “I want you…” you start in the same low tone, bordering on sultry. 
Eddie’s already nodding. 
You smile and continue. 
“…To go pick your most favorite pumpkin in the whole patch, and then take me to Benny’s Burgers.”
Feeling slightly disappointed and utterly teased, Eddie searches the entire patch and finds the weirdest-shaped, wartiest pumpkin the earth has ever grown. He drives the gang to the diner after and sits you in his lap when all of you squeeze into one booth. 
He shares his milkshake with you and lets you have the pickle slice that comes with his burger when you ask for it (‘cause everyone knows it’s the best part). It’s the purest form of love, if he has anything to say about it.
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valeskafics · 4 months
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"Teacher's Pet" - Professor!Michael Gavey x Student!Reader
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a/n: request from @tallemajas-scriptorium, ilysm maja, i hope you enjoy!!! 🩷
Summary: Michael develops an inappropriate infatuation with you, his star student.
TW: DUBCON due to power imbalance, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, michael is reader's professor, infidelity, some dumbification, jealousy, semi public sex, fingering, orgasm denial, spanking, pussy slapping, p in v sex, unprotected sex
Word Count: 3,050 words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Saltburn characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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The moment you walk into Michael Gavey’s office hours, he knows you’re going to spell nothing but trouble for him. He’s noticed you in class, of course. He’d be blind not to. You’re a quiet one, usually sitting at the back, minding your own business, hesitant to raise your hand but always able to provide the correct answer when called on, always dressed in those pretty plaid skirts and fitted sweaters. They should be considered modest by all accounts, but Michael can’t help but notice the way your skirt sways around your hips as you walk, how your sweater clings to your curves like a second skin. Yes, he thinks he’d be able to think rather inappropriate thoughts even if you showed up to his lecture in a paper bag.
You give a gentle knock at the door, one that he almost doesn’t hear. Your smile is shy and hesitant as you speak.
“Professor Gavey? Are you still having office hours?”
Your voice is soft and sweet. Michael’s quite sure the rest of you would be the same. He meets your gaze and nods, gesturing for you to take a seat across from him.
“Yes, for another hour.”
You walk toward the empty chair, setting your purse to the side. You take a seat, your hands folded in your lap as you sit up straight. Your fiddle with your fingers for a moment before speaking.
“I just wanted to go over what I got wrong on the last exam with you if that’s alright. I got a 90 but I’m hoping I can get a 95 or above on the final.”
He nods, leaning back in his chair, eyes traveling down to the curve of your breasts before immediately moving back to your face, “Of course. What is it you feel like you’re struggling with?”
“Wave kinematics, I think. At least, that’s what I keep getting wrong,” you say sheepishly, averting your gaze.
You’re such a shy little thing, you can barely hold his gaze. Michael stares at you intently, maybe a little too intently, before a moment before nodding again and grabbing a file out of his desk. He notices the way your eyes linger on his hands as he flips through the pages in the file, barely resisting the urge to call you out on it.
“That’s a tricky one, yes. Have you tried the practice questions I posted on the course website?”
You nod, looking a bit dejected, “I have, I’ve managed to do all of them correctly except wave kinematics. I’m just… Really struggling.”
When Michael was younger, he likely would have mocked you for being unable to understand such a simple concept. But, he realizes you’re actually quite bright and there’s something that you’re just probably missing. With the years, he’s grown more mature, if only slightly. He doubts he would have gotten hired here at Oxford as a professor if he hadn’t managed to do that. He pulls up a few graphs and data points on his computer.
“Just follow along with what I show you and ask me if you have any questions.”
It takes around five or ten minutes, but he sees your eyes light up with recognition, a pretty smile spreading across your face as you exclaim, “Okay, I think I get it now. Thank you so much, sir.”
Sir. Fuck, that shouldn’t be enough to make his cock this hard, but coming out of your mouth in that dulcet voice? He feels like a horny fresher all over again. He gives you a brief nod, eyes lingering on your chest once again.
“Is that all you needed help with or was there anything else?”
He realizes his tone may come off as cold, clinical even, but you take no offense, leaning over to pick up your bag, giving him a generous view of your backside.
“No, that was it. Thank you so much, sir. See you tomorrow and have a good evening.”
Michael watches as you walk out of the office, a bounce in your step, likely feeling quite pleased with yourself about having finally understood the concept you were struggling with.
But all Michael can think about is how he wishes that skirt was the slightest bit shorter. About bending you over his desk and-
Fuck, he really needs to get hold of himself.
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A few days later, while Michael sets up for his lecture, he sees you taking your usual seat near the back of the classroom. You’re one of those who wants to remain anonymous, though he doesn’t understand why. He would think a beautiful young woman like you would be glad for the attention. But when two of the more popular boys in the class go and sit in the back row with you, in a clear attempt to chat you up. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as you shift slightly in your seat before just getting up and moving to the front row, where the only empty seats are. He watches as you give him a sheepish little smile, one that he finds utterly adorable. 
You pull out your laptop and  begin taking notes on it, typing away rapidly as Michael lectures. And a few times, he catches you just gazing at him, with something that looks an awful lot like admiration. When you realize he’s caught you staring, you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your laptop. Michael has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face at the realization that you were most definitely checking him out. He continues with the lecture, though he keeps looking over at you, the way your hair falls in your face as you take your notes, the way your fingers move across your keyboard. And the way you can’t seem to stop looking at him, though you quickly turn away every time he meets your eye.
You’ve got to be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.
When class finally ends, he watches as you shove your belongings into your bookbag, walking toward the door. His eyes follow you with every step, admiring how round your arse looks in that skirt, how you walk so gracefully, as if you’re treading on air. Michael notices the two boys from earlier lingering by the door and how you stop, pretending to check your phone, clearly not wanting to deal with them. He frowns when you pull a hoodie out of your bag and put it on, zipping it up and putting the hood over your head. You shove your hands in your pockets, waiting for them to leave, but they still don’t.
Michael gives the two of them a sharp glare before walking toward them, crossing his arms, “Don’t you two have studying to do? I believe you both fared pretty badly on the last exam. I’d suggest some heavy revision.”
The lecture hall has emptied out by now as the two boys scurry away, leaving you and Michael alone. You remove your hood, glancing up at him before quickly looking away, hands still in your pockets.
“Thank you, sir. You didn’t need to do that…”
He stares at you, again a bit too intently and for a moment too long, but you don’t balk at the attention as he states, “It was no problem. Are you alright?”
You shrug, “It’s easy picking on the quiet, nerdy girl. I’m used to it. Not exactly winning any popularity contests here.”
Michael frowns slightly, “Come to think of it, you’ve seemed a little… Lonely recently.” His tone softens as he questions, “Are you? Lonely, I mean?”
You hesitate for a moment before answering, “My boyfriend and I broke up a few weeks ago. And he’s sort of with my best mate now. Walked in on them going at it in my bed, actually. Well, she’s not really my best mate anymore, but I digress. It’s been a rough month.”
Michael feels like an absolute pervert for it, but he can’t help but find the vulnerability in your eyes and the way you cross your arms, pushing your tits up ever so slightly, entirely tantalizing. 
He clears his throat and replies, “I’m sorry. That must have been hard. How long were you together?”
“Since the beginning of last term,” you say, “But it’s fine. It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure it’s fine?” Michael questions.
“Mhm.” Your lower lip trembles ever so slightly, a waver in your voice as you reply, “I’m fine. Uh, I’ve got to get to my next class. Have a good day, sir.”
Michael watches as you dart off, admiring your shapely thighs, the curve of your hips, everything about you. He catches his breath, packing up his own belongings, his mind filled with thoughts of you.
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The weeks go on and his interest in you only grows. He sees the cloud of gloom that has seemed to be hanging over you slowly dissipate, the way you become more active in class, the way you attend his office hours regularly, asking thoughtful questions, being an all-around good student. You’ve become something of a teacher’s pet, and he has to admit he loves it. Today, he’s given a pop quiz and he can’t help but stare at you over the top of the book he’s reading. The way you’re leaning forward gives him the slightest glimpse at your cleavage in that fitted v-neck sweater. God, there’s something so fucking intoxicating about you, he thinks as you tap your pencil against your lip, working on a question.
The way you bite your lip, the way your eyes dart across the page as you work out the problem, there’s something so very special about you. Seeing you like this only makes him want you more. Then, to make matters worse, you glance up and catch him looking at you. You smile bashfully before returning to your quiz, shrinking in your seat slightly. You like him. That’s what it has to mean, right? A hundred different scenarios run through his mind. You sitting on his lap in his office, fuck, even you under his desk with his cock in your mouth-
He’s interrupted by the sound of the timer going off, indicating that it’s time for everyone to turn in their quizzes. You walk up last, Michael notes, and he offers to let you know what you got if you hang back a moment longer. You nod eagerly, waiting for him to skim over your quiz, smiling brightly when he writes 10/10 on it in red ink.
“Excellent work.”
You avoid his gaze and mumble out, “Thank you, sir.”
Your shyness just makes you that much more alluring to him. He watches as you bite your lip and admire his forearms with the way he’s rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Biting back a chuckle, he stands up, leaning against his desk, arms crossed.
“Is your next class nearby?”
“I’m done for the day,” you say, holding onto the strap of your bookbag, “Just heading back to my dorm to get ready.”
Michael arches a brow, leaning in slightly, “Get ready, hm? What do you have planned for this evening?”
“Erm, my roommate sort of set up a blind date for me. Said I’ve been sulking about the breakup for too long.”
“A blind date?” Michael feels as if his heart has stopped, jealousy overtaking every fiber of his being, “Are you… Are you going through with it?”
Dammit, why can’t he stop staring at your tits?
“I might fake sick,” you mumble, “But knowing Gemma, she’ll just drag me out by the ear.”
“So you don’t want to go. She’s just making you.”
Every thought of Michael’s revolves around you. How your soft flesh would feel pressed up against his, how your lips would taste, the pretty noises you’d make. He barely manages to respond as you say your goodbyes and walk out of the classroom.
“Have a good weekend.”
“You too, sir.”
There you go again, calling him “sir”. That should not fucking turn him on as much as it does.
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It’s either fate or a stroke of sheer dumb luck for Michael that your date is at his usual pub. He’s sitting there at the bar, not even having ordered his first drink when he sees you walk in. You’re wearing a little black dress and silver heels, your hair set and makeup adorning that pretty face. He feels his heart thudding against his chest, staring at you in admiration, though it leaves an acrid taste in his mouth when a boy he recognizes as one of his students approaches you. You lean in, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek, smiling politely as the two of you take a seat in one of the booths.
You’re so beautiful, sitting there and feigning a smile at what are no doubt awful jokes from your date. Michael notes that you’re not much of a drinker, rather that you seem to be sticking to soda. A wise decision, considering how your blind date is eyeing you up and down like a prized cut of meat. Soon, he heads to the restroom, giving Michael the perfect opportunity to slide into the vacant seat in front of you, his hands folded in front of him on the table. You stare at him in confusion, lips parted in a silent question which he answers before you can ask it.
“You can do better than him.”
You knit your brows together, “I beg your pardon, sir?”
Michael leans forward, taking your hand in his and smirking to himself at the way your breath catches in your throat, “Boys your age don’t know how to treat a woman like you. You’re far beyond their comprehension.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, meeting his gaze, “What are you suggesting then, sir?”
“I’m suggesting that my flat is a block away and I’ve been fucking my fist every night for the past three months thinking of you.”
Your jaw drops slightly, but you collect yourself and give him a brief nod, grabbing your bag and following your professor out of the pub. His hand rests on your lower back, just above the curve of your ass, the two of you walking in silence all the way to his flat. It’s not uncomfortable silence by any means, but it’s heavy and fraught with a delicious kind of tension.
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The minute Michael closes the door, his hands are on your waist, his lips pressed to your neck. You gasp, feeling him hike your leg up around his hip. He rolls his hips into you, rubbing his cock against your clothed pussy, loving the soft moan you let out. You’re every bit as soft and supple as he imagined. His hands grope at the flesh of your arse before making quick work of your panties, pushing them aside, teasing your cunt with his fingers. You gasp as he pushes two of the digits inside of you, a taunting little smirk on his face.
“Are you this wet for that cunt you were on a date with?” Your eyes flutter shut, head leaning back against the door as Michael continues pumping his fingers in and out of you before landing a sharp slap against your core, making your entire body tremble, “Come on, sweetheart, I haven’t fucked you that stupid yet. Now tell me, who are you this wet for?”
“Y-you, Professor,” you manage to stutter out, whining pathetically as he lands a second slap.
“I prefer ‘sir’. It sounds so nice when you say it.”
He continues fucking you with his fingers, dragging out a moan of “yes, sir” from you as he moves faster and faster, the wet sounds coming from you being borderline pornographic. You feel your entire body going taut as you get closer and closer to your peak, only to have him cruelly deprive you of it, moving his fingers away from you. He lets out a chuckle at the wounded expression on your face. You’re too adorable for your own good.
“Want to feel that pretty pussy squeezing around me when you come,” he rasps against your ear, spinning you around so that your back is to him, your chest pressed against the door.
He lifts your dress, landing a harsh slap on your ass, loving the little mewl you let out, the way your flesh jiggles against his palm. He undoes his belt and pants, just enough to free his cock, tugging at it once, twice to work himself to full hardness.
“Do you have a condom?”
You glance back at him over your shoulder, “I… I have an IUD. And I’m clean.”
He nods, sheathing himself inside you with one fluid movement, letting out a low groan and burying his face in your shoulder. You feel so wet and tight and fucking perfect around him. He begins snapping his hips against yours at a near inhuman pace, his arms snaking around your waist, up to your tits, squeezing at them over the fabric of your dress. You lean your head against the door, letting him fuck you as hard and fast as he desires, the fat head of his cock bullying against your sweet spot with every thrust. His movements don’t slow even as you squeeze around him impossibly tight, soaking his cock as you cry out his name, he just continues, one of his hands moving to your clit to tease it, rubbing at it as he continues fucking you.
You brace your arms against the door, the sound of his balls slapping against your arse, your moans and his pervading the air. All you can do is stand there and take it as you reach your peak once more, his own following soon after, spilling himself deep inside you with a moan of your name.
You turn to face him, gazing up at him nervously, wondering where exactly the two of you will go from here.
“I’m only your professor for a few more weeks,” Michael murmurs, pressing his lips to yours tenderly, “I think we can keep this a secret for that long. But after that? Everyone’s going to know you’re all fucking mine, sweetheart.”
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hazenllas · 1 month
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Mommy's Girl
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pairing: Regina George x fem!reader
Contains: smut, Eating out (r! Receiving) Dom! Regina, Regina being mean but it's like hot, fluff, Jealous Regina, I think that's all!
Apologies for any spelling mistakes, English isn't my first language.
Summery: nobody knows you and Regina are in a relationship. But when Regina sees someone trying to hit on you, she shows everyone who you belong to.
