#I promise I didn’t mean to drop the rakes

[rowarn]

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1

simon riley / reader

FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k

Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed. 

It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off. 

People your age didn’t struggle like this, you convinced yourself.  Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of. 

By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.

You didn’t even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in. 

“Hey, Simon!” you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting. 

He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you. 

“What's with you?” he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously. 

“Um,” you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

“You look…” his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, “You look tense.”

Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, “That’s no different than usual.”

He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator. 

“Where’s all your fuckin’ food?” he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.

“Didn’t get a chance to shop this week, Si,” you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why?” he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.

“Paycheck was short again this week,” you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldn’t look into it anymore than that. 

He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, “Your boss fuckin’ stiff you again?”

“I-It’s not a big deal, Simon–” you attempted to quell him.

“Not a big deal?” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, “It is a big deal when you can’t even afford to fuckin’ eat!”

“Simon…” you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, “I wasn’t going hungry, I have like…ramen and stuff…”

He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t afford proper groceries?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, Si,” you mutter, “I-It’s my problem, not yours.”

He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.

He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.

“Simon, no–” you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.

He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, “You’ll take this and you’ll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or I’m going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckin’ hands around your boss’s throat until he coughs up your money.”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon!” you argue, exasperated, “Y-You don’t have to take care of me like this.”

“Yes, I fuckin’ do!” he counters, “You’re my responsibility and I’m not going to let you exist on fuckin’ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.”

He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.

“Thank you, Simon…” you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.

“Shut up and go,” he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now. 

You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it. 

You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before he’s taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. It’s like he’s always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, still standing by the table.

He grunts, shaking his head, “Orderin' dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “What’re you getting?”

“Gettin’ from that breakfast diner you like,” he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone. 

“You don’t even like that place,” you giggle, “In the mood for a breakfast sandwich?”

“Not for me,” was his clipped response.

“What?” you whine, “Simon, don’t order me food!”

“Did you eat today?” he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.

“I had cup noodles!” you point an accusing finger at him, “So yes!”

“That’s not real food,” he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation. 

You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out. 

You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when there’s a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed. 

“Are you tired?” you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, “You want to spend the night?”

“Guess so,” he responds after a few seconds, “You work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, “I hate working Friday nights.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he offers, finally opening his eyes.

You think it over for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, “I think it’ll be okay. Last week was fine.”

He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesn’t argue and you’re thankful for that. 

Simon’s been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that you’ve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders. 

The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom. 

It wasn’t a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent. 

You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit – not that you would want to escape. 

You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed. 

Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14. 

It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!

You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine. 

Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.

He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.

Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered. 

It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you. 

“Goodnight, Simon,” you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.

He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well. 

The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual. 

Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule he’d been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver. 

After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV – the morning news, it seemed.

“Good morning,” you called. 

“Eat,” was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.

You purse your lips but do as you’re told – not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious. 

As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.

“I’m going to go to the store after I eat,” you called, “Do you want to come?”

“Nah,” he grunted, “Gotta go soon.”

“Oh,” you tried to hide your disappointment, “Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he responded, your disappointment only growing at that. 

The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was – but you didn’t mind being pressed up against him. You didn’t think he minded either because he never bothered to move away. 

You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around. 

“You leaving?” you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.

“Got to,” he mumbled, still glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

“You leave it in the bedroom?” you offer.

He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them. 

“See you later, Si,” you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving. 

You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when he’s home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldn’t because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.

He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.

“I’ll come by when I can,” he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned. 

Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didn’t buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet. 

When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar. 

As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show you’ve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize you’re squeezing your thighs together. 

And your panties are feeling awfully sticky. 

Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize that’s doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself. 

But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better. 

Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?

You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching. 

With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication. 

You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesn’t really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit. 

You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. You’re quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself. 

But then the inevitable happens – it’s like you hit a wall. 

You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you don’t get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate. 

Tears sting your eyes, “No, no, no…” you beg no one.

You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But you’re too frustrated to try anymore. 

You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.

Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready. 

Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didn’t get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life. 

You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.

What would you say, “Hi, I can’t make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?” Absolutely not. 

You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar. 

At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar. 

It’s not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread. 

It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit you’d ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with. 

He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong and cutting his employee’s pay for no reason – or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you ‘got enough in tips to make up the loss’ – you didn’t. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you. 

You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you weren’t willing to go back to looking for work. 

So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasn’t the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.

The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted. 

That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly. 

Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be. 

You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell. 

You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell. 

“This goes to the corner table,” the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldn’t be older than 20, but you honestly couldn’t even recall his name. 

You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.

“Here’s your drinks,” you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them. 

“Thanks, beautiful,” one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray. 

“Maybe,” another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked – like he could see through your clothes. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.

“What is it you need?” you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation. 

One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, “I’ll tip you this if you show us your tits.”

Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads. 

“N-No thank you…I-I don’t think that would be appropriate,” you hope that they can’t hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.

“Come on, sexy,” the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, “Bet they’re real nice. C’mon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!”

“M-My shift is over, I really need to go,” you shakily smile and take a step back, “I-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.”

Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong. 

The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face. 

The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face. 

The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state. 

She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.

Your coworker called your name and you paused.

“Hey, take a breath,” she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them. 

“What happened?” she asked softly, “Do you want me to call someone? The police?”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply. 

The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious. 

“Get out,” he snaps at your coworker. 

She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure – leaving both of you alone. 

He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you can’t get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.

“Are you broke in the fuckin’ head?!” he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, “You put your hands on a customer?!”

“Th-They put their hands on me first!” you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, “They touched me!”

He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but you’re panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.

“I don’t give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!” he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, “You better think fast and hard about how you’re going to rectify this. Do you understand me?”

His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesn’t look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until you’re sitting on the dirty floor.

“You go out there and you apologize to them,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Or I’m going to fire you and you’re gonna be out on the fuckin’ streets, got it?”

You nod your head, holding back your sobs but can’t control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open. 

You’re left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and you’ve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.

The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But it’s your coworker again. 

She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I-I have to apologize t-to them,” you manage to choke out. 

Her eyes widened, “No way! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I can’t lose this job,” you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, “I need this job. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t apologize!”

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, that’s it.”

You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.

She whispers your name, “Are you sure he didn’t…”

“He only ripped it,” you assure her, sniffling softly, “But I can’t go out there like this.”

It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one. 

“You can borrow my hoodie,” she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, “Go on, you can return it to me another day.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that you’re covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.

You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second you’re out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it. 

You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon. 

You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table. 

“There you are!” the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, “Thought you were gonna run away without apologizing for bein’ a raging bitch.”

You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, “I-I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” another one jeered, “Practically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?”

“I’ve got a few ideas!” a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.

“How about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?” you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.

“How about I bring you a round on me, huh?” she quickly intervenes, “I’ll buy.”

That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.

“Go on home,” she says softly.

“I-I’ll pay you back for the drinks–” she shushes you quickly when you start.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she coos, “Go home.”

With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door. 

You don’t even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But you’re sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath. 

You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time. 

You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.

He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isn’t soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. He’s always clipped and blunt. Sure, he’s kind but never gentle.

Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly you’re sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.

You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back. 

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, “Got worried so I rushed over.”

You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything you’re feeling. 

Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until you’re just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. You’re taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you. 

He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips. 

The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, “Si…” you finally manage to choke out.

His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap. 

You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell you’re supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, he’s going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your boss’s head through the wall and find those assholes from the table. 

You really can’t afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, you’re scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If you’re jobless for even a week, it’s going to fuck everything up. You’ll never make rent and you can’t end up on the street. 

“Just a…bad shift…” you supply lamely.

Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you’re lying in the first place or the fact you don’t think you can tell me what really happened.”

“Simon…” you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, “Just let it go, please.”

He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasn’t taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots. 

You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not letting it go,” he responds, “I think you know me better than that.”

“Simon, please!” you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep. 

“I want to know what happened,” he argues, clearly growing exasperated. 

You know he’s not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like you’re overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie – you need it off or you’re going to go mad. 

Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands. 

But you can’t get the damned thing off, you’re uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why won’t it come off? 

“G-Get it off,” you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.

Simon’s hands are back, “I’ve got you. I’ll get it off ya.” 

True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself. 

He says your name softly but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach – the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.

He’s not an idiot. If anything, he’s more intelligent than anyone you’ve ever known. 

Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. You’re running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave. 

You don’t hear any movement from Simon. He doesn’t follow you to the bathroom. You’re briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.

“Simon!” you cry, his footfalls an immediate response. 

He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, “You finished?”

You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, “I-I want to shower.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.

He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, “Not goin’ anywhere, love.”

He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. You’re terribly stuffy from crying so you can’t even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.

You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.

“Are you hungry?” Simon suddenly asks.

“No…” your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that you’re completely emotionally drained. 

“Alright,” is all he says in reply.

You approach the door, where he’s still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom. 

You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You don’t make any movements. 

He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his. 

“Was it your boss?” he asks softly. 

“Him and some assholes I was serving drinks to,” you tiredly answer. You don’t have it in you to fight in anymore. 

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” he pries, squeezing your hands.

“Because I know you, Si,” you sniffle, “You’re going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.”

“And?” he scoffs, “They fuckin’ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.”

“Because I can’t lose my job, Si!” you finally cry, “I barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to afford rent. I’ll be on the streets!”

“I would never let that happen,” he says firmly, “You will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.”

“I can’t do that to you, Simon,” you mutter, sniffling again, “Y-You already have so much on your plate I don’t want to be another problem you have to deal with.”

“Is that what you think?” he scoffs, standing up, “That I deal with you? You’re important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. I’m not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.”

You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.

“I’m going to make you something small to eat. You’re going to eat and drink some water and then you’re going to get some rest, understood?” he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance. 

Once you’re alone, you go over his words again. You’re important to him, that’s what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young. 

As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy – except for one memory.

You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. You’d known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother. 

He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldn’t find out.

You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him – like liked. 

You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didn’t feel the same. And that was that. 

You never brought it up again. 

But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And that’s how it had been ever since. 

Simon’s voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen. 

Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup. 

He knew you well, you couldn’t deny. You picked up the fork he’d placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat. 

After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands. 

“Um, Simon?” you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, “Didn’t you have something going on tonight?”

“Was gonna be out the lads,” he responded, “Doesn’t matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your friends like that,” you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.

“Aint my friends,” he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.

“Simon Riley doesn’t have friends?” you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.

“Got you,” he said as you followed him down the hall, “All I need.”

A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.

Friends. That’s what you were, you reminded yourself. 

Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light. 

Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldn’t close your eyes. You felt like you couldn’t relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work. 

“Simon..?” you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, “Can I…tell you what happened tonight?”

He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. 

“This stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,” you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, “They were just chattin’ shit, saying they’d tip me if I showed them my tits,” he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, “I said no and tried to leave and they wouldn’t let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,” Simon growled from beside you.

“I got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,” your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, “He grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.”

“Of course that’s all that bastard would be angry about,” Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“I tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he said–” your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, “He said that he didn’t care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didn’t apologize to them.”

Simon’s arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, “He made you apologize to them?” 

You nod your head, “It was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didn’t want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.”

“Pieces of shit,” he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, “They better hope I don’t find them.”

You’d really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldn’t be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them – someone like Simon. 

“I should have gone to the bar tonight,” he sighed, “Even though you told me not to, I wanted to.”

“It’s okay, Si,” you sniffle, “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms. 

You wake up late, well into the afternoon. You’re groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isn’t in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him. 

As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and weren’t in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor. 

He’s relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asks. You nod your head, “Hungry?” You nod again.

He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch. 

“Simon?” you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen. 

He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.

“Where did my clothes from last night go?” you ask softly.

He pauses his stirring of the food, “Threw them out. Figured you wouldn’t want to see them when you woke up.”

“Oh,” you respond. 

Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel so…in love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved. 

No, he doesn’t love you.

You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking. 

The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things. 

You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big. 

His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built. 

Handsome.

You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.

Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue. 

You’d never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred. 

Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back. 

Kissing Simon…you pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge. 

Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing. 

What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?

You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them. 

Shouldn’t you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken. 

You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut. 

You fight back tears as you begin to wash up. 

By the time your shower is done, you’re exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.

“You scared me!” you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.

“Wanted to check on you,” he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “I just got really tired and I’d like to turn in early, that’s all.”

“Alright,” he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, “Just call if you need anything.”

“I will!” you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him. 

You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily – maybe you were more tired than you thought. 

Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk. 

When you start to dream, you’re acutely aware that it’s a dream. You’re not sure how but, you just know that you’re sleeping and none of this is real.

But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it. 

Simon is there, you’re both in your bed. He’s got his shirt off and he’s on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly. 

He doesn’t smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his – a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And he’s so warm against you. 

You realize that you’re only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you can’t help but moan. 

“Si…” you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and it’s intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place. 

Simon’s hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. He’s so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes. 

“Si…” you whimper again.

“I’m here, love,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties weren’t in the way. You’d love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. You’d love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that. 

You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that you’ve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. You’re sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.

If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him. 

Just as you swear it’s going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize you’ve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed. 

You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry. 

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes you’re awake.

“Was doin’ some laundry,” he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.

“Oh,” you whisper, sounding hoarse, “Thank you, Si.”

As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until he’s finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I’ve gotta go tonight.”

“Go?” you ask, eyes going wide. You don’t want him to leave, “Go where?”

“I’ve got some work to take care of,” he replies, “Paperwork I’ve been puttin’ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.”

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you haven’t been without him since it happened and you’re scared to be alone with just your thoughts.

“I know,” he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, “I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles – bruised and split open. They weren’t like that last night you were sure of it, “Simon…”

He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day. 

Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice he’s on his phone a lot more, typing away. It’s unlike him, he’s more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass. 

You have a feeling he’s lying but you don’t pry. 

Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You can’t help but wish that he’d change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all. 

But he doesn’t. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you. 

“Don’t cry, love,” he coos, wiping a stray tear away, “I promise I’ll get all my work done and I’ll be all yours for a good long while.”

“Okay…” you sound so miserable but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’ll miss you.”

He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He can’t give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder. 

You don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much. 

You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because it’s scared it’s going to be alone forever. 

By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse. 

Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger. 

You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isn’t there. 

Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that you’re experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.

You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.

You’re so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you. 

You know he doesn’t feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But you’re willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as he’s with you, as long as he’s in your life. 

But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately. 

You wish that he loved you. 

You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep. 

Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you. 

A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.

You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and you’re reminded that he isn’t home tonight. 

You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.

I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there. 

He promised.

You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.

You hang up and try again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t answer. Why won’t he answer? He promised.

You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you. 

But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him. 

Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. You’re fucking angry. 

You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. It’s loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you don’t feel better. You’re still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like it’s all bottled up inside you and it hurts. 

You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it. 

Then you do it again. And again. And again. 

You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. You’re sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek. 

You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldn’t even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise. 

Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow – wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness. 

You’re there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room. 

You can’t even find beauty in it. You’re so exhausted. Your heart aches. It’s agonizing. 

It’s early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You don’t feel excited to see him. You’re not happy he’s back. You don’t feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping. 

You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave. 

You didn’t want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. You’ve never felt like this about him before. You don’t know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him. 

God, you hate him. 

He’s surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway. 

He wanders further into the room before pausing. 

He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that you’re awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you. 

“You called,” he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simon’s never anxious. But he is right now, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was just…busy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.”

Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. It’s a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy. 

Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not used to feeling scrutinized. And that’s exactly what your gaze feels like. 

Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. It’s tan, just a light stain. There’s a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red. 

He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didn’t know any better. This isn’t guilt because he missed your call. He’s guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you. 

That’s why he ignored you? To fuck someone?

You’re no longer numb. You’re angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. It’s like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out. 

You’re moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious. 

You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him. 

Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe he’ll feel a fraction of what you feel right now. 

“Are you out of your fucking head?” he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable. 

You don’t even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too. 

When you’re out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. It’s when you’re about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room. 

He’s standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself. 

“I hate you,” you finally spit, standing on your knees. You don’t have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much. 

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” you scream. You’re so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear but you don’t care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesn’t do anything but stand there and let you. He’d never lay a hand on you, even when you’re doing it to him, “I needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!”

He doesn’t say anything but he’s trembling now. You’re not sure if he’s just that angry or if he’s holding himself back from wringing your neck. 

You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but he’s staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged. 

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you spit, raising your hand as if you’re going to slap him across the face but you stop. You don’t want to do that. 

“Say what?” he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the room’s temperature, “I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. That’s the difference between us. You need me but I don’t need you.”

You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesn’t seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like you’re dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“You hate me?” he scoffs, “That’s just fine. We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door. 

And you’re all alone. And you can’t do anything but cry about it. 

You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you can’t bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit. 

Then you watch the sun come up and decide that it’s a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when you’re plagued with nightmares. 

You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. He’s always on your mind.

You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. You’d been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you. 

He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didn’t have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him. 

What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didn’t need you like you needed him, after all. He’d surely been spending his days in dread of you – of your texts, your calls. 

This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you. 

What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise. 

You wake up one day and realize you’re not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness. 

You cry all the time. Day and night. 

You try to use your phone, you want to call him but it’s broken. The screen won’t even turn on. You’re completely alone, can’t even contact somebody – not that you have anyone but him. 

God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and you’ve been holding out for him since you were a kid. 

You’re suddenly aware of the fact you haven’t showered in days. You’ve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen – a slice of bread is what you usually settle on. 

You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than it’s ever been but the hot water is completely welcome. 

When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You haven’t cleaned it in a while but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You let yourself cry again, since it’s all you can do. By the time you’re done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again. 

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t have a job. You hadn’t shown up to your shift in days. And you don’t have Simon anymore. 

Panic takes shape and you realize you can’t relax. If you don’t find a job soon you’re going to be on your ass and homeless by next month. 

You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear. 

Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. You’ll do anything if you have to. 

You’re going to prove to yourself and to Simon that you’ll make it without him – and you won’t end up hanging from a fucking rope. 

The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and it’s already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar. 

You’re filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. There’s a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is. 

You look around, searching for your old boss. He’s nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back. 

You only realize you’re trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when you’re reminded that you need the job. You need it. 

“Enter,” you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, “You.” 

“M-Mr. Dawson,” you shakily whisper, “I-I know I haven’t showed up in a few days and I’m really sorry but–”

“You want your job back,” he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, “You want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?”

“Sent who…?” you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking. 

“That asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think I’m going to let you back in after that?” he laughs again, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.”

