#into the trench of judgement | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moongreenlight · 7 months

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Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who despite his better judgement lets Soap talk him into picking up a girl for the night.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Apparently Soap knows a guy who knows a guy in the area they’re deployed. They’d been staying at some shithole inn in France for weeks. Driving into the city to stake out some mark day in and day out. Tedious, mind-numbing work. Sitting at cafes and on patios at pubs people watching. Looking for anyone that may or may not match the vague description that had been provided by some mole on the other side.

Simon could sit still and shut up. Johnny was a separate issue. He could dial in for a few hours at a time, but then he’d start to slip. Bored and antsy, he’d try and strike up conversation. Inevitably returning to what must have been his favorite topic, or the one thing plaguing his mind the most. He’s horny. Fucking hell, is he horny.

Bitching and whining about not being able to get any play here because he doesn’t speak a lick of French and even when he tries it comes out so muddied that nobody takes him seriously. And that the inn they’re set up at is years away from town. Paints him out to be a serial killer.

Simon would grind his teeth and endure yet another one-sided talk about how bored Johnny had been getting of his hand. Even the left one wasn’t doing the trick anymore. He’d resorted to calling in some favors he was apparently owed to get the help of some girls in his evenings off.

“Jesus. Lookit the legs on her.”

Johnny had almost fallen out of his chair swiveling his entire body to watch some girl in a short skirt and a long trench coat stride past their spot outside of a cafe.

“Mhm.”

Simon was in a better spot to watch her pass. Eyeing her frame from over the rim of his steaming mug of tea. Fucking dreadful day. Drizzling rain. Bordering on sleet because of how miserable the weather was. Cloudy with a breeze that felt bitterly cold even through his coat. Shit tea, too. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander.

Not like they’d made any progress. Not like they could make any progress being staked out on a side street with no traffic whatsoever. The girl had been the only person other than their server that they’d seen come by in the last half hour. And sure, she had good legs. Better than their server’s at least. Some cranky older woman who’d ignored his attempts to order in French and looked mugged off that she had to deal with them at all, especially sat outside in this weather.

“Hell’s bells. Almost forgot you had a brain in there somewhere.”

Johnny, of course, couldn’t resist making a dig.

“Don’t get carried away.”

Simon grunted.

“Naw. C’mon, L.T. You like girls? They’ve got girls.”

Should have predicted that he was going to run wild with this.

“M’warnin’ you.”

“Loads of girls. Fuckin’ customizable. Send you a preference sheet and everything. Real professional operation.”

Johnny snickered into his paper coffee cup. Given to him along with a nasty look when he’d fidgeted with the ceramic mug he’d first had a bit too much and sent it smashing into the pavement.

Simon wasn’t one to be jerked around cock-first like Johnny, but Jesus. He was wearing thin. Maybe the isolation was getting to him. Maybe a seed had been planted somewhere deep in his mind from Johnny’s moaning. Not to mention, it was impossible to get it up watching French cable porn on a twin bed. He was backed-up and pissed off with the work. And with no end in sight, it could push a man to do strange things.

He shifted his hips forward in his seat, taking a long drink of his tea as he scanned the empty street for the umteenth time.

“Haven’t used up all your favors?”

You would have thought he’d just backhanded Johnny the way his eyes bugged out of his head.

“Gie’s a break.”

“Jus’ a question.”

Simon shrugged, sighing like he was already regretting asking. He was.

“Don’t work me up over nothin’, L.T.”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows and leaning his forearms onto the table. Now completely distracted from the task at hand.

“Johnny.”

“Sure I could work somethin’ out. Only ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous. Ken yer a’right owing me a favor?”

Simon snorted.

“Sure I can manage.”

Johnny’s eyes were glinting something awful. More lively than he’d been in days. Practically laying over the table and kicking his feet. Thrilled to finally have the means to something Simon wanted.

“We’ll see about that’.”

Conversation moved on. Dragged back to the mission with instruction to change location. They spent a full ten hours out in the rain and the cold and the grey for absolutely no payout. Again. Still at square goddamn one. It was arguably worse than combat. Least on a real mission he’d get some release.

Johnny had stepped away in the early evening to make a call. Just before they were tapped out by Price and Gaz. Likely cashing in his favors owed, because he came back with a smug smile and two pints. Saying something about how Simon needed to quit taking himself so seriously. All work and no play or some stupid shit to that tune. Made a comment in passing on their drive back to the inn about how he should get his quarters decent by nine.

Honestly, Simon wasn’t expecting much. It was a bit of a ridiculous concept to him to begin with. He’d regretted saying anything straight after the words had left his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to entertain some two-bit whore, even if she just served to curb his boredom. He never sought out things like this. Never felt the need. He wasn’t like Johnny or Gaz where he had to sneak off during missions for a wank or a quick fuck when time allowed. Not like Price where he’d seek a willing nurse or secretary to grope or bend over his desk on a day off. Sure, he’d take the opportunity if it arose, but he was always more focused on the job while he was at work rather than chasing his next high.

And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken anyone home. Fucked into his hand as much was necessary to keep everything operational. Knew when it was time when he started lashing out on a hairpin trigger. Got lazy on missions. Lost one too many sparring matches during training because he couldn’t focus.

So when nine came and went, he just found himself agitated that he’d requested the woman at the front desk change the sheets on his bed again so late. Ducking out to the balcony for a cigarette when she came in and slipping her a few euros on her way out despite the way her lip curled distastefully. Fucking frogs.

He was sat on the armchair in the corner of his room. Halfway paying attention to whatever channel was on the TV across from him and nursing a tumbler of shit whiskey he’d picked up from the shops their first night in. Swapped his mission clothes for a black tee shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. Tugging his balaclava over his face out of pure habit. Strictly instructed not to wear it out for the sake of keeping a low profile. Though he wasn’t sure how much good that did. He stood out from the crowd with his scars and crooked nose and tattoos without the covering. Whatever. Wardrobe wasn’t his job for a reason he supposed.

The sharp knock on his door grated heavily on his last nerve. Eliciting a low growl, but no movement to answer. It was half ten at this point. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Probably just another group of teenagers lost on their way to a friend’s room.

Another knock, and this time it didn’t stop. A muffled giggle through the door.

“Jesus Christ.”

He grumbled, shoving up and striding over to the door. Jerking the door open and using his hulking frame to cover the small opening he allowed.

Johnny’s fist nearly collided with Simon’s jaw. Distracted by the two girls stood behind him in the hall, giggling at him and batting their lashes. He was grinning like a goddamned devil. Chest puffed-out, shoulders rolled back. Entirely too comfortable.

Simon cocked a brow, giving the group a scornful once-over.

“Aye, L.T.! I come bearing gifts.”

Simon’s brow shot up further, eyes flicking from his friend to each of the girls behind him. Johnny immediately caught on to his confusion and barked a laugh, slinging his arm around the shoulder of the girl on the left. She sunk comfortably into position, leaning into him and giggling like it had been rehearsed.

She was pretty. Both of the girls were. The one tucked under Johnny’s arm had long auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders. Bright green eyes. Great smile. Perfectly groomed. Both of them covered conservatively by long coats to protect from the rain that had gradually started to come down harder and colder through the day. Hard to tell they were hooking by looking at them.

They seemed more familiar with Johnny than what Simon could assume was normal. It made his stomach turn if he thought too much into it, so he didn’t. Instead he side stepped, allowing the second girl barely enough room to slip through the door, and jerked his head for her to move.

“S’pose I know better than to expect a thank you.”

Johnny grinned, entirely unbothered by Simon’s glare that was boring through his skull. Arm already wandering down the auburn haired girl’s back at an alarming speed.

“Not as dim as you look, Sargent.”

Simon sighed, snapping the door shut.

“You’re late.”

He said flatly before he’d even finished locking the door. Turning to face the girl who’d already made herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. Leaned back on her hands, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Throwing off your schedule, am I?”

You said, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. This made Simon recoil slightly. He’d been expecting some trashy, mildly-disgusting woman to come stumbling through the door when Johnny had mentioned he was cashing in favors. Not you. Not by a long shot. You looked, for lack of a better word, spoiled. Expensive. Perfectly styled, glossy hair. A tasteful amount of makeup. Not so much that it marred your features, but enough to make you nearly unapproachably attractive. And relatively covered-up. Expensive looking fur-trimmed coat falling just above your ankle.

Noticeable lack of a French accent. And you weren’t cowering in his presence, which suggested that you’d dealt with worse than him. A thought that sent something strange down his spine. Jealousy maybe? Anger? Sympathy? He wasn’t in the mood to dig further into that.