"Fuck baby, I missed you so much." Regina mumbles against your soft lips. "Mhm, I missed you more." You kiss Regina's lips hungrily. She grabs at your hips and you grind yourself against her. She puts her hands up your black oversized hoodie. You moan at the cold sensation of her fingertips against your breasts. Your head thuds against the wooden door feeling Regina's manicured hands massage your tits in a messy rhythm. You grab her face and kiss her with passionate and lust. "Hey we will pick this up later m'kay? If not I won't be able to keep my hands off of you." Regina kisses your neck and you thank the dim light of the janitor's closet because your face reddened with a soft pink tint. You nod with a bright smile and tumble out of the small room and readjust your sweater Regina had been messing with just earlier. At lunch you go to your usual spot where Janis and Damian were sitting. You sat down and vegan eating your salad. You look over at Regina's table to see her already staring at you with a smirk. She winks and turns back to her friends sitting with her. "So what's with you and Regina, Y/n" Janis asks playing with her fries. "W-what? What do you mean?" You shoot up at the girl infront of you with widened eyes. "I mean you're both always looking at eachother like you want to fuck eachother's brains off in a good way" You look at her and take a deep breath. "Listen you guys. I've been keeping this a secret for the longest time but, me and Regina are like together. We've been together for a few months but she doesn't feel ready to announce it publicly yet." You say holding your hands in a fingers crossed motion. "No way girl! How come you never told us?" Damian looks at you with the widest eyes you've ever seen. "I dunno, I guess I didn't want to risk anything." You shrug and continue to eat your salad. After school you quickly head to Regina's house. You knock on the door and find Regina on the other side. "Come on in baby, my parents aren't home yet." You nod and you both run towards her room like little girls. Once you both get in there Regina slams you against the door and you gasp in surprise. "Missed me that bad huh?" You jokingly say as Regina starts to leave bitemarks on your neck. "Oh shut up loser." Regina laughs and takes your baggy clothing off. She throws you on the bed and towers over you. "Fuck I miss this body baby." Regina kisses your body as she goes lower and lower to where you want her the most. "Please mommy." You groan and Regina smirks at you. She starts to kiss at your plush tight and looks up at you fit consent. You quickly nod and Regina wastes no time to lick a long strip through your pussy. Your body arches back and you hear Regina chuckle darkly. She continues to eat you out until you start to feel that familiar knot in your stomach. "Fuck mommy, I'm gonna cum" You manage to squeal out. "Fucking cum for me baby." As soon as Regina says these words you completely snap and ride out your high. Regina cleans you up and lays beside you. Regina gets a phone call and she quickly picks it up. You look up at Regina and then after she's talking on the phone she looks down at you. "I'm sorry baby, Gretchen, Karen, and Cady want to hang out this afternoon. I'm sorry." You quickly get your cloths on and look at her with a smile. "It's okay Gina,I have a ton of stuff to study tonight anyways." Regina nods and gives you a kiss on the cheek.
After getting home you decide to call one of your friends Bea to study with. To your surprise, she is throwing a party and asked you to come. You agreed and began getting ready. Once you got there you saw many drunk teens scattering the place. You settle in the kitchen and stare at your sprite. That is until a random girl who you don't know walks up to you. "Hey sweetheart, you with anyone?" You look up at her and shake your head. "Uh no actually. I was just invited here." You stand there awkwardly. You could tell she was drunk. She looked at you with hungry eyes and leans in to kiss you. Until she is shoved away by Regina. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Regina stands over the girl with fire in her eyes. "Shit uh Regina! This is uh this is my girlfriend!" You look at the girl who's on the ground with wide eyes. "Oh really? Let's see about that." Regina smirks and pulls you into a heavy kiss. You moan as you feel Regina put her hands over the space just above your ass. The girl on the ground looks at you both with scared eyes and runs off. Regina pulls away and laughs. You can't help but laugh with her. "Her fault, she should've known who you belong to." Regina pulls you in for one more kiss until she leads you into an empty bedroom.
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months
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Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!
Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️
Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!
If You Bite My Hand Again
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PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.
WORDCOUNT: 6.6k
WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.
A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long. 
As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh. 
The dreams weren’t uncommon. 
Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten. 
As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake. 
The tremors in your hands persist.
You never should have met him.
Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom. 
It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”
The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.
Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley. 
Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy. 
Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.
He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.
The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?
“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”
You smile and stand straighter. 
“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”
You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?” 
“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance. 
“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.” 
“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.” 
Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.
“You’re being mean! Apologize!” 
“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords. 
He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him. 
Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.
The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold. 
“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”
“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin. 
A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more. 
You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him. 
After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift. 
The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you. 
“Call me Ember.” 
A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter. 
He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.
“...Simon.”
You walk together the rest of the way.
The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you. 
You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing. 
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.” 
Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now. 
And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort. 
You hate that it only comes from the memories of him. 
“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf. 
Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories. 
Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock. 
Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace. 
“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted. 
“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.
Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.
Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine. 
Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight. 
In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt. 
“Ember…” 
Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper. 
There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right. 
He left. 
“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough. 
There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears. 
His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.
Simon.
You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways. 
His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall. 
“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.
Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing. 
The same boy you still loved. 
The same boy who’d broken your heart.
After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny. 
When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. 
Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.
When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down. 
When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.
So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.
You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you. 
The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned. 
He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life. 
In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free. 
You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see. 
While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.
He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast. 
It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle. 
“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.” 
“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist. 
He was shaking slightly. 
“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”
You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you. 
In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths. 
But something went wrong on one of his deployments. 
Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet. 
Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months. 
You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance. 
He didn’t let you touch him. 
And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words. 
‘Don’t look for me.’ 
And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together. 
All of those years. 
All those vows and shared nights.
And he disappeared on you.
You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided. 
More like chucked at his gut.
No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs. 
Simon’s avoiding your eyes.
“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages. 
“I’ll be fine in a while—”
“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend. 
And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.
The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness. 
His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.” 
Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?
Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.
So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock. 
You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders. 
“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.” 
You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank. 
He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it. 
“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”
“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”
Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t. 
“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”
“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.” 
He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again. 
“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”
You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes. 
“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”
His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.
Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours. 
“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”
“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes. 
“But you did.”
“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!” 
Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen. 
“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”
“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!” 
Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly. 
“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”
“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”
“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.” 
You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.” 
He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe. 
After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…
Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor. 
A pact of loyalty. 
Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.
He asks the first thing that comes to his head.
“What happened to your eyes?”
“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.
“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life. 
You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet. 
“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”
Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself. 
He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?” 
“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”
His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath. 
“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.” 
You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon. 
Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?
Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he? 
How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through? 
Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even. 
The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth. 
“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—” 
He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip. 
Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.
Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.
“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.” 
Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid. 
“Ember…”
“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern. 
It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.  
You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters. 
He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. 
“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.
“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath. 
“Need you t’know it.” 
“...I do.”
“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment. 
You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy. 
“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain. 
In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up. 
Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks. 
“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”
“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head. 
“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself. 
Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.” 
Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night. 
“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax. 
Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.
Nearly. 
“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you. 
“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”
“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it. 
A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way. 
Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.
Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence. 
If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist. 
It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name. 
“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long.  Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.
He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not. 
Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?” 
“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?” 
You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.
You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you. 
With you survival became secondary. 
Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years. 
“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”
You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin. 
“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”
“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.” 
Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill. 
“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”
“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist. 
“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.” 
That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth. 
And he’d give you it. All of it. 
Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.
So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time. 
And you’d both never slept better
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peachesofteal · 1 year
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First Sight
Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. 🖤
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Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.
“And you are?” 
“I’m her… I’m the baby’s father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him. 
“Last name?” 
“Riley.”
“Sorry, Mr. Riley. She’s been my patient for nearly seven months, and I’ve never seen or heard of you.” Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter. 
“I’ve been overseas.” The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. “I came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She can’t be alone when she wakes up. She’ll be scared. She won’t… she has P-.” 
“I am aware of her history.” The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago. 
“Look. I’m on her list. So you can let me back there or-“ She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses. 
“I’ve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. It’s just going to be a few minutes.” She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.
You’re somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but they’re not moving across the screen. You’re not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.
It makes Simon nervous.
Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.
He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasn’t tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, who’s memories burn too bright.
He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesn’t make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.
“Sass?” He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the baby’s room. “Glacial green,” you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. It’s a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is ‘soothing’ or ‘calming’. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. “Sass.” He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.
“I’m here.”
“I know.” You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. “Tired?” He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.
“Mmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.” He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.
“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”
“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”
“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table. 
He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers. 
He’s on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull. 
“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.
“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”
“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything. 
“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.
“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”
“Y- yes, sir.”
When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head. 
His girl. His. 
He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass. 
“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.
He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak. 
“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye. 
He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him. 
“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.” 
You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know. 
He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.
“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know. 
“Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. You’re trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. “Simon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.” He tries, but he can’t. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, he’s not sure anymore. “SIMON GET UP.” His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-
He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.
“Hey.” Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.
“Hey.”
“Nightmare?” He nods.
“Go back to sleep.” You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.
“I’ve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.” You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and I’m powerless to stop it? That’ll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. “You promised.” You needle, and the slight push is all that’s needed to relent.
“I keep… dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.” You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.
“Dying how?” He swallows.
“Someone’s holdin’ a gun to your head and you’re begging me to save you, but I can’t. I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out.”
“Sounds pretty scary.” There are a lot of things, that he hasn’t found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.
The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his family’s house. His mom’s blood. Tommy and Beth’s. Joseph’s. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-
“Simon.” He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. “Hey, Si. Simon, it’s alright.” You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. “You’re here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.”  
“With you.”
“With me. And the baby. We’re here, together. We’re safe.” He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. “Shit.” You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as he’s able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, you gasp in surprise.
“Sass? What is it?”
“I… I think I peed myself.”  
“Hey!” No. How did you find him so fast? “Simon, wait.” When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. It’s just enough for you to catch him. “Look. I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up.” You’re breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like you’re trying to cage him in. “But I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldn’t have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-“ He cuts you off swiftly.
“You can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.” You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open. 
“What?”
“You will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.” 
You’re guarded now, expression wary, but there’s still something hopeful in your eyes, something that’s calling him home to you.
He has to get away. Now. 
You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like you’re going to touch him. 
“Simon.” You whisper. 
He steps back. 
Your face falls. 
He’s tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks you’ve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.
Almost everything.
His phone rings when he’s buckling his seatbelt.
“So, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?” Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before he’s unbuckling and running towards the door. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.
“I’m sorry, I-“ you wave him off, reaching for his arm.
“Come on, you gotta boost me up.”
His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. You’ve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.
“How’s the pain?”
“Not too bad.” You’re chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. “Simon. If something happens…” his blood freezes.
“Nothing is going to happen.”
“We’ve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It can’t get worse. It can’t. 
“Well, if there are complications and we have to choose…” He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like he’s been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything he’s imagined before, but worse. This time, it’s not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-
No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again. 
“There is no choice, Sass.” His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. “We… I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice… for me.”
“Okay.” You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before it’s hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.
“Okay.” He echoes, taking your hand in his.
You almost died. You almost died, and he wasn’t there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he can’t stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family. 
The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain. 
His family. You could have been lost, like his family.
He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.
“I need her gone.” Price looks up at him, perplexed.
“Who?”
“Sass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.”
“What are you on about?”
“I can’t… I can’t have her here. She’s fuckin’ with my head.” His chest feels tight, like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. It’s terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.
“Ghost, calm down.”
“I can’t!” It’s practically a shout. He’s losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating. 
“Tell me what’s going on.” Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. He’s not a loose cannon, not anymore, but it’s been a long time since he’s raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.
“I’m fuckin’ her.” He paces in front of Price’s desk. “And it’s… She’s messing me up. Can’t think clearly.”
“You’re what now?”
“I’ve never… I’ve never asked you for anything-”
“Simon-“
“and I know this is unfair. She’s great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.”
“I can’t just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.” He grits his teeth.
“Price…  she….” His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but there’s no oxygen in this room. “It’s not… I can’t. It’s not safe.” 
“Simon, sit down.” It’s an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Now. Start from the beginning.”
“I know you’re disappointed.”
“You said I would be able to try.” You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. She’s wearing a very serious expression, and you’re wearing your ‘don’t fuck with me face’, the one he’s seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.
“Just breathe.” He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.
“If the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.” She doesn’t handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw. 
“Fine.”  The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.
“They’ll be some paperwork to sign, and then we’ll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?”
“I’ve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.” you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.
“Mr. Riley, you’ll need to change, we can… hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. We’ll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?” He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.
“You’re not gonna pass out in there, right?”
“Me?”
“Well, they are going to pull my guts out.” What?  You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. “But seriously. Don’t faint. I don’t think they have gurneys big enough for you.”
“I’ve seen plenty of guts, Sass.”
“Yeah…but not mine.”
Price announces his presence with a knock. “Heli’s almost here.” Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. “Ghost.” He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. “I did this for you against my better judgement.” Price says, like he doesn’t already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. “You should say goodbye, Simon.” 
His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks. 
“I can’t.”
“So, when you get in the room, you’ll notice she’s lying on a table, and there’s a drape that’s a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.” The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through what’s happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- “Now, she can’t feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.” He nods. Of course you’re nervous. You’re strapped to a table where they’re about to cut a hole in your abdomen. “She’s asked for you a few times, I promised I’d deliver.” She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. “Here he is!” She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.
“Simon.” You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.
“Hi sweet girl. You alright?” You nod.
“I think I’m a little high.”
“She had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.” Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.
“That’s alright.” He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and there’s a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-
You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.
“You ready?” He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. You’re looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.
He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.
“Yeah, Sass. I’m ready.”
He’s pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away. 
“Shit! Fuck. Sorry.” You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work. 
“You’re alright, Sass. I’m finished.” You’re standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but he’s surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder. 
“Get that cleaned up.” It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.
“Okay a little bit of pressure and then you’re going to feel a lot of relief.” The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.
“Simon.” Your voice wavers.
“I’m right here. I got you.” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-
A baby cries.
“Congratulations mom and dad!” Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad. 
“Can I see him?” your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.
“Breath sounds are good.” A voice says, and then there’s a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His. 
“Oh. Oh.” You’re in shock, he thinks. He’s not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the baby’s cheek. “Hi, Theo.” You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simon’s hand up towards Theo’s back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theo’s cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.
When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.
His tears.
“I don’t see cabbage. What about romaine?” 
“No. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.” You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage. 
“I don’t see any cabbage, Sass.” A woman who’s inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously. 
“It’s a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.” 
“It’s not.” 
“Ask someone.” Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. It’s not quite midnight yet, something else could be open. 
The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat. 
“Excuse me?” He turns, eyes narrowed. 
“Who is that?” your voice rings through the speaker. “Is that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her. 
“The cabbage is up here.” She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face. 
“Thanks.” He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. “I got it.” 
“Yes! Oh my god thank you.” 
“Yeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.” 
The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesn’t say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like you’re trying to hold your breath, too. Like you’re listening for him. 
“Simon-“
“I still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.” The line goes dead.
“Okay, sit here.” The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He can’t look away from what she’s holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. “Skin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.” She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.
“Skin to skin?”
“Yes. You’ll need to take off your shirt.” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. You should be doing this. You’re his mother. He’s… he’s not you. Theo won’t want him, he’ll want you. He- “Mr. Riley? You don’t have to, but while we wait for her to get back, it’s a good opportunity for it.”
“What do I do?” The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.
“Once you take off your shirt, I’ll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.��
“I don’t think…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to hold him if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But it’s important. Theo needs this. He needs… his dad. 
He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.
“You’re going to support his head just like this-“ she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that he’s laying flush against his chest. “and his body will just rest right here in this space… and there you go.” Simon doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, he can hardly think. He doesn’t even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.
The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. “I’m going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but there’s a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?” She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.
“Okay.” When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theo’s eyes aren’t open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theo’s hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simon’s giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much he’s afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.
It terrifies him, but he knows its name.  
He knows it’s love.
Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his son’s forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.
“Hey, Theo. I’m your dad."
The next fic in this series is here.
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loveshotzz · 7 months
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All I Really Want Is You
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older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader epilogue - a slow burn series of blurbs
Heaven Knows You Better ~ epilogue
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summary: A glimpse into the future.
wc: 1.7k
warnings: none, just pure fluff 🧡 a slight mention of drinking a margarita.
authors note: I know you’re tired of hearing me say it, but thank you 🧡 writing this story and sharing it with you will always hold a special place in my heart.
🌆 <- chapter ten
The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:
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Three summers later - Beginning of May
The sun hangs bright in the deep blue sky, the air a little crisp from the last bit of the chill still leftover from spring. The heat of summer is just barely on the cusp of breaking through, you can feel it in the way the city starts to come alive again. The red ‘TEAM ALS’ banner blows in the wind as your shoes and Bandit’s paws cross the white finish line. The clapping of strangers on the side lines fills your ears, tugging a smile onto your slightly chapped lips, before you turn around to look at your fiancé. 