You wince at the insult, “I-I didn’t send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own but–”

“You can have your job back,” he says suddenly, making you freeze, “If you come over here and bend over my desk for me.”

“What..?” you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.

“You heard me,” he snickers, “Bend over my desk and let me fuck you and I’ll let you have your job back.”

Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you can’t. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself. 

“N-No,” you find yourself whispering, “I won’t do that…”

His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, “Should have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.”

You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in. 

When you get home, you stand there and cry. That’s all you’ve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simon’s prophecy is going to come true and you’re going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel. 

You crawl back into bed and don’t get back up that night. Or the next day. 

The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread you’ve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold. 

You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didn’t even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time. 

So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left. 

As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs can’t hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet. 

You almost want to laugh at yourself over what you’ve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself. 

You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you don’t have much hope. 

Then, you’re back in bed. And you’re so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep. 

But then you have another nightmare. You can’t even remember what it was about, you’re too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do. 

Instead, your eyes open and they’re already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact you’re awake. 

So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and you’re left exhausted as usual. It’s become your default state and you begin to wonder if you’re going to feel this broken and hurt forever. 

You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it. 

You don’t even hear your front door open. Don’t hear the boots on the floor. Don’t hear your bedroom door open. 

You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you don’t hear anything else. 

Your imagination? You don’t have a lamp anymore to turn on. You’d thrown it at Simon and it broke.

Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway. 

He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat. 

“Si?” you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room. 

He’s got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. He’s so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him – hold him so fiercely that you’re worried you may actually break him. 

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, “It’s alright, everything’s alright.”

“S-Simon…” you can’t help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was. 

“I’m here,” he sighs, kissing the top of your head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and we’ll make everything better, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself apologizing through tears, “I-I don’t hate you, Si. I don’t, I promise. I-I was just mad. I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, “I’m the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckin’ mistake.”

You can’t even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, you’re almost scared that he’s going to disappear if you let go. 

But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed. 

Before long, your cries finally quiet and you’re left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go. 

After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, “Why don’t you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. I’ll fix you up some food, sound good?”

You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll make you some ramen cups,” he responds. 

He doesn’t like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach. 

“Don’t have any,” you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.

“None?” he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap. 

You shake your head, “I didn’t buy any last time I went shopping.”

“What the hell have you been eating then?” he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed. 

You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, “I haven’t had much of an appetite but I’ve got some bread…”

Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.

“I’ll order then,” he assures you, “Go ahead and shower, yeah?”

You do as you’re told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until you’re both mentally prepared for it. 

You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat. 

When you slip into your bedroom, you’re shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged. 

You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you don’t undo the work that Simon had done. 

You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen. 

He’s methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well. 

It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls. 

You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.

You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldn’t afford to buy groceries – although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldn’t have felt like going out to get any. You wouldn’t have been able to order since you’d broken your phone. 

You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didn’t want to order you anything too hefty given the fact you’ve been existing on bread. 

He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over. 

He honestly looked the same as ever. He didn’t have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didn’t have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even. 

His words ring out through your head like a bell. 

“We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash. 

Maybe he was right, you couldn’t survive without him. Couldn’t even wash your own damn laundry. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts. 

“Oh, um,” you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to these few days!”

You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. You’re positive he doesn’t buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. You’re grateful because you don’t want to cry again.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, “I was on base, actually. Nothin’ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?”

You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, “Nothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,” you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, “Turns out your ex-boss doesn’t like when he gets beat to shit because of you!”

Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, “You tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know it’s not good for you!”

All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and you’re shouting at him before you know it, “What the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,” you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, “All you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

“You should have known me better than that!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, “I never would have left you–”

“That’s exactly what you did!” you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking wreck and you look like you couldn’t have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.”

For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and you’re stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again. 

“I should have known you better?” you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, “Apparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.”

Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time. 

The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away. 

Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now. 

With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on. 

But he doesn’t reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you can’t bear to look back at him.

“I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a breath, “I wasn’t…” he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, “I wasn’t okay while I was gone.” 

He doesn’t say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past this, Simon,” you whisper, “Everything’s so fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“I am too,” he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, “We’ll fix it.”

His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But it’s silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it. 

Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is. 

“Simon?” you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, “What time is it?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, “9:20.”

“Oh…” you respond, tucking your head back into your knees. 

Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what he’s doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and you’re finding it so hard to think clearly. 

You’re pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and you’re met with Simon’s sweet, brown eyes. 

“Made your bed,” he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, “Go ahead and get some proper sleep.”

You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.

You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You don’t even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you. 

When you wake up next, it’s from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself. 

A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simon’s cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed. 

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I’ve got you.”

“I want it to stop,” you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, “The nightmares.”

Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, “We’ll get you fixed up.”

As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place. 

You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. What’s most shocking is that you’re still wrapped up in Simon’s arms – and he’s still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.

You find yourself staring at him. It wasn’t often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more. 

When you wake up next, it’s because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.

“You slept late,” you find yourself commenting.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, “I haven’t had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.”

You want to mention that it’s never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response. 

As you’re left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You don’t know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, you’ve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again. 

But on the other hand, there feels like there’s a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air. 

You love him, you really do. 

But you’re still so angry at him. 

And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly. 

The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still don’t have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.

“Somethin’ I need to ask you,” he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.

Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, “About?”

“You said that,” he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, “You almost slept with that guy for your job back.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “Yeah…what about it?” 

Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, “You really almost did that?”

You frown, “So what? I can do what I want, Simon.”

He sighs softly, holding his hands up, “I’m not tryin’ to fight, love.”

“I don’t know why it’s your business,” you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, “I just needed a job is all.”

He nods, “You don’t need to worry about that, alright. I’ve got you.”

You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, “There’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“Go ahead,” he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered – some kind of soda if you had to guess.

“That night…” you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, “You, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?”

He places his sandwich down and sighs, “Yeah.”

“...Why?” you finally ask, “I mean…”

You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer he’s quiet. You think he isn’t going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head. 

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he finally says, “It was a…last minute choice and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He says it but you don’t feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isn’t eased in the slightest. It’s an excuse, something he’s saying to get you off his back. And that doesn’t feel good.

“I um…” you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, “I’m sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, “You were upset.”

“Simon…” you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, “I want to talk. About everything,” Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, “I-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it – really talk about it.”

He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“But I do,” you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, “You said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!”

He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell he’s uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But you’re not going to let him avoid it.

“I don’t,” he snaps, final and harsh.

“I do!” you argue again, “I-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you could–”

“Fuck sake!” he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto. 

He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place. 

“What are you doing?” you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Don’t run from me, Simon!” you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, “Are you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?” 

You can’t fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. You’re left alone again, frustrated,  sad and utterly confused. 

You wished he would stop leaving. 

You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait. 

You’re jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know it’s Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has. 

The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simon’s soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep. 

“I can’t do this, Simon,” you find yourself whispering. It’s quiet but you know he hears it, “I want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you won’t let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I want…” you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.

Simon is painfully silent and still. You’re positive he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because that’s what he does best – avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague. 

You suppose it’s from the way he grew up. A mama’s boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult – he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do – mean something to him, that is. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice thick with emotion, “For what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have never–” he lets out a heavy breath, “I never should have said it.”

You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“You mean…” he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing it’s difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, “You mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. You’re…important.”

You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again for good measure.

He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.

PART TWO.

do not modify, translate, or repost.

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Man discovered fire.

Women discovered how to play with it.

Jonathan Crane x psycho!reader PART ONE

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

***************************

You met at Arkham when you were a patient and he was your doctor. There was something so sweet about him. His seemingly unblemished soul made your mouth water. Every time he fixed his crooked glasses a blackened part of your heart fluttered.

When he visited you for your weekly sessions you enjoyed toying with him. You were often stuck in your straight jacket but it didn’t mean you couldn’t use your foot to run up and down his trouser leg.

“Miss Y/n, I feel that our—what are you doing?” He stumbled over his words when your foot began to gently press against his growing bulge.

“Doctor Crane, I didn’t realise interviewing sicko’s got you this excited.”

He grasped your foot and threw it back down. You sickeningly giggled at his display of force, believing you were slowly uncovering something more to the innocent doctor.

“I’m boreddddd.” You whined. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” You kicked your feet in a tantrum.

He fixed his glasses. “You believe you have been rehabilitated?”

You fixed yourself so you were now sat criss cross. You leaned towards him. “What do you think doc?”

“I think you killed 39 people.” His voice dropped to an enticing whisper.

“No.” Your voice lost it’s teasing lilt.

“I’m sorry?”

“I killed men. Not people.”

After an intense stare, he broke it to gather up his papers and his briefcase. You leaned back feeling your heart race. You hadn’t felt this rush of adrenaline in a while as even killing had lost its excitement after a while. This was a new feeling, and you were addicted.

“I’m bored. Play with me.” You shot him a flirty smile.

He stopped on his exit out and turned to face you. His eyes raked up and down your body.

“Not yet.”

***************************

PART TWO

Here's the post I promised to celebrate my 100 followers! it's kinda late but I'm loving it! Also there will be multiple parts to this!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace @thearieunhinged @multifans-things @queenofterrasen418 @bey0ndne0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iamliterallyspidergwen @frozenhuntress67 @alice2612

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian x reader #cillian murphy #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #jonathan crane smut #batman begins #batman nolanverse #dc scarecrow #arkham scarecrow #jonathan crane x psycho!reader

[britany1997]

Fate Yields For No One

Chapter Four

Were you wondering what the boys were doing while reader and Maria were bonding at the video store those two weeks? Wonder no more! Here’s what they were up to lol

I strongly recommend going back to at least read chapter 3 before reading this one, as some of the scenes will be the same, but from Paul’s perspective:)

Poly Lost Boys x Max’s Daughter Reader

FYFNO Masterlist

California, 1986

Paul’s eyes widened as he realized who you were to him. You wished you could have stopped the word that fell from his lips.

“Mine.”

Paul stared at you, his eyes raking up and down, taking you in. God you were beautiful, the others would love you. As his shock wore off, Paul felt a giddy feeling bubbling in his chest.

He had a million questions to ask you. Your favorite food, your favorite color, your favorite band. Paul had to know anything and everything. (Even if you liked Tiffany or something, he could get over it…eventually.)

As your lips parted, Paul prepared himself to be enchanted by whatever honeyed words you’d speak to him. He reached forward to caress your cheek.

Instead of leaning into the touch as he’d expected you to, you recoiled. His brow furrowed.

“Oh my god I totally forgot I have to go stock things in the back, so nice to meet you, bye!” He heard you blurt out before you moved away from him.

There were few times in Paul’s life when he was actually rendered speechless. This was one of them.

Paul’s brow furrowed, “what?” He whispered as he moved to stand in front of the desk’s swinging door you’d been headed for. Surely he’d misunderstood (wouldn’t be the first time), you had to at least talk this out.

He watched your face twist into a glare, “you’re in my way…” you bit out at him.

Paul’s confusion turned to frustration. “What?!” He repeated, “but we’re…I mean we-” he stumbled over his words, desperate and utterly flabbergasted.

“I know what we are,” you told him, “and I don’t care. So can you please move aside so I can do my job?”

Paul’s jaw dropped.

You…didn’t want him? Didn’t want a mate? Someone who’d love you unconditionally for eternity? Who’d do anything for you? God what was wrong with you?

He stumbled a bit as you pushed past him. “Hey!” He called after you, his ego more bruised than it’d ever been.

“This isn’t over you know,” he promised, resolved to win your heart, even if he had to recruit some…reinforcements.

You scoffed, oblivious to Paul’s plotting. “Seems like it is,” you replied before slipping into the back of the video store.

“What the fuck just happened,” Paul murmured to himself as he rubbed his forehead.

Maria whistled “tough break Paulie.” She bumped him with her hip before she went back to returning DVDs.

Paul scoffed. She didn’t know the half of it. “I gotta go Maria,” he muttered, stalking off with his tail between his legs.

She snickered softly as she watched him go.

Paul shook his head, he was gonna be in for one long conversation when he got back to the cave.

Paul slunk across the boardwalk, hands in his pockets, as he made his way back to his bike.

His head nodded along to the beat of the music playing over the speakers. Paul started to tap out a four count on his thigh as he walked and hummed.

“Are you going to that bonfire Friday?” “I dunno, is Jason gonna be there?” “Ugh, probably” Paul huffed a laugh as he eavesdropped on the vapid boardwalk talk.

A bonfire on Friday did sound fun though. Should he and the guys throw a party? Who would they even invite? Maria? Maria, who worked at the video store with his new mate. He sighed. What a mess.

As he walked, his mind wandered to her pretty face. He wished she would have let him touch her. She looked so soft. He just wanted to hold her. He could be gentle!

He huffed.

Didn’t she realize he was hers? Didn’t she know he’d do anything for her? He’d be anything she needed? He’d probably even cut his hair for her if she asked. As long as she let him hold a memorial service after.

She was pretty, and soft (probably), witty and fiery, and she was right there at the video shop and she didn’t even want him. How fucked was that.

Paul frowned as he finally reached his bike, looking back over his shoulder in the shop’s direction. It’d been a while since he’d felt that hollow longing feeling of being alone.

But he wasn’t alone, not anymore. And whatever had happened back there, he and his boys were gonna fix it, he knew they would.

Paul revved his engine with renewed determination. ‘Just wait pretty girl,’ he thought, ‘cause we’re comin back for ya’

When Paul arrived at the cave, each of the boys were too immersed in their own activities to notice.

On the couch, Dwayne was two-hundred and twelve pages into his thirty-first reread of Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and from the way Dwayne was hunched over the book, quite literally on the edge of his seat with his brow furrowed, Paul could tell it was just starting to get good.

Though Paul could barely think over the harsh whirring sound of Marko’s sewing machine. He’d been occupied with making patch-work vests and skirts lately to expand his wardrobe. And while Paul appreciated having some extra pieces around he could borrow, after weeks of hyper fixated, non-stop sewing, the sound was worse than nails on a chalkboard.

David’s constant foot tapping didn’t help either. He was perched in his wheelchair throne, seemingly reviewing some ancient documents. By the way he was squinting and underlying, it seemed to be pretty important stuff.

But none of this was as important as what Paul had to tell them. He cleared his throat pointedly.

The whirring of the sewing machine slowed before coming to a stop, Dwayne looked up from his book expectantly, and a little annoyed, David continued his work, ignoring Paul entirely. “I’m calling a meeting,” Paul stated confidently.

“You don’t have the authority to call a meeting,” David said without looking up from his papers, “only Dwayne and I do.”

Paul wondered if he could explode David with his mind if he tried hard enough. How would he know if he never tried?

“Well it’s an emergency,” Paul gritted.

David met Paul’s frustration with a mocking pout. “Dealer’s out of the good stuff again Paulie? Tragic.” He turned back to his papers.

Dwayne seemed to sense Paul’s desperation, “what’s wrong Paul?” he asked.

“I have another mate,” he said hesitantly, “which means that you guys probably do to.”

David stilled at the same time Marko gasped, the curly haired vampires lips curling up into a bright smile.

“What are they like? Are they nice? Are they funny? Are they hot?” The shorter vamp bombarded Paul with questions, making him cringe.

Dwayne frowned, “Paul…” he began gently, “why aren’t they here with you?”

A broken look crossed Paul’s face, “she…doesn’t want me.”

Marko’s excitement was extinguished as he came to Paul’s side, lacing their fingers together. Dwayne softened, quietly reflecting on Paul’s words. David frowned.

“What do you mean she doesn’t want you?” he narrowed his eyes.

“Exactly what I said dude,” Paul strained, “she said she didn’t care!”

David leaned back, unconvinced. “Tell us exactly what happened, start to finish.”

Paul nodded and painfully recounted every moment from the excitement of meeting you, to the pain of watching you leave as he picked up his jaw from the floor.

David stroked his chin, “are you sure she’s a vampire? Human mates are rare, but they’re not unheard of,” he mused.

Paul scoffed, “duh she’s a vampire! She said, ‘I know what we are, and I don’t care.’ How would she know we were mates if she wasn’t a vampire?” He threw his hands up in frustration.

“Did she say, ‘I know what we are,’ or did she say, ‘I know what you are,’” Dwayne chimed in.

Paul scratched his head, what did she say? He’d been talking about what they were, but had she? He couldn’t quite remember. “She could have been saying ‘I know what you are,’” he decided.

David’s hands clapped together, “so she’s human, but she knows we’re vampires, or at least that you are Paul. Unsurprising, you and Marko have the combined subtlety of an airhorn at the opera,” Paul rolled his eyes. “That’s an easy enough fix,” David reasoned.

“Makes more sense too,” Marko added. “If she ran off, it was probably because she was scared. If I was a human I wouldn’t wanna fuck around with us to get bit either.”

“Why don’t we give her some time,” Dwayne suggested, “prove we’re not going to rush into the video store and drag her out to hurt her or anything. We could give her some space to calm down from her confrontation with Paul, and then we can all go meet her together.”

The boys nodded slowly, considering Dwayne’s plan.

“And,” Dwayne added, “if she’s human, we all need to be on our absolutely best behavior,” he shot a pointed glance at David.

David rolled his eyes, “I’d teach her to be on her best behavior,” he mumbled.

Dwayne sighed. “Let’s just give it two weeks, then we’ll go check in on her,” he paused his voice taking on a gentle tone once more, “I think we could all take some time to cool off.”

Paul tensed at that last part, but he knew Dwayne was right. You were a human and you didn’t understand. You couldn’t! They’d have to show you, go slow, ease you into things, be gentle…you were basically made of glass after all.

He sighed, ‘two weeks,’ he thought, ‘I can do two weeks.’

He could not do two weeks.

Not gracefully at least.

By the end of those two weeks, Paul was practically feral. The second the Sun began to fade into the horizon, Paul was awake and attempting to drag David out of the cave.

As eager to meet you as they were, the boys had grown tired of Paul’s impatience.

Dwayne’s evenings consistently began and ended with “has it been two weeks yet?” The dark haired vampire had come so close to just buying Paul a damn calendar.

Marko had had to stick to Paul like glue to stop him from wandering off to the video store every night. On two unfortunate occasions, Marko AND David had to drag him back to the cave to stop him was barging in to talk to you. Paul was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something, and he wanted you bad.

But Dwayne has assured him last night that today was the day, and Paul was chomping at the bit. “Let’s go,” he groaned, annoyed and excited.

“Paul.” Dwayne chastised.

“Dwayne.” Paul mocked.

“Paul,” it was too early for this shit. “I know you want to see her, we all do,” Dwayne reminded him. “But I think we should wait until closing.”

“What?!” Paul huffed, “I’ve been waiting two weeks! Now we gotta wait longer? No way man!”

