#GentleReader

[mesu-senshi]

Sweetheart in Combat Boots

Fandom: Call of Duty

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Genre: Action, Romance, Comedy

Trope: Badass with a Soft Side, Protective Lover, Slow-Burn to Spicy Payoff

Rating: Mature (for spice and adult themes)

Summary:

When a mission goes wrong, the soft-spoken, affectionate member of Task Force 141 reveals her deadly skills, saving the team and revealing her past as “Black Widow” on her past team. Now, Ghost finds himself completely undone by her, torn between fierce attraction and the intensity of his feelings. As their relationship heats up, Ghost learns that being with her makes everything feel 10x stronger—and he’s not sure he can hold back any longer.

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The mission had gone spectacularly wrong.

Soap, Ghost, Price, and Gaz sat chained to a grimy brick wall in an abandoned warehouse deep in enemy territory. Their gear had been stripped, leaving them vulnerable and frustrated. The flickering light above cast sharp shadows, reflecting the dismal situation.

And then there was you. Sweet, affectionate, sunshine-you. The one everyone on base adored for your kind words, easy smiles, and penchant for baking cookies when morale was low. You were also the one currently tied to a chair across the room, a cut on your cheek and a split lip standing out against your otherwise calm expression.

“Damn it,” Soap muttered under his breath. “They shouldn’t have gotten their hands on her.”

“Keep your voice down, Johnny,” Ghost hissed, eyes locked on you. You were unnervingly quiet, your head tilted as if listening for something none of them could hear.

Price’s gruff voice cut through their tense whispers. “Focus, lads. We’ll get out of this. She’s tougher than she looks.”

Gaz chuckled humorlessly. “That’s an understatement.”

One of the captors, a stocky man with a knife strapped to his thigh, approached you. He leaned close, clearly mocking your supposed helplessness. “What’s a girl like you doing with these military dogs, huh? Bet you’ve never seen a real fight.”

The team stiffened. They’d seen you train—fluid movements and unnerving accuracy with a knife—but you’d always been modest about your skills. Too modest. Now, they wondered if you’d been holding back.

“Don’t,” Price started, but Ghost’s sharp look silenced him.

Then you smiled. It wasn’t your usual sweet smile but something sharper, darker. “You’ve made a mistake,” you said softly, your voice carrying a chill that made the team shiver.

The man laughed, but it died in his throat when you surged forward, chair and all. The move was so fast it caught him off guard as you rammed the chair leg into his foot. With a curse, he stumbled closer, and that was all you needed.

The warehouse erupted into chaos.

You twisted your wrists, a flick of movement revealing you’d already been working on your restraints. With a sudden lunge, you snatched the knife from the man’s thigh, cutting yourself free in one fluid motion. Before anyone could react, you flipped the chair backward into another enemy rushing at you, sending him sprawling.

Soap’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell—”

“She’s showing off,” Ghost muttered, but there was a note of awe in his voice.

The knife in your hand blurred as you spun, ducking low and driving it into the gut of the first captor. You used his body as a shield to block a shot fired in panic before vaulting over him with an agility that seemed almost supernatural.

One by one, the captors fell, your movements precise, deadly, and terrifyingly efficient. You weren’t just fighting—you were dismantling them. The team watched, stunned, as you rolled across the floor to grab another knife, sending it spinning through the air to hit a target across the room with unerring accuracy.

When the last enemy crumpled to the ground, you stood in the middle of the chaos, blood dripping from your lip and a knife clenched in your hand. Your chest heaved as you turned to face the team, and for a moment, silence reigned.

Soap was the first to speak. “What the hell was that?”

You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, your usual cheery demeanor returning like a switch had been flipped. “What? Didn’t think I could handle myself?”

Gaz sputtered. “Handle yourself? You just took out a dozen guys like it was nothing!”

Ghost leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Care to explain, Black Widow?”

You froze, the nickname catching you off guard. “Where’d you hear that?”

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “We have our ways. Didn’t think we’d find out about your old unit, did you?”

You gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s not something I advertise.”

“Clearly,” Gaz muttered, his voice tinged with admiration.

Soap’s grin spread across his face. “Sunshine by day, Black Widow by night. I think I’m in love.”

You rolled your eyes, moving to free them from their restraints. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get out of here before reinforcements arrive.”

As you worked, Ghost’s low voice cut through the air. “You’ve been hiding things.”

“Maybe.” You glanced at him with a playful smile. “But you can’t say I didn’t save your arse.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he simply stared at you, his mind reeling with everything he’d just witnessed. The team was definitely looking at you differently now, and you knew you’d have a lot of questions to answer back at base.

But for now, you allowed yourself a small, satisfied grin. They’d finally seen what you were capable of.

And you had a feeling they’d never underestimate you again.

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The med bay buzzed with the soft hum of machinery and muffled voices. Everyone was busy cleaning up cuts and bruises, but the energy was lighter than usual, a mix of relief and the lingering adrenaline from surviving the mission. You sat on the edge of a cot, dabbing a disinfectant-soaked cloth against your cheek, pretending not to notice the heavy stares from the rest of Task Force 141.

Soap broke the silence first, as expected. “Alright, lass,” he drawled, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You’re gonna have to spill. Black Widow? Seriously?”

You gave him a sheepish grin, shrugging. “It was just a nickname from my old unit. Not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Gaz scoffed, throwing up his hands. “You took out a dozen armed men while tied to a bloody chair. That’s not ‘not a big deal.’ That’s action movie-level insanity.”

Price chuckled as he adjusted the bandage on his arm. “Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting it. You’ve been keeping secrets from us.”

“Didn’t think it mattered,” you admitted, your voice soft. “I just… didn’t want to be that person here. I like being… well, me.”

“Sunshine with a bite,” Soap teased, nudging Gaz. “You lot remember the cookies she made last week? This is the same person.”

“Terrifyingly wholesome,” Gaz said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You’re a walking contradiction.”

Across the room, Ghost stood leaning against a table, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable as always. “You’re wasted on cookies and small talk,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You should’ve told us.”

You met his gaze, your expression softening. “I like being part of the team this way. I didn’t want to be… her again unless I had to.”