Steve can’t help his grin back, the whites of his teeth showing when your smile stretches wider at the sight of him. The bottoms of his black running shorts flap in the breeze, revealing more skin at the tops of his thighs that still lights a match deep inside your gut. You don’t think you’ll ever be immune to him. The white socks on his feet are pulled up to his shins, the color of his On Clouds matching the banner above you. The polyester of his dark gray Nike running sweater fits tight across his chest, the zipper on its high neck being tugged by a set of golden blond puppy paws.
“I told you Molly wasn’t gonna make it all the way,” he huffs, a laugh threatening to bubble past his lips when the rambunctious labrador starts licking his stubble covered cheek, pushing up the bill of his black Nike baseball cap. 
God, you’ll never not want to kiss him.
“She made it more than half way, give her some credit Steve.” You roll your eyes and he’s proud to say that’s the third one he’s earned today. The first being in your barely unpacked kitchen when he snuck up from behind to blow a raspberry on your neck while making coffee in the morning.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You weren’t the one who had to carry the extra ten pounds the last two miles, were you?” He reminds you with a smirk, setting the wiggling puppy down now that she’s regained most of her strength back.
Bandit whines for Steve’s affections, pawing at him when he’s eye level, getting the scratch behind both ears he wanted. The German shepherd wasn’t the only one wanting his attention, and it takes everything inside you not to pout yourself when he stands back up and doesn’t immediately kiss you. Despite the chill, there’s still a sheen of sweat that coats his permanently sun kissed skin, the spice of his cologne becoming more pronounced because of it.
“Thank you for doing this with me baby,” the teasing edge to Steve’s voice is gone, replaced with something softer - made even sweeter as he pulls you closer by waist, his nose bumping with yours when you stand on your tippy toes hooking your free arm around his neck. Your fingers twitch to be in his hair, you hate his hats.
“I’ll do them all with you,” you whisper because it’s just for him, it’s always just for him. His cheeks dust pink like he knows it and his hold on you tightens.
“I can’t wait to marry you,” the words come out soft against your lips, his eyes meeting yours from down the bridge of his nose.
“Three months.” 
The reminder makes him close the space that’s left, smiling into the kiss. It still feels like a hundred butterfly’s wings flutter against your rib cage when your lips slot together like they were never meant to be apart. It’s hard to get lost in him the way you want to with hundreds of people around and two dogs that can’t seem to stop their play fighting, tugging harshly on their leashes at your feet. That doesn’t keep Steve from tracing your bottom lip with his tongue when the tips of your fingers find the flyaway hairs sticking out of the bottom of his cap. You giggle against his lips and he can’t find it in himself to be disappointed when you pull away, like he knows you both should because of it.
“Careful, might have to take you downtown right now if you don’t stop,” he teases, biting his bottom lip to stop from kissing you again.
“I don’t think Eddie would ever forgive you for taking away his opportunity to finally be your best man.” Running your hands down his chest, you can feel his groan vibrate under your palms.
“Don’t remind me.” Steve lets you go, finally taking his hat off to reveal a dirty golden mess on top of his head, long fingers running through it.
Bandit whines, nudging Steve’s knee with his snout before rubbing the side of his face against his leg, ignoring the way the puppy jumps and paws at his side.
“I think someone wants to switch.” You grin at the way Steve’s face softens for his favorite boy, offering you Molly’s leash in exchange without a word.
“Someone missed daddy, huh?” Steve asks in the kind of baby voice you know he picked up from you, but the reference to himself still has you clenching like your second date. 
Bandit barks in response, tail wagging a mile a minute as you untangle the unruly puppy from around him. You give up quickly on letting her walk, picking her up just like Steve had, the wiggling weight of her in your arms has you biting your tongue about how heavy she really is.
“I think we’ve earned a margarita when we get home, right molly?” Hinting at Steve with a smirk tugging at your lips when you kiss the puppies restless snout - it's his turn to roll his eyes.
“Honey, we still need to pack. We leave for New York tomorrow at like nine A.M.” He runs another hand through his hair before putting his hat back on his head and you have to resist pulling it off as you both make your way through the crowd.
“Okay, we can pack and then a margarita… although packing might be a lot more fun after one. Just a thought.” You shrug with fake nonchalance, finally getting a grip on Molly in your arms.
“After we pack and drop off the dogs at Nancy’s.” Steve chuckles, moving to the other side of you so his free hand can find the small of your back, the blunt ends of his nails scratching against the soft fabric of your oversized sweater. He could never go too long, he always had to be touching you.
“Deal.” Grinning, pleased with your promised drink, you push up on your toes to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, heart swelling at the pink that dusts tips of his ears because of it. 
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9:15pm 🌃
The first sounds of cicadas buzz low in your ears, another reminder that summer was just around the corner while the two of you sit on the porch swing. Steve had set up on the small deck in your backyard. It wasn’t big like the ones in the suburbs but it was just enough for Bandit and Molly to stretch their legs without a leash. The citronella candle that you swore to Steve would work, burns lemon and lavender into the matching dusk sky, still too early in the season to prove yourself right. The stars are still half hidden by the big tree in the corner of your yard that has started to sag from the humidity. Though a lingering chill still nips in the breeze and it has Steve pulling you deeper into his side. The pine of his body wash from the shower you took together just before this mixes in the perfect blend to make your eyes heavy and your heart full. 
“You think Nancy’s going to be okay with both of them for five days?” Your question comes out quiet in the calm, your cheek pressed to the cotton of his white shirt. The hard muscles underneath twitching from the warmth of your breath. The ice in your half drank margarita clinks against the glass when your wrist starts to get lazy.
“I think we’re going to have a very well behaved puppy when we get back,” Steve chuckles before relieving you of your hold, setting your cup down next to his on the deck.
You giggle to yourself at the thought, humming in agreement, when he takes the opportunity to really cuddle you now. A big arm wrapping around you while his hand finds yours so he can do his favorite thing. His chin hits the top of your head, and the tips of his fingers tickle while he twirls the diamond ring around your knuckle. You can feel the way his cheeks pull up against your hair, his lips a ghost against the crown of your head, always losing himself in the fact that you said ‘yes.’
“Did you pack the Cubs shirts I got for Gwenny?” Steve asks like he’s trying to think back to the mess of a packing session the two of you had in between stolen kisses and heated touches that always led to more. 
“That was the first thing you packed, handsome.” You squeeze his hand, the smirk on your face widening at how obsessed of an uncle he was for the newest addition to the Munson family. 
“Oh yeah, I remember now. They are under my dress slacks,” he mumbles, while the pad of his thumb rubs small circles under your ribs where his fingers curl around your side.
Cuddling deeper into his chest a comfortable silence falls between you, the cicadas buzz louder, mixing with the sounds of the city and you wish you could always stay like this, wrapped up in him and the glow of the moon that leaks through the shaking leaves on the tree above you. The silver band he twirls around on your finger makes you realize this is what he’s asking for. A forever of moments just like this one tonight, of first, of lasts, of fingers intertwined, soft touches, stolen kisses and whispered sweet words in the moonlight that feel even sweeter when he says them again in the sunshine. 
This is what forever looked like with Steve Harrington, and you always want to be his tough girl.
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beta’d by @superblysubpar
dividers by @chechelia
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rogueddie · 7 months
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Part one, Part two, Part three
El wakes him up, the same way she did the previous day; softly.
"Good morning, Steve," she says, with a quiet voice and gentle hand on his shoulder. She smiles small, but genuinely, when he blinks his eyes open. "We are having eggos for breakfast."
"Again?"
"You do not like them?" She sounds concerned. "I can ask-"
"No, I like them," he quickly corrects.
"Great! Come on!"
As soon as he's out of bed, on his feet, she gently grabs his hand and leads him out to the kitchen. Hopper is already awake, cooking, and greets them with a wide smile.
"Any plans for today?" El asks.
"Not today," Hopper says, plating their breakfast. "After yesterday, I thought it better if Steve stay home. If that's alright with you, kid?"
"Sure," Steve nods.
"I can hang out with him?" El asks, perking up.
"If that's what he wants."
"Steve?" El asks, turning to him with wide, pleading eyes.
"What we be doing?"
"Oh! I have a lot of ideas! Max let me borrow some of her stuff, too. Although, she thinks you might not like some of it and that I should try something else if you do not want to try, so I have backups."
"And... that's ok?" He asks, glancing between her and Hopper. "If I say no?"
"Kid," Hopper starts. His voice is low, serious- the way Steve always hears adults get when he's said something wrong. But he looks worried when he slowly sits down, turning so he can face Steve. "Why do you think that wouldn't be ok?"
"I dunno," Steve lies, shrugging. "Grown ups are weird."
"They are," El agrees, nodding solemnly.
"Steve, you can say no," Hopper says, gently grabbing his shoulder. "Doesn't matter to what, or why. You can always say no. Ok?"
"Ok."
"Good. Eat up, before El steals it."
"I would ask first!"
It's nice, Steve thinks. How easy, comfortable, they are. She's not scared to talk back, and he understands that it's playful. They try to encourage Steve to speak up, join in, but he's happy to watch them.
"You know where everything is?" Hopper asks El, as he prepares to leave. "And what to do if-"
"Yes, I know," she quickly says. "We will be ok. I will make sure he is ok."
"Don't doubt it," Hopper ruffles her hair. "I'll be back for dinner."
"You better be."
El holds up a hand, waiting, listening. And, as soon as the sound of Hoppers car is too far to hear, she grabs his hand again.
"He will be late," she says, shutting the door to her room behind them with a flick of her wrist. "It's fine though, I know where he hides things, and it gives us more time to have fun."
She pulls a bag out from under her bed, tipping it upside down and dumping the contents out onto the bed.
"We can talk about what you don't want to try first, if you like?"
"Um... ok?"
"Great!" She lifts up a small bottle first. "I was thinking we try painting nails first. Max recently showed me how to do patterns with it. I'm really good at daisies."
"I like daisies," he offers.
"Me too!" She grins, putting the nail polish to one side.
El, Steve is quickly discovering, is perfect. She is more than happy to skip the things Steve is uncertain about, reassuring him that they could try again later if he wants. She's only interested in finding the thing that they both enjoy.
He only ends up with one daisy, painted on his thumb, but El doesn't care.
"You let me paint a base," she reminds him, when he asks. "And it matches your sweater that I got from Robin!"
"What sweater?"
The sweater is yellow, matching his nails, just like El said. It's massive on him- almost ridiculously bigger. Even with the sleeves scrunched up, he can't get his hands free. But it's soft, bright, comfortable. Something about it makes him feel safe.
"You got this from Robin?" He asks.
"Yes! She brought a few things over that she thinks you might like. She wants you to feel safe and loved."
"Oh."
"Are you ok?" El takes half a step closer, hands raising, uncertain and panicked. "Are you sad?"
"No, I'm fine," he chokes out, rubbing his face. "Everyone is just so nice to me. I didn't even do any special things that get rewards."
"You don't need to do special things. We are your friends and we care about you." She grabs him, pulling him in for a tight hug. "And we are going to do lots of nice things together because you deserve it."
And they do.
It's easy to get lost in it, after that. Easy to forget why he should be avoiding certain things, easy to forget that he would usually get in trouble for trying on "girl" things or wearing make-up.
It's easy to let himself enjoy himself. It's easy to let himself enjoy spending time with El. It's easy to be... happy.
By the time Hopper gets home, only a little late, Steve feels almost drunk with how happy he is.
"You kids have a good day?" He asks, only pausing for a minute when he spots Steve. "What did you get up to?"
El follows him to the kitchen, recieting their day, excitedly explaining which things they both enjoyed and what they had to scrap.
Steve is only confused for a moment- Hopper truly isn't phased by all the "girl" things that he'd done with El. He barely even spares a glance at the frilly, pink socks that El has lent him. He seems, like El, happy that Steve had a good time and nothing more.
"Are you guys, like... real?" He has to ask. "Why are you so nice?"
"Would you rather us be cruel?" Hopper counters.
"Well, no..."
"Then what's the problem?" He raises an eyebrow, nodding to himself when Steve can't think of a response. "Good. So for dinner..."
part five
tag list for those who asked (if you want taking off lmk x) : @songbird-garden @str4wb3rry-guy @badcaseofcasey @lioniheart @irethsune @starry-eyedlune @newtstabber @messrs-weasley @vesme @penny00dreadful @ratboybubs @ocapmycap @ellietheasexylibrarian @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @little-trash-ghost @lazyavenuewhispers @paintsplatteredandimperfect @mightbeasleep @anaibis @sleepyboosstuff @thesuninyaface @morpheusmunson @notfrogsunderatrenchcoat @novelnovella @tartarusknight @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @malicia62 @tencents121 @lightwoodbanethings @steddie-steddie @dragonmama76 @weirdandabsurd42 @lenathegay @theequeervibes @7shrewsinatrenchcoat @g4ys0n @subversivecynic @bleedingoptimism @eyesofshinigami @disrespectedgoatman @skiddit @chaoticlovingdreamer @estrellami-1 @chrystal-lovee @m-owo-n @fandommaniac123 @jackievsn @greekgeek24 @ajeff855
- idk why some peoples tags aren't working, sorry if yours is missing + I'm pretty sure we've reached the limit for how many tags tumblr is willing to let me add to a post 😅
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ambeauty · 3 months
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Ok ok since these two cuties won’t leave me alone with their friendship 🤭 fic preview under the cut👩🏾‍🍳🧑🏼‍🍳
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“Chef de Cuisine, Sydney Adamu of The Bear, has been nominated for the James Beard Award for Best New Chef, Casual Fine Dining, Midwest. As well as Executive Chef, Carmen Berzatto. Okay, it doesn’t read like that exactly, but you fucking get it.” Richie reads over the expo so the whole crew is in on what just happened.
Sydney just stands in place and Carmy wraps his arm across her shoulder for stability. Afraid she may crack into pieces or drop in shock. “You deserve it Chef,” Carmy beamed next to her.
“I couldn’t have done it without-“
“No no we are not starting that shit again. We are proud of you Syd!” He lets go so the others can give their congratulations properly.
She lifts her hands up to hide her face.
“We are mami! Bravo!” Tina reaches up for another hug and Syd tries her best not to breakdown again in her sous chef’s arms this time, but hugging Tina almost feels like hugging her mother and if she thinks to hard about it she might lose it again.
“I gotta hand it to you kid. I always knew you had it in you to get this shithole together.” Richie punches her shoulder lightly before she rolls her eyes back at him and accepts his pat on the back.
“Shit Syd, I always knew you had it in you!” Marcus daps her up then shakes her shoulder encouragingly. She can’t but share a big smile with him.
“You next Marcus! For real.” She looks up at him with assurance.
“Man that’s you and Carm all pressed for the awards and shit. As long as y’all keep letting me make whatever I want. And Carmy stops being a little bitch. We good.”
“I wish y’all would let that shit go already.” Carmy shakes his head.
“So when’s the big day?” Marcus asks them both.
“In a month.” Sydney responds rubbing her hands on her apron, ready to get back to her prep. She was not built to receive this much praise at once. Like yeah, she wanted a star and she wanted the awards, but that almost meant that she would have to be perceived more and praised more and the only person’s attention she craved she finally has… for the most part.
“We gotta get you right Syd! But we got plenty of time. Can not represent the bear in your baggy sweaters and overalls.” Marcus ribs her in a playful way.
“Dude shut up! Let’s get back to work Chefs!” Sydney calls out to the kitchen so they can get the dinner prep done before their booked night.
Yes Chef!
Carmy taps his spoon against the back of his hand as his mind starts flooding with ideas, but instead of meat, sauce, and herbs, it’s fabrics, patterns, and stitch variations. It’s long limbs but tailored to perfection around soft curves. It’s bright colors that compliment deep brown skintones.