He crossed the room, lowering himself back into the armchair he’d been stationed in before his night was interrupted.

“You’re an hour and a half late.”

His tone was clipped. His eyes cold and hard. Fixed directly on you in an almost invasive kind of eye-contact. He jerked up his balaclava to his nose to take a deep drink from his glass. Studying you from over the rim. Killing the contents and setting it back on the side table with a soft thud.

You pursed your lips for a fraction of a second, standing from the corner of the bed and pacing across the small room to stand in front of him. Threatening to encroach on his personal space. Smiling tightly in a way that seemed to come with a practiced nonchalance. That same feeling settled in the center of his stomach.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

Your soft, sweet tone did nothing to tame his irritation.

“They couldn’t even send a professional?”

He shot back tersely, folding his arms over his chest. You cocked your head slightly to the side. A fraction of genuine humor peeking through your smile.

“Plenty professional.”

You shrugged, letting the comment roll off of you. Water off a duck’s back. It irritated Simon to no end and he couldn’t pinpoint why. Trying to settle his mind by watching the way your perfectly manicured fingers began to work on slowly undoing the buttons of your coat with careful attention.

He snorted, tugging his balaclava back down over his jaw.

“That your thing, then?”

You gestured to his face covering. Shrugging off your coat to reveal a fucking scrap of a dress. Much more in-line with what he’d imagined a hooker to wear. A tiny, black, strapless thing that hugged your curves like it had been sewn directly onto you. Black lace garter pulled high on your thigh. Knee-height black boots that must have made you four inches taller than you were.

He cocked a brow, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair.

“Somethin’ like that.”

You cracked a true smile at that. Folding your coat neatly in your arms before setting it on the beat-up dresser to his right. Returning attentively to your spot in front of him.

He stiffened. Already perfect posture becoming rigid to the point of snapping. Keeping his hands firmly planted on either arm of the chair. Narrowing his eyes as he looked over your face in much closer detail.

“It’s late.”

Was all he managed. Voice rough as ever.

“And?”

You tilted your head like a confused dog.

“And you were an hour and a half late. It’s late.”

He shot back dryly. Nails digging into the chair.

“Let me make it up to you.“

You sank to your knees just between his legs surprisingly gracefully given how tight your dress was. Falling delicately onto the disgusting carpet. Faded and torn and fraying. Scratching at your bare knees. Didn’t even pull a face. Conditioned to understand that this was normal. Trained to grin and bear it. Another stone added to the weight anchoring him to his seat.

It was horribly cliche. Such a painfully tacky line, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth; so he shifted his hips forward and allowed your slender fingers to dance up his thighs and dip under the waistband of his sweatpants. Aided you in tugging them down to his ankles. Grit his teeth together when you began palming him through his underwear. Trying not to catch your eyes that were fixed up on him. Trying to push the nagging voice in the back of his mind away. Reminding him of just how dirty this was. Made him feel fucking pathetic. Calling in the aid of a hooker like he couldn’t bed a girl himself.

And the worst part. The part that brought up the most self-loathing; was how fucking fast the blood was racing to his cock under your touch. How much he truly enjoyed seeing you knelt down and blinking up at him with a look that could have been confused for adoration. Maybe you were a professional.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose when you finally sprung his aching cock free from his boxers. Forcing his head back to avoid your gaze. Pressing it hard against the wall to the point of giving himself a headache. Scarring the soft wood of the chair’s arms with his nails when you licked a hot stripe from his base to the tip.

All of his guilt and knotted up emotions seemed to dissolve themselves at least partially when you wrapped your lips around him. He’d almost forgotten just how warm a mouth was. Infinitely better than his hand. Jesus, was it.

He kept his hands to himself. Not needing to guide you like he had so many others. Tried to let himself relax under the feeling of your hand gripping his base and your mouth working his tip. And he nearly did get swept away when you removed your hand and tried to force his stiff cock to the back of your throat. Allowing you to work at choking and gagging around him for longer than was probably polite. But again, he just found himself irritated. Edging himself out of pure goddamn accident because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself from his mind.

He couldn’t understand why you were such a sticking point to him. He’d had one night stands before. Hell, that’s all he’d had. Never cared much about the quality or condition or history of the girls he slept with. Maybe he had a savior complex he was too stubborn to admit to. Maybe his mind had been so warped and addled over the years that he formed some kind of baseless connection with you for God knew what reason. He just couldn’t fucking stop thinking about you.

He would have liked to. Would have liked to screw his eyes shut and focus on how good you felt wrapped around him. Mouth hot and wet. Wanted to focus on the ecstasy of your throat struggling to fit him. Listen to your soft, choked whines. Let himself pretend you were no different to the others he’d bedded before, but it was fruitless. He made a low sound, a growl that lodged itself somewhere in his chest, before taking your jaw in his hand and pulling you off of him. Cock still throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

“You need to go.”

He made the mistake of glancing down. Saw the way your perfect makeup had begun smearing around your eyes and down your cheeks just barely. Big eyes rimmed with tears. Nose running, chin and lips glistening. Slick from your own spit. It nearly pushed him over the edge, but he knew inevitably he was prolonging his own torture.

“What?”

Your voice was hoarse because of how much strain your throat had been under. Softer than it had been. Less confident. You looked almost hurt. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and sniffing softly. Jaw held fixed in his hand.

“You need to go.”

He repeated, firmer this time. Sucking his teeth. Trying to ignore the way your gentle panting cooled the shining trails of spit running down his shaft and sent a chill up his spine.

Your face twisted in confusion, mouth falling open. Leaning back on your haunches to look him over like he’d suddenly grown another head.

“Is it not good?”

He groaned softly, finally letting go of your head. Not realizing just how much effort it had taken for him to pull you off until he saw the small red marks decorating the delicate skin of your jaw.

“S’fine.”

“Fine?”

You looked properly offended. A little confused. Like this had never happened before- and it probably hadn’t. Of course he’d be the one to stain your perfect record. Of course he’d be the one to warp your pretty face like that. Drove him up the fucking wall.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Now he was backed-up, pissed off, and you wouldn’t leave as easily as he would’ve liked. If he was lucky, he’d still have half a hard-on by the time he got you out the door. Maybe coax out a less than satisfying orgasm that would at least put him to sleep.

“Gave myself lockjaw for fine?”

You spoke again, those same nimble fingers now gently massaging the hinge of your jaw. He tried to avoid looking at the way your dress bunched around your hips and revealed your panties. Black lace that matched the garter on your thigh.

“It’s late.”

He huffed a sigh. Leaning down to fumble in his sweatpants pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. Needing anything else to focus on. It brought him nearly nose to nose with you. Not realizing until he flicked his eyes up. And you didn’t recoil. Sat there half glaring at him, the tip of your nose almost brushing his through the balaclava. You were pretty even this close. Probably more so.

“You’ve said.”

You shot back cooly, brows knit together.

“Have I?”

He pulled back up, hooking his mask up over his nose once more and sticking the cigarette between his teeth.

“Few times.”

You looked wholly unamused. He flicked his lighter open. Lighting the tip and taking a deep drag.

“Meant it a few times.”

He shrugged, speaking through his exhale. Turning his chin up and away from you so the curling smoke didn’t wash over you.

You snorted, pushing up to your feet, putting your hands on your hips and giving him a once-over.

“You’re seriously asking me to leave?”

His teeth sunk into the butt of the cigarette just a fraction too hard. He felt the crunch of the filter bending under the force.

“S’not you, it’s me.”

He offered. A wisp of a dry smile tugging momentarily at the corner of his lips. This earned another smile from you. He caught it even through the way you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“You married?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He almost choked on the cloud of smoke he’d been drawing in.

“No.”

His voice was harsh. Like a string pulled taught to the point of snapping.

“So what is it? You don’t like me?”

You shifted your weight a bit, but he could tell it wasn’t because you were uncomfortable. You still held yourself confidently. Shoulders rolled back, posture straight but not stiff.

“Bloody hell.”

He groaned, rubbing his brow.

“Is that it, then?”

You prodded further.

“No.”

You seemed thoroughly dissatisfied with his answers. But he didn’t know what else he could say. You seemed fine. Pretty girl. Got him closer to an orgasm than he’d come in weeks. He just couldn’t get over the fact that you were hired out to do this. Made him feel too dirty. That and he’d already looked too far into the situation. You seemed like you’d been doing this longer than anyone should have to. Strangely enough he felt some obligation to protect you. Wanted to pull you away from whatever situation that had pushed you to this.

“So what’s the hang up?”

You huffed a sigh.

“Don’t usually do this.”