Soap, ever the playful one, made a mock swooning motion. “And she’s humble, too. God help me, I’m falling for her.”

“Pipe down, Johnny,” Price said, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his tone. “Let her breathe.”

Ghost’s dark eyes flicked to Soap, and though his face was hidden, his body language screamed annoyance. “Show some respect.”

“Relax, Ghost. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” Soap retorted, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Gaz joined in, laughing. “Speak for yourself. I’m not ‘falling,’ but I’ll admit, I’m impressed. Never thought someone could be so sweet and so dangerous. You’re like a cupcake with a grenade inside.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s… an interesting way to put it.”

Ghost, however, stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you. While Soap and Gaz bantered, he watched you tend to your wounds, the way your hands moved with practiced precision. He was used to efficiency and strength, but seeing that raw skill paired with your usual warmth stirred something he hadn’t felt in years.

Price interrupted his thoughts. “Enough chatter. She saved our arses out there. That’s what matters.”

“Damn right,” Soap said, throwing you a wink. “You ever decide to switch from sunshine back to Black Widow full-time, I’ll be your number one fan.”

You rolled your eyes, a small blush creeping up your neck. “I think I’ll stick to sunshine for now.”

“Good,” Ghost said abruptly, his voice cutting through the lightheartedness. Everyone turned to him, surprised. “You’re fine as you are.”

It wasn’t much, but coming from Ghost, it felt like the highest of compliments. Your heart gave an unexpected flutter as you met his steady gaze, warmth spreading through you.

Soap whistled. “Careful, Ghost. You’re gonna make her blush.”

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost growled, though he didn’t look away from you.

Gaz smirked. “Looks like someone’s smitten.”

“Enough,” Price ordered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “We’ve had a long day. Get cleaned up and get some rest.”

The team dispersed, but not before Soap gave you a dramatic bow. “Seriously, lass. You’re a bloody legend.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as they filed out, leaving you alone with Ghost. He stayed by the table, silent and still, until you looked at him.

“Ghost?” you prompted, tilting your head.

He pushed off the table and approached, stopping just a foot away. His voice was softer now, almost gentle. “You’re not just Black Widow or sunshine. You’re you. That’s what makes you dangerous. And special.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected words, and before you could respond, he turned and walked out, leaving you with a pounding heart and a small, secret smile.

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Who’s in awe? Gaz. He can’t stop replaying the fight in his mind, marveling at how you went from cheerful to deadly in an instant. He’s full of admiration and will probably start calling you Captain Marvel or Wonder Woman just to mess with you.

Who’s crushing hard? Soap. His playful teasing ramps up tenfold, and he’s suddenly finding every excuse to be around you. Whether he’s asking you to teach him your knife tricks or just cracking jokes to make you laugh, his crush is painfully obvious.

Who’s completely in love? Ghost. He doesn’t say much, but the way he watches you and the rare moments of vulnerability in his voice speak volumes. He’s drawn to your balance of strength and warmth, though he’d probably take his feelings to his grave before admitting them outright.

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A Dance of Danger and Desire

Life at base became… different after the mission.

Price treated you with a newfound respect, often calling on you for input during mission briefings or consulting you on strategy. He even let slip a rare compliment here and there, though his usual stoicism kept them brief. “You’ve earned your place,” he said one day, nodding approvingly after you dissected an enemy’s potential weak points in record time.

Gaz? He couldn’t stop talking about you. “I mean, did you see her?” he’d say, gesturing wildly during downtime. “Black Widow, flipping off chairs and throwing knives like it’s second nature. She’s insane—in the best way!” He wasn’t crushing, but he made sure everyone knew you were someone to respect (and not piss off).

Soap? Well, Soap had it bad. He hovered more, cracking jokes to make you laugh, conveniently showing up whenever you were in the gym. He even bought a new knife, claiming he wanted you to teach him your tricks. “Come on, lass,” he’d say, grinning ear to ear. “You can’t keep all the secrets to yourself. Show me how to be deadly and adorable, aye?”

But Ghost? Ghost was different.

He didn’t hover, joke, or brag like the others. Instead, he watched. His eyes followed you during drills, caught every subtle movement during sparring sessions. He lingered longer during conversations, his quiet presence always looming, always intense. He asked questions about you—not directly, but through Price or Gaz. “Where’d she learn to fight like that?” “What’s her deal with the knives?” “She always this sweet?”

The longer he watched, the more conflicted he became. He wanted you—desperately—but he didn’t know how to approach you. You were too… you. Sweet, deadly, and affectionate. Every smile you gave him, every kind word, every brush of your hand against his when you passed gear—it all drove him mad. He couldn’t get enough.

But he was terrified.

What if you saw him as just a cold, broken soldier? What if he made a move and you rejected him? Or worse—what if you laughed at him? He spent weeks trying to bury his feelings, only for them to bubble over with every soft glance and gentle word you gave him.

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The Breaking Point

It happened during a late-night briefing. You and Ghost were alone in the dimly lit command room, reviewing intel on an upcoming mission. You leaned over the table, pointing out weak spots on a map, your voice soft and thoughtful as you explained your plan.

Ghost wasn’t listening.

He couldn’t. The light caught the curve of your face, the way your lips moved as you spoke. His chest tightened painfully, his pulse pounding in his ears. You turned to look at him, brows furrowing slightly. “Ghost? You okay?”

He snapped.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out, his gloved hand brushing your cheek. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t pull away. His voice, rough and low, trembled slightly. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you whispered, breathless.

“This.” He stepped closer, his hands moving to your shoulders. His gaze burned into yours, desperate and full of conflict. “You—you're driving me mad. Every time you smile, every time you speak, every damn time you look at me—I can’t take it.”

You blinked, stunned. “Ghost—”

“Simon,” he interrupted, his voice softer now. “My name is Simon.”

Then, before he could lose his nerve, he pressed you against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss so full of fire and longing it left you gasping. His hands framed your face, as if he was afraid you’d disappear, his body trembling with the force of his emotions.

For a terrifying moment, he thought he’d made a mistake. He started to pull away, mumbling, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

But your hands reached up, tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered against his lips, your voice soft but firm.