“Carm, hey.” Sydney snaps at his face quickly. “Where’d you go? Can you pass me the strainer?”
“Yeah, sorry chef. Um just thinking.”
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barbiewritesstuff · 2 years
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Secret Girlfriend
-- Just a cute little thing about how the team finds out that Hangman has a girlfriend. It started out as a bullet point headcanon list but I decided to make them little blurbs instead.
Taglist:@mavswife @unsurebuttrying @dempy @peaches-1999 --
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Coyote finds out when he finds her asleep on his best friend. Her head gently rising as he breathes, his hand tracing her facial features. Jake’s listening to music on his headphones, and he doesn’t know anyone’s watching. 
Javi feels a little funny, like he’s not supposed to be seeing this and he needs to leave but he can’t deny it’s really sweet to see Jake like that, especially when Hangman coughs and she stirs and he spends the next minute coaxing her back to sleep. 
From the darkness he can even see Jake’s smile when his girl nuzzles her face in his sweater as she dozes off. 
Bob figures it out when he accidentally steps into the wrong hangar. He’s not fully awake yet and he ran out of the house too late to get some coffee in his system. His eyes are still a little blurry from the night and his brain is groggy but he swears he can see a picture on Jake’s dashboard. He knows he’s not supposed to look, especially since it’s not a crime for him to have a picture, it’s just out of character.
 Bob climbs up the ladder and sneaks a peak. He’s half expecting a picture of Jake himself to stare back but it’s a girl in a cheerleading uniform kissing a quarterback. It takes a second for his eyes to spot the name on the back of the footballer’s uniform. Seresin. They look young but Bob figures Jake wouldn’t be carrying it around if they weren’t still dating. 
He leaves when he hears footsteps in the corridor, careful to place the photograph back where he found it.
Fanboy meets her during family day. She’s about his height, his age and she’s gorgeous. 
“Can I help you?” He asks. Maybe he can shoot his shot at a date, it’s been a while and he’s out of practice but hey, he can always try.
“I’m looking for my boyfriend” Her voice is nice, soft, shy but it doesn’t dampen the disappointment.
“What’s his name?”
“Jake Seresin?”
Oh. At first he thinks the poor girl missed the fact that Hangman’s not the girlfriend type, but then her phone rings and he can hear Jake’s voice through the receiver.  Fanboy makes his exit before Hangman arrives. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see him, but he figures that if Jake goes through such lengths to keep his relationship private, he probably doesn’t want Fanboy sticking around. 
Harvard, Yale and Halo see him waiting inside of a coffee shop. He’s on his phone and they debate going in to say hi, but before they finish that thought a woman sits down in front of him with a coffee and Hangman smiles so genuinely and so happily that there’s really no mistaking who she is to him. 
She takes a sip, some of her hair dips into the foam and sticks to her lip. Jake leans forward and brushes it aside, he’s so distracted he knocks his coffee over and they scramble to move everything away from the spreading liquid, then, they look at each other and laugh.
Omaha finds out because he knows her. 
His girlfriend has invited a few people over for dinner and they’re bringing partners. She walks in first, a bouquet of bright pink roses and a bottle of wine in her hand for the hosts and he follows suit. It takes a second for Jake to notice Neil just sitting there on the couch, staring at him with eyes as wide as plates, but when he does, he shoots him a look saying “We will never speak of this again”. 
Omaha doesn’t. He sees Jake relax around his girl. He sees him being nice, funny and caring and Neil figures she’s good for him, so why ruin it by telling.
Rooster finds out when he pulls up to Jake’s house one day after training to bring back the jacket he forgot. He rings the doorbell and a woman answers. She’s wearing a shirt too big to belong to her and some bike shorts barely sticking out of the bottom. 
“Hi” She says, clearly confused. Rooster lets out a nervous cough
“I need to return something to Jake”
“Why don’t you come in?”
She turns around and leads him up the stairs to a living room and a kitchen. There’s pictures on the walls, one of those scratch-off maps of the world. There are pizza boxes on the kitchen table and Rooster recognises Jake’s usual order. 
Hangman saunters in a few minutes later with a can of something and looks at him like a deer caught in headlights. 
Rooster just hands him the jacket and leaves. 
Phoenix finds out last, when she and the team step out of the carrier after a mission. They’re just chatting when suddenly a dog beelines for the group. A woman runs after the pet, trying to catch it before it jumps and Hangman falls to the floor with a loud “THUD”. The dog circles him a few times, licking every inch of his person. He curls up on the floor, giggling.
“I’m so sorry! I swear I was holding her, the lead snapped and --” She grabs the dog by the collar and moves her away Jake. He stands up and smiles. 
Then, suddenly remembering where he is when his girl's eyes glance away from him and towards the team, Jake jumps back into reality.
“Err -- this is my girlfriend. Honey this is the team”
“Hi” The woman waves
Everybody but Nat looks at one another and simultaneously decides to act surprised, largely to soften the blow for Phoenix, as she usually prides herself on her detective skills. The team’s not so sure she could take the hit.
Phoenix is almost mad. She would like to be mad, but as she looks at Hangman she recognises the way her dad looks at her mom even after thirty years of marriage and three kids. 
She sees the look she has judged relationships by: “if he doesn’t look at me like that, then I’m wasting my time”. Phoenix can recognise pure, unadulterated True Love when she sees it. 
And she understands him then, because if she was to find her own True Love, she might not want to share them either.
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tteokdoroki · 7 months
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✩࿐ TRACK 04: UNDERSTAND. shoto todoroki (1K)
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about. until he met you, shoto todoroki wasn’t really sure what being loved felt like. now that he knows, he’s sure that he wants love with you - for the all his days.
warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact!, sfw, fluff, happy ending, established relationship, sunday snuggles, proposals, afab!reader, pro hero!todoroki.
things to note. eee i was meant to post shoto’s last saturday but i got rlly busy! i hope you enjoy the double update today, sero later <3 - masterlist / series masterlist / series playlist ✩
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todoroki never knew what love truly felt like. 
to be held like tomorrow has not been promised is something he hardly remembers from his childhood — sometimes if he closes his eyes and tries hard enough, he can catch whiffs of his mother’s shampoo and the feeling of her cashmere sweater against his chubby cheeks. 
but it’s always fleeting, never fully present. never really telling of what love feels like.
you were the one who taught shoto that love shouldn’t be something that he has to try and grasp for. that it should be unconditional, that it’s an experience that he deserves.
the half and half hero never thought that he would find someone who cares as much for him as you do — even from the very moment you met. you chose to befriend him despite how callous and cold his exterior was at the time. willingly, you spent years chipping away at the cool layer of frost that prickled on the surface of todoroki’s skin like a sculpture working with the perfect block of ice, desperate to see the real him. not the mould his father had carved him out to be. 
you did not seek to change todoroki, to shape him into something new — you simply wanted to see the real him, the warmth in him you knew already existed. it just needed a little coaxing out. you’d told him that on night, your hand sifting through soft peppermint swirl hair. moving as if you couldn’t feel shoto’s heavy heterochromatic gaze on you.  
“i like you the way you are, not the way you think you ought to be.”
shoto’s heart had flipped at your confession — like it had done so many times over the years. but being raised in a place where love was replaced by fear, he’d no idea that he was slowly, albeit, surely falling in love with you. oftentimes, you would remind shoto that you found  his obliviousness to your feelings for him endearing and adorable. your romance was somewhat of a slow burner, melting like a frozen over fireplace during the winter season. where lingering touches were over analysed and where your cheeks burned hot whenever you stared at one another for too long.
reciprocating your feelings had been a learning curve for the half hot, half cold hero but he had learned from his friends that there is a point to trying (if watching kaminari and his endless attempts at bagging his girlfriend from high school to present day wasn’t motivation enough, todoroki isn’t sure what is). after a patrol through the bustling city some years back, early on into his career as a pro — shoto had held your hands close to his chest, warming you up through the sleet and snow and asked. 
“maybe we could try, if you let me?” 
he’d not expected you to understand his simple words or burst into tears, nor to say yes and leap up to his height for a delicate chaste kiss. “it’s about damn time, shoto.” you’d replied, beaming so bright he was sure to see galaxies.
he had no idea that the one person he would want to be with for all his life was so close to him, nestled between the milestones and the memories. but now that todoroki has you — he can’t see himself spending a single second away from you. and you, the same with him.
today is no different to how it’s always been since dating todoroki. you lie in his sheets, your bare limbs intertwined and your fingers locked as if you’re never going to let go. todoroki, though lost in his thoughts, worries that you might be able to hear the rapid thump of his heart hitting the inside of his rib cage. if you do notice, you ignore it in favour of drawing shapes along the ridge form of shoto’s naked body, listening out for the sound of his breathing. 
he’s scared, truth be told. he worries that despite all this time together — being accustomed to one another’s quips and squicks, that you might leave or abandon him. love is freighting, even if it is supposed to be unconditional. “darling,” the man coos gently, brushing a knuckle over the apple of your cheek. 
“hmm?” you sound so dreamy and relaxed, curled up with him like this — you don’t have a care in the world, completely unaware that you make up shoto’s entire world. “yes, my love?”
the wisps of a smile catch on the corners of his mouth, dragging them upwards at the sight of you nuzzling into his warm palm. “i have a question to ask,” todoroki lets out a shaky exhale and shifts to sit against the headboard with you still tucked into his side. he watches as you glance up at him through long lashes, worry dancing amongst the flecks in your eyes.
you nod and take his hand to reassure him that you’re listening. 
he decides then, that you’re worth the risk.
“this may seem spontaneous,” todoroki starts slowly, making sure to keep his voice even as though not to spook you. as if you’re a deer in the woods and he’s a hunter on the prowl. “i can assure you that it’s not. i’ve thought about this more times than you could count, but first. you’re aware that i love you. right?” the press of your lips against his sensitive collarbones is enough for todoroki to assume that your answer is yes — he appreciates you giving him the space to talk too. “not a moment of my time goes by where i’m not longing for you, even when you’re right here next to me.” 
shoto takes a moment to pause, pushing the question he wants to ask around on his tongue — he wonders how to frame it, how you’ll take it but with one look into your gleaming pretty eyes (he should have known you would get teary from his speech), he knows exactly what to say. “you’ve…shown me a lot of things, a love that shouldn’t be granted. a life that i deserved to lead and so,” he grasps at your fingers with his colder hand, giving them a gentle squeeze before thumbing over your ring finger. “i think it’s about time that i asked you to be mine.” 
he wants you, forever and always. for all of his days — if you’ll stay, that is. 
drawing your body up so that you can kneel before him, you squeeze todoroki’s hand back and bring it up towards your lips to press a chaste kiss to the back of it. “sho,” you sigh, the words warmly coasting over his cool skin contrastingly. “are you—?” 
“i’m asking you to marry me. that’s if you’ll have me, darling.” the hero feels a little shy at how tenderly you treat him, a rose coloured blush blooming on his milky skin at his cheeks and the tops of his ears. 
“i’ll have you in every single lifetime,” you say urgently, throwing your arms around todoroki’s   broad, shoulders in a tight hug. “i can promise you that.”
like always, you take todoroki’s hand and he lets you lead him down the path — changing his future, soothing his past. because of course, you’re the only one who truly understands.
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꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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zvdvdlvr · 1 year
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- 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
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𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑦/𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡... ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦/𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ( 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑘, 𝑛𝑢𝑑𝑔𝑒 𝑛𝑢𝑑𝑔𝑒 )
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑐𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑠, 𝑐𝑢𝑚 𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝, 𝑝𝑒𝑡 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 [ 𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟, 𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 ], 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, ( 𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑐 ) 𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠?, 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 :𝑝
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒: 𝑠ℎ𝑒/ℎ𝑒𝑟
{🐙}
he knew her habits by now because he did the same thing: stay up, sneak away, study, review, study, sneak in, get a few hours of sleep, repeat. regulus couldn't even begin to attempt to count the amount of times he'd seen y/n with parchments and books surrounding her as she sat at the table. she'd never look up at him, no, but he knew she knew he was there.
now regulus tugged on his baggy slytherin sweater and quietly moved to the bathroom in his room. washing his hands and face with warm water helped ease his nerves and soothe his anxiousness. patting his face dry with the fluffy viridian handtowel helped him relax. with one last look in the mirror, he nodded to himself and abruptly turned on his heel.
he answered the questions on his review on the silent walk to the library. however he did on his test would be the final grade on his report card. no amount of extra credit could save his O's if he missed more than six questions, and as the perfectionist he's known to be, Regulus strives to miss nothing.
finally he reached the library. Regulus folded his parchments and tucked them into a pocket. he followed the soft glow of candles and found her.
as always, her hair was tied back and her outerwear was shed to reveal the contrast of the bright white button down against her stunning skin.
"you ought to be sleeping, y/l/n," regulus stated monotonously as he slinked over to y/n's table.
as predicted, she didn't look up. "yet you happen to be up at this hour as well."
"yes," regulus answered. "i'va figured i should come study."
y/n let out an unexpected laugh. she looked up to see regulusmove to stand angled so y/n could see him. he leaned against the table, watching her amused expression mellow out. "well then, why must you bother me?" she questioned curiously.
regulus tilted his head. "i do not understand you. you practically surpass all the students in our year, smarts wise... Why do you feel the need to study so much?"
y/n leaned back in her chair, a mischevious but mildly surprised smile playing on her lips. "i love that you basically just complimented me and told me you think about me, both within thirty seconds."
Regulus's eyes twitched.
"However," she began again, "I can quiet the voices when I'm learning, reviewing. We're all constantly surrounded by conflict, drama, sex, drugs, money, family issues..." she shrugged. "I find it comforting to drown myself in knowledge until I fall unconscious."
somewhat speechless, Regulus blinked. He wasn't expecting such a blunt, personal answer. A flare of irritation sparked in his belly. "You frustrate me to an unspeakable extent," he murmured.
Silence wrapped around the pair as y/n debated if she truly wanted to say what she'd been thinking about.
"Oh?" her low voice taunted Regulus in an intimate way. "Is... Is there anything you plan on doing about that?"
In the blink of an eye, Regulus moved in front of y/n. He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her with such fervor y/n grasped desperately at Regulus's locks. A low groan left the youngest Black sibling as he reached behind him to wildly shove away y/n's parchments and books. He lifted her up and placed her on the table.
y/n pulled away panting. "fuck, you're stunning," she whispered..
Regulus hid his blush. Swallowing, he moved his hands to firmly hold y/n's hips against his pelvis and embarrassingly prominent boner. "Are you... gonna let me eat you out?"
His voice was shaky, despite his knowledge of making his last two girlfriends orgasm with just his tongue.
his nervousness made y/n melt. "yeah," she breathed, smiling crookedly at his anxiousness.
with a renewal of nerves, Regulus swiftly unbuttoned y/n's pants and pulled them down. his next movements were stalled; y/n reached down to pull Regulus up to kiss him again. Regulus's legs slotted between y/n's as his tongue fought with y/n's.
unconsciously y/n's hips jerked up to grind onto what happened to be Regulus's aching cock. With labored breaths, Regulus pulled away again and resumed his position on his knees. Prying y/n's legs apart, Regulus assumed the candles had to have been enchanted not to go out anytime soon.
The raven haired boy trailed a finger down y/n's thigh over her clothed cunt. He savored the little shiver y/n unsuccessfully tried to hide. y/n's stomach fluttered when Regulus (who looked amazing on his knees) locked eyes with y/n, his hungry eyes and clenched jaw made y/n crave some naughty actions.
"Shit," y/n cussed. Her eyes closed and she rested her head against a bookshelf, Reggie's feather-light touching making her crazy.
"Say it."
Regulus's growled command made y/n's head press further into the aged wood supporting her neck.
"Please," she murmured, biting her lip from giving him what he really wanted.