He grunted out, resigning to the fact that he’d have to drink himself to sleep at this point. Leaning down to jerk his sweatpants back up his legs.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You snarked back. He snorted a humorless chuckle from around the cigarette.

“Nothin’ against you.”

“Yeah, alright.”

You shook your head, a small smile curving your mouth. A mix of confusion and amusement. Like you couldn’t believe that this was really happening.

“I’m not in the business of I.O.U’s.”

You said, looking over your shoulder while you walked over to grab your coat from the dresser.

“S’at so?”

He ashed his cigarette into his empty glass. Trying not to snort when you flashed him a sour look.

“You’re sure? I’m supposed to be here all night.”

You were already fastening the buttons on your coat. Glancing past him to the window on the back wall of the small room. The curtains were drawn, but through the backlight of the street lamps outside you could see rain streaking the glass.

“Mhm”

He hummed his answer. Silently grateful that you were finally moving toward leaving. Least he’d be able to get a few hours of shut eye before having to go back out tomorrow. Hopefully sleep off the guilt and the slightly sick feeling that’d settled itself over him.

You left a few minutes later. After making absolutely certain he was sure. Then it was ‘cheers’ and he was dead bolting the door. He got a fresh glass and downed the rest of the bottle of whiskey. Not enough to even get him tipsy, but enough to lull him into a dreamless sleep for the few hours he allowed himself.

He should have been expecting that Johnny would give him a fucking earful in the days following. You must’ve said something to the auburn haired girl and it got around. Wouldn’t shut up about it. Gave him shit like he was getting paid to do it. Couldn’t believe that he’d pass up an opportunity like that.

They got shipped back to base about a week later. Simon was thankful for the short break. Slowly working on forgetting the entire mission. The whole ordeal with you. Focused his efforts on training and filling out the endless towers of paperwork that’d gathered on the edge of his desk in his absence.

And then it was months later. And he’d made good progress on forgetting France. Mission was a bust. Wasted time and money and effort for no payout. Turns out their mark had been in Germany the entire time. Tipped off that they were on the lookout for him. Johnny slowly stopped his teasing. Only occasionally bringing it up when Simon dismissed the efforts of an overly eager private. Things went back to normal.

After getting intel on a new assignment, Price had urged the boys to get together at some pub by base for drinks on him. Chat about next steps and do some more of the team bonding he was so keen on. Simon grudgingly obliged. The bar was full of people seeing as it was a Friday, so he was content people-watching and grunting a few words when prompted. Decent way to kill a few hours.

He’d excused himself to go outside for a smoke, pushing through the crowd until he finally reached the side alley next to the pub. Taking a few long moments to work his way through a cigarette and let his head stop pounding from the noise of the inside. He wasn’t focused on anything in particular, at least not until he heard some shouting on the street.

He furrowed his brow slightly, pushing off the brick he’d been leaned against and sidling out to see what was going on. Not usually interested in the commotion, but moving out of some deep-rooted obligation to supervise a situation.

He saw a car with dark tinted windows rolling slowly down the road. The driver leaning half-out his window and shouting something over to a girl who was walking by herself down the sidewalk. Her back was to Simon, but he could tell by how stiff she was that this wasn’t a friendly exchange.

He groaned under his breath, taking a moment to debate on if he should get involved before flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Starting down the street toward the girl.

It didn’t take him long to close the distance between them. The girl was walking slowly, he could see the way her head was on a swivel, searching for an escape. The driver of the car was shouting something crass at her and she was making a point of not engaging.

“Alright?”

He called out through the dim street, rolling his shoulders back and tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. Puffing out his chest slightly in case his sheer size alone wasn’t enough to impress.

The driver faltered slightly, the girl did not stop to look back.

“Yeah, mate. Cheers.”

The man called back, trying to sound casual. Simon grunted and nodded, staying as friendly as he could. Moving a little closer to the curb to shield the girl from view. Thankfully, this was all the interaction the driver seemed to need to get the hint. Pulling off without much more prompting.

The girl’s posture immediately relaxed. Shoulders dropped, slowing her gait to a stop.

“Thanks. I owe you-“

Her voice cut off like someone had pressed mute when she turned to face Simon. He was stunned. Fucking shocked to see your face. This had to be some cruel trick played on him by the universe.

You looked great. Better than you had in France- if that was even possible. Even with the way your face paled, he could tell. Your eyes were brighter. Shining at him like headlights. He would have been able to convince himself he was hallucinating if you hadn’t had that same look of recognition painted over your face.

“Thought you weren’t in the business of I.O.U’s.”

He broke the silence after a few long moments. Both of you stood rooted to the pavement mere yards apart. Your breathless laugh broke the tension like a stone dropped in the middle of a stilled lake.

“I wasn’t.”

He nodded sharply.

“And now?”

You smiled. Brighter than you had before.

“I could be persuaded.”

He scoffed.

“S’at so?”

#cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 4 months

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Male Yandere Deep Sea-Creature x Female Mermaid Reader x Male Yandere Human

I don’t think you’ve ever done 2 yanderes pursuing the same darling, so think you could try it? (Unless I’m just stupid and aren’t remembering your other stories right)

We all know of the classic mercreature x human forbidden romance story, but what if there was another from the same marine world added into the mix? Yandere deep sea-creature is also in love with mermaid reader darling, so imagine what he’d do to keep her with him. Same goes for yandere human

This story you can hopefully have fun with as there’s so many ways it can turn out. And another note on why deep sea-creature…it was because I think a merman can be a bit boring, and it’d be interesting to explore a deep sea-creature instead (or straight up eldritch monster of your own creation). Just remember…deep sea-creatures usually get bigger the deeper you go. Much bigger thanks to deep sea gigantism…;)

(Re-sending this to you, because you said you only got 3 requests when I think I sent you 4. But if you had this request, just ignore this ask with this additional message at the end)

Thanks!!! 💝

Yandere! Male! Deep sea creature x mermaid! Fem! Reader x Human! Male! Hunter

OH THIS IS A DOOZY TO WRITE

By the way, guess whose birthday it is today (Hint: it's me LOL)

Got a little bit sidelined on this fic, but i tried. Two men pursuing darling ain't for me but for you, 💝anon, I'll do it ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

This one starts with (and focuses on) you, the reader, since I can't exactly make a yandere man focused fic with two men without making it really long. So unfortunately I cannot put that much of their lore.

Wait, so what does this mean? Do they belong to the same number, or separate? (I mean, I am targeting 16 yanderes in one set. So do they count as one or nah? Eh...)

Yandere! Deep Sea creature name: Viper (from the viperfish) Yandere! Hunter: Orion

It was truly an unfortunate day for you.

You, a mermaid living in the ocean, swimming freely without any people's judgements and even other mermaids.

You aren't exactly a woman of fear.

You love exploring. It's one of your favorite hobbies and actively seek out new thrills and discoveries.

In a world where mer/werpeople were still a newly discovered concept by humans, your folks were adamant on telling you to keep safe from them. Since humans are cruel and what not.

But you didn't care. You wish to see humans and their inventions.

Because of this, you became an outcast from your people, and live on your own in one of the trenches. Just a tad far away from oceanic civilization.

You felt bad for yourself, honestly. Why can't they just accept you're just thirsty for knowledge?

You want to swim up top, where the sun shines and the huge boats reside, with legged people running around in water vehicles. You want to know how they operated it, how they made it, and stuff like that.

Contrary to popular belief, Humans are the uneducated ones. They went on for years upon years not knowing about wer/merpeople other than their mythologies. Yet these other species had always blended with them seamlessly.

Foolish, but that's what made them fascinating for you.

But you only knew what's up above, but not...

The current suddenly felt cold as you lounged at one of the trench dugouts, and you looked down from your side.

It was deep. Too deep for you to explore.

You love the light, but hate the dark.

And it was dark down there. An eerie, dark blue of emptiness.

You're the only one in this abandoned trench, teeming with other sea life other than merpeople, with corals so beautiful and sea anemones that sway with the waters.

But as the trench go down... And down... And down...

They decreased in numbers till they got swallowed by the darkness.

You heard of deep sea merpeople sometimes, but a lot agreed to not look for them. For they are hideous and ugly. Some use them as a scare tactic for young merchildren, that these hideous and large merpeople will eat them alive.

Unfortunately, you believed those stories due to your parents drilling it in your head to not head down.

You shook your head and grabbed your bag, before swimming upwards as you saw a weird mechanism suddenly being dropped in the water via a boat.

You swam around it, curious to this weird ball. It's clearly cut in half then somehow glued together. It's tied to a rope, with little baits decorating the sides.

"Weird, how do humans catch fishes with this?" You asked to yourself, tilting your head as you swatted away the fishes from trying to eat the baits.