“Paul listen,” David groaned, “we can’t have a long, intensive conversation with her about vampire mates with random human customers running around, get it? It’s a private conversation.”

Marko nodded in agreement, “it’s doesn’t seem fair to drop all of that on her while she’s still at work either,” he added, “it’s better if we get ‘er as she’s leaving.”

Paul rolled his eyes, “whatever, I bet Fishy’s on my side.” He grumbled as he stalked off to his room.

“You think we should invest in one of those backpack leashes for him?” Marko asked, only half joking.

David scoffed a laugh, “don’t tempt me.”

When closing time finally came, Paul’s eagerness had wavered. What if they explained everything and you still weren’t on board? Humans had tons of reasons to fear vampires after all, you might want nothing to do with them.

He shuddered at the thought.

He looked to his left to see Marko biting his thumb, equally nervous.

“A human mate,” he muttered under his breath, “what are the odds.”

David rolled his eyes, “if she’s a human I can use my thrall, why are you idiots so worried.”

Paul and Marko shot him dirty looks, but Dwayne placed a hand on his shoulder. As tough as David liked to pretend to be sometimes, Dwayne knew he was nervous too.

“No use waiting any longer,” the dark haired vampire reasoned, “c’mon.”

Dwayne lead the way, pushing the door to the video store open and letting the bell ring softly as the other boys filed in behind him.

The vampires maneuvered to the desk together, passing through aisles they’d walked through a million times over.

The silence was deafening as the boys’ thoughts whirled with what they’d say to you. How they’d explain the significance of vampire mates to a mere human.

Dwayne sighed, they probably had nothing to worry about. Even as a human, there’d still be a pull for you. And he could work with a pull, no matter how small.

He’d show you, he decided. Show you how amazing it could be to be cared for, to be protected. He’d treat you like a princess, he’d worship you if you let him.

God you must be his if he was already thinking this way. The tug at his heart grew stronger and strongernwith every step. If you only knew the effect you had on him, on them all. If you only knew you could have him wrapped around your finger.

When the boys finally reached the front desk, Dwayne’s musings were shattered by the vision of your tongue down Maria’s throat.

He watched as David’s jaw dropped when he was met with the sight of one of your hands tangled in Maria’s curly locks, the other caressing her hip.

He’d felt it, and by the looks of it, David and Marko had too. You were theirs, but you were tangled in Maria’s embrace.

The boys were too stunned to speak.

Until Paul abruptly broke the silence with a resounding “what the fuck.”

FYFNO Taglist❤���:

(Let me know if you’d like to be added to my list for this fic, or to my main list)

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @ghoulgeousimmaculate @crustyboypix @anna1306 @arenpath @arbesa-mind @bookworm551 @chiefdirector @dwaynedelight @dwaynesluscioushair @sad-ghost-of-garbage @its-freaking-bats @kurt-nightcrawler @ria-coolgirl @solobagginses @vampirefilmlover @vxarak @mickkmaiden333 @bitchyexpertprincess @lostboys1987girl @f4iryfxies @bloodywickedvamp @softchonk @walmart-cereal @warrior-616 @katerinaval @memphiscity69 @rynsfandomsfun @fraudfrog @ghostedghostie @welcome-to-the-hole @people-are-strange-87 @blenna3967 @drascilla @jezabella8 @gothamslostboy @charlottieellis @ilikechocolatemilkh @simplyreading96 @mad-is-sad @justaspeachy @pookiesnatcher @jamie-poopoo @buzzybee-26 @cocopuffs1450 @sarcastic-sourwolf @kristel1990 @the-lonely-abyss @mihawksdemoness

#the lost boys #paul lost boys #the lost boys fic #tlb #tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #marko lost boys #lost boys #lost boys fic #lost boys 1987 #david lost boys #dwayne lost boys #tlb paul #tlb dwayne #tlb david #marko tlb #mates #vampire mates #vampire reader #fem vampire reader #poly lost boys #poly lost boys x fem reader #fated mates #vampires #vampire fic #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #Maria lost boys

[gothgirlmahi]

Stocking Stuffer

Pairing: Violent Night (David Harbour) Santa Claus x Reader

Summary: Santa calls you into his office for a private meeting.

Warnings: breeding kink, size kink, unprotected sex, role play, use of “good girl”

Word Count: 1.7K

This was not good. This was not good at all. Never in your life had you been so behind on toy making! This year was insane!

Things weren’t like this a century ago. You could do dolls and toy cars and all sorts of board games with ease. But the kids today? It was Xbox and PlayStation and games you had never even heard of. iPhones and Fortnite and whatever else. It was never ending! It was like Santa wanted to work you all to death!

There was no possible way to keep up with it and he should have known that. You’d been meticulously checking the date and the time crunch was killing you. Every second closer to Christmas was another second you were running behind. You would finish in time, there was no doubt about that. Given that you were the leader for your team, you had a lot of pressure on you. Santa expected his elves to be hard working and pumping out those presents constantly. Normally you all could deliver, but this was obviously no normal year!

He had to understand that, right?

Apparently not. At least that’s what you suspected when you were called from your work station. One of the head elves came to collect you while you were working diligently at your desk. You couldn’t understand what could be so important to tell you during work hours. Then he dropped the bomb that Santa wanted to see you personally.

Look. You had seen Santa plenty of times when he was giving speeches and instructions, but never alone. What if he was mad at you? Oh god, what if he fired you? Could you all even get fired? Maybe you’d been watching too many human TV shows. Whatever was going on, it had your palms sweaty and your heart racing.

He led you to Santa’s office and left. Leaving you to stare down those big red and white doors you had never been inside without others to accompany you. You supposed it was now or never so you knocked.

“Who is it?” he responded after a moment’s silence. You said your name and he made a noise in affirmation before the door was pulled open.

You drew in a breath in awe as you looked up at him.

Of course you’d seen Santa plenty of times but hardly ever got this close to him. It was funny. None of the interpretations ever seemed to do him any justice. He wasn’t just some chubby old man with a white beard. He was, to your own admission, a very attractive man. With a grey beard and pretty hair that you sometimes dreamed of raking your fingers through. And he was so big. Tall, you mean. You of course didn’t know how big he was in any other areas.

Of course not.

“Just who I wanted to see. Come in.” He moved aside to let you in the door. You walked in and he closed the door behind you.

You’d been in his office before but never really had the time to look around. It was filled with little knickknacks and decorations, lots of red and white decor, and candy canes hanging from nearly every surface possible.

He gestured for you to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk and you did, while he went and sat at his own chair behind the desk. The stern expression on his face did nothing to settle your unease.

“I hear your unit is behind this year. Do you care to explain?”

You were fully ready to grovel and beg. So you did.

“It’s been hard this year. You know, with gathering supplies and making the toys. I’ve never been late before! I’m certain we’ll have everything ready by Christmas Eve.”

He nodded, arms folded and a thoughtful look on his face.

“I hope you’re right. Everything must be ready on time. Wouldn’t it be tragic if we couldn’t deliver on our promises to the children? Imagine their sad faces.”

The thought of it made you want to cry. You’d never want to make a child sad! Your whole life revolved around creating things to make them happy!

“I’m sorry, Santa! We will have everything finished in time. We’ll do as much overtime as possible and get it done.”

He nodded before pressing his fingers to his temples, massaging them gently.

“This stress of this year has taken such a great toll on me. I’ve found myself in dire need of relief.”

Santa looked terribly stressed. You pushed forward in your chair, leaning over the desk.

“You shouldn’t feel so bad. None of this is your own fault. We’re all dealing with so many issues this year. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Well, there might be one thing. I was looking down in your section and you’re very productive. It’s just, that area isn’t great with stocking stuffers. We’ve had this problem with your section year after year and I think you need a demonstration.”

“A demonstration? On how to…make stocking stuffers?”

Santa shrugged folding his hands as he sat back in his chair.

“I was thinking more so a demonstration on getting stuffed.”

You blinked in confusion.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Santa gave you a smile and a nod.

“Stand up and I’m sure I can show you.”

You stood up and carefully eyed the man in front of you as he rounded the desk, coming to stand right behind you. When you went to turn around, he held his hands firmly on your shoulders to keep you from moving. He pressed a strong hand to the middle of your back, slowly pushing you down until your upper half was flat on his desk.

When you felt him press his hips against yours, your eyes widened in surprise.

“I think I get it now,” you said, waiting in anxious anticipation for what he was going to do to you.

“You always were a smart one. Now just relax.”

He pushed your skirt up so it bunched around your waist then you heard him fiddling with the zipper of his pants. He easily ripped your panties off of you and threw them somewhere in his office.

You let out a gasp as the head of his cock pressed through your wet folds. He pushed into you slowly until his hips met your ass. Both of you groaned once he bottomed out. Santa took a firm grip in the meat of your thighs and slowly pulled out just to go back in with a vicious thrust that ripped a scream from you. He took up an absolute maniacal rhythm that had you moaning with each meeting of your skin.

“I needed this,” he murmured. His voice sounded strained.

You pressed your cheek into the desk, face staring at the wall but body fully immersed in what he was doing to you. One particular thrust had your back arching towards him and your nails digging into the wood below you.

“Oh, is that it? Is that your spot?”

Santa gently set one of your legs up on the desk and pounded you, making a wet slapping noise that echoed through the room. The change in position also enabled him to hit that spot again and again and again until your eyes were rolling my back.

“Santa, please! Fuck me! Oh my god, fuck me!”

He groaned, shuddering a bit when your cunt squeezed around him.

“Call me Nick.”

His cock felt amazing inside you. Thick and hitting every good spot imaginable. We’re you drooling? Oh, that would be so embarrassing. But you could barely form a thought past the thick meat slamming into your little pussy.

“This tiny cunt feels so fucking good strangling my cock. Fuck, with a cunt like this, you’ve gotta be on the naughty list.”

“No, no,” you begged, “I’ve been so good.”

“Shh. I know you’ve been good. You’re always so good for me. This cunt is mine. Only mine. You’re always so fucking good for me.”

“I’ll be so good,” you but your lip as you felt yourself getting close to tumbling off the edge, “always good for you.”

“Mmhmm. Good girls cum when asked. Are you gonna cum for me, gorgeous?”

“I—“ you couldn’t get your reply out before he was reaching under both of you to roughly rub at your clit. Your legs shook as you creamed around him. You were fairly certain you felt a little trickle of liquid come out of you while he kept pounding you, prolonging your orgasm and making you go absolutely stupid on his dick.

“I’m gonna give you your present a little early, honey. Shit, I can’t last much longer.”

“Please,” was the only thing you could manage to murmur.

“Santa’s gonna give you something special only you can have. But it’s gonna take nine months to get.”

You squeezed around him even tighter after hearing that, pulling a strangled groan from him as he filled you with his warm cream. The feeling of being filled by him had you coming again, writhing around and shaking while he kept your hips in place. He came so much it was dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

When he finally pulled out, he stopped to press a kiss to your back. You were too exhausted to move.

“You were right,” he said, “I like the role play. It’s fun.”

“I told you. It’s nice to switch things up now and then,” you said, still with your cheek against the desk. He laughed and trailed his finger down your dripping sex, causing you to jolt a bit.

“As long as I get to fill you with baby batter, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Fuck, Nick! I told you to stop calling it baby batter! It’s weird!”

“It is baby batter. Isn’t that’s the whole point?”

“Yeah, but I mean…” you trailed off, pushing yourself off the desk with some help from your husband. You felt your combined fluids steadily leaking out of you and crossed your legs uncomfortably.

“We are kind of behind on production, though,” he murmured, leaning down to get closer to eye level with you. You stood on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“Back to work for both of us then,” you said, fixing your skirt. He nodded with a smile.

“Back to work, Mrs. Claus.”

#violent night #Santa claus x reader #david harbour x reader #violent night fanfic #nikamund the red x reader

[domripley]

Tease.

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

warning: top tara, bottom reader, no ghostface au, mentions amber x reader, oral sex on a strapon, mommy kink

request: hi! can i request a tara carpenter smut with a fem!reader where reader has been teasing tara all day until tara finally snaps? thank you!

summary: you love to tease tara, but this time she does something about it.

this is a repost

It started off with you biting your lip as you looked at your girlfriend, you knew she was going to think of it as teasing. But as you raked your eyes down her body while biting it, Tara began to catch on. To your surprise, she went back to her conversation with Amber, not acknowledging you until Amber left for her class.

“So you think you can try to tease me? Hm?” Tara asked, not bothering to look at you. You watched in silence as she made another pot of coffee for the two of you. You weren’t sure how to respond to that right away - wanting to drag this on further. After a few minutes of thinking about how you wanted to go through with it, you finally knew what you were going to say,

“Teasing you? In front of Amber? I would never!” you said, pretending to be offended. Tara finally turned to you so she could get two cups from the cupboard, rolling her eyes when she noticed that you were still looking at her.

You decided to change the subject, “Do you want to go out to dinner tonight? We haven’t had an actual date in months and there’s a new place near campus we could try?”

You watched as Tara relaxed a bit as she poured herself coffee. “Yeah we can, it’ll be at six, my class ends at five and I want to take a shower.”

“That’s fine with me, I don’t have any classes today, so I might just hangout here,” you paused, wanting to give it some time. “Amber should be back in an hour and I think I’d enjoy her company.”

You gave Tara a sly smirk, knowing that your comment would get to her. She knew that you had no feelings for Amber and that nothing would happen between the two of you. But at the same time - the thought of anyone but her touching you made her want to fuck you then and there. You knew Tara wasn’t going to sit there and listen to you, but to your surprise, she sat and drank her coffee. Picking up her phone, Tara ignored you for a while as it seemed she was reading something.

After a half an hour of silence, Tara finally spoke up. “I’ll be back after my classes, baby. I love you.” She leaned into you, giving you a kiss on your cheek.

“I love you too,” you smiled as you got up from your seat. Giving her a tight hug, you whispered in her ear, “I won’t have too much fun with Amber, I promise.”

You pulled away, biting your lip as you batted your eyes. You watched as Tara clenched her jaw - shaking her head in response. Instead of responding the way you thought she would, Tara just shrugged her shoulders.

As soon as she left, you laid down on the couch in hopes to get a nap in before Amber came back from her class - a part of you wondered if you went too far, but you soon dropped the thought as you closed your eyes. You made a mental note to talk to Tara about it when she came back,because the last thing you wanted was to cross any line. You loved Tara and you didn’t want her to be hurt.

--

As you laid down on the couch, you tried your best to fall asleep. After ten minutes of trying to sleep, you gave up. You needed to clean a little around the apartment, and with both Tara and Amber gone, it was the perfect time to do so. Gathering up both yours and Tara’s dirty clothes, wanting to do something nice for her since she won’t have time to do it tonight.

Once you put the clothes in the washer, you heard the front door open. Thinking it was Amber, you decided to ignore it. As you turned to move out of the laundry room, Tara caused you to jump.

“What the actual fuck,” you gasped, dropping the empty basket onto the ground.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you, I would have called but I wanted to surprise you.” Tara chuckled as she watched you pick the basket back up. You weren’t angry with her, you were more so annoyed.

“I thought you had class?” you questioned.

“I did but they canceled at the last minute, and I thought I’d go buy something I thought you’d enjoy.” she admitted, causing you to sit the laundry basket on the ground once more.

“What did you buy?” you asked, watching her smile grow into a smirk.

“Why don’t you get down on your knees for Mommy and find out?” Tara suggested, and you fought the whimper that was threatening to leave your throat.

You didn’t waste any time getting down onto your knees as Tara dropped the stuff she was holding onto the floor. You bit your lip as you watched her unbuckle her belt - she was taking her time, knowing that the door was still wide open.

“‘Ar-Aren’t you going to shut the door first?” you asked as she pulled her pants down. Your eyes widened as you realized the strapon she was packing.

“Why baby? You afraid Amber will catch us?” she teased. She knew you were embarrassed, but because you teased her, she wanted to get you back.

You bit your lip, looking up at your girlfriend as she pulled the strapon out of her underwear. Tara began to slowly stroke it, keeping her eyes on you as you began to squirm in your spot. A part of her wanted to continue to tease you, but she also couldn’t wait to see how pretty you looked with your mouth wrapped around the toy.

“You wanna suck my cock, baby?” She asked.

You nodded, causing Tara to shake her head in disappointment. That wasn’t good enough, she wanted you to say it out loud.

“Use your words or you get nothing. But I’m sure Amber wouldn’t mind giving you something.” Tara stated, trying her best to hide her smirk. You knew she was just saying it to tease you - you both knew Tara hated the thought of sharing you with anyone.

“Mommy, please, please let me suck your cock. I need it.” You pouted, and in response, Tara came closer to you.

Gripping the base of the strapon to keep it steady, you took the tip of it into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around where it could reach before taking more into your mouth. Tara stayed still - wanting you to get more comfortable with the size before she made any movements.

“Such a good girl for me. Can’t wait to stretch you out with this one.” She commented, watching as you took more of it into your mouth. You pulled off of the toy to catch your breath, licking your lips as you glanced up at your girlfriend.

“Want you to fuck my mouth, please.” You whimpered, leaning forward once more.

“You want Mommy to fuck your face? Hm? I want you to ask properly, because only I can only do that, understood?” Tara explained, and you made a mental note to make her jealous again.

“Yes, Mommy, I understand,” you took a deep breath before you continued. “I want you to fuck my mouth, Mommy. Please?”

You were glad that that seemed to be enough for Tara - letting you take the toy into your mouth. Not wasting any time, Tara pushed your head down further onto the toy. Keeping your head in place as she started to fuck your mouth at a slow pace. You tried your best to steady your breathing through your nose as her pace picked up.

“Good fuckin’ girl, you want me to fuck you soon? Fuck you right here?” Tara questioned, not expecting an answer.

She continued to fuck your mouth, finally deciding to push your head all the way down onto it. Holding you in place, she moaned, “Breathe out of your nose, that’s it. That’s it, baby. Good girl.”

As soon as she let go of your head, you pulled your mouth off of the strapon. Taking a few deep breaths, you wiped your mouth to get rid of the spit that was all over your face.

“Get up and take your clothes off, m’gonna take you against the dryer.” She stated, and you did as you were told. Pulling your pants down, along with your underwear. You didn’t want to waste any time, especially knowing that there was a chance Amber could walk in. Although in theory it would be hot - you really didn’t need Amber seeing you in the predicament you were in.

Tara helped you with your shirt - quickly turning you around to help you with your bra. Once it was off of you and on the floor, you leaned against the drier. A part of you wished the two of you would at least move to the living room, if not your bedroom. You weren’t going to complain though, especially as Tara got down on her knees behind you.

Spitting on her fingers, Tara then brought them to your pussy. Running the tip of her fingers through your folds. You jumped, causing your knee to hit the dryer.