Regulus groaned. "Merlin, y/n. Say. It. Beg."
y/n groaned. "Please, Black. Touch me, please. I need you, like, yesterday."
A laugh escaped Regulus. He finally pulled y/n's underwear down and took in her glistening folds in the soft candlelight. "Look at you," he spoke aloud, in awe and desire.
y/n tried to create friction by pivoting her hips upward, but the surprisingly strong hold Regulus kept on her hips prevented that from happening.
At last, Regulus licked a teasing stripe up y/n's dripping pussy. Her juices danced on his tastebuds as Regulus moved to burrow himself in her. Her muffled whimpers only spurred Regulus's movements on.
One of y/n's hands held tight to Reggie's black curls while the other clutched at the table to ground her. The sounds leaving her mouth were lewd, and she kicked herself for falling apart in her academic rival's hands (or, in this case, mouth ;-).
After Merlin knows how long, Regulus, panting, pulled himself away from the nectar-y mess in between y/n's thighs. Her pathetic whine made Regulus coo as he looked up at her state. Her eyes were squeezed closed in pleasure, her hair was a mess, her lips were plump and dark from kissing and biting. She truly didn't know how deep Regulus's feeling went.
"Pleasepleaseplease," she begged. "I need your tongue, Regulus, please. Y'Make me feel so good- shit," she babbled. Regulus slipped a finger into her pussy, eyes full of lust.
He slowly pushed in two, her breathless squeal doing a number to Regulus's restraint. "Stay quiet," he ordered, voice low.
He pulled his fingers out of y/n's greedy cunt and stuck them in his mouth, all the while watching y/n. He moved both arms to hook over y/n's thighs to keep them right were he wanted them and then dived in.
(a/n: wtf i need sleep sotry if this is attrocius)
He attached his lips to her clit, kissing and sucking and licking everywhere, eating her out like his last meal. Regulus heard her barely contained screams and continued his pleasurable assult on her most private area. His own groans vibrated deliciously on y/n's core, and Regulus could swear he felt better than y/n did. Her needy whimpers, the jolting of her hips, her taste- it was fucking consuming.
There, smothered between her thighs, Regulus didn't care about anything else in the world. He didn't care he'd finessed his way between y/n legs or any damn tests, he knew he loved the thrill of her. He loved glancing over his goblet in the Great Hall to see her reading some book with a fond smile on her face, loved the irritated looks y/n would send him on the occasion he did something better than her, he loved it all.
When she came, she came hard. Her back arched (somewhat) awkwardly, her mouth thrown open in a silent scream, eyes screwed shut: it was absolute bliss. Regulus let her use him to chase her high, surprisingly the feeling of being used by her.
He pulled away slowly, dragging his digits through some of the dripping liquid from her thighs and placing them into his mouth. "You taste... exquisite, mon ange," he praised. His throbbing boner painfully grabbed his attention, but he would turn to the showers for that; he didn't want to move to fast or do anything wrong. After adjusting his crotch, Regulus grabbed his wand and murmured quick spells, cleaning up the mess from the floor. He pulled out another small handtowel, but a baby blue color instead of dark green. He carefully cleaned y/n up and then moved to his feet. His joints popped as he picked up y/n's discarded clothes. He folded them nicely and set them beside her. Regulus started gathering y/n's reviewing materials and hushed her when she began to protest. When completed, he set everything into her satchel thingy (or whatever she called it) and set it on his shoulder. Regulus turned back to face y/n and grabbed her clothes. He slowly put her underwear and pants back on and stepped back.
Her limp body was pressed up against the library as she fought sleep. Regulus let out a little chuckle. Oh how pure she looked after doing very not pure and exhausting things. "C'mon, pretty. You're staying with me tonight," he explained, holding his hands out for y/n to take.
The fucked out teen took his hand and stood up, stumbling and falling into Regulus's prepared arms. He cooed softly when her arms wrapped around his waist tiredly. He smoothed her hair down. "We need to go, mon amour. We'll get you some sleep, yeah?"
She sighed and grumbled something unintelligible, but let Regulus practically drag her to the Slytherin common room.
He picked her up bridal style and moved to his freakishly big prefect room. He left the bedside light on, so he could leave the big light off. Regulus set her down on his cold silk sheets. "Do you want to change your clothes?" he asked quietly.
y/n nodded. "Jus' don't leave."
With great care, the raven haired boy carefully replaced y/n's pants for a pair of his sweats and her shirt and jacket for one of his sweaters. Regulus tucked her in and showered quickly, copying her new outfit. He slid into the bed with y/n, heart and eyes swelling with emotion when she scooted closer to his warmth.
With one last kiss to her forhead, Regulus fell asleep.
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yellowharrington · 2 months
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jaded - chapter 4, carmy berzatto x reader
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pairing + fandom: carmen “carmy” berzatto x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), the bear fx
warnings: smoking mention, minors dni with this story please.
word count: 2k
a/n: ok literally i am the worst ever and i totally didn't finish this fic even tho i started it so im finally posting the last part literally MONTHS later!!! sorry besties but i couldn't have an unfinished fic out there in the world so... if u fuck w this story at all thank u for reading it and all the encouraging and nice things people have said, it literally made me want to complete this fic so thank u <3
summary: tying up loose ends.
and it's a fuckin' shame that it ended like that you broke your own heart, but you'd never say that we went to hell, but we never came back
masterlist | chapter 3
It all just feels numb.
Sun coming up over the horizon and a light snowfall onto the street below. Your home is quiet, no pans in the kitchen making French omelettes, no TV playing outside the bedroom door as you sleep. No toothbrushing in the bathroom or running shower water, warm and steamy, inviting you in.
It’s not that you weren’t expecting his answer. Or, lack thereof. It’s that he couldn’t make up his fucking mind. First, he’s cooking you an omelette in your favourite pan with a cup of coffee made exactly the way you like it. He’s spending every evening on the couch with you, your hands splayed out against his stomach, comfortable beneath the waistband of his sweats. You’re in his sweater, baking fresh warm cookies so he can have one before bed, smudges of chocolate against your lips as he pushes you up against the counter, hot skin on cold tile.
Next, he has that look on his face, where he’s somewhere else. Thinking of her, in a dreamland where he can make it right again, and it all feels like it comes crashing down. The sweet nothings don’t exist in this realm, there’s no happiness here.
And when you do have to face him on Monday, it’s back to cold shoulder, nothing different. Yes chef, no chef, thank you chef. 
Sydney tries to make conversation, and you feel bad because you won’t bitch about Carmy like you usually would. Richie’s having secret meetings with Natalie, probably more about Claire, but you don’t even think to join in. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much, and it’s hard enough to go outside and take a fucking break from it all, let alone be in the same cramped kitchen with him. There’s no solitude, just aching, just disappointment.
“Did you order me a new cake pan, chef?” It’s directed at Tina, who looks up at you with the same wistful softness as she always does, smiling before nodding in your direction. You don’t hear her slide over to you, but when she suddenly appears at your station, you can tell she just knows something’s wrong.
“What’s up with you?” she asks, clipboard finding it’s way to the counter beside you, where a piping bag lays. “You’re not yourself. Something… wrong. Don’t tell me a boy did this to you.” The tears prick at your eyes and you swallow it all before you can get out a word, because yeah, it all fucking aches and the hurt feels like it’s sitting right behind your eyes, in your throat, ready to come out.
“It’s nothing. It is a boy but, boys are stupid and I’m not gonna cry over one,” you sniffle, before untying your apron and letting it hang loose on your body. “Not worth it.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
Your blood runs cold when she gestures just outside to the bright light of the door, where Carmy sits, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other.
Luckily the kitchen is empty when you reply, only so she can hear, “how did you know?”
“I saw the way you looked at him this morning.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Fuck no. Between you and me, chef.”
You sighed relief, letting your front hit the counter as the stress left your body. “Thank fuck. Yeah, I don’t know, we were-“
“Fuckin’?” Tina’s got a sly smile on her face that makes it impossible not to laugh with her.
“Yeah, I guess. It felt like more than that. But apparently he’s still hung up on Claire so, I guess that ends it.”
She exhales slowly, joining you in a lean against the counter. “Jeff makes mistakes, everyone knows that. He’s moody and sad and he’s got fuckin’ problems, that kid, I tell ya.” She pauses for a second, eyes meeting yours, sincere. “But he’s good. I just don’t think he can handle himself, is all.” She takes a beat, letting her soft hand lay over yours, “He doesn’t let himself have the good shit because it always gets ruined. But you’re good. He’s scared of you.”
“He should be scared of me. I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you mutter, letting your floured hand meet your forehead in annoyance. “I’m not responsible for fixing his shit.”
She nods, agreeing with you, a hand cupping yours on the counter. “No, you’re not. I’m just saying he could use someone like you to bring him back to Earth, is all.”
-
When Carmy does make it back inside, he’s thumbing through paperwork at the desk, hand through his hair stressfully pulling at the strands. He’s trying so hard not to stare at you from where he’s sitting, noticing your cold gaze, somewhere far away. He takes out his phone to scroll through it mindlessly, procrastinating, when he meanders his way to the text icon and opens up your thread. A few texts here and there, mostly just asking about plans to come over, the occasional sexy photo or recipe idea.
[sunday, 10:26] they don't have fresh sourdough. should we just make some this aft?
[saturday, 4:35] i hate when you go in on saturdays
[saturday, 4:36] Photo Recieved
[saturday 4:36] don't you wish you were home with me?
[tuesday, 12:22] is balsamic glaze overdone? lmk. miss u.
It feels a little too domestic, seeing the way he so effortlessly became comfortable with you, a warmth and excitement that was just never there with Claire. It’s raw and it’s guilty and he’ll beat himself up over it forever, but it was never going to be perfect with her, no matter how hard he tried.
“Boss?”
Richie appears in the office, leaning against the door frame before noticing Carmy’s disheveled look. “Yeah?”
“You look worse than usual.”
“Thanks. What do you need?”
“Well, I was gonna ask if you ordered more eggs.”
“I, uh, yeah. Yeah, I think Sydney did.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
It’s like Richie could see right through him.
“Nothin’. Stupid shit.”
Richie steps into the office, leaving the door only slightly ajar.
“Cousin.”
Richie can be sweet when he wants to be, and when he’s got a hand on Carmy’s shoulder and a somber look in his eyes it’s like he already knows how Carmy feels.
“Why do I suck so bad at being a fuckin’ normal person?”
Richie sits next to him, a look of surprise. “Is this about Claire bear?”
“Yes, well - yeah, and also no. Kinda. I don’t know.”
“Is it about Miss Buttercream out there?”
He gestures to you outside the door, zesting some orange on top of the cake you were finishing up. Carmy stifles a laugh.
“We all know you’re porkin’ her.”
“Don’t say that,” Carmy laughs, hand coming up to his face to rub his eyes. “It’s more than that. We’ve been kinda, dating, I guess? I still don’t know what counts as having a girlfriend.”
“So what did you do?”
He gnaws at the skin of his thumb and lets his eyes flicker up to Richie’s. “Fucked it. Last night, I, uh,-“ his hand finds his warm forehead. “I really like her, like a lot. But she asked about Claire and I said the wrong thing, like I always do and uh, she didn’t like it.”
“She’s good,” Richie starts, letting his hands find his aproned thighs as he sits at the corner of the desk. “Claire was good for you too. But she didn’t… get it. Not like she does,” he gestured vaguely to your station outside the door. “Claire was never gonna get the restaurant and the kitchen and the fuck of it all.”
Richie's hand extends to cup Carmy's shoulder.
“Look, do whatever you want, but there isn’t really someone who matches you like she does. Claire’s history now, drunk phone calls don’t mean she’s still in love with you. If that’s what you were thinking.”
Carmy sits back in the creaky chair. “Nah, not that. I just don’t know how to do it right.”
“It’s not about doing it right,” Richie’s got sincerity in his eyes. “It’s about fuckin’… trying shit. Just go and make a move and see.” Carmy watches you hang up your apron on the hook and grab a hoodie before fucking outside. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Richie.”
“Good luck.”
“I’m sorry.”
Carmy’s voice takes you out of your trance as you stare into the back alley of the restaurant. “Hi.”
“Can we talk?”
“You can talk, I’ll listen.”
The crackle of his lighter, orange flame against white snow. You can see his breath slipping from between his lips as he exhales out of the corner of your eye.
“I feel like a fuckin’ asshole,” he starts, plunging his other hand in his pocket. “I don’t know what to say.” A beat. “Can you look at me?” It’s gentle, a question, not a demand.
You turn to look at him. Cold blue eyes, darkened by the brightness around you. “You’re not second best to me. You’re it, this is it. I like this, I, I fuckin’,” he takes a breath, “I love… this. I want this.”
“You hurt my feelings, Carmen,” tears brimming your eyes and coating your lashes. “If you’re not done with Claire, I don’t… I don’t care. If I am your second choice, fine.” 
“You’re not.”
“Even if I was. But don’t fuck me around if you don’t want me.”
“I do.”
“Are you sure? You weren’t sure last night.”
“I get it if you don’t trust me. I get it. I haven’t given you a reason to.” He searches for the right words, but chooses to take a tentative step towards you. “I’ll beg for you,” he’s quiet, unlike Carmy. “Anything.”
Your eyes meet his briefly, a soft smile pulling at your lip. “I’m not saying yes, okay?” He nods. “But I am saying I would appreciate a ride home tonight. If you’re serious.”
“I’m serious.”
“Good.”
-
The walk up to your apartment is easy. His heavy steps behind your light ones, hands sliding up the bannister as you unlock your door. He’s on your heels, a little behind. When he steps in your apartment, it’s familiar. Browned butter, vanilla, laundry. 
“Do you want dinner?” He’s tentative, letting his shoes sit next to yours on the mat. His jacket goes up on the hooks by the door, together. 
“Are you offering?”
“Yes.”
Carmy shows love through food, that’s how he always is. You can tell he’s feeling particularly sorry about it all because he’s bringing out a big pasta pot and a saucepan, pulling the only fresh ingredients left in your place and putting them next to the stove top. Your t-shirt finds its way into the laundry basket, an old sweater thrown over your bare skin.
You hate how normal it all feels, because it’s scary. To think of a domestic life with him, where there’s another girl lingering in the background of his thoughts that he has unfinished business with. Insecurities of who is better, prettier, happier, warmer… if he had the chance, would he leave? Would he jump ship?
He sits next to you while you eat, thighs against thighs, and comfortable silence blanketing your small apartment. He hasn’t gotten into one of the many pairs of pyjamas he’s left at your place, or taken his usual after-work shower, or taken out the frozen cookie dough to thaw. You can tell he’s not sure if he’s welcome here for good, yet.
When your food is done, he pushes the plates away and takes a calloused hand to wrap around yours. There’s sharpie marks small knife cuts on his fingers. 
“Are you gonna stay the night?” You ask, still not meeting his gaze. 
“Am I welcome to?” He doesn’t sound like himself, and you can feel his warm breath near the top of your head as you turn towards him. Your body collapses a little then, folding slightly at the middle to have your head fall right into the centre of his chest.
“Yes, Carmen,” you nod, letting your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You can stay for as long as you want.”
His hand slipped from yours then, sliding around your side and up your back. He pulled you into his embrace, lips wrapped around yours in a soft capture. Your hands found their way under his t-shirt, only slightly, his warm skin against the palms of your hands, pulling him impossibly closer. 
And when you lay in bed with him that night, your face burrowed into the softness of his chest, you know the days of waking up alone are over. 
161 notes · View notes
m0chisenpai · 3 months
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strike
˚。⋆ mike schmidt x black!fem!reader
in which mike finally gets the guts to ask the sweet librarian out. the iconic sunshine x grumpy pairing but its more tooth rotting fluff
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Mike finds himself hoping he would see more of Ms.Y/N. He hoped Abby would forget her bag, or book again so he could stumble back into your library and just soak in the warmth of those big brown eyes. And to his luck she forgets a folder, a book, a lunchbox over the span of two weeks.