Curiosity got a hold of you though. And as you accidentally pulled a bait out from trying to carefully remove it, the ball bursts open and spews out a net, catching you off guard as you got enveloped by the fishnet.

"WHA--?!" As you got enveloped, your body got hauled back to the surface.

Your heart is beating wildly as you broke through the water tension. You can feel the heat of the sun now enveloping your body, which was once only can be felt by your face. You can feel the water dripping from your body down to the waters below, and the net digging onto your skin as your weight made the machine creek.

"Oh? A mermaid?"

A sultry voice said, snapping you from your fear. You looked up, and saw not two, but only one human in such a big boat.

He stood tall, with long legs in a fitted pair of pants and boots. He's wearing a dress shirt that hung loosely on his torso in an inserted fashion. He had a hooded look in his face, examining you over.

"This is the first time I saw a mermaid. Hey there, love." He said again in that voice that made you shiver.

He leans to the edge of the boat, his elbows on the railings. Looking at you with an inquisitve look.

"My name's Orion, love. What's yours?" He asked in a deep tone that made you gulp.

"Y/N..." You whispered, gripping your bag.

"Pretty name for a pretty mermaid." He smiled and you flushed red.

Due to being a recluse, you never got the chance to find a lover, let alone a mate.

As you started to dry out a bit, you scratched your skin, uncomfortable from the direct heat.

Orion saw this and went to the machine.

You curiously looked at what he's doing, trembling from the sudden realization that you're so close to a human invention!

You clutched your bag once more and intently watched as Orion hummed and pulled the lever, making you jerk back as the machine whirred to life and lowered your net.

"Forgive me, love. Thought I caught a big octopus or a huge school of fish." Orion said, making you nod as your body got immersed with the water.

The net unclasped from the bottom, which was held together by a strong magnet as it retreated back to the ball.

"Thank you, Orion." You whispered.

"No problem, love. I'm sorry for catching you like that again." Orion chuckled at your voice.

You didn't make a move from your place, still so curious about the boat. Orion noticed it and chuckled once more.

"Want to know stuff about boats?" He asked and you nodded eagerly. "Alright."

And, as Orion and you talked the afternoon off, you didn't notice a pair of eyes from down, down below look at you with such intensity, hostile.

Orion. A rich man who got a vessel by himself to know more about sealife, hunt them, and display them as catches.

He's always been interested marine life. Living by the seaside most of his life due to his yacht investing father and a beach resort owner mother, he's drawn to the sea in more ways than one.

Due to being mostly by the sea, he developed such tan skin that glistens under the sun whenever he walks by the port. Plus the way his face is built, he looks like a Carribean prince waiting for his mermaid to appear on the beach while not being able to speak.

But due to his parents' financial status, most of the time he only spends time by himself. Other children his age in that port town were intimidated. Despite him trying to be friendly, he can't catch himself a friend at all.

That goes for lovers too. Yeah, there are people who are brave. But in the end, they get overwhelmed from his clinginess.

This made him more clingy and possessive.

He just doesn't want them to run away. He's too lonely for such an extroverted man like him. And with so much love (baggage) to give, how can he make somebody stay in such a demanding and overwhelming way?

It's honestly a draining cycle for both him and the lovers he had.

Now, he only hunts fishes and and examine them. If they're edible, he eats them. If it's interesting, he taxidermies them somehow.

Then, while testing a new net system he developed, he catches a mermaid, you.

He's surprised, but got his heart speared when he saw your clear, fearful, yet curious eyes.

You're so pretty that he swore he's in heaven rather than the sea.

For the first time, an aggressive want to make you his filled him inside that it scared even him.

But he doesn't want to scare you. So, rather than being overwhelming immediately, he took his time.

Why not start with fulfilling your thirst for knowledge?

Everyday, he goes back to that specific spot only for you. You always asked him about his boat, about the machinery, about technology that he brought... He filled your head with information that made you so giddy it was adorable in his eyes.

But he can't shake off the feeling of somebody staring at them. It's honestly unsettling. Sure, it may be other merfolks, but you swore that nobody other than you goes here.

It's strange, but he shrugs it off. He's happy to solo you anyways.

What you didn't know is that he's already ordered a large aquarium type habitat on his home. The size of city wide aquariums of sharks, whales, etc. He made sure to put everything that he thinks you will like.

He wants you in his arms.

He wants to jump down to the sea, hug you in such a tight embrace, and devour your salty lips that will probably taste so sweet on his tongue.

You're so sweet, inquisitive, kind, and understanding. Too lovable. And just thinking that other merfolk have interacted with you before and some probably saw you as a potential mate darkens his mood to no end.

He hasn't tried hunting mermaids yet, should he?

Somehow, he's grateful that you're a social outcast. That means he could just solo you like this.

Not until you didn't show up in a meeting, and his heart dropped to the floor.

Hours before the daily meeting.

You plucked some kelp from a nearby kelp farm that you personally oversee. Hungry, you rolled some and continued to find more proper kelp to join in a fish salad.

Hey, some sealife here are the equivalent of meat consumables for humans.

Getting some oysters, you continued to get food for dinner when a light flashed from your peripheral vision.

"Hmm?" Your body swayed as you looked to the side where the light came from.

Putting what you got in your basket, you swam to the trenches again and tried to find where the light came from.

Some fishes got out of your way as you tried to find it once more, before it flashed again.

"Aha! Now, where... Huh?"

The flash came from the deepest part of the trenches.

The cold current got to you again, and you shivered.

It flashed again, enticing you to swim closer.

But you knew not to do it.

The stories of the deep sea merpeople flashed your mind again, and you almost shrieked in fear from the memories.

But the light is so enticing...

"Just a bit..."

You swam down, passing by the corals and the anemones. Your heartrate picked up, feeling the cold current once more.

Then, you noticed how the corals and anemones are thinning out, but you pushed through, telling yourself that it's not that far.

It's really not that far... Right?

The light flashed once more, now a bit bigger.

So, with a burst of energy and the adrenaline, you swam harder, wanting to see what's the flashing light is.

Then, the light went out.

You gasped in fear and astonishment as suddenly, it got so dark.

With nothing around you at all. Not even the trenches' walls kept you company as the vast, dark nothingness filled your vision.

Cold currents on warm waters, water rippling around you as if some kind of entity kept swimming past you, and you swore you saw beady eyes look at you from afar.

Should you go up?

But wait, where is up?

You felt your stomach drop.

Then, the flashing light blinded you, making you yelp and cover your eyes.

Feeling a sense of deja vu, you felt a presence in front of you.

No, around you.

You trembled, not wanting to open your eyes, but you knew you have to face whatever was in front of you.

So you opened your eyes, and almost shrieked once more from the person in front of you.

He's huge. With beady, ghost like eyes and sharp teeth as he unhinges his jaw in such a grotesque way that made you squirm in how uncomfortable it is to look at. His antenna, the one flashing, shone in now a dimly light as he swerves his body around you. Almost coiling his tail on your body.

He's triple your length, maybe quadruple even. And he laughs deeply at your scared face. He had a sick joy flashing his eyes before he tilted his head.

"Upper Dweller, didn't know you would follow my light." His voice, a ghost like quality with such roughness that it's gravelly. "I'm surprised you're still alive with such curiosity inside of you. Tell me, little one, what's your name?"

"Y/N..." You gulped, cowering from his stature as he swam around you once more.

He looked so creepy, yet had this look that's attracting you to him. Is it the antenna? Who knows.

"A name that matches you." He chuckles and you squirm. Was it a good thing or bad?

"My name's Viper. Nice to meet you, Upper Dweller Y/N." He smiles, his jaw now back in its place yet the sharp teeth still shone. "Hmm... Tiny mermaid, so easy to crush..."

He fully coiled his tail around you, and it felt so cold. The scales felt so cold and uncomfortable against your own tail and skin.

"You dwell on the trenches that nobody dares to live due to being the entrance to my lair." He whispers, closing his face against yours. "Did the people not tell you that?"

You felt your blood run colder than usual. Nobody did. Did they send you there knowing a deep sea dweller lives at the bottom?

Suddenly, you felt helpless against his hold as you realized that you got sent to your what's essentially your death.

Viper smiles from your reaction as he kept himself from pulling you down to the abyss completely.

The first time you got to the trenches, Viper was thoroughly surprised. The abandoned trenches suddenly got a resident once more? Who's the stupid mermaid who dares to live on his what's essentially a frontyard?

And he got a good look on you. Despite being of a viperfish specie, his ghost like eyes were useful for him, making him look at your face fully even though the distance is so far.