“Jesus Christ, babe, can we please fuck somewhere else, this isnt working out for me.” You groaned, bringing your hand to your knee.

“Clearly,” Tara laughed, only stopping when you turned to glare at her. “Okay, okay. We can take it to the couch, because I can’t wait until we’re up in the room.”

Tara took your hand and led you to the living room, she was quick to shut the shade. Making sure that Amber hadn’t pulled up yet in the process. Laying down on your back, Tara was quick to get between your legs.

You watched as she sucked on two of her fingers, only stopping when you tried to close your legs. “Oh no, you don’t get to close your legs if you want me to fuck you.” She shook her head as she brought her fingers down to your pussy.

Sliding a finger into you, Tara soon added a second one. You looked away, feeling your face heat up with embarrassment. Tara continued to fuck you with her fingers, curling them once you grew louder.

“You want to come on my fingers? Or my cock?” She asked, even though she knew the answer to this. Pulling her fingers out of you, she leaned over you. “Clean them.”

You did as you were told - taking her fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them hard, only letting them go when Tara moaned. She pulled back so she could grip the base of the toy. Pushing it in as slowly as she could - she was being mindful that it was a size you weren’t used to yet.

When she was all the way inside of you, Tara laid against you. “You tell me when I can move, baby.” She smiled against your neck, leaving light kisses against your neck.

After a few minutes you took a deep breath, “Y-You can move now, please?”

“Are you sure baby? You think you can take it? Hm?” Tara asked, grinding against you. You frantically nodded, thankful that she didn’t make you say anything out loud.

Sitting back up, Tara brought your legs up to your chest as she started to fuck you at a slow pace. She didn’t want to hurt you - wanting to start off at a nicer pace.

“You’re so wet for me, making such a mess.” she moaned, picking her pace up just enough for the feeling in your stomach to grow stronger.

Bringing her hand to your neck, Tara began to squeeze lightly as she fucked you. You were growing closer to the edge embarrassingly fast, but Tara seemed to not mind at all.

“Fuck, T-Tara, please.” you begged as best you could.

“Yeah? Want you to come for me, be a good girl and come for me.” she moaned. Tara removed her hand from your neck and put it between your legs - rubbing your clit, you couldn’t hold it any longer. You came with a cry as Tara fucked you through your orgasm.

“Good girl. Such a good girl.” Tara praised, leaning down to kiss you once she stopped fucking you.

You smiled, “I love you too. You know I only want you right?”

You wanted to make sure that she knew that - Tara needed just as much reassurance as you did. Before she could answer, you both heard a car pull up. Tara pulled out of you, quickly helping you off of the couch before the two of you made your way upstairs to your shared bedroom.

You let out a laugh, “Fuck, okay, I know I said I wanted to go out tonight but I think I need a long nap.”

“You take a nap, I’ll get dressed and go clean the mess you made on the couch before Amber notices it.” Tara shook her head with a smile.

“Hurry back, I want cuddles.” you pouted playfully, watching as Tara put pajama pants on.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #my writing #mine #scream #scream 6

[oreosmama]

He Has a Nightmare About You (Stranger Things Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: started watching this show for momma Steve, stayed for the other, also hot characters. Don’t judge me if a vecna version of this comes out soon👀 Enjoy!

Billy Hargrove:

He dreams of you often, but never quite like this.

You’re in his arms; his lips are on yours, and your hands are in his hair. 

When he pulls away, it’s to brush a strand back from your face, pushing it behind your ear while gazing into your eyes. A smile is on his face, inherently small and lopsided, but genuine. 

It’s one of those times where he can’t believe how happy you make him, how much he loves you. You turn him into a teenage boy with a puppy crush all over again, but as long as no one else is around, he doesn't mind that one bit. Vulnerability did not come easy to him, but with you, he’d tear down every wall he’d ever put up just to get closer to you. Just to hold onto you that much longer. 

“Billy…” you hum, your hands coming up to cover his own along your cheeks. He feels infinitely warmer, more relaxed at your touch, and he leans that much closer to you. 

“YN…” Billy drawls back teasingly, blue eyes soft and expectant on yours. Your breath ghosts over his lips, and fuck if he didn’t hate that you made a shiver roll down his spine. 

“I hate you.”

His smile falters. “What?”

You tug his hands off your face, leading them to drop to his sides before stepping back. You shake your head. “I hate you, Billy.” 

Billy’s body grows cold. His lips part as he searches for words, eyes raking over your face for any hint of jest. “This isn’t funny, YN.” He lets out a breathless laugh, but it’s dull and fake and trying to draw some sort of usual response from you. 

“It’s not supposed to be. I’m serious, Billy.” 

His nostrils flare, and he wants to be angry. He wants to grab you and pull you back into his chest and make you wish you’d never said those words, make you wish you never hurt him, make you promise that you’d never hurt him like this again. 

You said that once, that you’d never hurt him like he has been before. You promised.

He bites into his bottom lip, willing a level of restraint, or rather, indifference. 

She promised.

Time moved slowly the second you pulled away from him. Carefully, your arms came up to cross over one another at your chest. Your eyes hardened, not angry or frustrated, but certainly more serious and intentional from when you had said his name earlier. 

He’d never seen you so cold—not at him. 

“What changed?” The words slipped from his lips, but the second they did, he didn’t bother fighting to take them back. He felt trapped in his own skin, unable to escape the anger, the hatred, the i that coursed through veins. “Why now, I mean, after-” he cut himself off with a scoff, bitterly licking his lips, “-after fucking everything we’ve been through together, you just, what, hate me?”

He hated it, this. He hated you, and he’d never done that before. Even the thought of his betrayal being directed toward you made him feel sick. She promised.

Billy looked away, wrenching a hand through his hair and not bearing to stare at you when he spoke. “You- God,” the corners of his eyes pricked, “you said you loved me. What happened to that?” He glanced at you, hating, hating, hating that you were making him feel this fucking way. Throat tightening, he barked out, “What fucking happened to that?!”

“I don’t love you, Billy,” you muttered, seemingly unaffected by his display of emotions. “I could never.”

And you saw it. He knew you saw it. He knew you saw it because he wiped it away, and your eyes had followed his hand as he had. 

He was crying. Goddammit, he was so fucking weak. 

Despite it all, despite every single horrible moment in his life, he never knew the feeling of true despair until you were taking your love for him back and saying it wasn’t real. 

“Billy, come on.” Your tone was persuasive, placating like you were trying to reason with him. You were talking to him as though you were telling a child that Santa or the Easter Bunny wasn’t real, that they never were, and they never will be. 

You used that same soothing, calming tone the first time you tried to convince Billy that you did love him. He remembered your exact words. “I love you, and no matter how much you fight me on it, I won’t let you take that away from me.” You had been caressing a fresh bruise on his cheek, and the kiss you had left there had overpowered the pain of his father’s wound. 

“Don’t,” Billy mumbled. “Stop.”

Don’t corrupt that voice, he pleaded, though the words wouldn’t escape him. Don’t take that away from me.

“Billy.” You drew his attention back to you, and, despite the stiffness of his cheeks and lips, he sneered at your pitying gaze. “Be realistic. How could I have ever loved you?”

“Stop.”

“Your father hates you, Billy.” Your voice raised, eyes burning with a new fire into his own watery ones. “Your own mother left you. Do you know what that makes you?”

“Stop.”

“Do you know what that makes you, Billy?” you demanded, teeth bared. “It makes you unloveable.”

“STOP!”

“Billy?”

“STOP!” Billy flinched awake, sweat dripping down his forehead and spine, shivering at the breeze of his bedroom. Chest heaving, his eyes were wild and unfocused as they darted about the dark room, few objects such as his dresser and desk only visible due to the moonlight filtering through his window. 

Sighing heavily, Billy dragged his hands down his face, groaning softly and massaging his temples. 

“What a fuckin’ nightmare,” he grumbled before peering over at you. 

You, still curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully. Your hair splayed out along one of his pillows, one of his shirts wrinkled and twisted around your form, your leg still crooked over his hips. 

You were still his. Thank fuck, you were still his. 

“YN,” he shook you awake, one hand on your shoulder.

You hummed in your sleep, lips twitching downwards at the disturbance. “Wha…?” you grumbled, not bothering to open your eyes. 

“Babe, c’mon, let’s go for a drive. Wake up.”

“Nooooo,” you moaned. 

“Yessss.”

“Can I sleep on the drive?”

He raised a brow. “You think you’ll be able to?”

One eye of yours peeked open, focusing on him instantly. You pouted.

Billy’s chest tightened, but for the first time since the dream, he felt like he could breathe. Thank God. He was not going to sleep another wink tonight. Not in that damned house, at least. 

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Fine, fine, I’ll go. Stop giving me your little puppy dog eyes.” You rolled off the bed, falling onto the floor with a thud before rising to your feet and wrapping a blanket around your head and shoulders like a cloak. “But there are ground rules, mister.” You held up your hand to him. “One, you can’t drive over 30 miles an hour. Two, no loud music- or, wait, no music at all-”

“What?”

“-Three, only for the next hour or so, then we’re going back to my place to go to sleep.” You gave him a pointed look. “Deal?”

His lips sloped into his usual smirk as he rose to his feet, arms instantly moving to wrap around your waist and tug you into his chest, close and tight. 

“Deal.”

You. You, you, you. God, he never wanted to think about that nightmare again, and if he never again heard the words “I hate you” fall from your lips, even as a joke, it would be too soon. You were still his, and he knew, he fucking knew, dammit, that you loved him.

“Why are you so sweaty?”

“Don’t ask.”

Steve Harrington: 

“Steve,” Robin muttered softly. Her gaze was downcast, and she had one arm around the front of his chest and shoulders, trying to hold him back and redirect him. “Don’t look.”

“What’s going on?” He tried to peer around the others, all of whom either had their backs turned or looked at him mournfully. “Hey, what’s-” he tried to push past Robin, but Dustin rushed forward to help stop him, “-what the hell is going on?! Guys?!”

They all stood in a half circle around… something, he couldn’t see what. The kids and Nancy and Goddamn everyone except-

“YN,” Steve breathed out in realization. His heart was stuck in his throat, and the pounding of his own blood drowned out the quiet whispers of the others. “No. No, no, no, no—NO!” He shoved past the pairs of arms, pushing past a tearful Max and a sobbing Eleven, only to feel his whole body flinch back at the sight. 

“YN,” he whispered again, horrified at the sight, not wanting to believe it. “Oh God, oh fuck, oh God.”

Blood was- was everywhere. Steve’s knees wobbled and gave out as he collapsed into the forest floor beside you. His hands hovered over your body, feeling the heat rolling off it in waves from the gushes of hot, crimson liquid seeping from obscured wounds. A pool of it, he realized, dampened the knees of his jeans, cooling against his skin. 

“Steve,” you whimpered, “I’m scared. It hurts so bad.” You trembled, hands curled into tight fists as you clenched your eyes shut, tears trailing down into your sweat-soaked hair. 

“This isn’t right—you can’t… fuck.” He tore a hand through his brown tufts before springing into action, scraping himself along the damp soil to ease his legs underneath your back, your body lying perpendicular to his so he could lean your head in his lap. 

“YN, I…” he trailed off, gasping for air as his wavering hands encompassed your face. “I don’t know what to do,” he choked out helplessly. 

And you reached up to grasp his wrist, eyes so innocent and terrified. “Steve, please, I don’t wanna die.”

“This was never supposed to happen,” he rambled indignantly. “No no no because I was supposed to protect you because I always protect you, and now this is going so, so fucking wrong.” He felt the oncoming headache that arrived with fresh tears, the snot dribbling down his nose and onto his upper lip, the cold sweat that covered his body head to toe. He wanted to throw up and sob and hold you close and tight and never, never fucking let you go. 

His own heart, as you lay in his arms, was being ripped from his chest. No help was coming, there was no time to heal or press on what was already far too damaged to halt. You were… you were…

“Please,” you wailed, your screams echoing into the forest. He could hear the others shuffling around behind him, their own sobs fading into the mix. “No, please, I don’t wanna die! Steve, please!”

Steve could feel your cheeks getting colder, and he watched as your hands slowly began to unfurl at your sides. “YN, I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me, I can’t-” his own whimper cut himself off. 

“Steve,” you gasped for breath, your voice so small, so weak. “You said you would protect me.” The furrow in your brow smoothed itself out, and your chest began to slow its heaving movements. 

“I know, I know,” he weeped. “I love you so much, please don’t leave me.”

“You love me?” you whispered back. Your eyes, that had been locked on his for so long, filled with fear and anguish, shifted away, losing themselves in the black sky above. A small smile broke out on your bloodstained lips. 

“YN?” Steve questioned fearfully, sniveling as he peeled the hair away from your face. 

“I never knew that you loved me, Steve.” A single tear broke loose from your eyelids as you let them droop closed. “I love…” You mouthed the word you before you sighed, your body finally losing all of its tension, its stress—its fear.

Steve let out a quivering breath, his hands cupping your cheeks swiftly. “YN? YN?!”

“Steve.” A hand pressed on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off viciously. 

“YN!” He peeled back your eyelids, blanching at the blank look in your irises. “No, no, come on, I was supposed to protect you!” he cried out hysterically. 

Steve’s body curled over yours like he was collapsing in on himself, mouth mumbling pleas as he slid a hand over your chest, above your heart. 

Nothing.

“Steve!” The hand on his shoulder was more insistent, shaking him back and forth violently. 

No. He wasn’t going to leave you. Not now, not yet.

“Steve, wake up!”

“What?” Steve’s eyes flew open, and his head straightened up from the back of the couch, causing Dustin to yelp and jump back in shock. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?!” the younger boy screeched, leaving Steve wincing and pressing two hands to his ears. 

“Goddamn,” he hissed, “You really need to hit puberty faster; these voice cracks of yours are gonna leave me deaf one of these days.”

“Well it’s not my fault you sleep like a bear in hibernation.”

“Ew, what? That's disgusting, Dustin,” Steve grimaced. 

Dustin facepalmed. “You’re thinking of ‘heat,’ genius, I said ‘hibernation.’”

Steve faltered, nodding absentmindedly. “Oh.”

“Yeah, anyways,” he rolled his eyes, “you better head home.”

“Movie night over already?” Steve dug his palms against his eyes, trying harshly to wipe away the image of—er, that happening to you—from his mind. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dustin deadpanned, “Princess Leia changed out of her bikini about two hours ago, but I’m glad you were paying attention.”

“Well, look, if it makes you feel any better, the dream I just had was terrible,” Steve groaned, rising up from the coach and grabbing his jacket off the coffee table. 

“Yeah, I heard. Something about ‘oh no’ and ‘don’t leave’ and ‘YN, YN, YN.’” The tween rolled his eyes. “Dude, if you ask me, I’d say just ask her out already, ‘cause your pining from a distance is getting pretty depressing.”

Steve stared at him with pursed lips and blank, dead eyes. 

Then he fondled for his car keys in his jacket pocket and huffed. “Yep, I’m gonna go. See ya around, Henderson.”

“I’m serious, Steve!” Dustin called after him. “It’s getting creepy! Why don’t you just tell her that you’re absolutely whipped for-”

Steve slammed the door of his house, trekking towards his car while grumbling under his breath. “Frickin’ Dustin. I’m not whipped. Nobody,” he slid into the seat of his car, staring into the rearview mirror and adjusting it, “nobody has ever had me…” he paused, staring at his bloodshot eyes, at his tear-stained cheeks. 

“Fuck.” He glanced back at Dustin’s house, its windows still open and flashing with the action of a movie.

Goddammit, Henderson. 

Steve put his car into drive, pulling out of the driveway and onto the street, but when he slowed at his usual turn, he slammed the brakes on the car instead and stared at the sign of the intersecting street. 

You lived almost two blocks from there—Steve never realized that. 

He could—no, no he couldn’t. It was the middle of the night, around eleven o’clock according to his dash, so why in the world did he have the right to wake you up for news like that?

It can wait. His feelings can wait.

He said those exact words ten more times as he drove to your house, clumsily throwing it into park alongside the sidewalk in front of your home. He knew which window corresponded with your room, as aside from being the group babysitter and helicopter mother, he was also the chauffeur. 

“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself as he stepped out of his car, slamming the door shut. “This is so dumb; this is a terrible idea. One of the worst, actually.” 

But he picked up the pebble out of your garden and chucked it at your window anyway, pure adrenaline launching the rock at a high speed and making perfect contact with the middle of the glass.

It also left a sizable crack.

“Oh shit,” Steve hissed under his breath, hands flying up to his hair as he saw your light switch on. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The window slid up, and before he knew it, your glare found his form. Your head was leaned outside of the window, hands braced against the sill as you whisper-shouted at him. “Seriously, Steve?! What the fuck?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he jogged closer to your house, questioning scaling the side to climb into your window, but then he noticed your tangled, matted hair and nightshirt. “Yeah, that’s my bad, I, uh,” he chuckled nervously, “sometimes I forget my own strength.” He shrugged lamely. 

You gestured angrily at the window. “How the hell am I supposed to fix this?”

This is going so wrong. Dammit, he knew this wouldn’t go well. 

“YN,” he called out to you, trying to get your attention as you investigated the crack with a sigh. 

“What, genius? Got another grand idea?” you snarked. “Why don’t you go break the locks off my front door too while you're at it-”

“YN, I’m in love with you.”

You choked on your next words, eyes flying open. “What?!”

“I’m just- I’m in love with you, and I really wanted you to know that.”

While he shifts back and forth on his feet, your mouth bobs open and closed. 

“Are you serious?” you finally land on. 

“Don’t call me Shirley?” he offered back lamely, and you dragged a hand down the front of your face. 

Nonetheless, you wore a wide, abashed grin. “You’re a goddamn fool, Steve Harrington.”

Steve shook his head and smiled at that. “Only for you, babe.”

“Now go home and go to sleep so I can kiss you tomorrow, dumbass,” you waved him away. 

A stupid, lovesick smirk took over his face, painting him the absolute dope you always pegged him as. “Sounds like a plan, doll.” He spun around, swallowing a large gulp of air and wondering if you could see the way his hands shook as he unlocked his car. 

“Steve! Wait!”

 He turned back, almost too eager, to see a large blush blooming on your face in the light of your room. “I love you too.”

What a horrible, terrible, shitty-ass, perfectly timed nightmare.

#stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #billy hargrove x reader #steve harrington #billy hargrove #x reader #stranger things #stranger things headcanons #steve harrington headcanons #billy hargrove headcanons #steve harrington x reader angst #billy hargrove x reader angst

[codfanficedits]

One fucking mistake - Part four

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader.

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 866 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with no comfort, conversation, blaming.