He froze, and then his resolve shattered completely. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire and emotion into you. You responded with equal fervor, your touch gentle and grounding, a perfect contrast to his intensity.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, your breath mingling in the quiet room. Ghost stared at you, vulnerability etched into his every feature. “I thought you’d push me away,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along the back of his neck. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m… me,” he said simply, his usual confidence stripped away.

You shook your head, your expression tender. “And I’m me. Apparently very bad at hiding my feelings for you.”

His lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. “Feelings, huh?”

“Shut up, Simon.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he was enough.

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From that day forward, everything changed. Ghost was still Ghost—silent, brooding, and intimidating—but there was a softness in his gaze whenever he looked at you. The team noticed, of course.

Soap was the first to call him out. “So, Ghost, any chance I’ll get lessons on how to woo the Black Widow?”

Ghost’s glare was enough to make Soap back off—temporarily. Gaz smirked knowingly, while Price simply shook his head with a small smile.

You, however, had no complaints. For all his stoicism and gruffness, Simon Riley loved with the same intensity he fought with. Fiercely, protectively, and with everything he had. And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

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Vulnerability and Desire

The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp on the desk. Ghost—Simon—had just returned from a long day of training and debriefings, and he wanted nothing more than to be near you. You didn’t disappoint, slipping into his quarters with your usual grace, flashing him that soft, affectionate smile that made his chest ache in the best way.

Now, you found yourself pressed against the wall, your hands buried in the fabric of his shirt as his lips devoured yours. His kisses were rough, demanding, but there was a tenderness beneath them—a quiet desperation that only made your heart race faster. His hands rested on your waist, fingers tightening whenever you tugged him closer.

“Simon…” you murmured between kisses, your voice soft but insistent.

That single word sent a shiver down his spine. Hearing you call him by his name, the one so few people knew, made him weak. You didn’t call him Ghost, didn’t treat him like some untouchable figure. To you, he was just Simon—a man who wanted, needed, craved you.

He growled low in his throat, pressing you tighter against him. “You drive me insane, you know that?” he muttered, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck.

“Good,” you teased breathlessly, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly.

He bit back a groan, his composure unraveling with every touch, every sound you made. When you moaned his name—Simon—right into his ear, so sweetly, so reverently, it was over.

A guttural sound escaped his lips as his body betrayed him completely, his hips jerking involuntarily. He stiffened, his breathing ragged as the heat of embarrassment flooded his face. He tried to pull back, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky breath. “Shit… I—”

You blinked up at him, a mixture of confusion and realization dawning on your face. “Oh,” you said softly, your cheeks tinting pink.

Simon’s hands moved to your shoulders, as if bracing himself for rejection. “I didn’t mean for—”

“Simon,” you interrupted gently, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay.”

He froze, his wide, vulnerable eyes meeting yours. “It’s not—I should’ve—”

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm, grounding him. “It’s fine. Really.”

When he didn’t respond, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your fingers brushing through his hair soothingly. His tense frame began to relax, though he still looked uncertain, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “It just means you… felt something, right?”

He huffed out a weak laugh, shaking his head. “Felt something? I felt everything, love. And now I’ve made a mess of myself.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slow and deliberate. “It happens. And I don’t mind helping.”

His brows furrowed as you stepped back, heading toward his small dresser to grab him a clean pair of boxers. He watched in stunned silence as you moved with ease, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

You handed the clothes to him, your smile warm and teasing. “Go clean up. I’ll wait.”

Simon hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you. You weren’t disgusted or uncomfortable. If anything, you were… amused, maybe even endeared. He felt his chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of affection.

“(Y/N),” he said quietly, his voice filled with gratitude.

“Go,” you urged gently, shooing him toward the bathroom with a loving smile.

When he returned a few minutes later, freshly changed and still slightly pink-faced, you were sitting on his bed, waiting for him. You patted the spot beside you, and he hesitated before joining you.

You immediately wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, placing soft little kisses on his shoulder. “Better?”

He let out a deep sigh, leaning into your touch, your affection. “Better.”

For a while, you sat there in comfortable silence, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his back. He closed his eyes, letting the tension melt away under your care.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So are you, Simon.”

He tightened his hold on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. In that moment, he let himself feel it all—the love, the comfort, the safety he found in your arms.

And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe he deserved it.

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A Love That Disarms

Simon Riley had always been a man of control. In combat, his precision was unmatched. On missions, his focus was unshakeable. Even in the chaos of battle, he maintained a tight grip on his emotions and actions.

But with you? Control was a thing of the past.

He didn’t understand it—couldn’t, really. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word from you sent his carefully built walls crumbling to the ground. You were his undoing in the best way, and it terrified him just as much as it thrilled him.

Tonight was no different.

The two of you were tangled in the sheets of his bunk, the dim light of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows on your skin. Your hands moved over him with a mix of tenderness and confidence, as if you knew every scar, every inch of him, and loved it all the same. Your lips followed suit, trailing kisses along his jaw, his neck, his chest, leaving him breathless and aching for more.

“(Y/N)…” His voice was low and strained, his hands gripping your waist as if to ground himself.

You smiled against his skin, your touch never faltering. “I’m here, Simon. I’ve got you.”

And that was the problem. You always had him. In ways no one ever had before.

The warmth of your body against his, the soft sounds you made as he held you closer—it all overwhelmed him. He tried to pace himself, tried to focus on you the way you deserved, but every time he gave in to you, it was like a dam breaking. The sensation of your lips, your hands, the way you whispered his name—it was too much, too perfect.

He didn’t stand a chance.

When he finally let himself go, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body trembled with release, he felt equal parts blissful and embarrassed. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding as he tightened his grip on you, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.

You stroked his back gently, your fingers threading through his hair. “What’s wrong?” you asked softly, concern lacing your tone.

“Too fast,” he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. “It’s always too fast with you.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His mask was off, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way few ever saw. Your heart ached at the sight.

“Simon,” you said gently, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he argued, his brows furrowing. “You deserve better than this—better than me falling apart like a bloody idiot every time.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “You’re not an idiot. You’re human. And if I make you feel this way, it just means you trust me enough to let go.”