You. You look so precious, so pure as you swam around above. So small and puny that just one bite from his powerful jaw can crack you open.

But he didn't lure you yet, just observed his prey as you swam around, trying to watch the boats on the surface.

Viper's a lonely man.

Deep sea merfolk are rare, and in this place, it was only him.

So, he never really got the proper education on what to do in social contexts. Not like he had a chance to do so.

The only time he got is when people still reside the trenches up above when he's still a fry. They looked so happy and chatty, friendly and kind.

And he wants to experience it too.

So, he swam up, trying to form relationships, but this only scared the merfolk away from the ghost like appearance of Viper and his sheer size despite being only a fry back then.

And all of them left the trenches.

It broke small Viper's heart, and he steeled them in the years to come.

But now, you moved in.

Fortunately, Viper's in that age that he's finding a mate to be with for life.

And, with how much he observed you, taking in your smiles, curious glances up above, and fearful looks you gave down below, he slowly fell in love with you.

Well, in one way or another.

So, when he saw you talking to this puny human, he knew he had to make his move.

So, he lured you here.

"Little one..." He whispered, nudging your hand open with his sharp claws.

You opened it nervously, and gasped in terror as he gave you a black pearl.

A symbol of wanting to be mates.

"NO!" You screamed in fear as you got the strength to break free and swim with all your might up to the surface.

Viper growled and tried to catch up with you.

"COME HERE!"

You shrieked in terror as his hand is only a smidge away from your tail.

The darkness slowly got lighter, and you were tired from exhaustion but you knew you cannot stop.

Viper was angry. How dare you reject him! A little upper-dweller that he can just crush with one hand yet he graciously let live reject his offer to be his mate?

But the light got too much for him, and he had to hiss and retreat.

"You will be back." He whispered, watching your retreating figure. "I just know it."

Viper remembers the other man, the human, who somehow saw through him one day when he observed the both of you. Viper felt the hostility and bloodlust from him as he looked directly at where Viper is.

Viper swore up and down it's just coincidence, but the way Orion's eyes never left his spot was unsettling. How can Orion even see Viper?

But Viper knew that this man is not an easy opponent.

So he retreats...

And Orion also retreats as he realized you aren't going to be in the meeting place today.

Two men. One up above, and one below.

Both wants you in their arms.

One will offer you the light but in such a restrictive way,

And the other will offer you the darkness filled with uncertainty but within the waters you know and love.

So, who will it be, love?

Time is ticking, little one.

It will not be long until these two go face to face.

And one will not live to see the tale.

#lizzaneiaelizalde #yandere writing #yandere imagines #yandere boyfriend #yandere male #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic

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demon-in-the-details · 8 months

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Good Omens. It has taken over many of our brains and will slowly drive us all insane before we get answers (hugs to those in the trenches.) I've been reading a lot of theories, gone down lots of rabbit holes, been rewatching and pondering on clues – and I have Things to Say. I'm going to throw them out here one at a time and maybe gather them up eventually into one place somewhere.

So I guess this is a theory or a prediction I've worked out:

Aziraphale is, or will become, the Archangel Raphael.

Many Good Omens fans have picked up on the fact that in Jewish tradition there are 4 main archangels: Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Raphael. In the GO universe Raphael is missing. Since we know that Crowley is a fallen angel many fans have specualted that he is Raphael. I think there is stronger evidence that it is Aziraphale:

• It’s literally in his name: drop the “azi” and rearrange a couple of letters and you’ve got Raphael.

• In the Book of Tobit Raphael goes by “Azariah” when he disguises himself as a human. That’s awfully close to “Aziraphale”.

• Raphael’s name means “God has healed” and he is known as a healer. We know that Aziraphale has the power to heal.

• In the Talmud Raphael was tasked with saving Lot when Sodom is destroyed. In season one Gabrial asks Aziraphale if he remembers Sandalphon from Sodom and Gomorrah. Aziraphale replies that he remembers him doing lots of smiting. In the Talmud Gabriel is tasked with destroying Sodom. In the GO universe Sandalphon seems to be Gabriel’s right-hand man.

• Now here’s the kicker: in Islamic tradition Raphael is the one who blows the horn that announces Judgement Day. And what did Metatron say he needed Aziraphale for? The Second Coming.

I don’t know how to reconcile that he is Raphael when we’ve only ever known Aziraphale by that name, even “before the beginning” – or that we know him as a principality. Could be that his name changes when he becomes an archangel?

I don’t think we will ever know Crowley’s angel name. I think it will be like a dead name. We should all understand what that means to a person in this day and age. I also think that Crowley is a much more powerful angel than an archangel. He is probably more powerful than any of the angels we have met, including Aziraphale. Does he know how powerful he is? Probably, but he’s not telling!

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens theory #good omens fandom #aziraphale #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens season 3 #good omens tv #archangel aziraphale

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vaguely-concerned · 2 years

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it's so crushing to me that M--, in the middle of the nuclear escalation insanity, told john through the closed door of his bedroom that she knows this isn't what he really wants, that they can still fix this together, that everything can still be all right if they just stop now. both she and A-- believed in john's goodness as a man, as a person, not even as a god or a leader, so much that they came up with the crazy 'arming the bomb' plan with him because they thought he would never actually do it. (they've got a recurring problem with judgement of character I suppose lol oopsie we enabled a genocidal monster sorry folks won't happen ag-- ah shit). C-- tells him he doesn't have to do this. the rest of his little found family, they all tell him this has gone too far, walk it back while we still can holy shit john!!! and he hides in his room because people are mad at him like a kid, but like a middle-aged kid with a doctorate who won't take his finger off the one Biggest Reddest Button to end them all.

then, so many years later, cytherea says at the dawn of lyctorhood: we had the choice to stop.

and then. THEN augustine tells him, at the end of everything, "john, we still have the choice to stop, even now. you don't have to do this anymore. even if there can be no forgiveness for what we've done, we can at the very least stop doing it." without either of them knowing it he's closing the loop of what M-- said ten thousand years ago -- they're both begging him 'be the man I want you to be, not the man you apparently are'. and he still doesn't listen.

what is this whole fucking mess if not a tragic ten thousand year demonstration of the unfortunate fact that no matter what you do, you can't change someone through sheer force of loving them 😔

I just... godDAMN IT john if you had listened to the people who loved you ONCE! ONCE, at ANY of these points, instead of sunk cost fallacy-ing yourself into the fucking lightless depths of the mariana trench while getting high on your own supply and drowning the universe in blood, everything could have been so different. my head is in my hands my heart is in pieces on the ground my bones are trying to shake their way out of my body --

#(I'm rereading/relistening to the audiobook and got to this part again and the AGONY! im so SAD help)#the locked tomb #the locked tomb spoilers #nona the ninth #nona the ninth spoilers #ntn spoilers #nona spoilers #john gaius #mercymorn the first #augustine the first #bad cop worse cop and sorry cop #like... mercy and augustine are very bad people but at least they realize that at this point forgiveness is irrelevant #while john both longs for and doesn't want absolution it seems but like. dude this isn't about you!!!!!!!!#it's about all these people you keep murdering!#how about: Stop That first of all maybe

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dflogerzi · 2 months

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I must have lost my mind... my comprehension... or priorities.

I am truly reeling. Fully, and by all sides of the arguments over a photo. There has not been so much of a bruhaha since the hordes of humanity were storming stores in search of toilet paper. It truly is blowing my mind.

Okay trying this again after once before as a Reblog to another today. But I have a few things to say and then I am going to leave this lay. I have NO idea if this will be long or short. But I am dang well hoping I feel better afterwards.

So there I was this afternoon, early, the phone rings. And it is my daughter-in-law whom has not called me since the second week of November. I see her name on the caller id, take a deep breath, and... she wants to talk about Catherine. What???? How about home, hearth, family, and the state of relationships? But okay. I went with it.

I am going to start this, what I hope is a mini-vent off with what I think of the photo submitted first. There is NO doubt it was a huge blunder. The week proceeding was already a fire storm demanding proof of life, relationship, and just about everything else you could throw into the mess. This was no time to release anything touched up whatsoever, and even for myself who loves and supports this wonderful person... the lack of wearing at the least her wedding band was just not a good look to send out worldwide. I do not care WHEN she wears or does not her dang rings privately. But now was not the time. I do believe she had good intentions and was just being naive. But she has been around the block for over two decades and firmly involved and in the trenches to what amounts to a modern-day War of the Roses.

Someone did not have her back.

Now to my main points, real concerns, and what are the TRUE problems, according to just little me, sitting in my cheap director's chair and calling out the scenes currently playing on the world stage.