A/N: Part four!

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ AO3 Link

No, no, no. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had to come home with him. At this point it was no longer about you being alive, it was about you coming home. He wanted, no he needed to see your pretty face one more time, he wanted to tell you that he loved you one more time.

Simon made his way over to Price, he needed to see if they were really your dog tags. They had to be someone else’s, they shouldn’t be yours, they couldn’t be yours. Dear God, anyone’s but yours.

They were yours.

Of course they were yours. He recognized them from afar, his vision getting blurry from the tears when he looked at the shiny metal. His mind was racing and he couldn’t think.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think.

You had to be here, you just had to be. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the stinging pain of the glass shards on the floor. Raking his hands through the debris, tossing away concrete, stones, glass, everything to try and find you.

The leather on his gloves is strong, but not as strong as his love for you and it doesn’t take long for his blood to stain the broken pieces of building he was touching. He had to find you.

You had to come home to him, you just had to.

He can feel a hand on his shoulder but Simon ignores it. He just needs a little longer, he just needs a few more minutes.

“Simon.” The low bass in Price’s voice makes it impossible to ignore him. “We need to go back.”

“No.”

“It’s an order.”

It breaks Price, seeing his best soldier suffer like this. And Price himself doesn’t want to think about your fate. He hopes you’re still buried under all that rubble and debris, he prays that your dead body isn’t taken by the enemy, because he too knows how disgusting men can be.

“We have to go back.” Price usually doesn’t repeat himself, but he’ll make an exception, just his once.

Simon gets up from his knees, knowing that if he leaves now, he has to accept your fate, his fate, the fate of the relationship the two of you had.

“But.” Simon tries to protest.

“Don’t.” Price sighs. “It won’t get easier over time. Rip off the bandage, boy.”

Simons knows it is for the best, but by God did it hurt, he didn’t want to leave you, he didn’t want your status to be changed to Killed In Action, no he wanted you to be Missing In Action until the two of you reconnected again in the afterlife.

Simon holds out his hand, wanting to hold your dog tags. The only thing he is bringing home today.

He holds them the whole flight in the chopper, this thumb caressing the metal, memorizing the way your name is marked on the cold metal. He brings them to his lips, kissing them through the balaclava, hoping that you’ll feel his kiss in the afterlife.

Simon, Price, Soap, Gaz, they all know this can’t go on any longer, they all know this is breaking Simon, the infamous Ghost crumbling down at the loss of his beloved.

“A word.” Price doesn’t waste any time when they’re back to base.

“I know.” Simon sounds defeated as he follows him into an empty briefing room.

“This can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“I know, just.” Simon doesn’t want to talk, but he has to. “Just let me stay on base until the funeral is over.”

An empty casket.

Price would’ve denied anyone else, he would’ve told anyone else that the army wasn’t a babysitter, but he couldn’t deny the broken soul in front of him. He couldn’t risk losing his best soldier because he had sent him home too early.

“Of course.” Price finally answers. “But I want you to go to therapy when you’re on leave.”

Therapy. Simon finds it a filthy word. Because therapy would mean that something is wrong with him, and the only thing wrong is your death.

“I promise.” You would’ve wanted it for him.

Price had never expected Simon to agree so quickly, but he is glad Simon doesn’t put up much of a fight, although it worries him slightly.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Price warns him.

A faint smile forms on Simons lips. “The dumbest thing I ever did was bringi-“

“Stop.” Another order from Price. “You’re beating yourself up.”

“But it is my fault!”

Silence, because the both of them know that you still would’ve been alive if Simon hadn’t begged you to come with him. The both of them know that you would still be alive if you wouldn’t have gone on that mission. But Price could never tell Simon that, he could never bring his best soldier down even more.

“Get some rest.” Price orders. “I’ll make sure that.. that..” He struggles to find the words, but it’s clear what he means. He will make sure that you’re put to rest as soon as possible. Your empty casket into the ground, your dog tags the only evidence that you ever existed.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod mwii #cod x reader #angst #ghost x reader #ghost x you #mw2 #fanfic #fanfics #fan fiction #fanfiction #grief #grieving #dealing with grief #tw grief #ghost angst #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 writer #ao3feed

[matchibee]

A Web of Their Own Design (pt. 4)

i pinky promise this is meant to thicken the plot just trust me besties, trust me.

tw: talk of death, grieving

The wristband itched as it kept you together, hardly fashionable, deadly uncomfortable. It would act as your escape to different dimensions, a guide, the multiverse entirely at your disposal -- within the parameters discussed by Jess and Miguel, but yours to conquer nonetheless.

Following the conclusion of your visit they'd sent you back to your world, instructing you to report upon prospective anomalies. The detector embedded within your watch would alert you, displaying everything you needed to know —inter-dimensional travel, communication, information — the multiverse was at your fingertips, bound to your wrist.

The multicolored watch wasn’t the only thing bound to the multiverse. Your friendship alongside Aubrey and Alador bound to ruin, oblivion. You hadn't realized how much time had spanned in the moments between Doc Ock's attack and Miguel's recruitment, but as you zipped through the portal only to find the sun steadily setting, you knew you'd fucked up.

There was no coming back from this, was there?

Perhaps if you’d refused, denied Miguel and his accomplices of your services, you’d have kept your promise.

Your universe — no — the multiverse, had a funny habit of stretching you thin.

"Where have you been?" Aubrey was at the door to your trio’s shared apartment, arms crossed over her chest. She looked entirely exhausted, under eyes sagged and makeup smudged in various parts of her face. But her deflation didn’t stem from the day's events.

Aubrey was exhausted with you.

"I..." You couldn't come up with an excuse quick enough, refusing to look into her eyes, fishing for the keys to your apartment and unlocking the door — why hadn't she unlocked the door?

"I'm leaving my key here," She was indignant in her speaking, a hint of hesitance but she masked it well, "I can't do this anyone."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, dropping your bag at the apartment’s entrance, frozen in place. "…Will Al be leaving, too?"

"That's your question?" Aubrey scoffed in disbelief, raking her hands down her face, and it was only then you noticed the mascara that lined her cheeks. "I tell you I'm moving out, abandoning our friendship, and all you want to know is if Alador is doing the same?"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, "What else do you want me to do? I can't stop you from making your decision, it isn't my place."

"Isn't your... How is this not your place?" Is it so much to ask of you to fight for once." Her hair forfeited its typically smoothed appearance, frizzed under her unrelenting grasp, "For once in your life can't you fight for what you believe in? Fight for the people you love instead of abandoning them on a whim — at the drop of a hat!"

"I fight everyday!" You slammed the apartment door shut, realizing now you'd been standing in the doorway, Aubrey well inside, neighbors likely terrified by the disruption. "Everyday I fight for you, Alador, my family — the people of this city and the people of this universe." You kick your bag clear from your path, uncaring of its contents, though it was something you'd come to regret further down the line. "I don't mean to..." You held your hand to your chest, "I don't mean to slam things and raise my voice but... You have no idea what I do when I'm not with you, not here."

"Then tell me."

"Aubrey."

"Tell me what's so important you can't be around us!" She threw up her hands in surrender, confining herself to the loveseat situated in the sitting area. "Tell me what's so important you couldn't be there for Alador! Tell me what's so important you couldn't be there when he died!"

Tension was thick in the air, Aubrey sobbing into her knees, her tears the only sound that could be heard for miles, enhanced senses be damned. Slowly, mindlessly, you dropped to your knees. "He didn't... He couldn't have..."

"Internal bleeding," Aubrey said through sobs, "He had internal bleeding that went unchecked because the help you supposedly called for never arrived." She was less screaming and more reminiscing, remembering, suffering through the pain as though trapped in a perpetual loop. You could see it in her eyes, see it in the way she carried herself, the way she held herself tightly as though embracing him for a final time. "By the time we got him to the hospital he was too weak for any treatment, lost far too much blood for even the most invasive transfusions to remedy."

Your friend had bled out while you made new experiences, met people from across the multiverse. In your exploration of the vast he explored the infinite, confined to the universe through death. Linked to you, to the multiverse, the spiderverse.

Alador would always be a part of you, in life and death, forever entrapped within your web of lies.

"Do you want to know what the last thing he said was?"

No, you didn't. you couldn't.

You weren't ready, you weren't sure you would ever be ready to know what he had to say as he took his final breath, spoke his final piece. "I can't... I'm not ready."

Aubrey scoffed, "And you think I was ready for him to die?"

You couldn't help it if she had a point, no matter how deeply it hurt you, rooted itself into your subconscious. "The last thing... He told me to tell you he loved you. With all his heart he loved you and he knows that whatever you go on to do, you'll do great — you always do the right thing."

You felt overwhelming shame, unable to respond through your tears, through the hiccups that burned your throat with their violence.

"He also told me you get his PC, just like he promised… Since he doesn't trust I'd take care of it."

You laughed then, despite how difficultly you'd fought with your body, you allowed yourself to erupt into a fit of laughter. Aubrey joined you, though the noises were laced with tears shed through loss. "Only he would think of his PC in his final moments..." You smiled, his face vivid in your mind, at least thankful you could remember him in good health.

Aubrey couldn't say the same. "Only Alador would think of someone who abandoned him in his final moments."

Ouch. That one stung. Perhaps you were deserving of it, perhaps it were true, but that hadn't meant she had to bring it to the front of your mind, remind you of mistakes made in your most vulnerable moments. It was difficult to think of everyone simultaneously — family, friends, strangers and even yourself, though that member always seemed placed on the back burner. Decisions had to be made, lines drawn, no matter how badly you yearned for it not to be true.

How you yearned for Miguel to be incorrect in his disciplines.

If you'd stayed, you ran the risk of an anomaly appearing, one that proved too much for you. What if the other spiders hadn't shown up like they had this time? What damages would the city have taken, who else would you have lost besides Alador?

At least this way you knew everyone would be safe from this point forward, safer than they could've been prior.

All it took was a sacrifice.

All it took was a canon event.

It hadn't seemed like it at the time, hadn't seemed like something capable of occurring. Every Spider went through this, every Spider knew what it meant to lose something close to them.

You saw it in Miguel's universe, heard it fall from his lips.

Yet, somewhere down the line, you'd hoped you were exempt.

Suppose the Multiverse wasn't that merciful.

"I don't want to leave," Aubrey finally spoke up, finally transparent in her thought process, "I don't want to leave but I don't... I can't bring myself to look at you without seething — I see red, I'm blinded with rage."

You nodded in understanding, hearing her out, confined to nothing more.

"And yet... I can't bring myself to throw away our friendship, not like that." Aubrey rose to her feet, looking down at you wordlessly, pondering what she had to say before she said it, always the analytic. "I just need to know why you left, why you weren't there."

Would you be capable of telling her? Would you be capable of revealing yourself to Aubrey? Endangering her, your family, your identity.

"Aubrey..."

"Don't."

"You know I can't."

"Then I can't be friends with you... Not now."

"I understand."

You had to watch her leave, confining yourself to your sitting room, incapable of anything else. Wishing to never be capable of anything else.

In less than a twenty-four hour period you’d learned so much, lost even more. A trade-off, information for inclination. How cruel, unfair. How badly you wanted to scream, hide away without ever returning to the light.

You convinced yourself you could, knees to your chest as you stared blankly to the closed door, the door Aubrey had accidentally slammed in an effort to get away from you — far, far away. She voiced an apology, the gesture nearly entirely muffled by the paint-chipped wooden door.

Would you ever see her again?

You looked to the keys plopped neatly on the kitchen’s island, pink paint chipping away as though she’d attempted to erase herself from the metal’s memory.

Even if it forgot, even if everyone in this city lost their memory, you would never.

The sounds of the city had never proved so burdensome. Screams, sirens, the screech of tires. Every little instance had you hopping to your feet, begging the latest call.

Now they were nothing more than background noise to your sobbing.

You’d even gone so far as removing the watch from your wrist, weight unbearable, uncaring of the beeps and vibrations that called out to you in the darkness.

How long had you been there confined to your thoughts, tears running dry and eyes puffed as though a pastry.

A portal reveled itself, falling open at your front door, Hobie walking through where Aubrey had walked out with a look of determination on his face. "Bossman detected some anomaly in your Uni, figured you were having a nap and sent me to... Hey, you alright, mate? What's happened? You look bloody wrecked."

#spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderverse spoilers #spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spider verse #across the spider verse spoilers #across the spiderverse

[darkwolf989]

Outside The Office Part Twenty Two

Hi All,

SO GLAD I got so many comments and likes on the last chapter- I hope y'all enjoy it! Trigger warning for body image issues and disordered ideas of what is healthy.

As always, please feel free to drop a comment, a DM or an ask if you have a situation you want Val and Reader to explore together- from shopping to sex, nothing is off limits!

Enjoy!

An hour to the dot later, Lucifer appeared in the living room. Val had left me behind as soon as breakfast was eaten with a kiss and a promise to make good on his words. As soon as he left I changed into the required attire and let myself lounge on the couch and scroll aimlessly through sinstergram while I waited. 

“Well, I see you look ready,” Lucifer said drily as his eyes raked over me. 

I looked up at him from where I laid on the couch. Dressed in black leggings, a tank top and sneakers I assumed my relaxed position was what he was referring to. I rolled to the side and walked towards him as I tucked my phone in my pocket. 

“Ready when you are. Where are we going anyway?” I asked as he opened a portal. “Soul collecting?”

“No. And don’t call it that. We don’t collect souls, we contract souls.” He paused but shook his head, “I mean, we technically collect them but don’t call it that. I don’t like it.”

I stared at him. Even for Lucifer, that comment was weird. “Alright then, where are we going?” 

“To see exactly where your military skills lie- and where you need to improve,” he answered. 

His gaze fell to my wrist, and then to my collarbone. Wordlessly, he brushed his finger against both. 

The bruising and pain vanished instantly. 

“It’s only temporary. Won’t last more than a few hours, but at least I can get an assessment of your full, uninjured body, ” he said easily. “Word on the street is that you were one of the most ferocious angels to ever see combat.”

I didn’t answer. Extermination wasn’t something I participated in, but battling demons who encroached on our territory? That was something I did in my younger years. Mercilessly, and without thought- just as my father had taught me. But the hours I used to spend training were now spent doing much less physical tasks- modeling for Velvette, reading contacts or doing office work for Vox, and of course, studio time with Valentino. I may have been continuing to work out for a few hours a day out of habit, but I was nowhere near where I used to be. 

I stepped through the portal behind Lucifer and looked around. The room was large, with mats shoved against one side and an assortment of weapons on the far wall. I eyed them. Crossbow. Sword. Gun. All things I could easily handle. 

Lucifer gave me a look. “Don’t even think about it. Today is an assessment of your physical skills and fitness. Not how well you can aim a gun. That comes later, I promise. Follow me.” 

I followed him through the door in the back and stepped into another room, this one fully matted, lit only by electric blue light. 

“This is my own personal creation,” Lucifer said proudly. “Over the course of the next few minutes you’ll be surrounded by enemies that feel as real as you and I are. But that’s the kicker- they’re not! That being said, every punch, every kick, every action you give or take will feel real, though at the end that pain will vanish. I strongly suggest you fight as though your life depends on it- the longer you last, the stronger the enemies. And again, I promise you no actual harm will come to you. Go stand in the center of the room.”

I did as I was told and looked around at the matted walls. A sense of unease washed over me as they flickered that same electric blue. 

“I’m going to stand in this corner right and send enemies your way. Fight like you would any other battle. I’ll call time when you’re officially dead.” Lucifer said. 

Faceless black figures filled the room. I allowed my instincts to take over. The first punch hit me in the gut thirty seconds in and I doubled over as pain shot through me. Fuck, he wasn’t kidding when he said they felt real. It was like fighting my own father, or one of the other top angels. Behind me, I felt hands grab my hair. I reached behind and yanked the shadowy being flipping it on its back as hard as I could. It vanished.

“Kill one.” a robotic voice rang out. 

Lucifer clapped his hands together. “Excellent job dear, keep going.” 

I dodged the next, and fought as hard as I could until a searing pain shot through my chest. I gasped and dropped to the floor.

“Time till death. Two minutes and forty seven seconds.” the voice rang out. 

“Oh reader, that was sorely disappointing. You’re going to have to do better than that, “ Lucifer tisked. 

Bright white lights flooded the room and he strode over to where I lay. The pain vanished but I still struggled to catch my breath, my muscles sore from the exertion. Lucifer extended his hand and helped me to my feet. 

“That was…less than impressive, my dear.” he reiterated with a shake of his head. He pressed his finger against the pulse point on my neck and looked at his watch. “I would toss you back out again, but a muscle tear would only further delay us. And judging by how slowly your heart rate is going down, I would strongly suggest conditioning yourself over the next two weeks. We can reassess then. I’d like to teach you how to utilize the power you hold, but I’m afraid we can’t do that quite yet. You’re just not physically ready.”

I must have looked dejected because he gently ruffled my hair. “Enough of that. Just because you toss inebriated demons through a wall, doesn’t mean your stamina is the same as it used to be. Follow me, I want you to see one of my staff doctors before I send you back home. Make sure you’re physically unharmed.” 

The familiar portal opened and I followed him without protest, my mind reeling with both anger and disappointment at myself. I knew how to fight, I was strong, respected, and feared. Or at least, I used to be. 

I stepped into what looked like a hospital room. Lucifer flung himself into one of the chairs and pulled out his phone. As the doctor performed his physical, he glanced up every now and then but quickly went back to typing.When I was told I was cleared of all major health issues, Lucifer stood up and tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. 

“Alright then, let’s get you home, shall we? Again, condition- hard- for the next two weeks. We’ll repeat the same process again then, hopefully with better results.” 

I followed him back through the portal, a dark cloud of shame hanging over my head. As I stepped into the apartment I was hit with the smell of vanilla cake. Velvette sat on the couch, salad in one hand and phone in the other. At least four stacks of pancakes covered the coffee table, accompanied by what looked like banana bread and cookies. 

“Glad you’re here. Vox is in a tizzy.” Velvette grumbled without looking up. 

“What’s his problem?” I asked as I surveyed the scene. I could see Vox whisking something in a bowl. Cookie dough maybe, or brownie batter. 

“My problem?! My problem is that fucker has made his way back to hell and now I have a fucking issue!” Vox hollered from the kitchen. 

Velvette rolled her eyes. Lucifer looked amused. 

“Who….exactly is that fucker?” I asked.

“Alastor.” Velevette and Lucifer answered in unison. 