He stared at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity. But all he found was love. Pure, unfiltered love.

“You’re not disappointed?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Disappointed?” you repeated, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Simon, you make me feel loved and wanted every single time we’re together. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His throat tightened, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, your arms wrapping around him. “I could say the same about you.”

For a while, you just held each other, the room filled with the quiet hum of your breathing. Simon’s hands traced lazy patterns on your back, his earlier frustration melting away under your soothing touch.

Eventually, you pulled back, your lips quirking into a playful smile. “Now, come on. Let me clean you up.”

Simon groaned, his face heating up again. “You don’t have to—”

“Hush,” you interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. “Let me take care of you for once.”

He sighed, reluctantly letting you slip out of bed to grab a warm cloth. When you returned, you knelt beside him, your touch gentle as you cleaned him up. He watched you in silence, his heart swelling with affection at the care in your every movement.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said softly, his voice laced with awe.

You glanced up at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “Good unbelievable or bad unbelievable?”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “The best kind.”

When you were done, you climbed back into bed, curling up against his side. He held you close, his fingers tangled in your hair as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

You smiled, your eyes drifting shut as you nuzzled into his chest. “Yes, you do. Every bit of me, Simon.”

And for the first time in years, Simon Riley believed it.

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A Lover’s Devotion

Simon Riley lay beside you, his mask discarded, his dark eyes soft in the low light of the room. It had been a long day, filled with briefings, sparring matches, and stolen moments together. Now, with the rest of the base quiet, it was just the two of you—no missions, no danger, just the space to breathe and be together.

You turned your head on the pillow to look at him, your smile sweet and genuine. “What’re you thinking about?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes. You had a way of undoing him without even trying—a smile, a laugh, the way you touched him with such care, as if he wasn’t made of sharp edges and shadows. And when you were together, intimately? It was more than he could handle sometimes. You made him feel everything, breaking through his carefully guarded walls like no one else ever had.

But tonight, Simon had a plan—a way to show you exactly how much you meant to him.

“I’m thinking…” He shifted closer, his voice low and deliberate, “that maybe I’ve been a bit selfish.”

You raised a brow, confused. “Selfish? How?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You always put me first,” he murmured. “Always comforting me, taking care of me. I don’t give you half as much as you deserve.”

“Simon,” you began, but he silenced you with a kiss.

It was slow, tender, and deliberate, leaving you breathless by the time he pulled away. His hand slid down your body, tracing over your waist and hip as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Your eyes widened slightly, your heart skipping a beat as his meaning became clear. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his lips trailing down your jaw. “Let me.”

The intensity in his eyes left no room for argument, and you nodded, your breath hitching as he shifted lower on the bed.

Simon took his time, his hands moving with a mix of reverence and purpose as he pulled your clothes away, exposing your skin to his gaze. He pressed kisses to your thighs, his stubble scraping lightly against your sensitive skin, drawing a shiver from you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “You know that, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you let out a soft laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirked, the rare expression making your heart flutter, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered himself further, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your laughter dissolved into a quiet gasp as he kissed his way closer, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady.

When his mouth finally found you, it was as if the world stopped. Simon was slow and deliberate, his tongue and lips working with a skill that left you breathless. He paid attention to every sound you made, every shiver and twitch, adjusting his movements to bring you closer to the edge.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as he pulled you apart piece by piece. “Simon,” you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He groaned against you at the sound, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you steady as he pushed you higher and higher until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your back arching as a strangled cry escaped your lips. Simon didn’t stop, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure before finally pulling back.

When he looked up at you, his lips glistening, his dark eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection, you couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. “You’re… something else, Simon Riley.”

He smirked, crawling back up to lay beside you, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. “Just making sure my girl knows how much she means to me.”

You cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you kissed him softly. “I already know. But I wouldn’t mind you reminding me like that every now and then.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your lips. “Anything for you, love. Anything.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest as his arms tightened around you. In his embrace, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly loved—a feeling you knew Simon would always give you, in his own quiet, devoted way.

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The Aftermath

It had been a long day.

The 141 Task Force had been in the gym for hours, pushing through rounds of training, building up their stamina for the missions ahead. The usual banter was going on in the background, but Simon couldn’t focus on any of it. His mind kept drifting back to last night—the taste of you, the way you had come undone beneath his touch.

He was trying to keep it together, but the image of you trembling, your fingers tangled in his hair, and your moans echoing in his ears were all-consuming. God, you had felt so good. Every inch of you had sent him spiraling deeper, and he couldn’t shake the memory of it. Your scent, your taste—it had haunted him all morning, and now, in the middle of a training session, it was driving him crazy.

His muscles were tight from the sparring, but the real tension was elsewhere. His pants were uncomfortably tight, his body betraying him as he tried to force himself to focus on the drills.

Focus, Riley. Focus…

But it was no use. His mind kept wandering back to you, to the way you had felt in his arms, to the way you had called his name. The sound of your breath, the feel of your body against his—it was all he could think about.

"Oi, Ghost, you good?" Soap's voice cut through his thoughts.

Simon gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he turned toward Soap. "Fine. Just tired," he lied, his voice thick with tension.

Soap eyed him suspiciously but didn't press it, continuing with his exercises. But Simon's mind was elsewhere. He needed relief.

His breathing became shallow as his thoughts spiraled again. Focus on the mission. Focus on the team. But nothing was working.

His gaze flickered over to where you were sparring with Gaz, your movements graceful and precise. You looked so damn good, and it only made his situation worse. The thought of you, of last night, had him hot and bothered in a way that was beyond his control.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed a break. A cold one.

Without a word, Simon stalked off toward the locker room, his pace quickening as he got closer to the showers. He couldn’t think straight anymore. His body was betraying him, and he knew there was only one thing that could cool him off.

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The sound of the cold water hitting his skin was a relief as Simon stepped under the stream, closing his eyes for a moment to let the chill settle into his muscles. But even the cold water couldn’t help him shake the image of you.

You.

His hand gripped the shower wall, his teeth gritting as the memories flooded back—your taste, the way your body had shuddered against his. How had he never felt anything so intense before?