People. This is going to pass. This is just the latest in the drama and the saga since Meghan Markle hit the royal family. The real danger from my view is not the photo or Catherine's intentions. The escalation and apparent hysteria of what could be real danger is truthfully what is my focus. When news agencies are checking the place of origin, metadata, timestamps, editing, and making judgements on integrity and the future of the monarchy based on a simple photo for Mother's Day... we have a HUGE issue. It is now far past time for the Wales family to be better secured, the British government to step in and take care of the obvious dangers that are growing exponentially, and priorities addressed as to the future.

I am FAR more concerned about William and his family at this point being safe, secure in where they are living, and the future of each of them an absolute priority. It is time for all involved with their protection and well-being to deal with what is so obviously happening. And I feel for William who most likely has the world, literally, on his shoulders. But it is for him to take the first stand.

This is not about a photo. This is a shot over the bow on the global stage.

Catherine dearest. Just heal please. Take care of you first. I will continue to keep you close in thought. You have given everything in honor, love, and duty for over 20 years. You take the time you need.

Going to publish this bad attempt at writing I suppose. Hope the madness ends soon. And I do not mean about a simple picture meant as a greeting to Mother's around the world...

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takami-takami · 1 year

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Stray Dogs Will Crawl Home.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. angst (with a happy ending).

warnings— gn!reader. breakups. keigo's trauma because i can't give this man a break and he needs to heal.

For better or for worse, Keigo has always been thrust into the role of decision maker.

Sure, on the inside, his emotions pick and chew at his open wounds; but the man has driven the proverbial and literal knife into far too many backs to hesitate when he leaves you.

He can do what needs to be done. It's for your own good. You deserve more than half a man, more than the scraps of whatever is left crawling to your door after another day of putting his goals of building a peaceful society before you.

The night before he left you, stone-faced to contrast your tears and begs of 'why' on the cold of your doorstep, he lay on his side and watched you sleep. Tracing the bridge of your nose with the tip of a finger, he wondered, throat tight, what you'd think of him if you knew the truth of what he's done.

He can't bear to offer you a man who's already sold himself. You shouldn't have to shoulder the weight of his sins. He tells himself it's for the greater good, but under the cobwebs of his bed, he knows a smaller, childlike voice is telling him you deserve someone who isn't dirtied by a life counting shades of moral grey.

It aches like he's dying, sure, but that's what hero work is for, right? He can throw himself into the trenches, hour after hour, until the sun looms over the horizon and the lovebirds' chirps announce the arrival of another morning without you.

For what everyone in the media says about him being a 'golden boy', he just doesn't feel the sun without you.

His subordinates ask more than a few questions about the bags under his eyes, why his glowing smile has fizzled to a mere plastic performance. It's even easier to brush them off than it was to brush off you, to smile wider and turn the question on them— an unspoken order to fucking drop it.

But Keigo's kryptonite, the deep burn that itches under the layers of his skin, is that he's well aware of what happens after someone like you becomes single. The thought crawls under the remains of his bones, and as he perches on the highest point of the city, he makes the mistake of allowing himself to entertain it. If he wasn't weighed down under the drags of sleep deprivation, he'd curse himself for being so weak.

Deep down, he knows what happens after the weeks of digging through tubs of comfort food on the couch are over. You'll stop sobbing over the phone with your best friend. You'll probably start scheduling little dates with people who remind you less and less of him with each passing one.

You're going to move on.

Someone else's fingers will press against your skin. Someone else's quips will cause you to laugh into your sleeve, someone else will hear your shaky breaths under the cover of the night, someone else will whisper promises they can't keep.

Someone else is going to make a spouse of you.

He winces. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he takes a single stride off the ledge and surges upwards with the beat of his wings.

He makes a note to add another shift to his schedule. Maybe two.

Are you thinking of him? If you were here, he knows you'd tell him to be open with you, to stop 'being so goddamn stubborn'. You'd tell him he deserves a break from pushing his emotions down, that you knew damn well what you signed up for when you decided to be his, and to just trust your judgement for once.

To make matters worse, you'd frame it sweet, hook the words around his heart like a taffy lasso, make it so he can't resist. You do know how much he likes it sweet.

It picks at the anger thrumming in his veins. You expect him to lay himself bare? To expose the rawest parts of him, despite the commission's repeated orders not to? You expect him to be selfish?

Why does he want so badly to be selfish?

He should definitely add two more shifts to his schedule.

His phone begins to ring, startling him from his musings. He knows exactly who it is from the first note. Your favorite song plays on his speaker; the one you confessed reminds you of him, with your thumb swiping over the raised hairs on his skin. His heart hammers in the cavity of his chest, pleading to be let out.

He can't be fucking rid of you. Keigo's heart, his mind, his very bones crackle with the fire he frantically tries to put out. God, he wants to burn, wants to drag himself by his fingertips to the door of your chapel and beg you to just finish him off. He wouldn't mind serving as the ash of your incense. He'd do anything for a chance to fill your lungs.

Shit. He scrambles to dig his phone from his pocket, nearly dropping it like hot coals when he attempts to pick it up.

"H-Hey, sweetheart!" He cringes at the puppy-like excitement in his voice at the mere sound of yours. "I'm s-sor— I," he stutters for far too long before he finally gives up. Sighing into the speaker, resigned, he squeezes his eyes shut and says exactly what his mind is screaming he shouldn't.

"Can we talk?"

#GRIPPING KEIGO IN MY FIST. HEAL DARN YOU.#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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moodywyrm · 1 year

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oh I'm back I'm sorry I just-- Jerry getting to witness his daughter so happy and pampered and all by reader 🫠 he immediately approves reader. I can totally see abby saying "I like someone..." while having pizza for dinner ;;

baby I need u to know that this one. this one right here. made me throw my phone n get all blushy n giggly. thank u. this can be considered part of the college abby x bookish reader universe. listen to over the moon by the Marias for the full effect (tear inducing)

I can totally see Abby showing up at her dad's for their scheduled weekly dinner on Sunday nights (bc let's be honest they probably eat meals together sporadically throughout the week).

it's the day after she took u on ur first real date, after like four "book club meetings" that were actually just coffee dates in a trench coat. this time, she took u to dinner at her favorite lil diner, very chill. it may not seem like much but u both loved every second of it, and when she dropped u off that night, after u two spent hours at her place after dinner just talking, u left the sweetest lil kiss on her cheek, letting her kiss ur hand before saying goodbye. she felt so certain that you two were meant to be in each other's lives, she was in deep.

so the next day, when she shows up at her dad's house n they're making pizza together, she turns to him and is like ,,, 'dad, I really like this girl' n he knows she's queer, so he's like ok? but then he turns to her and he sees that lovestruck lil smile and the look on her face is so distinct the just goes "oh shit, you're in deep" and she's like 'yeah :) I am :) she's fucking perfect and I want to give her the world :)' and then their night proceeds as usual. jerry is a lil concerned bc he knows just how intense abby can be and he doesn't want her to get hurt, but he also trusts her judgement. so a few weeks later, when abby asks if the three of them can have dinner together that Friday, he's like yeah :)

that night completely eradicates any fears. he sees just how tender and sweet u two are with each other, and he trusts that ur not going to hurt his daughter. there are a few moments that really cement it. when u help them cook and u n abby maneuver around each other with practiced ease, handing each other utensils and ingredients before even having to ask. when u put abby's hair up for her, because abby never lets anyone touch her hair but here u are, combing it through with ur fingers and tying it into a simple braid and abby is enjoying it! she lets out a soft lil hum before kissing ur knuckles n letting u get back to ur task. when u wave her towards the table and plate up her food, taking care of her completely. jerry sees u two interact and just knows, in that way a loving dad knows, that this is good. really good. he doesn't think he's ever seen his daughter this relaxed and taken care of with a partner (definitely not with Owen).

so before u two leave, abby heads to the bathroom and Jerry just looks at u like :) n ur scared for a second until he speaks up and just says "thank u for looking after her. ur always welcome here, I can tell u two really love each other" and u just tell him thank u for raising such an incredible woman n then abby comes back like :]

u definitely cry about it in the car

so uhhhhh I teared up while writing this one,,,,

#anon #abby anderson #abby Anderson fluff #abby Anderson x reader #abby Anderson x reader fluff

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fortheloveof-sebastian · 1 year

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Not So Little Things

Pairings: Sebastian x F!Reader, Imelda x Poppy

Summary: You receive unlikely advice from Imelda about how to focus on the little things in concern to your “overly friendly” boyfriend.

Warnings: kissing, fluff, brief (deserved?) bullying of Leander

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Granted, openly kissing each other in the 1800s at school, in front of teachers, probably wouldn’t realistically happen. But it does in the wizarding world, I’m making it canon. Also, I kind of fell into the grumpy x sunshine trope with Imelda and Poppy and fell in love with it. Enjoy!