“Radio demon.” Velvette explained as she stood up, her bowl empty. “They used to be friends until…”

“Until shit hit the fan. But we have bigger issues that I know were caused by him. Like the angels that killed your father and half of the angelic military have been spotted swooping through our fucking skies. And is it really that much of a stretch to notice that Alastor shows up at the same time? I think the fuck not.” Vox shouted over the oven timer. “Where the fuck are the chocolate chips? We can’t be out of them! Velvette! Come take the cake out of the oven before it burns! I need help!”

“In more ways than one,” she muttered as she walked towards the kitchen. “Settle down Vox, I got it.” 

His words snapped me to attention. “They’re here? The angels that killed my father? Here in hell?”

“I mean, they were. I made quick work of them this morning, but you- you need to get your shit together Princess. We are running on a timeline here.” Lucifer said in an unhurried voice.  “Why do you think I pulled you today? And I’m glad I did- you have work to do.” He studied my body and crossed his arms. “You’re not exactly getting tubby, but those muscles could use some work along with your fitness level.”  He checked his watch, and mumbled under his breath. “I gotta go. See you soon, I expect improvement in two weeks' time.” 

He vanished and I stared at the place where he stood. First the physical failure, and now he was insulting me? I felt the heat burn in my cheeks. Had I really let myself go that much? 

“That was mildly rude.” Velvette said as she strode back to the couch. She flopped down and pulled her phone back out. “Care to elaborate?” 

“Not really, I need some time to myself.” I replied as I turned down the hallway to my bedroom. 

Vox yelled something and she walked back to the kitchen,her attention effectively diverted. I closed and locked the door behind me. Standing in front of the mirror, stripped myself down to nothing and studied the reflection within.  As pretty as my hair and skin were, my body told a different tale. My stomach was definitely softer, my curves more prominent. My face, as clear as my skin was, was definitely rounder, an indication of the fat gained and the muscle lost. My arms, once solid, were less muscular, and my entire frame less defined. The guilt that washed over me with Lucifer flooded me now. I bit back my tears of frustration. They wouldn't solve anything- I needed a plan. 

As I dressed for the gym, I thought back on how we trained new recruits- soldiers who did less than I did on a daily basis. By hell’s standards, it would probably be considered cruel. I grabbed a notebook, outlining the plan as I remembered it. Reading it back to myself, even I had to admit it was brutal, that was for sure, but also proven time and time again. Sure, I had done it to newbie soldiers a thousand times before, but never to myself. How bad could it actually be?

Find their breaking point, my father fathers voice echoed in my head. Push them until they pass out, puke or die. And then push them harder the next time. Eventually their body will break and something stronger will take its place. 

I quietly slipped out of the apartment and headed down to the gym. To my relief, neither Vox nor Velvette were anywhere to be found.  With the exception of several of Velvette’s models, I was alone in the gym. Perfect. 

I picked up a garbage can and hesitated. I knew what was to come, and the concern that Valentino would find out and be less than enthusiastic flitted through my mind. I wondered what he would think of the whole process, but quickly decided it was in my best interest to not find out. I set the garbage pail next to the treadmill and I climb on. My wireless earphones synched up to a playlist and I let myself fall into the rhythm of a run. A mile passed. Then two. Then six. The machine didn’t stop and neither did I. 

I felt the first twinge of exhaustion around mile ten but pushed on. My chest burned as I tried to keep my breathing regulated and my focus elsewhere. Angels were made for endurance, far beyond that of any human. I wasn’t quite sure where demon stamina came in but as mile thirteen passed I felt my body start to give up. Much like I pushed the new recruits I pushed myself to hit the next ten mile goal. 

Blackness. Tripping. I grabbed hold of the machine and hit the emergency stop button, gasping for air. I grabbed the garbage can I had strategically placed and coughed until my stomach was empty. Fuck, this sucked beyond words. 

I pulled myself back up and wiped my mouth with a tissue, tossing that in the garbage along with several others. In the back of my mind I could hear my fathers disappointed voice. How I let myself get weak. How absolutely unacceptable my performance was. I sat at the edge of the treadmill and took a sip of water. Much like I had seen in the recruits, the first sip came right back up. I waited a few moments. The second sip stayed down. With that settled, I scribbled down in my notebook how far I had run and how long it had taken me. I took another sip of water and when I was sure that would stay down, I pulled myself back to my feet and headed for the weights. 

An hour and a half later I stood under the hot water of the shower, scrubbing every inch of my body. Physically, my muscles ached and I felt nauseous. But mentally? I was prouder of myself than I had been in a long time. My notebook was tucked securely away in my gym bag, not that I honestly thought any of the Vee’s would go looking for it, notice or care. But to be on the safe side, I didn’t need them to know. If I was being honest with myself, I was afraid of what they would have to say. A soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

“Princessa?” Valentino asked, “can I come in?”

I took a deep breath. His voice reminded me of the next issue to be addressed, one I couldn’t hide. Something would have to be done about the calorie laden pasta dinners we ate more often than not and Valentino had a history of noticing what I did and didn’t eat. Maybe I could just explain to him what happened and tell him I was trying to eat healthier and build muscle. Not bring up the exercise part, but at least I could be transparent in this regard.

“Come on in Val,” I answered as I turned the water off. I heard the door open and shut. I stepped out of the shower and he handed me a towel. His eyes softened as he took in the sight of my body and I felt myself flush. Why didn’t he see the shameful issues that I saw?

“You look exhausted, babydoll,” he observed. His hand pressed against my forehead and ran down my cheek. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” I lied as I wrapped my towel around myself. “Just tired. I had a long day.” I filled him in on the events of the day with Lucifer and left out his comment about my body, and the part about the workout after. I watched for his reaction. 

His expression remained neutral and he pressed his lips to my forehead and wrapped me in his arms. “Baby, I’m sorry you had such a hard day. How can I help?” 

I felt a pang of something I couldn’t identify. Shame? Guilt? I closed my eyes against him. Better to just spit it out. 

“Val, will it be an issue for me to stick with salads and chicken, fresh fruit, eggs, that sort of thing? And cut back on the alcohol? At least, while I work on getting my muscle back? I’ll feel better than if I eat pasta and pancakes.” I waited for his reaction, for him to yell at me about wanting to control what I ate. 

To my surprise, he didn’t look upset, or even the slightest bit concerned. 

“Not at all princessa. It doesn’t bother me one bit. What you put in your body is your decision as long as you’re healthy about it.” He  ran his hand under my chin and tilted my head up to meet his gaze. “You sincerely look tired though. Do you want to stay home tonight?”

I nodded and rested my head against him, relief flooding through me. He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t angry and he would let me eat how I wanted to. I couldn’t ask for more from him.

He kissed the top of my head. “Good. I’ll stay with you, we can have a night in together. Our own little date night,” he grinned and tugged the towel off of my body. “Starting now, yes?” 

The soreness from my workout vanished from my mind as he pushed me against the counter and pressed his lips against me. He broke away after a moment and entwined his fingers in mine. 

“Come, princessa. I have an idea I think you’ll enjoy.” 

#the vees #valentino x wife #valentino x reader #vox x reader #valentino x you #valentino #hazbin fluff #hazbin hotel #the vees x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #voxval #hazbin velvette #hazbin hotel velvette #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel valentino #vox the tv demon #valentino x female reader

[wintrwinchestr]

wip wednesday

thank youuu @iamasaddie for the tag!!

i know i've been neglecting y'all in the smut department recently, i am sorry about that <3 i promise i have been working on things, it's just been so many things that i struggle with what to work on!!

for now, i give you 2 snippets for the price of one!! i hope they can tide you over in the meantime, pls forgive me <3

#1: jackson!joel x f!reader (reader is a new arrival to jackson, having made it there by herself from the chicago qz. joel likes that she's never had anyone to take care of her before. maybe he can help her out with that. yes there will be daddy kink.)

“Of course, darlin’... Why don’t we excuse ourselves and you can come on back to my place, I can getcha set up there for tonight. Unless, you’d rather see if Tommy can get you a place to yourself…?” “No!” you interrupt a little too enthusiastically. “I just mean… that sounds nice, thank you. It’d be nice to have someone with me, to not be alone again.” He flashes you a warm smile. “With me it is, then,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze where it braces on the wooden bench seat. He does it so casually, as if his touch didn’t just set your whole body ablaze. You barely hear what he says to Tommy and Maria, something about “gettin’ her all settled in”. You swallow hard and glance down at your affected hand, imagining that you might see sparks flying off your skin where he touched you. A girlish smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips, but quickly drops when you hear Joel trying to get your attention. “Y’ with me, sweetheart?”

#2: chapter 1 of rockstar!joel x f!reader (trying my hand at my first series!! reader is an up-and-coming musician touring with joel's rock band. planning for some toxic energy, angst, and of course, daddy kink.)

He lets a few minutes of silence pass while you look out the window, watching downtown Austin come into view. He takes a moment to look you over, to absorb all of your little details and file them away for safekeeping. He notices the cross-shaped piece of silver between your fingers, and wonders what it might say about you. He rakes his eyes over your figure, covered by your baggy clothes, and curses them for hiding what he’s sure is a body made up of pretty curves and soft skin. He hopes he’ll get to see them sooner rather than later, to confirm if his suspicions about the meaning of your necklace are true. In the meantime, he continues to make conversation. “S’ what kinda guitar you got back there?” “Huh?” Snapped out of your trance, you whip your head around to face him again. “Saw you loadin’ your guitar into the back. Whaddya play?” “Oh, um… Fender Stratocaster. She’s all white, I call her Angel.”  He smiles to himself, releasing a light chuckle through his nose. Shy girl with a crucifix and a guitar she named Angel... He thinks he might be right about you, but there’ll be plenty of time for him to find out for sure. “Good choice. ‘S a pretty guitar for a pretty girl.”

i tag @rebel-held, @covetyou, and @justagalwhowrites!! got anything to share? 👀

#winter's wips #my writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction

[sea-owl]

So you all know those plots where a loved one of someone disappears for years, decades even and then all of a sudden they reappear but they’re still the same age and no recollection that so much time has passed. Now they have to figure out how to live in this new world. I wanna throw the spouses in that kind of plot. 

When Violet Bridgerton was still Violet Ledger she had eight friends she was close to. There was Simon Basset, the much younger brother to the Duke of Hastings but he was an older brother figure to Violet. Kate Sharma, Miles Sharma’s older sister and was like an older sister to Violet as well. Sophie Beckett, the half sister to the heir of Pennwood, a total sweetheart in Violet’s opinion. Penelope Featherington, younger sister to Archibald, and Violet’s fellow wallflower. Phillip Crane, the younger brother of the current Sir Crane and as Violet likes to joke a plant enthusiast. Michael Stirling, the younger brother to the Stirling twins, and one of the biggest rakes of Violet’s generation. Gareth St. Clair, the nephew to Lady Danbury, and a little brother to Violet. And there was Lucy Abernathy, the younger sister to the Abernathy brothers. 

Those eight friends were sadly lost to sea when Violet was eighteen. They had left on a boat with promises to return in time for the season. They never came home, and no one knew what happened to them. 

Over two decades has passed since then, in that time Violet has become a wife, a mother, and a widow. While she will sometimes wonder what happened to her friends she has moved on with her life, understood that sometimes fate could be a cruel mistress. 

She didn’t know how cruel fate could be. 

Violet almost dropped the calling cards. It was not possible after two decades, but the proof was in her hands. 

Rushing down to the drawing room where she instructed her guests to be put Violet could hear their conversations from the open doorway. 

“Simon you owe me ten pounds!” That was Kate. 

Simon responded. “For what?”

“I told you it was only a matter of time before Violet married Bridgerton.”

“I really thought she say no, the boy threw mud pies in her hair.”

“You know you could always bet if she’s pregnant or had a kid yet,” Michael joked. “Can make your money back Simon.”

Had a child yet? Some of her old friends were older than her, surely they knew she would be past her child bearing years. The only lady in their group who might still be able to have children is Lucy and even she would be closing in on her years. 

But come to think of it, they did still sound rather youthful. 

When Violet walked into the drawing room she saw that no, none of her old friends were past their child bearing years. 

Walking back into that drawing room was almost like walking back in time. None of her friends had aged a day from Violet’s memories. Violet could only tell she was still here in the present is that they now wore today’s fashion, The girls with their empire waist dresses, and the men whose pants now reached their ankles instead of their knees. They looked like they could friends with her children-

Oh god, they were the same age as her children. 

All of a sudden they all looked up at her. Every single one of them stared at Violet in shock. 

“Violet? Violet Ledger?”

“You got so old!” 

Violet sat down, “And none of you have aged at all in the last twenty plus years.” 

They all looked confused. “What do you mean twenty years?” 

#poor violet is gonna have her hands full #especially when her scandal loving brood decides that one #i'm going to marry that one mother #violet is gonna have to bring in back up #back from the dead au #violet bridgerton #simon basset #kate sharma #kate sheffield #sophie beckett #penelope featherington #phillip crane #michael stirling #gareth st clair #lucy abernathy

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Last Line Tag Game

RULES: blah blah blah blah I don’t follow the rules. (But for those of you who do, you’re supposed to post the last line of your wip and tag the same number of people as there are words.) 

THANK YOU to @oonajaeadira & @keldabe-kriff for the tags!! I’m sorry it took me so long to do this. Please accept this extended peek in lieu of timeliness! 

This comes from a Joel Miller x OFC story I’ve been slowly picking away at called Kiss Me & Smile For Me, featuring my OC Emma Torres: 

“Normally I’d ask Tommy to help me out with somethin’ like this.” Joel sighed, leaning his hips against the counter. He pressed the meat of his palms into his eyes before letting his hands slide up and back over his hair, shaking his head. “But he’n Izzy are goin’ away for the weekend, so -” So I’m screwed. He groaned. She’s been lookin’ forward to this for months.

He hadn’t promised Sarah he’d get concert tickets for her birthday, so Joel knew she wasn’t expecting them. She’d be just as happy with pizza and a movie and a birthday cake from the supermarket, and he knew that, too. But ever since Halican Drops announced their summer tour dates, she’d been dropping hints, saying what a coincidence it was that the dates for their city were so close to her birthday. And he had played along, acting like it was a long shot even though he’d already bought two tickets the day they went on sale. 

But now I’m not even gonna be able to give ‘em to her. 

“Well… ” Emma gave a small shrug as she crossed the kitchen to stand in front of him, her hands landing on his shoulders before the left one climbed up to curve around the side of his neck. Dropping his hands from his head, Joel reached for her waist to pull her even closer as her thumb swept up into his hair. “I could take her.” 

What? Joel blinked, fingers flexing to bunch the fabric of her shirt beneath them. His mouth fell open slightly as he stared at her, a crease forming between his eyebrows. I didn’t even think to ask you, but… 

“I mean,” Emma went on, tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she playfully rolled her eyes. “It’s pretty much my fault that she’s so into this band anyway.” She laughed through her nose. “I was always playin’ their songs for warm ups, and then-” 

“You’d do that?” He breathed out the question, cutting her off. “You’d…” Swallowing, he hooked his thumbs into her belt loops, head shaking from side to side to send his hair askew. “You’d go with her? You sure?”

Emma’s answer came without hesitation, her fingers coming up to rake the rogue strands of his hair back into place. “Of course, Joel.” She smiled, cheeks rounding out and eyes shining up at him. “I know how much it means to you to be able to do this for her. And I want her birthday to be special, too.” She nodded. We’ll make sure she knows the tickets are from you, and that I’m just going with her. Besides, I already got her a gift, so- ” 

Joel didn’t let her finish her explanation though, suddenly overcome with the need to kiss her. Bringing his hands up, he cradled her face between them and swallowed the small surprised sound she made. It only lasted a few seconds, neither of them deepening it but both of them letting it linger so that when it ended and Joel spoke, his lips moved against hers. “I love you, Em.”  

“I know you do.” Her voice was quiet but warm, the tip of her nose bumping his. “I love you, too.” She pulled back to look at him more fully. “Same goes for Sarah.” 

He knew that Emma cared for his daughter, could see it clearly in the way that they interacted. But hearing her say it along with the offer to help him make the girl’s birthday wish come true solidified it for him. I don’t know how I got so damn lucky but I’m not gonna question it. “You’re gonna be her favorite person after this, you know that?” 

Emma laughed, shaking her head and settling against his chest. Her arms wound around his middle as she sighed. “I’m sure she would rather go with her dad.” 

He chuckled, tired eyes lightening with his smile. “Oh I don’t know about that, Em. That girl’a mine thinks you hung the moon.” And so do I. He kissed the crown of her head, pulling her closer. “She’s gonna be thrilled.”

tagging a few who might want to share: @something-tofightfor @haylzcyon @jessahmewren @tessa-quayle @insomniamamma and anyone else who wants to play along! 

#last line tag game #uh... or last page tag game because BLAH BLAH RULES BLAH BLAH BLAH #tag games #wip games #kiss me & smile for me #joel miller x ofc emma #joel miller fic #tlou fic #joel miller #sarah miller #oc emma torres

[friedbaekhyunandeggso]

Reason ~ ch. 30

pairing: female oc (devon alba) x levi ackerman

tropes: instructor x cadet, strangers to lovers, male mc falls first

warnings: angst/slow-burn, strong language, upcoming smut(18+ readers only for those chapters pls 🙈), fluff

brief summary: This story takes place a few years after the Fall of Shiganshina. Devon Alba is in her final year of the 101st Training Corps (844-847), due to her success as a cadet she gets the chance to meet Captain Levi. She doesn’t think too much of him until he catches her in the midst of doing something that she isn’t entirely supposed to be doing. But surprisingly, this leads to something unexpected...

ch. 1 [...] ch. 29 | chapter 30 | ch. 31

Devon walked out of the bookstore. And-as promised-Levi stood outside, waiting for her. This morning he’d asked her to get out of work early-if she could-and lucky for him, she’d already been scheduled for a short shift today.

He stood with his back to the wall in the nearby alleyway. His arms crossed and head down. He was out of uniform-for once. He wore a simple dark blue dress-shirt tucked into black pants. She noticed that his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows when he undid his crossed arms to reach into his pocket.

Just as he was about to withdraw his pocket watch, she lightly touched his wrist. His head snapped up.

“I’m here.” she spoke.

His narrow eyes widened as he watched a small smile spread across her lips.

She eyed his collar, taking note of the few undid buttons, “No ascot today?”

He looked away, attempting to hide the faint color that’d appeared on his cheeks the second she showed up.

“Didn’t match.” he replied flatly.

After a few seconds he faced her, giving her brief onceover before asking, “Work go okay.”

She nodded, “Are you gonna tell me why you wanted me to get out of work early now?”

He straightened, “I’ll show you.”

He offered her his elbow, and she squinted at him while slipping her arm through his.

“Always with the suspense.”

Despite the numerous rings already displayed in the glass showcase, the jeweler managed to find a box filled with more.