He growled, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles. This is ridiculous.

The water ran over him, but he could still feel the heat from his thoughts, and it was making him insane. He had never felt this way about anyone, never so consumed by desire. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

And yet… when he thought about you, when he thought about being with you, about the way you made him feel… he couldn’t help but want more.

The sound of your laugh echoed in his mind, the way your hands had held him close, the way you had whispered his name with such sweetness and trust.

Focus, Riley. Get your shit together.

But the truth was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get it together anymore.

He leaned his head back, letting the cold water hit his face. All he could think about was you. And right now, that was all he needed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Promise in the Shadows

You noticed Simon’s absence the moment the sparring session ended. While the others laughed and exchanged quips, his brooding presence was nowhere to be found. Soap had mentioned Simon “seemed off,” but no one else seemed concerned.

Except you.

The thought of him slipping away in that quiet, stoic way of his tugged at you. You knew him better than anyone here—better than he probably wanted you to. He wasn’t just blowing off steam; something was bothering him.

“Hey, guys, I’ll catch up later,” you said with a casual wave, earning a curious look from Price but no protests.

The locker room was quiet when you stepped in, the sound of a running shower guiding you toward him. You paused outside, listening, your heart aching slightly at the low groan that slipped through the noise.

You didn’t need to see him to know what was going on. Simon had been different all morning—distracted, tense. And you could hazard a guess as to why.

Slipping inside, you moved quietly toward the shower stalls. Steam clouded the room, and the closer you got, the more your chest tightened. You peeked around the corner, and there he was—Simon, his broad shoulders hunched under the icy spray, one hand braced against the tile wall. His head was bowed, his body taut with tension.

“Simon,” you called softly, stepping closer.

He froze, his head whipping around. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the heat lingering there, barely contained.

“What are you doing here?” he rasped, his voice strained.

You took another step forward, your hands clasped in front of you, your gaze soft. “I noticed you were gone,” you said simply. “Wanted to check on you.”

His jaw clenched, his gaze flickering away. “I’m fine.”

You tilted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Are you, though?”

The faint pink coloring his ears told you everything you needed to know. He was embarrassed, vulnerable in a way he hated, and it broke your heart just a little.

“You don’t have to deal with this alone,” you said gently, stepping closer.

“(Y/N),” he warned, his voice low and gravelly.

But you didn’t stop. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm, and he flinched slightly before relaxing under your touch.

“You’re my man,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “Whatever you’re going through, I’m here for you. Always.”

His eyes met yours, conflicted and raw. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the water.

“I do,” you countered, your other hand moving to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch despite himself, his eyes closing for a moment.

You pressed a kiss to his chest, your lips brushing against the scarred skin. “Let me take care of you, Simon.”

His breath hitched, and when he opened his eyes, they were filled with something between desperation and adoration. He didn’t say a word as you gently nudged him back against the wall, the water cascading over both of you.

Lowering yourself to your knees, you held his gaze, your hands trailing down his sides. He was already hard, straining against the fabric of his wet boxers that he hadn't taken off on purpose... fighting his desires, and you could see the way his breath quickened as you touched him.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted, your voice firm yet full of affection.

Sliding his boxers down, you freed him, your hands moving with care and reverence. He was already trembling slightly, and the vulnerability in his eyes only made you more determined to show him how much you loved him.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his tip, and he let out a ragged gasp, his hand moving to tangle in your hair. His restraint was admirable, but you didn’t want him to hold back.

As you took him into your mouth, his low groan echoed through the shower, his fingers tightening in your hair. You moved slowly, savoring the way he responded to you, the way his body trembled under your touch.

“God, (Y/N),” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes soft. “You don’t have to hold back with me, Simon. I’m yours. Always.”

His chest heaved, his hand moving to cup your cheek as his other stayed buried in your hair. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a growl.

You smiled, your lips brushing against him before you continued, your pace steady and deliberate. He was unraveling, his breaths coming in short gasps as he tried to hold himself together.

When he finally came undone, his release was accompanied by a deep, guttural moan, his body trembling as he braced himself against the wall. You stayed with him through it, your hands steadying him, your touch full of love and care.

As he sank to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of gratitude.

“I wanted to,” you replied, your fingers brushing through his damp hair. “You’re everything to me, Simon. I’ll always take care of you.”

He kissed you then, his lips slow and tender against yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

“You deserve everything,” you said firmly, your hands cradling his face.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as the water poured over both of you. In that moment, there were no shadows, no walls—just the two of you, completely and utterly in love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Completely Yours

Simon held you tightly, his head buried in the crook of your neck as the steam from the shower enveloped you both. His breathing was still uneven, his body trembling slightly as he came down from the high you had just given him. You ran your fingers gently through his damp hair, placing soft kisses along his temple, whispering reassurances that only made his chest tighten further with emotion.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky to have you, and yet, every time he thought about it, he couldn’t stop the overwhelming need to show you how much you meant to him.

Especially now.

Because even as the warmth of your love settled in his chest, his mind was betraying him—images of last night flooding back with vivid clarity. The way you had writhed beneath him, the taste of you on his tongue, the way your body had arched as you fell apart under his relentless attention. God, he could still feel the way your thighs had quivered around his head, the sweet sounds you’d made as you begged him for more.

And now, you were here. Warm, soft, and all his.

His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your neck as his voice came out rough and low. “(Y/N)…”

You hummed softly, tilting your head to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, Simon?”

His lips found your skin again, pressing lingering kisses along your jawline, each one filled with an intensity that made your heart race. “Need you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your fingers stilled in his hair as you pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze filled with both vulnerability and a raw, unrelenting desire.

“Simon…” you started, your voice soft and full of affection.

But he didn’t let you finish. His lips captured yours in a deep, searing kiss that left you breathless, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. The water cascading over you both only added to the heat building between you, and when his lips left yours to trail down your neck, you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with possession.

“Always,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders as he shifted you against the tiled wall, his large frame towering over you.

His lips found your collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before his mouth moved lower. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he knelt before you, his dark eyes looking up at you with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

“Simon, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, echoing your words from earlier. “You’re mine, and I need to taste you again. Now.”