And each day he comes back into your library he swears he's fallen deeper and deeper.
So here he is, bright and early on a saturday morning, the smell of aftershave fresh in his nose, the curls on top of his head are softer and smell like pine for some odd reason and he's wearing his good pair of blue jeans with a relaxed flannel.
A bundle of flowers sits beside him terribly hidden under his work coat from Abby's prying questions.
"Your gonna ask her out aren't you?" Mike's eyes snap to hers in the mirror.
"And if I was?' Mike grumbles trying to keep his voice nonchalant.
"She said she's never been bowling before" Abby hums looking out the window. And so Mike hums again, when really he hopes and knows that Abby takes that as his thanks.
Abby walks ahead of him as Mike keeps a steady pace behind, wondering if he doesn't look like he's about to vomit or drop. But the sight of you int hat soft worn reading chair calms all his nerves. "Mr.Schmidt! Back again so soon? I think you might get mistaken as staff" you giggle meeting Mike halfway.
"You'd be surprised" Mike huffs watching Abby dive into a bean bag.
"Here" he pulls his arm from behind and feels his pride sweell as you coo and take the bouquet into your arms. "You shouldn't have! Thank you Mike" You reach forward pulling him into a hug and its then he realizes today you smell good. Expensive. Was that a new perfume?
Now that he's looking down at you, he sees that your lips have a little shine, your eyelashes are curlier. You look even more beautiful. And as you walk to your desk with him in tow, you have a gentle, sensual sway to your hips clad in one of those skirts that hug you in just the right areas.
"I was wondering if you had any plans Friday night" Mike finally speaks up rubbing his hands onto his knees to keep them as still as possible.
"Actually I don't! My friends and I were suppose to go out for drinks but mommy duties cut in and they had to cancel."
Luck must be on Mike's side today because your eyes slant and you lean forward to and cup your chin in your hand. "Are you asking me out Mr.Schmidt?"
And Mike leans forward, "I just might be Ms/L/N." And you lay your hand upon his arm.
"Call me Y/N."
Work dragged by for Mike that Friday. But before he knew it he was flying home to shower, shave, fix his hair and pick out an outfit decent enough for a bowling alley. And as soon as Abby's babysitter hit the threshold he booked it to your house.
You lived a few streets over and Mike parked in the drive way of your home jogging to the door. You were beautiful, a black overall dress with a red off the shoulder sweater underneath and matching knee highs to pair. You cradle a small leather bag in the nook of your elbow, covered by the fall chill with a jean jacket that clearly you owned for some years.
"Too much for a bowling date I know" you bashfully giggle.
"No you look beautiful" Mike smiles holding his arm out for you to slip through. He’s a gentlemen opening the door for you to get into the passenger side.
“Now where do you plan on taking me Mr Schmidt?”
“That’s a surprise Ms L/N” he smirks and you let out a silent hum. A silence falls over you and Mike clears his throat.
"Why a librarian?"
"Hm, I was always a book worm but I didn't see myself writing any books of my own. So I though why not work where I find myself most days" you explain now looking to Mike you rest your hand beneath your jaw.
"I know we're away from school, but you truly do n amazing job with Abby."
"I think you're one of the rare few who would think that."
You huff placing a hand on his bicep, "i'm serious. She loves you dearly from the drawings she's always making of the two of you, and she's a kind soul. Clearly she gets that from you."
"Thank you" Mike takes his left hand off the wheel to give your hand a quick squeeze before it returning it to its original spot.
When the neon glow of the alley illuminates, your eyes glow up as well, clutching Mike’s arm. It’s the new place thats opened in town, not just an alley, but an arcade tucked away inside as well. The place is shiny new and you two pay for your shoes and sit down at one of the lanes. Mike quickly ties his shoes, and you struggle slightly, he assumes cause your names must be new and he kneels in front of you.
“Here.” Mike taps his knee and you sigh.
“Mike you don’t have-“
“I insist. I’ve heard breaking one of those hurts bad.” He nods to your short french tips, and you place your foot atop his knee and he quickly laces the left, thenn the right.
“Alright, ready to get demolished?” Mike smirks down at you as you both walk to the lane.
“Don’t get cocky now Mikey, beginners luck might be on my side!” You exclaim picking up the shiny green ball while Mike picks up the darker blue one, he hopes you can’t tell its heavy and he’s struggling to keep hold of it.
“How about a wager then?” You raise a brow, “ winner gets to request anything from the loser?”
You grin rocking side to side. “Anything?” And Mike echoes back the promise. “You got a deal Schmidt!”
The first two rounds you can barely knock down three pins. Mike gets a strike and knocks more than half the pins down. But after he starts letting up. And by some miracle you win by the skin of your teeth.
"HA I told you!" you twirl pointing to the screen displaying you are the winner.
"Yeah, alright. What's your prize?" Mike tilts his head. You hum tapping your pointer finger to your chin as you scan the alley then point.
Its the food station, with fried foods among other sweets displayed on the menu. "I want to share a milkshake with you. With a big cherry on top!"
The night feels magical to Mike, too good to believe as he carries a red tray balancing two cartons of fries and a burger with the comically large milkshake sitting in the middle.
You sit together devouring the alley's greasy treats. With your reward, the shake, sitting between the both of you.
You steal Mike's fries scrunching your nose when he swats your hand playfully, but he lets you eat them. And you lean forward giggling as you two share the shake like some romcom high schoolers. Your hands just barely brushing against one another, your eyes start to glaze and you pull back sharply.
And Mike starts to apologize, thinking he'd misunderstood.
Your hand begin to tremble and its then Mike realizes you aren't even looking at him, its whatever or whoever is behind him that's got you looking like you've seen a ghost.
Mike looks over his shoulder and to his disgust, the arcades got a booth where a bright pink hippo is singing some high pitched song for a kids birthday party. Its jerky movements take him back to the same ones buried in rubble from the previous year.
But Mike can only focus on you now, your having a panic attack. He's seen plenty at his job. So he takes hold of your hands and begins to massage them.
"Hey, you're safe, breath Y/N" he's got sight of your eyes and he holds your gaze as he tries to ground you. "Match my breaths," he breaths in for three, holds then lets go. You do the same.
In and out. In and out.
You do this a few times till your hands relax into Mike's. Embarrassment flashes across your face as you look down to your hands. "I'm so sorry. I just can't stand those...things." you whisper.
"I understand. Mike smiles.
"Really?" You finally look up.
"Yeah, my sister used to be obsessed with them. But it just feels like they're.."
"Watching?" You finish for him and he nods. "Yeah, creepy things." Your nose scrunches again, and Mike can't resist and playfully pokes it making you huff a giggle.
"There you are" he whispers as your smile lights back up. You finish your meal and head back to the car. Some old song plays on the cars radio, your body is turned to Mike. His hand on your knee, your hand atop his.
He drives a bit slower, wanting to enjoy this peace. At one point you lift his hand to your mouth and place a kiss to the back of his hand leaving a glossy red stain and Mikey has to stop the car from swerving.
When he pulls to your home he's reluctant to let go so he can go to your side to open the door and walk you to your front door. The light from your front door illuminates you. The wind tosses your hair a bit. You look too perfect in this moment.
"Thank you for tonight, it was so much fun."
Mike smiles his thumb caressing the back of your hand, "do you think we could do this again? Minus the creepy robots?"
"Of course. Maybe I can beat you at skee ball?" You're leaning closer to Mike and he hums, his eyes closing just when you press your lips to his.
It lasts for a quick moment, a peck that leaves Mike breathless when you pull back.
"Good night Mikey" you whisper opening the door finally letting your hands fall apart. Once your door shuts, the breath Mikey seems to hold releases as does a soft laugh as he walks back to his car.
You truly had him wrapped your little finger.
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tinymoon-beam · 6 months
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Hi! So this one was just the idea that wouldn't leave me alone lol!
I hope it's ok 🖤🖤
Cw: regressed ghouls, nightmares, Dew goes tiny out of stress, caregiver Mountain
(Casually sneaking in some bee love because I'm obsessed with @mac-and-thefox and her concept of beekeeper Mountain)
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Mountain wakes with the sun, but something else seems to drag him from the arms of sleep this morning. He lays still and listens, tries to find anything out of the ordinary but all he finds is a pit of unease in his belly.
He swings his legs over the bed and stretches the sleep from his bones, ears twitching, still listening for trouble. If anyone needed him they'd have no problem slipping into his room and into his bed, wrapping themselves around him.
Unless...
The nagging feeling pierces his brain and Dewdrop flies to the forefront of his mind. His heart races and he sprints from his room and down the hall, swinging the door open with a force that has it smacking against the wall behind it.
He spots Dew in the middle of the bed, chest heaving but otherwise still as stone, his eyes are dark, frozen on the ceiling. His hair is a mess, sticking to his sweat and tear stained face. Everything inside the giant crumbles at the sight.
He climbs up beside him carefully and gently pushes his hair off of his face. He doesn't move, he doesn't respond at all and it's a testiment to how far gone he is.
"I'm so sorry, Dewdrop." He cups his face and stairs down into his glassy eyes, hoping to see a flicker of focus.
He can't let himself imagine how long he'd been laying there, trapped in his memories alone. His puffy eyes look sore and he knows well enough to know he'd likely screamed himself silent around his fist. The teeth indents on his knuckles give him away.
The tears flood his eyes unbidden. He was always the first to notice Dew slipping but he'd failed to ease his fall this time.
He blinks them back and scoops the tiny ghoul up, supporting his head against his shoulder, his ragged breaths making the saddest noises that will haunt his thoughts until Dew's bright light returns to his eyes.
"Ok baby, gonna get you cleaned up and then we are going to get some sunshine on you. How's that sound?" He talks for his own benefit, the silence only amplifying his feelings of failure.
He presses Dew's ear closer against his chest and covers the other one with one hand when he turns the faucet one, not wanting to risk him falling further into panic. He wets a soft washcloth and wipes away the sticky tears from his face and neck.
"That's better." He smiles down into the unblinking eyes still frozen in fear. "I think it's a comfy day, hm? Maybe get you cozy in the blanket mama Lus made for you."
He gets him out of his thin sleep pants and makes quick work of wiping him down, over his chest and back, down his legs. He'll be more thorough later when Dew is aware of what's happening.
He dresses him quickly, soft grey pants and a hoodie before wrapping the big green knitted blanket around him.
His knees almost give out when Dew blinks, just a slow little thing but it's something and he smiles.
"There you are, firefly. I've got you." He kisses his forehead and carries him down the hall to his room so he can get changed.
He's grateful it's still early, the halls quiet, just the soft glow of the sun spilling in through the windows. He can make out Rain shuffling around his room and he vaguely hears Swiss saying something but he doesn't pause to listen. He hears Aurora singing and he catches Cumulus giggling and he smiles at their energy despite the early hour.
He places Dew on the bed, presses a kiss to his cheek and quickly changes into his jeans and a t-shirt. He grabs a sweater, one Dew likes to nuzzle into even when he's not small, something about the way it smells and the way it feels against his cheeks.
"Ok little one, let's go get some air." He scoops him up, delighted at his eyes slowly clearing, the color starting to return to his cheeks.
Aether is leaving his room when Mountain leaves his. He takes in the scene quickly and Mountain watches his magic flash through his eyes.
"He's coming out of it, astra, relax." He soothes before he can work himself up. "It's slow but he's coming back. I'll find you if he needs you."
He nods, running his finger over Dew's cheek before kissing his forehead softly. "I'll be in the infirmary all day, I'll be right there if he needs me."
Mountain presses a kiss to his lips. "Go, stop worrying. He's going to be just fine ."
Aether casts another glance at Dewdrop before walking off, shoulders tense. Mountain knows the Quint won't be able to focus fully knowing Dew is in this space without him. But Dew had made it clear he didn't want anyone digging around in his mind unless they had no other choice and they would respect that.
Mountain breathes deeply when he steps outside, the air is crisp, still foggy as the sun settles over the vibrant red and orange leaves. It's beautiful, his favorite season and he knows it's Dew's too, the pair would spend countless hours hand in hand walking through the trees, smiling and soft.
He glances down and finds Dew already looking at him.
"Hi baby." His voice is thick, thankful that he was climbing out on his own, that Aether didn't need to weasel his way into Dewdrop's maze of a mind. "See the leaves?"
Dew has always loved the Fall, especially after his transition. He'd had a hard time and Mountain took him outside and showed him the fall leaves, the vibrant reds and oranges that looked like flames against the sky. He showed him the beauty of his fire and Dew clung to it.
He wiggles in his arms just a little and Mountain shifts him, holds him up against his shoulder instead of across his chest.
He walks slowly through the gardens, pointing out plants and little critters. He pauses to watch the last of the bumblebees swarming the flowers, fuzzy and covered in pollen. He positions Dew to watch them too, his big amber eyes following their movements. His fingers twitch like he might sign but he's not quite there yet but Mountain knows he loves the bees.
Mountain watches his eyes start to brighten, the lingering darkness from the nightmares getting chased out but the sun.
He sits on a bench Zephyr had insisted on and positions Dew to still see everything around him.
He makes a little humming sound in his throat and Mountain smiles down at him.
"You sound like a little bumblebee."
Dew blinks his tired eyes at him and Mountain can see the worry just beneath.
"Close your eyes, honey bee. You can nap here in the sun. I've got you."
He watches him try to fight it but eventually sleep wins the battle. His eyes fall shut, long lashes kissing his freckled cheeks. Mountain leans back on the bench a little further, getting comfortable under Dew's sleepy weight. He adjusts the blanket around the little ghouls shoulders when a cool breeze slides over his arms.
He watches the rays of the sun dancing between the leaves, even it reaches out to stroke Dewdrop's face, to kiss his eyelids and chase the nightmares away.
Mountain keeps his eyes on Dew's face, watching for any signs of unease to pull him out immediately but none come. He's content in Mountain's arms, warm and safe from the monsters in his mind.
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silantryoo · 4 months
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XTRA [ LIKEALOOK ] — yujin's kim gaeul
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During SEMI-QUALIFIERS, Victors' Hall.
WARNINGS: suggestive, heavy fluff, self-deprecation, imposter syndrome (2.0k)
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yujin was known for many things.
she was loud, boisterous to the point that her previous coaches had threatened to tape her mouth shut if she kept yelling over them. her charming smile seemed to disarm everyone but the one girl that she wanted, and the way her presence off and on the court differed drastically made her a school favorite.
yujin, however, was not known for being nervous, much less for a girl.
"okay." the captain stared at the washroom as she talked to herself, scanning the plate that hung in front of her. "you have girls asking for your number left and right. people write your name on their foreheads. it's just gaeul-unnie."
but kim gaeul wasn't just any girl.
she was quiet, almost peaceful when compared to yujin. she'd study days before a test, muttering in her sleep as if she was taking notes in her dreams. gaeul liked her oat milk latte, specifically at the cafe across the street from the campus. never the one on campus, because it was 'too hot' (whatever that meant). on days when it was too cold, gaeul would wear her only sweater; a tattered red hoodie that was two sizes too big for her.
yujin loved it.
yujin loved all of it, every frown, and every laugh. she loved every smart thing that came out of her mouth, and the way her name rolled off the older girl's tongue.
ahn yujin loved her girl (unofficially, for now).
she pushed the door open, shutting it quietly behind her. she could hear gaeul trying to shuffle away from the line of sight of the mirror. the taller girl couldn't help but smile.
yujin peaked her head out from the corner of the stalls, eyes glimmering as they made contact with gaeul's. she watched as the shorter girl relaxed, the cool air of the bathroom settling between the both of them.
"oh." gaeul's voice seemed to echo all over yujin. "it's just you."
yujin walked towards the setter, eyes staying on the older girl's figure, as a small blush appeared on her face.
she loved moments like these, fleeting and silent. yujin could feel herself consumed with love, like a warm fire engulfing her during a snowy night.
god, yujin couldn't help but sigh as gaeul's irises met hers once more, she's so pretty.