“What are you looking at?”

Natty’s voice, warm like honey, washes over you. However, it does nothing to dampen the spark of anger you’re currently nurturing. At first you almost don’t notice her, until she drops her books down rather loudly on the table besides you.

“Oh, hi Natty,” you say absently.

Her brow furrows. “What is with you?”

In lieu of explaining, you motion across fhe Diviation classroom. A horde of other girls in your year surround Sebastian. The room lights up as he smiles, and his adoring fans giggle while he traces the lines in their palms and predicts their future with seasoned showmanship.

A ball of jealousy forms in the pit of your stomach, like you’ve swallowed something unsavory.

He holds their hands so gingerly, the placement of his fingers on the lines of their palm deliberate and earnest. The same fingers that danced across your skin, played with your hair, and now traitorously entertained the likes of those girls.

Your quill snaps in half as your fist tightens.

Quietly, reserving judgement, Natty rummages in her school bag until she finds a spare. “Here,” she says, proffering it.

“Thanks,” you mumble, both sheepish and apologetic.

One of the girls, a pretty redhead, seizes Sebastian’s hand and presses her palm against his so that their fingers are aligned. Of course, his are much larger, and this contends as an incredibly hilarious reason to collapse into another fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Natty says, finally settling in besides you.

Your molars grind furiously together. In response, you manage to hiss back, “Exactly.”

“He’s just a stupid boy.”

“Yeah but he’s my stupid boy.”

Class begins and you’re left to ruminate in your anger. You can barely focus on anything that Professor Onai is saying, and she mercifully deigns not to call on you; it’s undecided how much of that was Natty’s influence, as you swore you saw her jerking her thumb across her neck several times when her mother looked over in your direction.

As class concludes, you shoot to your feet and make an immediate beeline for the door.

“You can’t run from your problems,” Natty calls.

You throw over your shoulder, “Watch me!”

A stream of students envelope you in a facade of isolated safety. Above the din of conversation in the hallway, you hear your name being shouted. Cursing, you hunker your shoulders in a bid to make yourself smaller, but it was no use. You once watched Sebastian chase a first year from one end of the castle to the other just to return a dropped book — if he wanted to talk to you, he would find a way.

He manages to make it within earshot then, slightly breathless, asks, “Are you running away from me?”

“No,” you insist. Trenched in despair, your gaze darts back and forth, searching for a possible exit. “Not so much running, particularly, as just walking very fast in the opposite direction.”

Sebastian growls in frustration.

You glance over your shoulder. He’s elbowing his way closer and closer to you, using his advantageously long strides to close the distance faster then you can create it.

“Y/N, wait.” His hand locks around your wrist and spins you around. You’re merely inches from his face, which makes it just all that much harder to concentrate. He orders, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Um.” You swallow. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“Can you please inform what this is we’re doing? You ran out of class like a dragon was on your heels.”

You debate the rationale of hashing out your issues here in the midst of the gallery tower. Preferably, you would go somewhere private, but that would involve telling Sebastian the problem, which furthermore would lead to you staying rooted to the spot, as you couldn’t imagine him agreeing to put a pause to the conversation to find an empty classroom.

You weren’t going to get your way.

Carefully, you pry off Sebastian’s grip on your wrist. “You basically humiliated me in front of the entire class,” you tell him.

Sebastian blinks, confused. “What?”

“You were like…” you wave your hand, as if hoping to magically summon the appropriate word, “seducing those girls and they were falling all over you.”

“First off,” he says, “if I was seducing someone, you would know it. Secondly, I was just being friendly.”

“Yeah, but do they know that?”

Sebastian’s expression, his usual look of bemused ebullience, shifts. A matter of seriousness crosses his face, so quickly and without warning that you might’ve laughed at him otherwise. “Of course they know that. You’re my best girl.”

A fission cracks through your heart.

“I just — I wish you would show it,” you say, although that’s not exactly what you mean. Words are escaping you. Sebastian shows you, but then he also goes and does that with other girls, and it makes your worries surface all over again.

“You don’t think I show it enough?” Hurt flashes across his handsome features.

You run your hands over your face. “Sebastian—what I’m trying to say — the way you acted in class today, nobody would even know that we’re together.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he sharply replies.

Dread swallows you. You know that you’ve just pushed Sebastian very far from you, and there’s little chance in getting him back now.

The hallway has emptied, giving an echo to his words. You resist the urge to cry. You’re not necessarily upset as you are frustrated; frustrated that you feel this way, and frustrated that you’re not communicating it properly.

“Just forget it,” you say, voice wavering. Before he can see the first tear fall, you turn away from him. “Good luck on your match tonight.”

The only sound filling the Feast Hall is that of a kitchen elf, scrubbing the tiles and muttering about inconveniences. He, at least you thought it was a he, probably wouldn’t have shown his face if it wasn’t for the fact that you were the only one there; everyone else had bundled themselves in their warmest clothes and paraded out to the Quiddith pitch for the upcoming Slytherin versus Gryffindor match.

The roar of the stadium reached your ears even from your position, sprawled out on one of the benches in the Feast Hall. You half heartedly took a bite from your cold dinner.

There was a twinge in your chest, a pinch, that you couldn’t seem to ignore.

You’ve never skipped one of Sebastian’s games before. Even before you were together, you went to every single match. And now, here you were, wallowing in your own self pity, too humiliated and heartbroken to muster the strength to go out to the pitch and face him. It wasn’t like you were even going to talk to him, but just the thought of seeing him hurt like a punch to the gut.

From your view on the bench, a familiar Hufflepuff slides into view. “Y/N, are you still here?”

You nod, trying your best not to appear glum. “I’m not feeling well. But you’ll cheer for me, right?”

Poppy makes a face. “You’ll cheer for yourself! I’m not leaving you here all alone. C’mon.”

“Poppy, really, I —”

The smaller girl had already snatched up your hand before you could finish your protest. For someone her size, she was surprisingly strong. She drags you past the kitchen elf, who apparates himself, towards the massive double doors separating the Feast Hall from the rest of the castle. You stumble upon an impatient-looking Imelda leaning, hip and elbow, against a pillar.

“Imelda?” You look between them.

Maybe it was just a coincidence. Surely Imelda was waiting for someone else, or perhaps to mock anyone going to the match. Last week, during the match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, Imelda had gotten suspended for the rest of the season for punching an opponent.

Despite your theories, however, Poppy breaks every single one by strolling right up to the disgruntled Slytherin and taking her hand. “All ready,” Poppy chirps.

Imelda looks less than thrilled to be holding hands but she doesn’t immediately bite off her head, or even argue. You don’t realize that you’re staring at the two of them in blatant confusion until Imelda returns your stare with a pointed glare.

“Are you just going to stand there with your mouth hanging open like that?” Imelda asks. “We’re already late because Poppy insisted on getting your sorry arse.”

Poppy swats her arm. “Be nice.”

“Um.” You blink. “I didn’t know you guys were together.”

“It’s something new,” Poppy says.

She beams at Imelda. It’s quite infectious, her enthusiasm, and you find yourself smiling. You never would’ve pictured them together, but now that you were witness to it, it was undeniably adorable.

“Let’s go. All of the good seats are going to be taken and I want that Ravenclaw bitch to see my face again.”

With an indignant sniff, Imelda strides off, Poppy skipping after her like a bouncing puffskein. It’s subtle, but you notice Imelda glance down at Poppy with poorly disguised affection. Ever the traitor, your mind turns to Sebastian.

Even Imelda, the grumpiest person you know, makes it clear that she’s with Poppy.

Why was it so hard for Sebastian?

It’s a quite distance from the castle to the pitch. You shuffle behind Imelda and Poppy, grateful for the latter’s nonstop chattering. You don’t think you could collect your thoughts enough to hold a coherent conversation. Fortunate for you, though, the only person who typically could keep up with Poppy’s talking was Poppy herself.

You’re about a hundred yards from the entrance to the pitch when Poppy spots something in the tall grass and darts off with the vague promise to return shortly.

Your stomach plummets. Unlike Poppy, you don’t enjoy Imelda’s company. Especially today, when you’re already feeling low. Ever since you beat Imelda’s time in the broom trial, she had been painfully short with you.

“Why were you alone? Aren’t you, like, courting Sebastian or something?” Imelda asks, disinterest coloring her tone.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat. “I am. I just, um, wasn’t feeling well.”

You cough weakly.