The jeweler unlocked the large briefcase before them. Gently swinging it open to reveal a plethora of rings assorted in neat little rows of velvet cushioning. Plenty of sizes, colors and diamonds to choose from.

“This is some of our more extravagant collection. We call them rares because we rarely come by these gemstones but if you are interested, I can offer a special discount just for y—“

“That’s wonderful!” Devon interrupted before placing a hand on Levi’s chest. His chest tightened underneath her fingers.

He forced himself to remain indifferent as his brain short-circuited at the slight action.

She merely continued, “I’m just going to talk to my fiancé outside for a moment.”

“Of course!” The jeweler responded enthusiastically.

She gave the jeweler one last smile before letting her hand fall from his chest to his wrist. She grabbed ahold of his hand before dragging him out of the store.

She released him once they were outside.

“Levi, are you insane?” she asked.

She raked a hand through her hair. He noticed she was starting to leave her hair down more often—he wondered if he had anything to do with that.

“I understand you said the ring is a safety precaution-that those assholes at the bookstore wouldn’t have started if I had a ring on my finger but this—this is too much.”

“How so.”

“Those are real diamond rings, Levi. That’s not-not cheap. This is just for a safety measure, I-I can’t—no, I won’t let you drop that much money on me.”

His response was curt, “Money is not the concern.”

“Maybe not! But—“ she cut herself off, suddenly looking down. Her arms came to her sides to hold herself.

He stepped towards her, grabbing ahold of her elbow. She gasped as she was forced to look up at him.

“Spit it out.” he ordered.

Her brows furrowed, “I’m not your real wife okay? I mean-fiancée, whatever, so I can’t accept that! I won’t. You also shouldn’t be so willing to do this either.”

She continued, “Save that money for your real wife. You-She deserves for this moment to be something special—not just for some.. cadet you happened to get close to.”

“Tch, you’re not jus—“

She shoved herself out of his grasp, “I don’t care, okay? I’m not accepting that. I refuse.”

From the stubborn set of her stare, he could tell she was not going to budge on this. His gaze hardened.

“As much as I appreciate your concern for my nonexistent wife’s desires I really couldn’t give less of a shit.”

“The jeweler’s already got your measurements.” He stepped around her, “I’ll pick for you.”

Her mouth dropped open before she folded her arms, “If you do that, I won’t talk to you again. Ever.”

He stopped mid-step. His jaw clenched before he turned to look back at her tense frame. She still had her back to him.

He was quiet for a moment—as if deliberating, before settling on a monotonous, “Liar.”

She gaped once more before running towards him. She shoved him--hard. He barely budged and-instead-she was sent stumbling backwards a couple steps.

“You asshole!”

It was true. She would definitely be the one to break first—only because she actually cared about him as a friend. Besides it wasn’t like he was always around for her to not talk to him on purpose.

Her eyes widened when she saw the smug smile on his lips. It was just a subtle curl of one end of his lip but god—it suited him so much. It shouldn’t have seemed as attractive as it did.

She nearly forgot what she was agitated about.

“Ugh!” she grabbed his arm, her tone stern, “You’re not going in there. I have another idea.”

Before he had the chance to question it, she pulled his arm to drag him along with her. She ran with him through the streets.

Unbeknownst to her, she was the only woman he’d ever allow to do that.

“A pottery place?” he questioned before opening the door to let her zip inside.

“Yes.” she insisted, taking his inquiry as doubt.

“Good afternoon!” A middle aged woman greeted at the front desk.

Devon went to the counter, offering the woman a warm smile while Levi glanced around.

“Hi, I just wanted to ask if you guys made rings?”

“Yes! We do. We offer simple clay rings or if you're looking for something with a little more longevity we make rings out of a material called heavy metal clay as well.”

Devon perked up, “Oh, really?”

The woman nodded, “Yes, they tend be sturdier as well.”

“Is it possible to pick the color of the ring?” she inquired.

“Of course! You can pick what color stone you’d like on it as well, if you're interested in that. The diamond we have is obviously not real but, may I ask, what is this for?”

Devon glanced down-a bit shy-before responding, “It’s my engagement ring.”

“That’s lovely! Nothing to be embarrassed about, we are the cheapest option on the market for rings but don’t let that make you question our quality.”

The store woman quickly retrieved a small glass box that displayed a few rings. The designs they offered weren’t too complex but they looked sturdy enough. Despite the gems being fake, under the candle lights they could pass as something real.

“These are the designs we offer. You can tell us what color you’d like and we can paint it as such. The gemstones at the bottom are free for you to choose from as well.”

Devon pointed at the ring with a thin silver band and a circle bordering the fake gemstone.

“I’d like that one, in silver as well. And for the gemstone that.. diamond works.”

The woman plucked the diamond Devon pointed at from the box, “Hmm, a stormy medium diamond.” she defined.

Devon squinted, tilting her head, “Is that really the name?”

“Yes, it’s imitation of course, but it’s a more darker gray diamond. The real ones are harder to find. The best kind you can find naturally blaze even brighter than the typical, light cloudy diamond–but those are rare. Just like finding a good man.”

Devon snorted, “I’m not sure those exist.”

The saleswoman chuckled when she saw Levi narrow his eyes at Devon, “You think you're funny, huh?”

Devon didn’t get the chance to respond when the saleswoman added, “This ring will take about twenty four hours to make so you’ll have to come pick it up tomorrow, alright?”

Devon nodded, “That works.”

The saleswoman began to fill out their order form while speaking, “Though, I must add since you two are here right now, we are offering a pottery class in about five minutes. It’s only a couple hours and you can also pick up whatever you make today tomorrow with your ring! You can choose to make either a bowl or a plate, up to you!”

“Only a couple hours.” he mocked from somewhere near.

She tensed before glancing over to see that her shoulder was a mere inch before the center of his chest. She quickly looked forward.

She felt his eyes on her-a subtle tingle at the side of her neck-before he spoke again.

“You want to?”

The closeness of his husky voice shouldn’t have made the simple question sound the way it did.

She straightened before slightly stepping away to get a good look at him. He appeared impassive.

“You.. you don’t mind?” she questioned.

She couldn’t imagine him being remotely interested in pottery but.. she didn’t really know much else about his interests outside of work, did she? She was always down to try something new. Besides, did he not have to report to Scout HQ today or something?

He merely shook his head.

She glanced back at the saleswoman to see her watching them with a subtle smile.

“We wouldn’t mind joining the class.” she said.

The saleswoman’s smile widened, “Lovely!”

After watching the demonstration, Devon was eager to attempt it herself. She leaned close to the table, towards the small slab of orange-y red clay set out before her. Her and Levi had both decided to make bowls.

The first step was to knead the clay–the proper term for it being ‘wedging’.

She held her hands out over the clay, using the flat of her palms against the oddly soft yet firm material. She started slow at first-kneading with delicacy-before picking up the pace once she grew more familiar with the clay’s consistency.

She froze, glancing down at herself when she noticed her hair was starting to get in the way the more she leaned forward. She frowned when she spotted bits of clay tangled within the ends of her hair.

Shit, I didn’t bring a—

Suddenly, a pale hand appeared before, a brown hair tie at the center of its palm. Her eyes took note of the slight mark the hair tie left around the hand’s wrist.

Her eyes widened before she looked to see Levi staring at her intently. He motioned with his chin for her to take it.

Her brows furrowed when she noticed that his hands weren’t red stained from the clay yet. Her eyes went to his piece of clay to notice it was untouched.

Was he watching me this whole time?

The thought made her blush. She reached out to take the hair tie from him but he drew his hand back the second he saw her clay stained hands.

“Hold on.” he muttered.

His fingers deftly skimmed her temple, pushing her hair back behind her shoulders. He easily removed the bits of clay within her hair by running his hand through; patiently using the flat of his thumb to ease out any stubborn pieces. 

Then before she knew it his hands were at her back, braiding her hair into a neat plait.

She was frozen in shock. Only turning her head to glance back at the braid when he was done.

She met his inscrutable gaze with wide eyes, “You..” she trailed off, dumbfounded.

The faint flush that appeared on his cheeks only confused her further.

“Alright, everyone should try to finish up wedging their clay within the next two minutes so we can all move onto the next step.” The instructor’s voice felt distant to her ears.

He averted his gaze, quickly turning back towards the table.

“Wasted all my time.” he grumbled.

He readjusted his sleeves, making sure they were firmly folded up to his elbows before diligently kneading his clay. His dark hair swayed with each movement.

“How do you know how to braid?” she asked.

He kept his eyes on the clay before him, his expression focused as he continued to knead.

“My mother taught me.” he answered flatly.

Oh. She suddenly felt foolish for asking. Her gaze dropped to her clay–completely lost in thought as she began to knead her own clay as well.

At her silence, he glanced over at her.

“Tch, not the hot date you were expecting to hear?”

Her head snapped to face him, “No.” she denied–trying not to sound as embarrassed as she felt.

She stepped out of the pottery place–stopping abruptly when the sun nearly blinded her. She instinctively raised her hand over her face.

Suddenly, she felt a hat on top of her head.

She glanced over to see that Levi had placed the top hat he’d been wearing moments ago atop her head. He had picked her up from work again today–to go pick up their items from the pottery place together.

His eyes weren’t on her though, they were zoned in on her hand. She glanced down at her lowered hand to see that the silver ring was shining brilliantly underneath the sunlight.

Despite it being made at a pottery place, it turned out stunning. Especially under the sun, It looked-

“Beautiful.” he murmured.

She immediately blushed at the compliment.

He eyed the color on her cheeks, “Tch, I meant the ring, not you.”

She turned on her heel to glare at him, “I know but thanks for the clarification.” she bit back.

He fought the urge to smile.

She glanced down at the bowl in his hands, “Your bowl turned out alright.”

When they went back to the pottery place, the pottery instructor offered them the chance to paint their bowls. They’d taken up her offer.

While Levi had been assiduously painting his bowl, she had been multitasking–talking to the pottery instructor and painting her bowl simultaneously. In the midst of talking about a topic Devon was incredibly passionate about, she’d moved her hand too fast and completely shattered her bowl on the floor.

The instructor offered her one of their pre-made bowls but Devon politely declined–too humiliated by the scene she’d caused. She spent the remaining time Levi took to paint, cleaning the mess she’d made.

He hadn’t painted much–simply painting the bowl white at first, then adding a strawberry in its center when Devon complained it was too plain. At first he’d argued with her–saying ‘What the fuck else do you want me to add.’ They’d gotten into a lengthy argument of things or colors he might like.

She kept shooting off questions–do you have a favorite ‘this’ or ‘that’ and his answers never strayed far from the ‘no’ to ‘I don’t fucking know’ range--which only drove Devon further up the wall. They finally settled on using one of Devon’s favorites since-according to her-he didn’t have a ‘personality’. 

Her favorite fruit is strawberries. 

“Yeah, it actually exists.” he responded.

She sent him another demeaning glare–he was starting to like those more than he was willing to admit.

“Don’t talk about my bowl.” she rebutted, red quickly spreading across her cheeks as she remembered the catastrophic sound it’d made when it hit the floor. She quickly turned around and began to walk onto the street.

He followed her, “Maybe if you weren’t chit chatting so much it could’ve survived.”

He grumbled, “Who gets that into talking about food anyway.”

“Listen, she wanted a good lentils recipe so I had to inform her. My co-workers also ask me for recipes all the ti–”

She suddenly stopped mid-step and turned around to look at him, “You’re gonna be here tomorrow right?”

The innocent curiosity in her eyes made him hesitate, “..Yes, why?”

“Tomorrow evening, Larsa is throwing a little get together at the bookstore because we’ve hit the yearly sales goal early. It’s ridiculous, I know but.. She wants everyone to come.”

She paused before meeting his gaze, “You’ll come right?”

His jaw tightened before he looked elsewhere, “You sure you want me there.”

It wasn’t exactly a secret between them that social events weren’t his thing.

Her eyes softened, “Yes. I want you there.”

At her words he met her gaze. The earnestness within her expression left him speechless.

“Besides that, I refuse to have what happened.. last time, define you. Y-you're so much more than that. They deserve to see that too.”

The last statement was more quietly said than the others. It made his eyes widen regardless.

She made him sound so… good.

No one had ever spoken about him like that—about his personality, anyway. He’d heard more than enough about his physical prowess.

“There’s no annoying parents this time either—just me, my coworkers and maybe their partners. I promise.” she pressed.

He blinked, belatedly realizing that she’d taken his silence as indecision when he’d merely been lost in thought. Though, seeing her plead wasn’t exactly a bad sight.

“I’ll try.” he couldn’t guarantee it.

The workload always varied at Scout Headquarters. He might not foresee anything major scheduled tomorrow evening as of now, but it could always change. Depending on what information Erwin received, he changed the agenda as he saw fit.

She smiled—the sight so stunning he simply froze.

“I’ll take it.” she said before facing forward to continue walking—completely unaware of how dumbstruck she’d just left humanity’s strongest soldier with a mere tug of her lips.

#levi #levi heichou #levi headcanons #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi angst #attack on titan #aot #levi x reader #levi x oc #levi scenarios #aot fanfiction #levi fanfic #levi ship #levi fluff #captain levi #attack on titan smut #attack on titan hot #levi smut #attack on titan scenarios #levi x fem!reader #levi imagine #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi x erwin #levi hot #aot smut #levi x mc #levi drabble

[hahaokayright]

A belated Kaimelia Halloween fic

**CONTENT NOTE: brief mention of gender dysphoria -- but I promise the point of this story is queer joy**

---

     Kai is in Seattle for the weekend for the first time in almost a month, looking forward to a no-plans Friday night with Amelia. “No plans” really means door shut the moment they get upstairs at Meredith’s, means Amelia pressed breathless against the door while Kai kisses down her neck. There’s not so much you can do in a house this crowded — someone is always home, with the potential to overhear. Making the most of that kind of situation requires creativity, and Kai appreciates a challenge.

     But tonight Amelia says, “Wait. I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

     Kai straightens up, disappointed. Even if the tone of Amelia’s voice tells them that the bad news is nothing catastrophic, they know what they prefer. “Bad news first, always.”

     “We got invited to a party. Teddy and Owen’s party. And I wanted to say no,” Amelia says. She grimaces, “But Teddy was so excited and I … said yes.”

     Kai laughs. “Is that all?”

     “House parties with my exes haven’t been your favorite thing, historically.”

     Kai has to give her that.

     “We don’t have to stay long,” Amelia says. “I’d like to make it back here before everyone else.”

     “Oh,” Kai says. “Is that the good news? House to ourselves?”

     Amelia laughs. “We could get a hotel. You know, like normal?”

     “If I don’t stay here occasionally, your sisters start raising their eyebrows,” Kai says, half-laughing. It’s funny … but also a little mortifying.

     “Raising their eyebrows?” Amelia asks, sounding skeptical.

     “Yes,” Kai insists. “Last time I dropped you off, I came inside. And when they thought I wasn’t looking, they had this weird, silent conversation with each other. There was a lot of eyebrow-raising.”

     “Oh, baby,” Amelia says, chuckling. “That’s because your shirt was inside-out.”

     Kai feels their face go up in flames. They sit on the bed, raking a hand through their hair. “Oh, god. Meredith and I are colleagues — or, we were. Could be again, if David gets his way. And I walked into her house with my clothes on wrong.”

     Amelia practically waves the notion of propriety away. “Did I ever tell you how Meredith met my brother?”

     “No. Would it make me feel better?”

     Amelia shrugs. “Probably.”

     “Well — wait. You had good news.”

     “Oh,” Amelia says, turning on her heel and hurrying to the closet. She flings open the door, pulls out a garment bag, and spins around. “This is the good news!”

     She unzips the bag with a flourish, pulling out what looks like a pirate shirt, then a blazer that she might’ve Bedazzled. She looks at Kai expectantly, eyes practically sparkling. “What do you think?”

     “Did I … leave that blazer here?”

     “No,” Amelia says, like the idea is preposterous. “I ran to the store last night. I guessed the size, but it looks right.”

     “You made me a costume. And my costume is …?” They’re totally lost. “A glam-rock pirate?”

     “No!” Amelia says, flinging the clothes at them playfully. “You’re David Bowie in Labyrinth.”

     Kai laughs, holding the jacket out and looking at it again. They see it now, and a lump immediately forms in their throat.

     Amelia asks, brow furrowed, “Did I do that much of a hatchet job? I can fix a rare brain tumor, but I haven’t used a Bedazzler since I was Ellis’ age, so —“

     Something warms inside of Kai, and they fight the urge — a ridiculous impulse — to hold the jacket to their chest. They clear their throat and look at Amelia. “I love it. I just didn’t think you remembered, I said one time —“

     “That David Bowie has given you gender envy since Labyrinth. It was so specific and so you,” Amelia shrugs. “I wasn’t going to forget that.”

     Kai shakes their head. “This is the first time I’ve ever looked forward to party.”

     Grinning to herself, Amelia turns back to the closet, retrieving her own puffy white shirt — lotta puffy white shirts in Labyrinth, Kai realizes — and matching vest. “I know it’s not quite as good as having this place to ourselves for the night. But I think we might be able to swing that, too.”

     “Yeah?”

     “Ellis and Bailey are at sleepovers, Meredith’s with Nick. And Maggie and Winston are chaperoning Zola’s school’s Halloween dance tonight — Mer got asked, but Zo said there was no way she’d be going if her mom was chaperoning,” Amelia laughs.

     “I’m a little surprised Zola’s going to a dance at all,” Kai says, sliding one arm, then the other, through their white shirt.

     “Us too,” Amelia says. “With everything she’s been dealing with, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go. But she and her friends have had a group costume planned for months. So Maggie promised Zo that if she gave it a shot, she could sit in the gallery with us during this huge transplant next month.”

     Kai laughs. “Your family’s really something.”

     “If you’re in town that day, you can sit in on the surgery too,” Amelia offers.

     “And what do I have to do to make that happen?” Kai asks, pulling Amelia in by her hips.

     “I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Amelia says, and then she sighs. “Later tonight, that is.”

     “Gives me time to think,” Kai says, like they don’t already have plenty of ideas.

     “We leave in half an hour,” Amelia frowns, stepping out of Kai’s embrace. “Which gives us barely enough time to get ready.”

     "You doing the crazy owl eye makeup for me, too?"

     “Only if you want."

     "Oh, if I'm going to do this, I'm doing it."

     "Alright." Amelia grabs an eyeshadow palette and an eyebrow pencil off of the top of the dresser and sits beside Kai on the bed, taking their chin in her hand gently.

     Kai says, “Must be some surgery.”

     “Huh?”

     “Next month. That’s got to be a pretty good transplant," Kai says, eyes still shut. "I mean, no one actually has fun at school dances, right?”