"what?"
yujin could listen to her voice all day.
(she always wondered why gaeul had decided to become a dance major, when her voice was soft and angelic just like its owner.)
"yujin?"
yujin snapped out of her trance, a half smile overtaking her face. she always seemed to get lost in thought whenever gaeul was around her.
"do you need anything?" even the way gaeul questioned her was pretty.
yujin hummed. she definitely came her for something.
the taller girl tried to wrack her brain. she couldn't remember the reason why she came to see gaeul in the first place. in fact, there could be many reasons; just wanting to see her, being horny, being jealous, getting food together, etc.
yujin continued to think as she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her sweats, feeling a familiar necklace that she was planning to give.
the captain's face turned bright red.
"oh, right." gaeul always did a good job at disarming her (rei called it 'dumbing her down even further'). "can i talk to you?"
"right now?" the older girl hummed, pulling her sweats over her shorts.
"yes."
yujin never asked to talk like this. she had always ambushed Gaeul when it was something unimportant (like asking her if she can sleep in her bed that night during practice, or if they could go out to a new restaurant that just opened mid-sex).
something must've happened. gaeul just hoped it didn't have to do with wonyoung and jimin.
the older girl watched as yujin's anticipating eyes followed her every move. she could feel her jersey sticking to her back, and gaeul knew that it was going to keep bugging her.
yujin deserved all her attention, especially if it was important.
gaeul took off her sweat-drenched shirt, and suddenly yujin forgot how to speak.
"sorry..." gaeul muttered, rummaging through her backpack for a clean shirt. "give me a second. it had to be somewhere in he-"
"i don't mind." yujin interrupted, almost enthusiastically.
gaeul looked up at the taller girl, yujin smiling as if it were her birthday. if she didn't know any better, gaeul would've thought that the other girl looked at her with love.
gaeul almost laughed at herself. there was no way yujin could love her, not like that. she would always be almost enough for yujin, but never fully.
she was fine having yujin like this, even if one day, it would all come to an end.
"did something happen?" gaeul shook her head. now wasn't the time to brood. "is wonyoung okay?"
yujin bit back a sigh. it was ironic, honestly. with how much gaeul always worried about wonyoung, yujin almost thought that the older girl had a crush on her.
(and if that was the case, yujin knew she'd cry her eyes out at that instant.)
the volleyball captain played with the gold engraved number '11' as she fiddled with the gift in her pocket. she could feel its grooves, along with the '03' behind it.
she hoped gaeul truly had feelings for her, just like wonyoung said she did. otherwise, her shipment of flowers (and flower petals) to their dorm would be a waste and an utter humiliation.
yujin released a shaky breath, her palms suddenly sweating.
"can..." she had never been more nervous in her life. "can i give you something, unnie?"
the older girl tilted her head, and yujin pushed back the urge to scream how much she loved her at that moment.
yujin made her way behind the shorter girl.
she could feel the heat of gaeul's skin radiating onto her, warm and inviting, a sign that the setter had played hard the entire game. her eyes traced the nape of her unmarked neck, and gaeul's now red ears.
yujin could hear her heart beating out of her chest as she fished out the necklace. it glimmered against the fluorescent light, the gold chain running through her fingertips. she had hoped gaeul liked it, otherwise she would kill her older sister for helping her pick it out.
yujin felt her hands shake as she draped it on the older girl, softly fastening it. she pulled back slowly, her breath shaking.
the room fell silent, the lights humming against the cool air once more. yujin could feel the heat in her cheeks, spreading down to her neck. she felt her mouth go dry and her lungs suddenly heavy, watching as gaeul's hand went to touch the piece of jewelry.
god, she finally understood why wonyoung acted the way she did.
gaeul traced the engraving, almost as if she was afraid to break it. she felt the rings that looped, the dents that ran along the medal, and she quietly gasped.
it felt expensive, intimate. no one had ever done something like this before, at least not for her.
the setter could feel hope bubbling in her chest, like whatever yujin had given her meant something. she knew it didn't, it couldn't have.
wonyoung was right there.
gaeul was just a body, like she had always been.
pushing down all the dread, gaeul shook her head, letting the necklace rest on her collarbone.
"if this is just a way for you to get in my pants, i swear..."
yujin stayed silent, but just like its owner, her presence was loud. it was familiar, like the first time gaeul had heard yujin through the gymnasium doors. it was something gaeul couldn't ignore.
but something was different.
"yujin?"
ahn yujin loved gaeul.
she loved her tidiness, and the frown she tried to hide when yujin would leave her things lying around. she yearned for her soft voice, reassuring her during times when she desperately needed so. yujin loved her silence, she loved her elegance, her everything.
ahn yujin just loved kim gaeul.
"i love you."
gaeul suddenly felt as if she was floating.
"what?"
she wondered if she was in an alternate timeline. if somehow, she had suddenly transformed into the person she had always wished to be. the beautiful, caring, and hardworking person that she knew her parents always wanted deep down (and unbeknownst to her, the girl that yujin always thought she was).
the setter turned to face yujin, fearing that once they had met face to face, the captain would take everything back.
but yujin looked at her the same, with the same expressive eyes that gaeul had always loved, and the same charming smile that always caught her attention.
"i can't keep doing this whole thing. i can't keep pretending that i'm okay with having a little bit of you." yujin wanted gaeul all to herself, she wanted gaeul to want her all to herself, to feel the same things that yujin felt when she looked at her. "date me. be mine."
it felt like a prank, a cruel segment that the world was torturing her with. she was kim gaeul, not l/n y/n, not shin yuna, not jang wonyoung.
this wasn't right. gaeul shouldn't have this good of an ending.
"i want you, kim gaeul." yujin needed her actually, like the summer needed the sun. "i love you."
"no, you don't." this wasn't right. gaeul wasn't who yujin should be with. she should have someone who was better, who was prettier, who wasn't her. "i'm not... you don't want me like that, yujin. you're confused."
yujin looked at her once more, loud and passionate, adding fuel to the fire that was gaeul's hope.
maybe she was wrong. maybe she could have yujin in this lifetime. maybe she didn't equate to everything yeji had put her through.
she felt the cool necklace burn against her skin, yujin grabbing her hands to squeeze them.
"i'm not confused." yujin had never been more sure in her life. "i know i'm not the smartest. i don't know the difference between my left and right. i don't have the highest gpa. i don't even know how to write an essay."
"you don't...?" gaeul couldn't help but pause for a second. how was yujin even passing? "that's extremely concerning, yujin."
yujin ignored her this time, knowing that it was a problem for another day.
"i know that i'm in love with you." yujin had been in love with her since everything had gone up in flames. she'd been in love with her through the brief (but awful) fling with yeji, and through every fling that the older girl had. she wasn't gonna let gaeul slip through her fingers, not now. "i've known that for a long time."
gaeul looked away. she wasn't the girl that she had imagined for yujin, the confident, pretty one with a smile that could melt anyone. yujin had to be lying.
"i'm not lying." yujin always read gaeul like a book. "i love you, kim gaeul."
gaeul never hoped for much, but she hoped that everything that yujin had said was true. she hoped that somehow, in yujin's eyes, she was enough.
"i love you too." gaeul looked back into the taller girl's eyes, one beaming with love and hope. "i'll be yours, yujin."
yujin blinked. she wondered if god really existed and if he did, she would've liked to thank him.
"yujin?"
she was gonna faint from happiness.
gaeul was hers. no other girl could see her the way yujin could. no one could love her and be loved by her the way yujin could. no one could approach gaeul with the intent of something more.
yujin's eyes hardened. she was definitely gonna make gaeul repay her for everything the girl had made her endure.
the taller girl pulled her closer into a searing kiss.
"wait, yujin-" gaeul's whispers turned into sighs as yujin continued to ignore her, gripping her waist. "we're in public."
"no one's gonna walk in." yujin muttered against the girl's mouth. "trust me."
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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months
Text
Sweet Hibiscus Tea.
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Yan Shalnark x F Reader.
Synopsis: After a day of finally trying to face your social anxiety, you walk home alone. The roads are empty, quiet, and eerie. But you are almost home now, aren’t you? You are not going to cry anymore. Just when you think life is starting to turn around for you, it goes in the exact opposite direction. 
Warnings: Yandere themes, violence, kidnapping, misogyny, not SFW implications, psychological horror elements, manipulation, panic attacks, Shalnark being an asshole, unhealthy relationships, and stalking.
Word Count: 5k.
Can be considered to be within the Hier Encore universe.
Ten Songs Like This Piece:
Look Who’s Inside Again by Bo Burnham
Things She Said by Chris Garneau
Baby Bride Rag by Roar
Butch 4 Butch by Rio Romeo
Appetite of a People-Pleaser by Ghost and Pals
Valentine, Texas by Mitski
I’m Yer Dad by GRLwood
Cry Baby by Melanie Martinez
Freaks by Surf Curse
Neighbour by Mother Mother
“You stay soft, you get beaten; only natural to harden up.” — Mitski, Stay Soft
*~*~*~*
Regardless of how much time has passed, this convenience store always remains the same.
There is always the familiar, tired face of the clerk behind the cash register, her gaze never on you or any other customer who walks in and out of the doors, a simple, muted hello being the only proof that she noticed you.
The lights dim and blink without fail, fading from white to a shade of daffodil to dark flaxen before disappearing and resurfacing yet again as alabaster. No matter how black the night sky is, the less-than-bright illumination never changes.
Neither does the rest of the scenery.
Next to the payment area are two vending machines, with one not functioning. It is dead, with the glass broken by a punch that left a large gaping hole in the dead center. Once when you accidentally touched the front wall while bending down to get your can of lemonade from the working one, it left a sticky residue that had you rubbing your palm on your sweater for what felt like an eternity. It somewhat helped, you guessed, but it also stained your clothes. The vending machine to its right was always out of most sweet drinks, often leaving you with the choice of coffee, lemonade, green tea, or water.
You don’t buy any snacks aside from strawberry Pocky and, if you are lucky, a chocolate bar.
But you do buy meals here because it is cheap. Usually fish with miso or a salad, but there have been times when you can find a premade sandwich.
The total cost comes to between 500 to 1000 Jenny. There is always a poster that claims the cashier is the employee of the month, though you are certain that she is the only one who works there.
The only thing that ever changes is the calendar behind her. The past dates are crossed out in red ink that is in the form of thick, scraggly lines. They remind you of the drawings you used to make as a child when your father was too busy screaming outside your door and your mother was too powerless to do anything but cry and yelp as he hit her. One time you drew them fighting, and when one of your maids saw it, it inevitably found its way to his desk.
Needless to say, he was not happy by any means.
*~*~*~*
The calendar behind the worker reads the 17th of April, 1998. On this day in 1985, your first and only ever friend, the head gardener’s apprentice, went missing. When you eventually gathered up the courage after waiting for hours outside, you went to your father’s room to ask where she was.
“She has been removed from the premises for distracting you instead of doing her job.” The answer you got was to the point, because when has he ever been warm to you? “I made sure that she had learned her lesson before she died. She was in pain the whole time. It was a shame to put a bullet between her pretty eyes. But at least she had a bit more use to me beforehand.”
You cried and cried until you threw up.
That is when your mother, the usual bandage over her left cheek this time, came in and sat on your bed gently, sadly.
She patted the area next to her and slowly you stood up from the floor where you kneeled as you sobbed and went over. She asked you if you wanted a hug and you said no. She responded with a simple nod, respecting your answer. But then what she said next turned your tear-stricken face into a glare.
“She’s alive.” She muttered, along with thanks to God and a hold of the cross on her neck. 
“...What?”
Your mother shushed you when she heard footsteps coming to the door. When the sound eventually leaves further into the hallway, she leans into your ear while pointing to your vanity. Your gaze leads you to the dusty cat statue made of garnet.
It got shattered a little while ago when a maid cleaning your room accidentally made it fall to the floor. You felt bad for her as she was a new hire, so you never told anyone aside from your mother. You knew that if your father, the head of this household, ever found out he would punish her severely, even when he did not care for the statue at all. You got to choose, if you were lucky, which part gets whipped or cut off.
“Yes.”
Her short answer leaves you almost jumping up out of your seat. “...Huh?”
“At last week’s banquet, she caught the attention of your father’s wealthiest business partner.” She turns to the curtains covering the lone window in your room, her back now facing you. “She was tricked into boarding a car when the driver claimed you were inside waiting for her. To the partner in question, she is nothing but another pretty face to add to his collection.”
At the slight turn of the doorknob next door, you two go as still as wax people in a museum. “Why did he lie to me?”
“Why? Well, he certainly did not want you rebelling against his decision.”
“But I have never rebelled against him before.”
“I know.” Your mother lets out a sharp laugh, salty and sour. “I know you are always trying to be good, trying to stay under the radar. I know, I know because you are a lot like me. but now I am going to teach you a lesson about your father and the world at large. Remember that a man’s resentful attitude will always result in a woman’s agony, physical or otherwise, always. However, when things go right for a man, a woman is either praised like a dog or ignored until something goes wrong because it is never enough.”
You can’t breathe. “But why? Why, why, why? What did I do wrong? What could I have done right?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. There is nothing you can do or could have done. No matter what, your faults will always be found. That is how most men are raised, to find, and how most women are raised, to hide.”
“...”
“Men’s hearts are such cruel, small things. Oftentimes they can only fit themselves in them, but there have been times where even they cannot fit.” She is still holding onto the cross charm on her gold necklace, firmer than she has ever held you. “They are cold, are or are almost dead. There is no room for people like you and me. No room at all. All they see us as is something to own, something with no feelings whatsoever, and whose only purpose is to please no matter the cost. Such pigs, all of them.” She murmurs some prayers that you cannot hear. “I want you to be better. I want what is best for you, what I never have been able to accomplish; run and live.”
She opens the drawer beside your bed, and you don’t do anything to stop her. It is not like you can hide anything, from her or anyone else in this house. Whatever is buried eventually resurfaces. She pulls out your rarely used bible, a thick layer of dust on the leather cover. It smells and makes you cough. She doesn’t though.
“At least your father does not force you to read this day and night.”
“Mmhmm.”
“It is one of the few things I appreciate him not doing, I do not want you to grow up hating the church.”
“I know.”
“He has made you hate a lot of things already.”
She turns the pages, dust flying around the cold air.
“He made me hate a lot of things too. Blankets, steaks, cameras. The color white, the color black, the color red. The sounds of belts unbuckling, the sound of laughter, the sounds of doors opening and closing and locking.”
You don’t say anything, only looking at her hands. Only in the dark can you not see her scars, her blooming wrinkles, and the bruises that are always fresh. 
You don’t say anything, because you have learned from a very young age that you are her only listening ear. You are the only one who keeps her head on her shoulders. You don’t say anything, because she is right. He has made you hate plenty of things. But, but, but. But you can’t hate him, and you can’t hate your mother.
You can’t hate her, because who knows what she would do when she finds out that no one cares about her pain in this hell?
“Mother.” You mutter, putting your head on her shoulder as you scan the text on the page that she selected. She does not stop you. 
“Yes, [First]?”
“Do you hate me?” You ask, trying so very hard to not let her see the tears that threaten to come out of your eyes. “Because… because… if I wasn’t conceived, you wouldn’t be here hurting, would you?”
You could swear that you heard her heart skip a beat.
“...I would not be here, yes.”
She is honest, for once. You know at least some of this situation is all your fault.
“Do you hate me?”
“...”
“Mother, please answer me.”
You hear a sniffle as she starts mumbling the words written. “‘A gracious woman gets honor, and violent men get riches.’”
You choose not to press on the subject. You don’t want her to suffer anymore.
*~*~*~*
You buy an orange-flavored Ramune soda, a pack of pork ginger instant ramen, and strawberry Pocky.