Your breath hitched as his hands gently guided your legs over his shoulders, his lips pressing kisses along the inside of your thighs that had you trembling. His eyes never left yours, even as his mouth descended on you, drawing a gasp from your lips that quickly turned into a moan.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against you, his voice muffled but no less reverent.

The moment his tongue flicked against you, all coherent thoughts left your mind. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping it tightly as he worked you over with a skill and fervor that left you breathless. He was relentless, his lips and tongue worshiping you, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as you writhed beneath his touch.

“Simon—” you gasped, your voice trembling as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Your cries echoed off the tiled walls, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra as he took you apart piece by piece. And when you finally came undone, your body shaking with the force of it, he held you through it, his tongue and lips coaxing every last wave of pleasure from you.

When you finally opened your eyes, your breathing ragged, you found him staring up at you, his lips glistening and a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“You taste like heaven,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with adoration.

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. The taste of yourself on his lips only fueled the fire between you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your fingers brushing through his damp hair.

His arms tightened around you, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re mine, (Y/N). Always.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your lips curling into a soft smile. “Whenever you want me, Simon, I’m yours. Always.”

The look in his eyes was pure devotion, and as he kissed you again, you knew there was no place you’d rather be than in the arms of the man who loved you so fiercely.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Addictive Perfection

Simon Riley, the Ghost, had faced countless enemies, weathered impossible missions, and endured more than most men could fathom. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the way you utterly unraveled him.

It wasn’t just the way you looked at him with those eyes that saw right through his walls, or the soft smiles you reserved just for him. It wasn’t even the way your body felt against his, or how you melted under his touch. No, it was everything.

You were his perfect storm.

And the addiction? That was a whole other beast.

It had started as a way to focus on you, to make you feel as worshiped as he believed you deserved. But somewhere along the line, Simon had realized he was the one who couldn’t get enough. The taste of you lingered on his tongue like a haunting melody, the way you trembled under his hands etched into his memory like scripture. He’d think about the breathless way you said his name, the way your thighs squeezed him, the soft pleas falling from your lips, and he’d lose himself.

Even now, as you sat curled up on his lap in the common area, innocently running your fingers over his chest and chatting with Soap, Simon was struggling.

Your scent was still faintly on him—evidence of the indulgence that had happened not even two hours ago. He’d dragged you into the locker room after training under the pretense of “needing a word,” only to fall to his knees before you, murmuring praises against your skin as he drove you wild.

And here you were, like nothing had happened, laughing softly at Soap’s antics, while Simon could only think about taking you back to his room and doing it all over again.

Soap’s voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

“Ghost, you’ve been quiet. Everything alright, mate?”

Simon cleared his throat, his arm tightening subtly around your waist as he gave Soap a curt nod. “Fine. Just listening.”

Soap grinned, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Must be you. You’ve tamed the big bad Ghost, lass. Never seen him this relaxed.”

You giggled, the sound like music to Simon’s ears, and leaned back into him. “I’m just lucky, I guess.”

Simon ducked his head to hide the smirk tugging at his lips, his fingers trailing along your side possessively. Lucky didn’t even begin to cover it.

Later that evening, when the base was quiet and the team had retired for the night, Simon finally had you to himself.

You were in his room, wearing one of his shirts, the hem brushing your thighs as you moved around. His eyes followed your every step, the way the fabric clung to your curves, the teasing glimpse of skin that sent his thoughts spiraling.

“Simon?”

Your voice broke through his haze, and he realized you were standing in front of him, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“You alright?” you asked softly, your hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

He didn’t answer right away, instead leaning into your touch, his eyes closing as he took a steadying breath.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, though the hoarseness of his voice betrayed him.

“Are you sure?”

His eyes opened, meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. Slowly, he stood, towering over you as his hands settled on your hips.

“I need you,” he said, his voice low and raw. “Now.”

Your lips parted, a soft blush creeping across your cheeks, but you didn’t hesitate. Your hands slid up his chest, curling around his neck as you pressed yourself against him.

“I’m yours, Simon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with affection. “Always.”

By the time he had you on the bed, spread out beneath him, Simon was entirely undone. His lips trailed down your body, his hands worshiping every inch of you as he worked his way lower.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

You giggled softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “Good.”

His breath hitched at your teasing tone, and he looked up at you with a smirk that sent shivers down your spine. “Careful, love. You might regret that.”

But the only thing you regretted was the loss of your breath as his lips and tongue made contact, his hands gripping your thighs as he devoured you with a hunger that left you trembling.

Simon wasn’t just passionate—he was thorough, determined, and utterly dedicated to making you feel as perfect as he believed you were. Every sound you made, every arch of your body, only spurred him on, and by the time he finally pulled away, you were a trembling, breathless mess.

As he kissed his way back up your body, his eyes met yours, filled with a raw intensity that made your heart race.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped his face, pulling him down into a soft, lingering kiss. “You don’t have to. I’m yours, Simon. Always.”

His lips curved into a rare smile, and as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close, he knew without a doubt that you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love Through the Night

The moment Simon joined with you, it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. There were no missions, no burdens of the past, no shadows creeping at the edges of his mind—only you. You, who met him with such tenderness and love, grounding him in a way he never thought possible.

His movements were slow, deliberate, savoring every second. The way your body molded to his, the way your soft gasps and whispered praises filled the room, sent him spiraling faster than he wanted to admit.

“God, love…” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “You… you’re too much.”

“Then don’t hold back, Simon,” you whispered, cupping his face as you kissed him deeply. “I love you. All of you.”

Those words undid him completely.

Simon didn’t last long—he rarely did when it came to you. The intensity of his feelings, combined with the sheer perfection of being with you, overwhelmed him every time. But even as he came undone, his mind was already racing, determined to make up for it.

And he did.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was moving, his lips trailing kisses across your skin, his hands exploring your body with reverence.

“Again,” he rasped, his voice laced with desperation as he looked up at you, his dark eyes filled with adoration. “Need you again.”

You giggled softly, your fingers threading through his hair as you nodded. “I’m yours, Simon. Always.”