Imelda doesn’t respond right away. Her gaze remains fixed straight ahead, undoubtedly tracking Poppy to make sure she doesn’t get lost. Then, she says, “I know we’re not friends, but you don’t have to lie to me. I saw Sebastian in Diviation today.”

You open your mouth to reply but then promptly shut it again. You’re not sure what to say — how many other people noticed?

“Everyone noticed,” she clarifies.

A groan escapes you. Embarrassed, you slap your hands over your face to cover it.

The start of the Quidditch match is preceded by a deafening cheer. You hear the whistle, then peer between your fingers to watch the miniature-looking players rocket into the sky.

Sebastian happened to be quite talented on a broom, but his reckless and competitive nature made you nervous. The stakes of today’s game would only exacerbate his willingness to ensure a win for Slytherin.

“You can’t let it bother you,” Imelda says, bringing you back. Poppy’s head can be seen, popping in and out of the tall grass.

You exhale. “Yeah.”

“I like to say that I know him well enough, considering that we’re on the same team.” Imelda stuffs her chin further into her scarf. The tips of her cheeks are pink. “He’s just one of those infuriating people person who doesn’t realize he’s crossing any boundaries.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you agree hesitantly. “You’re lucky to have Poppy.”

Imelda tears her gaze away from her girlfriend long enough to scowl. “Please. She’s the second biggest flirt in the school. She doesn’t realize it, of course, because she’s just being nice to everyone. But people misinterpret it.”

You consider this.

“How do you handle it?” You ask Imelda.

The Slytherin lifts a shoulder. “It’s hard sometimes. I try to remember that it’s harmless, it’s the little things she does that reassure me.”

“Imelda, Imelda! I found this for you!”

Poppy bursts out of the grass. She has something in her hand, and you don’t know what it is until she steps away from Imelda to admire her work. A bright yellow flower sits in Imelda’s dark hair.

Poppy claps. “I knew it would look so pretty on you and I was right.”

Imelda pointedly glances at you as if to say see.

You find yourself smiling back at her.

The three of you resume your journey to the Quidditch pitch, the colorful tents rippling in the wind along with the four house flags surrounding the stadium at equidistant intervals. Rows and rows of students fill the bleachers, displaying an array of interest in the game. Some were actually invested in quidditch, while others used the game as an excuse to be sociable or avoid homework.

You maneuver through the crowd, mumbling apologies, until Poppy finds who she’s looking for: Natty, Amit, and Ominis are all huddled together, along with Garreth and Leander. Natty waves as you approach.

“Shoo, Leander,” Garreth says. His arms shoot out and he pushes his fellow Gryffindor onto a lower bench, effectively opening up enough room for you, Poppy, and Imelda to sit. Leander concedes, but not without a betrayed look.

There’s a moment of silent confusion as the former students absorb the cheery yellow flower in Imelda’s hair. Amit lifts a crooked finger, “Imelda, is that —”

“Do you value your life, man?” Garreth asks.

Bickering erupts between Amit and Garreth, joined in by Natty and Poppy.

You drown it out by turning your attention towards the ovular field. You instantly search for Sebastian and spot him cruising above the stadium, appearing relaxed, although you know he’s anything but.

“He doesn’t play well when you’re not here, you know,” says Ominis from besides you. He’s drumming his fingers on his knee.

You feel a twinge of regret. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Hm,” Ominis replies, unimpressed.

Why did no one believe you?

The announcer bellows, “Gryffindor, two hundred points! Slytherin, still behind at only sixty points!”

Quidditch players arc over your heads, emerald and maroon colored uniforms flapping and inciting a gust of wind. There’s plenty to look at during a game — the Beaters, the Chasers; the crowd; the professors, dressed in house colors and pretending not to care about the score — but you can only watch Sebastian.

Seemingly on a whim, he glides closer to where you are in the student section. His brown eyes meet yours. From your seat, you observe him as his spirits visibly lift, and he smiles.

He races off.

“If you care about me or my pocketbook, you won’t miss anymore games,” Ominis comments. “I bet Garreth ten galleons that Slytherin wins.”

You laugh. “That was your first mistake.”

“Betting on Slytherin?”

“No, against Garreth.”

“Sallow from Slytherin has spotted the golden snitch, and Gryffindor is right on his tail!” The announcer declares, voice ringing loudly. There’s a noticeable shift in interest as the crowd focuses on Sebastian’s emerald colored uniform and the Gryffindor chasing after him.

With your untrained eye, it takes you a moment to spy the snitch. It flickers erratically, flashing in the sun above Gryffindor’s goal posts.

“Go Sebastian!” You yell, cupping your hands over your mouth.

Amit, Natty, and Poppy cheer with you, along with Imelda. Garreth and Leader, starkly opposed, shout encouragements at their Gryffindor seeker. Ominis panic grabs your hand and leans into you as you narrate the game to the best of their abilities. When it gets too loud, he can’t hear the announcer, and prefers anyways to listen to your comments since you focus mainly on Sebastian.

Your voice rises and falls as Sebastian races after the snitch, weaving in and out of the podiums. “He’s close! Oh, he almost got hit by a Bludger!”

Ominis grip tightens. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” you reassure him.

Your narration reaches a crescendo as the snitch disappears behind the stadium, the two seekers hot on its trail. Breath hitching in your throat, you shoot to your feet. If Slytherin loses this game, you were never going to be able to forgive yourself.

Unwittingly, Imelda’s words enter your thoughts.

You had to admit, begrudgingly, that she made sense. You couldn’t change Sebastian, or his tendency to be overly friendly. In fact, it was something you loved about him. It was the small things that mattered.

And, if one thing was clear to you now, it was that despite being upset with his actions, you still loved him dearly and wanted the best for him.

Murmurs rise as the seekers fail to return.

On the field the game continues, albeit somewhat slowly. Everyone is waiting for the snitch to be caught, inevitably changing the tide of the game. You held Ominis’s hand tightly. Slytherin’s only shot at winning was if Sebastian caught the snitch, subsequently preventing Gryffindor and securing the one hundred and fifty points.

Garreth bends over Amit and Natty. “Ready to pay up, Gaunt?”

Ominis’s only response is a gesture that could be considered poor sportsmanship. Normally you would’ve laughed but you’re wound too tightly with nerves, holding you together.

A stream of emerald across the sky, then maroon.

Tension fills the stadium, then —

“Sebastian Sallow from Slytherin has the snitch! One hundred and fifty points are awarded to Slytherin, and they win the match!”

Jumping up and down on your feet, you cheer with the rest of the Slytherins as a roar of excitement rumbles through the stadium. Even the other houses could respect a good match, and an even better play on Sebastian’s behalf.

Laughter erupts as Garreth digs into his robes and then miserably hands Ominis a pouch of galleons.

“Butterbeers on Ominis!” You shout, smiling so wide that it hurts. Besides you, Natty’s eyes widen. “What? Is something —”

Diverting your attention to whatever has claimed hers, you discover Sebastian hovering on his broom only a few feet away.

You’re struck by how unfairly handsome he is. Every time you see him, it’s like the first time all over again; a hand reaches into your chest and squeezes your heart.

The wind has ruffled his hair and pinkened his freckled cheeks. His shoulders heave, either from excitement or exertion, but he’s never looked happier than he does now. You know how much he loves Quidditch and how undoubtably thrilled he is about winning the match.

He prompts his broom forward.

Sebastian eclipses your vision, turning so that he’s sideways in front of you, still straddling the broom. He smells deliciously of sweat and the freshly cut grass on the field, and something else; fire, your brain decides in a haze, the danger of an opened flame but warm and safe like a hearth.

His brown eyes twinkle. “This,” he says, grinning broadly, “is how you know I’m seducing someone.”

In a fluid move, Sebastian scoops one hand behind your head to cradle it, then pulls you close and presses his lips to yours. A cry of delight breaks out as he deepens the kiss. For you, however, the rest of the world falls away, and all you can focus on is pouring yourself into this boy. You try to impart your apology, your forgiveness, your love for him, and you can taste on his lips that he understands.

Another shriek of approval echoes as he triumphantly pumps his fist into the air as he continues to kiss you with unabashed abandon, holding up the golden snitch. Finally he pulls away as a few professors start to protest, but instead of looking ashamed he looks even more exhilarated than before.

You grin wildly at each other.

He’s swept away by his teammates, then, and you watch his retreating form as he celebrates.

Your friends and several strangers pat you on the back and congratulate you for the kiss, making you blush. Imelda is last, the yellow flower still sitting in her dark hair. “Maybe with Sebastian it’s just not so little things.”

#fanfic #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #harry potter #ominis gaunt #slytherin #quidditch #fluff #romance #imelda x poppy #this is what it looks like when I seduce someone

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