The total would come to about 600 Jenny if your quick calculations are right. You could get something extra, like a topping for your ramen or some chips. But would it be wise? You have never been someone who finishes their plate after you had ran away, so what if you just waste your money?
So, you decide not to get anything else.
You walk to the cash register.
You hear an explosion from the back of the building. Small sparks of white and orange. The lights go off before you can place your chosen items down, and you can hear the employee cursing under her breath. The breaker. What happened?
“Damn it, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” She grumbles, putting her thumb and pointer finger on the bridge of her nose, rubbing. “No raises whatsoever. Only one here. Without me, this place wouldn’t be working, ungrateful pricks.”
Fighting the way your heart rate shoots up, you decide that talking to her would be best. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone aside from your boss, right? 
Maybe your anxieties would quell, and you can eventually graduate to talking to your co-workers, that would be a dream come true for you.
You haven’t had a friend, a real friend, ever since Rose was taken from you all those years ago. You still cry whenever you think about her. You miss her. Is she dead, is she alive?
You still blame yourself. If only you hadn’t talked to her, maybe she would still be with you. What kind of adult would she have been? A kind one, a responsible one? You would still be friends at least, wouldn’t you? Or would she grow to hate you, if she didn’t already?
You keep telling yourself that she wouldn’t and didn’t, but that is not what your mind tells you.
Is she dead?
You could picture a rotting corpse six feet under. An unmarked grave. Glassy, dead, amber eyes looking upward to anyone who looks down, helpless, pleading. You always liked them, always complimenting them much to Rose’s shy chuckles. She was so pretty, that much was true. You could only imagine how beautiful she would have been as an adult.
Her looks were a personal gift from God, the heavens, and the angels.
But if she didn’t have them, would she not have been treated like she was in the estate?
“Erm, excuse me,” You mutter, taking a few steps forward. “If you want I can go check it out.”
It is what Rose would do. She always liked helping others. You just wish that people would have appreciated it more and seen past her appearance. It was a double-edged sword. It helped her become the head gardener’s apprentice but also caught the attention of both your father and his business partners. You felt bad for her, and still do.
The employee turns around, her confusion prominent despite the dark. 
“Erm,” You mutter, looking down at your hands and entangling your fingers in one another. You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. “Is that okay?”
It takes a few moments to respond. Her surprise was unexpected, as you never spoke to her outside of asking her if she had change or telling her you hoped that she had a good night. Rose would be better at this kind of thing. You once had a dream that at a fast food joint, an adult her would order for you and correct the staff when they put pickles on your burger. It’s what could have been, funny moments like that. She had always been the one to take charge, you following her like a lost puppy.
You miss her so much.
So much.
The worker slowly nods. “...Okay.”
“...It’s in the back, right? The breaker.”
This is so awkward. Rose would be better. You wish she was here. Or your mother. Anyone.
“...Uh. Um… I like your eyeliner.” As soon as you say that, you curse at yourself, not wanting to sound like a creep. The woman’s confusion becomes even more prominent.
“...Thanks, and yeah, it’s in the back.”
“...Okay.” Jesus Christ. You turn away from her, the heat on your cheeks hot enough to be mistaken for a fever. This is not what Rose would have done.
“...You can leave your stuff here.” She says, and you quickly spin your heel and put your items on the counter. “It’s not like they are going to grow legs and run off, so relax.”
“...” You both chuckle, and you feel slightly better. “...Thanks. I’ll go now.”
“...” You start walking. “Wrong way.”
You stop.
It takes you a few seconds for you to move back to first base and go off in the opposite direction. As soon as you open the creaky steel door, strong rain and cold wind greet you, along with a loud clap of thunder and lightning.
Perhaps you could go back and get your umbrella from the stand by the door. But that would be even more awkward.
“Stupid. Stupid.”
“If we are lucky, the wind simply detached it or something. Not the best at this sort of thing, though.”
“I don’t think breakers detach.” You could picture her shrugging and scoffing at your murmur. “Sorry. Sorry. Just… sorry. I’m the best at this sort of thing either.”
You close the door behind you and start looking amongst the pitter-patter of the raindrops and gusts that nearly make you fall over. 
Stupid. Why do you make everything so weird? Rose would have been so much more charismatic. It was one of her strongest traits after all.
Stupid.
It’s hard to see. Trying not to trip over stones and cracked cement, you grip onto the wall and walk forward. Soon, you feel something.
“Ew, ew, ew!” You cry out, quickly moving your hand away from the slimy slug. “Ew!”
“You okay?”
“Uh, nothing. Just a bug. Yeah, just a bug.”
You hear a chuckle. Stupid.
“Sorry!” You exclaim, almost bowing your head. “Sorry! Really!”
Making sure you don’t touch the slug again, you keep moving.
Eventually, you find the breaker. But it wasn’t what you were expecting by any means. The damage almost looks like it was done on purpose, the way it was open and covered in soot. Did something get to it?
The breaker that exploded was a mass of melted metal that had been blown apart from the intense amount of heat and pressure. It was now barely recognizable as a single unit–parts of it scattered across the cement path and others having been fused and becoming something else entirely. The metal had been melted and blown upwards in the sheer force of the explosion, coating parts of the wall, wet grass, and roof with small, solidified droplets of metal. The ground around the remains of the breaker is burnt and scarred with traces of the immense fire that had consumed it.
It seems the rain put it out.
“No hope for this, huh?”
“Hey,” The employee calls out. “How bad is it? If there is nothing you can do, come back inside.”
So, you do.
The way she turns at you is robotic almost. A smile is on her face that was not there before. She nods when she sees you. Something tells you to not approach.
“It exploded into molten metal.”
“Oh well.”
Under the stormy skies, her gaze turns pale. Her eyes, seemingly captivating, lack any hint of vitality, while her lips curve in a disarming and saccharine manner. A shiver runs down your spine as you meet her gaze, every fiber of your being urging you to flee. Deep within your primal instincts, an innate awareness stirs, recognizing the smile as a charade, a mask of humanity that ventures into the realm of unease: akin to an artificial being adorned with synthetic flesh or a wax figure encased in glass. Those lifeless, white eyes, coupled with a forked tongue and an unsettlingly beautiful countenance, leave you with an undeniable sense of mistrust.
“You’re not mad? Really? Um…”
Something is off. What happened? She looks more like an imposter than anything else. But if she is, where did the real cashier go?
“Don’t worry.” She says, her voice oddly chipper and no longer confused by your awkwardness. “It’s fine. I’m quitting anyway, so it’ll be my boss’ problem.”
You turn your head. “Really?”
She nods. Something is off.
“Like really?”
You blink multiple times and you don’t think she does. She just stands there. Slowly, she nods. Something tells you to run yet again.
“Um… um… okay. Okay. I’ll just pay and leave. How much does it come up to?”
She shakes her head.
“Um. I have to pay. It’s thievery if I don’t.” You get closer. “It’s the law.”
“It’s fine.”
“I can’t just not pay.” You say, taking out your wallet from your sweater pocket. “That’s stealing. It’s wrong.”
Every action she takes is measured and precise, and she seems to move like a machine rather than a person. It’s as if she’s been programmed to act and talk in a certain way, and she doesn’t seem to have the ability to break out of that. She simply stares at you, not speaking.
Run.
You undo the metallic button, hearing the shuffling of paper Jenny within your wallet. “Um. Let me pay. Please.”
She simply shakes her head again.
“It’s fine.” The employee says, the smile still plastered on her face. There is quite more than a hint of blankness and detachment in her expression. She speaks in a mechanical and emotionless manner, her words delivered as though repeated from a script of carefully chosen sentences. Her movements are quick and precise, putting your chosen items in a plastic bag. There is no life or energy in her actions, instead, she moves like a mindless machine, performing her tasks before her without showing any personality of her own. Is it better to just accept it?
What should you do? What shouldn’t you do? Is she joking? Should you leave?
What would Rose do?
One of her hands grasps onto the plastic handles and she holds it out before you. There is no authenticity or warmth. Her eyes are blank. What happened? Should you ask? Should you just take the bag without saying anything further?
“Okay,” You murmur, obeying her silent command. “I hope you don’t get into any trouble though.”
*~*~*~*
Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)
Did you find anything?
Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)
Feitan found her heels nearby along with some blood, so she couldn’t have gotten very far.
You (9th May 1996 17:45)
Nothing yet
Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)
Try checking the stores nearby.
Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)
From the blood trail, she is most likely injured from running and trying to fix herself up in some sort of shelter.
Boss (9th May 1996 17:48)
She may have also discarded the rest of her clothes, not just the heels, and is currently wearing something else.
You (9th May 1996 18:15)
I found a dress and jewelry at the bottom of a lake
You (9th May 1996 18:18)
(image sent)
Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)
That’s it.
Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)
Disappointing. I’ll send over Pakunoda to ask people nearby.
You (9th May 1996 18:20)
K
You (9th May 1996 18:21)
Don’t cry, I’m sure we’ll find her soon :) 
Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)
I wasn’t crying.
Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)
I just thought she came around already.
Boss (9th May 1996 18:23)
This will set our heists back weeks.
Boss (9th May 1996 18:24)
She has planned this out for more than a year, it seems.
*~*~*~*
Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. You can’t hear anything else. The sounds sting your ears like an aggravated hornet. 
The darkness around you is solid, more so than the cracked, aged concrete path beneath your shoes. There is a tiny light in the distance; a streetlamp.
Silence.
“...”
“Have a good day!”
“...Thank you.”
Let there be light.
“Um…” You can’t see anything. The sounds… stopped. “...Time to go home.”
But the pain stays. 
It feels like a drill. 
It hurts.
“...” You feel deaf and blind. No, maybe something even worse. “...”
You turn around, to the dark convenience store, and you see the cashier still staring at you. “Have a good day!”
“...”
“[First]?”
…How does she know your name? Did you say it to her in the past?
When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.
“[First], dear.” She starts waving as you look at her. “[First]. [First]. [First]. [First]. [First]!”
There is nothing but emptiness. Is your name all she can say? What happened to her? It is like she has regressed. Like a storm cloud in summer, you do not wish for this pain. Now you feel deaf and blind and mute now. 
You almost wish that you were dead. All there is is pain. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 
Interruption. The sounds returned. Is this good? Is this bad? Does it matter at all? 
You walk. You don’t speak. Only walk. You can’t breathe. You can only move. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. 
Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 
A hand clamps over your mouth.
You drop the plastic bag from shock, and then you finally hear something other than those sounds; glass shattering.
“Sh…” A voice, calm, along with the smell of oranges. “It’s okay.”
“...!”
“Don’t scream.”
The touch of lips, a man’s lips, on your ear, thin and hard. 
“Breathe. Just breathe for me, okay?”
But you can’t. The wind goes down your throat. It is suffocating. You can’t breathe. You smell oranges and something rotting, blood.
It stinks. It fucking stinks.
Christ. Get away. That stink. That fucking stink. Your body rejects it by continuing to not breathe.
“Sh… Breathe. Just breathe, for me, for you, for us.”
“...St… Sto-”
“Sh…” The voice is sweet, not at all sour, like candy. “Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just breathe. You’re going to pass out.” The lips and the scent of his breath are like salted leather in a butcher’s shop, stinky and rotting. “Calm down. Don’t worry.”
“...Sto… Si-”
“Breathe. Sh… It’s okay. Breathe.”
“...Ge… Sti…”
“Sh… Breathe. Breathe, [First]. Breathe. [First]. Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. Don’t worry about all this. Breathe.”
When you finally do, you gasp, desperate. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”
Get off of me, I can smell you. 
“There we go!”
Your vision clears up a bit. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”
“Just keep breathing.”
“...Huff…”
You can smell him. You can practically taste him, with his mouth so close to you.
“Whew! That was a close one!” The man exclaimed, wrapping his other arm around your waist.
Pain. Get off of me. I can smell you, I can hear you, I can taste you. Get off of me. Please.
The pain still stays, in your chest and your ears, and your head. Oranges. Blood.
Get off of me.
Please–
A pain in the back of your neck and you go limp.
Darkness. Then pain again. You can’t move. You can only breathe. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 
*~*~*~*
SAINTSHORE SPACE THEATRE
UNDER THE DIRECTION OF RANDOLF URASLEF, GRETEL JAMES, AND QUINCEY J. ORATICE
PAUL DONSHEL CELESTE BAKER   ANNE CROAKS
AND
THE GREAT COMET THEATRE COMPANY
SWAN LAKE
ADAPTED BY MUSIC WRITTEN BY PYOTR ILLYICH TCHAIKOVSKY
INSPIRED BY THE CHOREOGRAPHY OF JULIUS REISINGER
WITH THE WONDERFUL CAST OF
(IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)
Odette, the White Swan………………………………………………………….JEAN YVETTE
Odile, the Black Swan……………………………………………………………...JUNO LILOU
Prince Siegfried……………………………………………………………(the name is illegible.)
The rest of the list’s names cannot be read just like Prince Siegfried.
“She is simply beautiful. Just so beautiful. Simply wonderful, perfect.”
As the spotlights ignite, their scorching beams engulf you, causing you to shield your eyes with futile resistance. The sheer force of the light overwhelms your feeble defense. An ethereal audience erupts with exuberant cheers, applause, and whistles, resonating from vacant seats. Champagne flutes collide, men erupt with hearty laughter from their very core, and women unleash piercing screams akin to banshees.
The temperature rises and the noise intensifies, repeatedly, enveloping you in a symphony of overwhelming sensations.
Onlookers casually share their thoughts.
“Get off the stage, we want to see the play, not some stagehand!”
“Boo!”
“Fuck off!”
You run off crying.
“Where is that Odile girl?”
You run into a dressing room. One used by a woman wearing a black dress. She is so pretty. Her long strawberry blonde hair falls off her bare shoulders, clearly just done with a flat iron. There is a burning smell in the air. Smoke. When her gold eyes meet yours, she marches towards you and slams the door shut.
You can almost hear sobbing coming from the other side. Cries.
“So lonely…” The woman mutters. “When will it ever be enough?”
The voice sounds familiar. Her eyes. Her hair.
Nostalgia. Memories you would much rather forget. The basement. The imaginary ripping of clothes and tears and men’s laughter.
“I can’t do this much longer…”
Someone else knocks on her door. You want to scream.
“Come out, dearest.”
The devil. Tall with curved horns and a forked tongue. You want to warn her. 
You want to save her. “I’m not going to harm you, I am going to make you happy.”
You are so focused on whether the woman opens the door or not that you do not notice what happens next until it is too late. A clawed hand on your mouth. A tongue licking your ear. Tasting your sweat. Your tears. Laughter. The rest of the world disappears, and the only one there aside from you is the one behind you.
Sh… Sh… Sh… Sh… Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 
Get off of me. Please.
“Breathe. It makes things more fun for me.” The voice echoed like you two are in a cave.
You gasp for air, and the smell of blood and oranges fills your nostrils.
“...Huff…”
“That’s better.”
You turn around. There is a body of a man. 
But the scaled, furred, horrifying face of a demon.
“Good.” He says, smiling his sharp teeth. “Deep breaths, in and out, come on.”
You do what he says. He praises you again, you think. But you can’t hear it. Either that or you simply do not pay attention to it. What happened to the woman? 
“...”
“We should go.”
The woman. The devil, this other… thing.
“...Rose…”
The demon laughs.
“Wake up.”
*~*~*~*
The first things you hear come from a happy man’s voice. “My boss’ girlfriend ran away more than a year ago you see, and he’s been heartbroken ever since. I want to prevent that kind of loss from happening to me. Real pretty one, too! He didn’t expect it, but I don’t blame her. After all, she’s been held captive for more than a year, she had to try to escape eventually.”
…The first thing you feel is lace on your neck. A collar.
It does not tickle or hurt. It itches. 
A cold hand plays with it, and it almost chokes you. At your discomfort, the man laughs.
“You are so cute.”
Something metal is on the collar, and it blinks a small red light.
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