What followed was a night neither of you would forget.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered declaration of love was etched into your souls. Simon couldn’t get enough of you—your taste, your scent, the way you responded to him like he was the only thing that mattered.

And you… you were more than happy to meet his fervor.

There was no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, lost in each other. Simon made love to you like a man starved, each round more intense and passionate than the last. His stamina surprised even him, driven by the overwhelming need to worship every inch of you, to show you just how much you meant to him.

By the time the early hours of the morning crept in, both of you were exhausted, tangled together in the sheets. Your head rested on his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his skin as his arm held you close, his hand stroking your hair.

“You’re going to ruin me,” Simon muttered, his voice thick with affection as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He chuckled softly, his rare smile lighting up his face. “Never. You’re everything to me.”

“And you’re everything to me,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him gently.

As the two of you drifted off to sleep, still wrapped up in each other, Simon couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was. You were his anchor, his light in the darkness, and he would spend every day of his life proving just how much he loved you.

[hec-chan]

Gentle Reader

#poem #poetry #gentlereader #yellow #aesthetic #reader #books #booklover

[winterreigned]

@theyoungwclf

BRIDGERTON (2020-present) - S01E03 « Art of the Swoon »

-We should light it. -Excellent idea.

[not0a0mundane]

Colin: I'll kiss her as a friend, surely this will not awaken anything in me.

Lady whistledown voiceover: dearest gentlereader, it did indeed, awaken something in him.

[sleepymaven]

HSR Sunday's Boss Fight Theory.

(Spoilers for Penacony Quest Below!)

I feel like people are not talking enough about how Sunday literally almost ascended in his boss fight, as far as I can tell, anyway.

Like, he was the 'Embryo of Philosophy.' He was in the middle of turning into an Aeon following the path of Philosophy and ascending to take the place of Order instead of reviving Ena without his knowledge.

I think it is really sad when you think about how Sunday fully believed he was doing the right thing and tried to revive Ena, only to be tricked into unknowingly starting to ascend into Aeonhood.

I could ramble on and on about how sad of a character Sunday is and all that, but I have to stay on topic for now.

Anyway, back to his ascension.

So, I do want to point out something I noticed during his boss fight that I found rather... interesting.

During his third phase, we all know about his big attack that practically nukes your team, right?

Well, during that attack, we see a hand coming down and reaching towards Sunday, to which he reaches back and they touch fingers, causing the attack to happen.

The attack and scene in question.

Now, most people tend to assume that this is Ena, and I do as well. At least, I did think it was Ena until I stared at the screen a bit too hard and went, "Wait a damn minute–"

Dearest gentlereader, care to take a little looksie at Ena for me?

Ena, the Order.

Do you see that? Their hands?

That's right! Ena's hands don't match the hands during Sunday's boss fight at all.

So, I am going to tell you that this is not Ena and not Xipe either, because that wouldn't make sense at all. Even then, Xipe's hands are a deep blue, so that wouldn't match either.

Now, I know during that move, Sunday speaks as if he is talking to Ena, yes. However! If Sunday is truly oblivious to the fact he is ascending and is under the full belief that he is reviving Ena, he probably also does not realize that who he is talking to. IS. NOT. ENA.

So, who is it? Who is this this mysterious hand coming from the heavens? Well, what if I say it is the Aeons version of Sunday's hand?

Alright, don't scroll or click off, just hear me out!

The hand shares certain similarities to both Ena and Xipe. (The white part with the gold design being reminiscent of Ena. The thumb also shares a bit of Xipes color scheme, albeit with a bit of a stretch.)

You can also see during the scene that there are angel feathers coming down from where the hand comes from, something neither of the other Aeons possess. But you know who has feathers and wings? The handsomest man in Penacony, that's who!

During the build-up to the move, the subtitles were repeating the words from his diary, if I am correct, (which might has well just been a Bible at that point) until you get to the hand scene, as if slowly bridging the gap between his mortal body and his soon-to-be Aeon form.

Am I crazy? Am I right? I have no clue!

I might be totally off the mark with this, but I'm posting this anyway.

Bye ya'll, hope I didn't completely waste your time!

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

What are you fave angsty stories/writers? I love angst, but have a hard time deciding what stories to read!

I always find it difficult to recommend writers as there are so many great writer past and present in the fandom. Plus so many klaine stories have a bit of angst in them.

We do have our angst and blangst tag. So many great stories.

I'd also recommend my other admin Lynne's favorite fics: there's all sorts of fics on there but may are angsty fics.

Also 23 items bookmarked on Klaine fanfic that made you want to reach for a box of tissues, part of our bingo 2023.

Personally, I will name a few, most of these are older fics and come highly recommended in the fandom. These are just a few of mine - people can also recommend in their reblogged tabs, or on the note here. ~Jen

The Awakening by @heartsmadeofbooks

Kurt Hummel has put his perfect life together carefully, making sure all the pieces fit exactly how he wanted them to. But all it takes is one name from his past to make all his hard work go to waste - Blaine Anderson

~~~~~

100 Days by borogroves

Kurt and Blaine have been best friends (and nothing more) since the age of six. Now 22-year-old college graduates, they take a roadtrip around the USA, visiting every state in 100 days. Fifty states. Two boys. One love story.

~~~~~

Perfectly Imperfect by @catcat-85

Golden Globe winning actor, Blaine Anderson went to prison for a murder he did not commit. After 5 long years, he has escaped from prison, and in a desperate need to get to a safe house before he can leave the country; he kidnaps Kurt, and forced him to drive him to a secluded cabin nestled in between the snowy mountains in Vermont. For Blaine, it’s his last chance for freedom. Falling in love is the last thing on Blaine’s mind. It’s not part of the plan. And for Kurt, it’s a terrifying situation that disrupts the impeccably perfect life he has created for himself. He’s outraged and angry at Blaine, and yet; he can’t help but believe Blaine is innocent.

Will the truth finally come out and Blaine be exonerated? Will the FBI catch him and put him back in prison? Will he and Kurt fall in love even in the most hopeless situation? Will love truly prevail all at the end?