     “We were just talking about that, actually,” Amelia says. “Because Meredith, Maggie and I weren’t the most well-adjusted human beings before med school. Or after. But dances … they just seem like a thing Zola should try, right?”

     Kai shrugs. “I went to a couple of swim team formals just because you kinda had to. And I turned out fine.”

     “I know we shouldn’t be bribing her,” Amelia sighs. “But sometimes I look at her and I remember what I was doing at her age, and — I mean, it’s the same for Maggie but in the other direction.”

     She adds, like she has to talk herself into something, “Maggie also told Zola to come find her and Winston if she wasn’t having fun after the first half an hour, so, that’s something.”

     “I think that’s nice,” Kai says, thinking suddenly of the formal they’d skipped. Their sister Laura had been on the swim team, too, had spent hours on her own hair and makeup while Kai argued with their mother about what they would wear. And when Kai slid into the passenger seat of Laura's car, feeling wrong in ways they couldn’t articulate, Laura had taken one look at their face and said, Wanna go to iHop? Even though she was graduating that year. Even though she looked way too good for iHop. In spite of all that, she’d fished a sweatshirt out of the backseat and tossed it at her sibling, and hadn’t asked a single question for the rest of the night.

     “I just want Zo to try to do the whole normal kid thing, you know?” Amelia says, bringing Kai back to the present. “But I don't think she's feeling particularly normal right now."

     "That’s tough.”

     Amelia meets Kai’s eyes in the mirror. She sounds relieved when she says, “You get it.”

     “In a way, sure.” They’d known, for instance, that girls did not usually aspire to be the Goblin King. And they weren't sure, even now, that if they'd had the words as a kid to describe who they were, that they would've been ready to say them.

     “Me, too,” Amelia says. “In a way.”

     “Maybe that helps?” Kai offers. “Maybe it’s good for Zola to know that — I don’t know. That even if it wasn't for the same reasons as her, you’ve felt different, and alone. And now you’ve got this family, and all these friends. Does she know how many of your exes you’re friends with? Because it’s truly impressive, even by queer standards.”

     “It’s all fun and games having people until you have to wear real pants on a Friday night,” Amelia says. “Sorry I’m dragging you out.”

     “It’ll be fun,” Kai says.

     “Really?”

     “Yeah,” they say, and they’re surprised to realize they mean it. “Just … please don’t leave me alone too long. I’m scared Teddy’ll try to make me play Boggle.”

     Amelia laughs. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about Owen trying to pick a time for the two of you to jam. That's what he keeps saying. 'Tell them we should jam.'”

     “Well, tell him to stop calling it that, and I'm there.” Kai says.

     “Who are you, and what did you do with my partner?” Amelia asks, setting her hairbrush down and coming to straddle Kai’s lap. She runs her hands through their hair, sending shivers down their spine. “You’re staying in Mer’s house. You’re going to have bro time with Owen. Next you’ll join Link’s fantasy football league.”

     Kai wrinkles their nose. “Can’t watch football. The concussion protocols are —“

     “Abhorrent,” Amelia agrees. “I know.”

     “It’s actually nice,” Kai says. “Being part of your team.”

     Amelia grins. “It’s full of brilliant doctors with chiseled jawlines. You were kinda a natural fit.”

     Kai laughs. “And thank god for that.”

     "Hey," Amelia says, sliding off of their lap. "Go look in the mirror."

     When they do, she comes to stand beside them, and they pull her to their side, hoping she might not notice they've gotten choked up again. Their first instinct is to feel ridiculous, and yet ... for the first time in their life, they feel exactly right in an outfit someone else picked out for them. It's not nothing. 

     This wasn’t how they’d seen tonight going, sure — but being somewhere with Amelia is better than being anywhere else, with anyone else. It’s why they’d flown back to Seattle on that late night so many months ago, why they grow more and more sure every day that it was the right choice. Amelia embraces the sides to them that they thought no one would ever understand, let alone love. And to have the opportunity to do that for her, too? To be invited into her world, even though there’d been a time they weren’t sure they belonged? To know their place was next to her, and hers next to them?

     That was everything.

     They’d come back to Seattle for that over and over again.

#kaimelia #kaimelia fanfic #amelia x kai

[heartofspells]

Just because Family on the Mend is almost finished doesn’t mean the Sirius and Harry content has to end, right? Right!

Cw: small injury and mentions of blood (but it’s fine, i promise!)

---

Sirius comes to a very sudden halt when he enters the bathroom, eyes raking around, taking in the various items scattered over the floor.

"Er…" he says intelligibly.

Harry sits on the floor, surrounded by the madness. His back is angled towards the door and Sirius, and his shoulders hunch forward a little when he hears Sirius speak (sort of).

"Haz," hedges Sirius, not entirely sure what to think, "is there a…a reason you've dismantled our first aid kit?" He's desperately trying to keep the panic from his voice, because from the looks of it, Harry is hurt, but he seems fine, from what Sirius can see. So. Not panicking. Externally.

Harry mumbles something that Sirius can't understand, and he sighs quietly.

"Repeat, please," he says, losing a small amount of patience as the confusion and panic mount a little higher. "What are you doing?"

Harry huffs from the floor, turning to look at Sirius over one shoulder, half his face hidden from sight. "The biscuit jar bit me," he finally admits.

Sirius frowns. Firstly, Harry knows better, but they've been having an issue lately with the boy spoiling his meals by sneaking an outrageous amount of sweets when Sirius isn't around to catch him. So, Sirius had done some research and found a harmless charm to ward against the thievery. It wouldn't hurt Harry – Sirius had been sure to test it on himself first – just startle him and hopefully deter him, the lid of the jar growling and snapping when reaching in without disarming it first. Secondly, Sirius had placed the jar in a higher cupboard to further thwart the six-year-old's attempts.

But none of that explains why Harry would be rifling through their bandages like he's on a mission.

"All right," murmurs Sirius, still trying to remain calm. "We'll talk about your sneaking later. Did it hurt you? It shouldn't have."

"No," mumbles Harry. "But it scared me, and I slipped on the counter. I broke a glass and cut my hand."

"What?" cries Sirius sharply, darting forward and dropping to the floor beside Harry, grabbing up his hand in still gentle fingers to inspect it. The cut is there, drying blood around its edges, but it isn't deep, and already seems to have clotted over. Sirius exhales a breath of relief. "Harry, mate. Don't scare me like that, sprog. Why didn't you come to me? I would have helped you."

Tears well in his godson's eyes and the panic returns, but for a different reason. Sirius soothes over the sides of his face, trying to calm him before he bursts, not understanding the small amount of fear visible in his glistening green eyes.

"You would have been mad at me," he moans out thickly, sniffling a little, and Sirius deflates. His arms wrap around Harry, pulling him close as the boy begins to cry into his chest a little, mostly silent tears dampening his shirt. "I was bad."

"Oh, Haz," murmurs Sirius, his hand smoothing down his godson's back. He rocks him, gently shushing him quietly, trying to soothe. "I'm not angry about the biscuits, but you can't hide away when you're hurt. That's not good, Harry. You have to come to me. I'll never be angry with you for that, all right? I only want to help."

Harry sniffles again but nods against him. Sirius gives him a while before carefully pulling him back enough to see his face. He brushes the tears away from his wet cheeks with soft touches of his thumbs, smiling down at him.

"Let's get your hand cleaned up, hm?" he says as brightly as he can manage. "Then why don't have some pizza and ice cream for dinner to make up for it? How does that sound?"

When a smile breaks through Harry's misery, Sirius' heart clenches a little in his chest, something warm settling over him. He makes fast work of bandaging Harry's injured hand, and then he presses a kiss to the exposed skin beside the cut.

"All better?" he asks, cocking his head to the side a bit.

Harry beams at him. "All better!" he chirps happily, and Sirius grins.

#sirius and harry #sirius raises harry #sirius raising harry #dadfather sirius #good godfather sirius black #best dadfather #sirius black #harry potter #cw: injury #cw: blood

[thewritersaddictions]

Prom Night ‘86:Jonathan Byers-Lovers Lake

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x Fem!Reader

POV: Reader

Warnings: Fluff, senior prom night, dolled up, kissing/making out.

Summary: Skipping out on your senior prom Jonathan takes you to lover lake for a perfect view.

WC: 2.3k

A/n: @firefly-graphics for dividers. This is a part of a series!

Stranger Things Master List // The Adults Master List // Series Master List // Prom Night ‘86

“You promised you’d stay.” Robin said as I stopped swaying with beat of the off-putting music. “I did stay for the first fifty song you dragged me through.” I answered her, my hands on my hips as my feet ached under the weight of my own body. “Your being so dramatic I didn’t ‘drag’ you towards the dance the floor you volunteered to follow behind me.” Robin through back at me. Her voice was raw and hoarse from the constant yelling to sing along with the lyrics.  

“Will you at least tell me who’s picking you up and taking you away from this sweet party?” She questioned me. Rolling my eyes, I just leave her at the table. Grabbing the sides of the dress and walking out the gym. The cold air sweeps under the dress as the gym doors close behind me, and the sounds of the party start to quiet around me.  

It doesn’t too long for Jonathan car to round the corner of the bus loop at the back of the school. His headlights blind me for a brief second before my eyes adjust to the yet again darkness of the Saturday night. Jonathan isn’t one to try and be slick when he’s talking, but there’s something about the way that Jonathan rolls down the window. He’s leaning into the passenger one hand still holding onto the wheel.  

He’s gripping the wheel his knuckles going white under the tight grip. His eyes are raking over my body, and it weirdly doesn't make me feel like I’m being looked at rather it’s a good deep feeling at the bottom of my gut. Finally, he speaks, “You looked beautiful tonight.” It’s a plain statement, my mother had said that as I walked down the stairs, and so had Robin as I gathered my dress into her car earlier tonight. For some reason though when Jonathan says it, it’s different. Like it means something so different compared to everyone else.  

“You really think so?” I question him, my voice feels so tiny, but the way that’s he’s looking at me has me all confused. Even though I can’t manage to get my head around the fact that Jonathan had even mentioned picking me up tonight. I gather my strength and take charge. Grabbing the handle, I let a part of my dress drop and open his car door. When I gathered myself into the passenger seat the dress bunches at the bottom of footwell. My ankles finally forgiving me, and now Jonathan and I are even closer than before.  

“So, where are you taking me?” I asked, Jonathan had already driven out of the schools parking lot and onto the road before I was able to get out of my own head and ask my question. His hands were both on the wheel. There was a moment of silence before I just let my eyes graze over Jonathan for the first time since getting his car. Jonathan was wearing what looked like much more comfortable cloths then what I was wearing and I wished that I’d brought a set of clothes to change into, the cold air added for regret to my poor choices earlier this afternoon.  

He was relaxed something I felt that I never saw anymore, from anybody within our small group of friends. The kids were always excited but there was pain behind the young eyes, and honestly the pain that we had never was going to be able to be hidden. The shit we had seen and been through was just too much to handle for some of us and it showed. It showed on Jonathan face, so it was odd to see him so relaxed like he was finally in his element. “I wanted to show you, a umm favorite place that I really enjoy going to... If that’s okay of course?” Jonathan says nearly stumbling over his words. I conceal my giggle, by looking out of the passenger side window. The stars tonight are brighter than I think they’ve ever been. “Yeah, that’s okay.” I said.  

The sky is completely lite up. I can’t help but notice the way the stars tingly and flicker against the black backdrop of the nights sky. I don’t notice that we’ve arrived until Jonathan cuts off onto the off ramp and down a dirty and dark road. We drive like this for what seems forever, the car hitting bump and rocks within the road. When the car came to its final stop I finally looked back over at Jonathan. He was breathing so slowly, so gently that if he hadn’t just driven us where ever we were I’d think he was dead. Then he looked over at me, those sweet dark eyes making their way into my heart, and mind. I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. “So where did you bring us?” I ask making the motion of stepping outside of the car.  

But the moment my feet hit the ground the pain is unbearable. The heels causing a striking pain up my ankles and down to my heels. It causes me to shriek and that causes Jonathan to look at me. It just goes down the rabbit hole after that. Jonathan is quick to get out of the driver's side door, and on to the ground in front of me. “What’s wrong?” He asks his tone has changed completely, and there's a sort of protectiveness that over comes Jonathan. “My umm... it’s stupid really.” I barely say, before Jonathan hands are reaching for my own, grabbing them and dragging my attention back to his kind face. “Tell me, it’s not stupid.” Softly, he says as if we are going to be caught. He’s whispering to me, “It’s fine, just tell me.”  

I gather more strength that seems to be coming and going out of thin air with Jonathan around. “it’s the heels Jon, I’m not used to them and Robin made me wear them because she said that it would be fun but now it’s just killing me and now, I’m rambling and I’m not...” I finally look up at Jonathan he’s smiling at me for some reason. “Would you believe me if I said I understand?” He asks me, I only shake my head not really trusting myself to not go on a tangent anymore.  

His hands release from mine, and he gives me a look. One that I don’t understand but I agree to whatever he’s about to do. There’s trust between us that’s hard to come by, Jonathan reaches down grabbing at my dress that had bunched down at my feet covering my entire shoe. I give out a heavy sigh, and he looks up at me.

The intense stare grows to be too much for me and I smile down at him instead. “I’m just going to take off your shoes.” He says and for some reason the relief doesn’t go away because it isn’t about what he’s doing it’s about the way his fingers touch my skin and how they leave behind a deep tingle within my skin.  

He grasped my feet with such a soft touch, and he dipped his hand under my ankle of one of my feet. The strap was cutting deep into my skin. His fingers are cold as the latch on the first heels comes undone, but my feet don’t immediately fall out. He repeated his actions, with my other heel.

He dug his thumb into the bottom of my foot and heel. Massaging the pain away unlike any other pedicure I had received. All of his action held purpose behind and he was oh so gentle. Nothing I had ever felt. I didn’t even notice that he was done until my feet hit the cold grass.  

“Are you still up to seeing the view?” Jonathan asked. He still was kneeling between my legs. His curly dark brown hair was shiny under the moons light and all I could see was the pure emotion on his face.

“I can’t wait.” I answered my feet still aching but not stinging anymore. He stood up his eyes never leaving me. Jonathan put his hand out, I did the only lady like thing and took his hand. He guided me up and onto my shoeless feet.  

He held my hand all the way until the edge of the mountain was nearby. The lake underneath us was glimmering and it had a perfect reflection of the nights sky. The moon was a grand yellow one. Standing the edge, you could see everything.

Not in great detail but the cold hair bite at my toes and fingers. The shivers didn’t stay away for too long. The dress was long and wrapped around my body giving great warmth, but nothing was warmer than the feeling of Jonathan hand wrapped around mine.  

“See I told you.” Jonathan said quietly. Almost bending down and whispering it in my ear. Everything since Jonathan had taken my heels off had felt so delicate, intimate all in the same nature. He was right, “Yeah Jon it’s beautiful. A picture that I couldn’t mind taking.” I said, looking at him. The darkness that was all around us had set a dark and another intimate moment between the two of us.  

It started off so innocent and a kind gesture, as Jonathan moved his arm arching it around my back. It brought tingles to the tops of my exposed skin. He pulled me in closer and I fell into him. The smell of smoke, and pine. It wafted into my nose, and all around me as I sunk deeper into Jonathan affection.  

He turned us, it wasn’t like everything was happening fast, it was more like it was happening in slow motion. He was clinging to me just like I was clinging to him. I couldn’t help but stare at his lips, the moons light giving everything up to imagination. His other hand grasped my lower back and pulled me in. 

Chest to Chest  

We only shared one look, before Jonathan cupped my cheek and leaned down brushing his lips against mine. Like pillow soft as I pushed into his lips. We didn’t fight for dominance within the kiss. We just let our bodies drug us into each other. When we finally let each other go, there wasn’t a single feeling in my body. The dizziness of the kiss taking me over, and causing my waist to tumble about in Jonathan arms. I could feel the heat coming off of Jonathan.  

“Are you alright Y/n?” He asked finally helping my find my balance. I only looked up into his eyes. “I’ve gottacha.” He spoke. He did have me. He had my heart, my body and soul. There was just something about Jonathan the way he was so intelligent, and reserved in the same sentence.

I couldn’t help the feeling in my chest as I leaned up into his again and kissing his lips once again. The hot way his lips stayed gapped against mine. I brought my hands up cupping his cheeks in them. The warm was radiating off of him. No matter the way swayed in his arms, he kept his hands placed firmly on my waist.

“I know you do Jon.” I said quietly against his lips when I finally felt that I had properly bruised the poor boy's lips. The rest of the night went by in a blast. To going back to resting in his car, to listening to him talk about his favorite tapes to listen to when taking a long drive.

He talked about his dream for after high school and everything in between from his brother and mother to his dreams about his future life. “Are you tired Y/n?” Jonathan asked  

“You went out with JONATHAn!!?” Robin screamed over the phone when I finally called her after Jonathan drove me home later. “You’re screaming at me. If you want me to tell you what happened, you’ve got to stop screaming.” I said into the cordless heavy phone. “Okay. Okay I’ll stop screaming...” Robin went on to say. “He picked me up. And he helped take off my heels they were killing my feet you know that’s why I don’t wear them anyways Robin.”

I went on to say. “Stop rambling and get to the good part Y/n” Robin said I nearly dropped that brick of a phone on my already aching feet. Mouth left gaping wide. “Nothing happened you know between me and Jon.” I said barely audible. “That’s such bullshit, you and I both know it too.” Robin said calmly into the phone. I rolled my eye wishing she could see. “I can hear you rolling your eyes, just tell what you and Jon did.” Robin said putting emphasis on Jonathan nickname that I had for him.  

“Well... If you must know he kissed me up at lovers' lake, and then I kissed him. That’s all that happened.” I said to Robin the line was quiet and then the smallest shriek came out of the other line. “You guys kissed... I love you guys already. Y/n I swear I just knew you two would end up together. I’m pretty sure I put you two together too.” Robin went on rambling. She did that so often that I was able to set the phone down and get undressed and dressed into other clothes before she’d even realize I was gone.  

“Yes, you did all of this and you didn’t even know it. Now good night, Rob.” I said into the phone as I sat the edge of my bed. “I did put you guys' together Y/n and Jonathan... yeah go to sleep and dream of your lover boy. Good night, Y/n.”  

Completed on: 10/31/22

Posted on: 11/01/22

The Adults-

#stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #strangers things #stranger things x y/n #st headcanons #stranger things jonathan #jonathan byers x you #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers x fem!reader #fem reader #female reader #stranger things x you #fluff #jonathan byers fluff #jonathan byers fanfiction #jonathan byers fic #stranger things fluff