Based on the novel, Perfect, by Judith McNaught. This is a story about two men who are complete opposites from one another; and yet, they complete each other in a perfectly imperfect way.

~~~~~

Chrysalis ‘verse by @flowerfan2

Just after graduating from NYU, a car accident puts Blaine into a coma. No one expects him to wake up. Almost three years later, Kurt sees a man in a wheelchair who couldn’t be anyone else. A story of love and new beginnings. Canon compliant through 6x11, then AU.

~~~~~

Foundations by gentlereader

After breaking up Kurt and Blaine went their separate ways.

Blaine’s now a successful LA musician while Kurt is a high school counselor.

The creation of the Pavarotti Music Foundation was their dream… and now its a reality.

~~~~~

No Take backs by @rockitmans

Prompt: A year after this father’s death, Kurt is still reeling from the loss. In an attempt to keep holiday traditions going, despite his father’s absence, Kurt meets a guy at a local Christmas Tree Lot who helps him through.

~~~~~

About us by wildhurricane

 It’s an ordinary summer day at the diner where Kurt works, when a new guest enters. He’s hot and flirty and orders coffee and fries, and Kurt. Kurt is instantly attracted and flirts back. When the guy waits for Kurt outside the diner, Kurt decides to go with him for a moment of pleasure. But there’s a spark between them that neither anticipated. Soon Kurt finds out that the guy isn’t who he claims to be and that he’s got other secrets as well. He’s mysterious and exciting and Kurt is falling for him hard and fast, but when the secrets are revealed Kurt finds himself between love and aversion and must decide if he should stay and help Blaine out of an impossible situation or leave him and save his own heart.

~~~~

The Symphony Verse by shandyall

Blaine has spent most of his life feeling like the only thing people notice about him is that he stutters. He’s working hard to overcome his (mostly self created) roadblocks when he meets Kurt in an online class the summer after his freshman year of college.

[winterreigned]

𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓. for the eldest stark daughter found herself tossing and turning for hours, thoughts swirling with the insurmountable pressures her mother put on her to wed this season. she understood the expectations, why sansa had spent her whole life preparing for this very opportunity, but she simply didn't want to wed just anyone. no, she wanted ── no needed, a love match. for to her, that would be the greatest gift of all. time, however, was ticking, and mother was growing impatient. a conundrum indeed, which has left the redhead sitting up in her bad at the late hour.

warm milk seemed to be the only solution, though her eldest brother's presence downstairs causes pause. she's curious as to where he's been all night, as it's rather clear it's not in his bedroom, or is it his bachelor lodgings. a frown comes to life on sansa's mouth per his response to her questioning. so easy for men, all of this was. they could come and go as they please, be alone in the room with anyone they chose. sansa needed a chaperone just to talk to a man. yet, robb is able to dwell wherever he pleases, and he never needs to provide an explanation. that is unfortunately, how this world works.

❝ sleep was escaping me tonight, i thought i'd fetch myself a glass of warm milk. that used to help me when i was younger. ❞ she doesn't tell robb of the swirling thoughts and doubts in her head, just as he doesn't share whatever demons plague him at this hour. perhaps they will, perhaps they won't. though for now, sansa puts on a show, something she is more than good at these days. ❝ would you care to join me in the kitchen? that is, unless you intend to go to sleep. ❞

❝ as for the promenading, i see no point in ensuring i get enough sleep. i haven't any prospects on the marriage market, as you're aware. ❞ a sharp tone, though not at her brother. though she cannot help but fear he will cave to her mother's pressure and find her a match on his own. ❝ either you or jon will need to escort me again, i'm sure. ❞

bridgerton prompts / accepting / @winterreigned: “   Where have you been all night? ”

Robb knew he had a big day and still chose to go out, spend his time in a dimly lit building with a lad whose name he never quite learned just because in those moments when he felt another man's lips on his own and the thumping of his heart in his ears were more real than any show he put on as Lord Stark, eldest child, eldest brother, a young man whose entire life was a lie in favor of leading his family through the trials and strife of the social seasons.

Jon was the only one who knew, not by choice, but his half brother had always been able to read him, and luckily for him his brother didn't judge, not did he see what Robb was doing was wrong, and Robb returned home and washed his hands in a bucket until his skin was rubbed red. Not exactly a great way to greet Sansa when she walked into the room and immediately questioned him.

" Should you not be in bed, sister? Mother will be furious, you are to promenade in the park later today, don't ladies need rest? " As easily as it was to wash his hands, he washed himself of his internal struggles, an easygoing smile curving on his lips as he dries his hands. " Never you mind where I was. It is not for you to know. " He was afforded the luxury of waving the questions off, though he knew it'd anger Sansa more than anything. He couldn't tell her, a scandal. How would any of them react if they knew the head of the house's heart beat for men and men only? Disgust no doubt, better to keep it under lock and key. He still had plenty of years before he would need to marry, a charade of finding a wife would happen one day, but not today.

At least not when he had Sansa to keep all the eyes off himself. Finding a suitable husband for her was a far more pressing matter for their overly eager mother.

" Sansa, really. Why are you awake? Is something wrong? "

[lockwood-fic-recs]

Perfectly Incandescently Happy

by OceanSpray5 on ao3

Rating: G | Category: F/M, Gen | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy

Dearest Gentlereader,

The subject that has set the ton abuzz and everyone bereft of answers may soon be coming to its conclusion yet. Naturally, I would hate to have to print any retraction however, it seems this writer, too, may have to reconsider concerning one of the more astonishing matches this season: the one between Viscount Anthony Lockwood and Ms Lucy Carlyle.

But did our handsome Lord Lockwood finally open his eyes to exactly all he had to lose at the Finchley Ball? Certainly, there can be no other reason for his interference with one of Ms Francesca Bridgerton's potential suitors. Paired with his early calling at Viscount Bridgerton's house two days after and ecstatic exit, perhaps wedding bells may be in Lord Lockwood's future after all... just not with the surely broken-hearted Ms Carlyle.

After the death of her best friend, Ms Lucy Carlyle is given the opportunity to be sponsored for the 1815 London season by Norrie's aunt. Instantly compared to the Diamond due to their astonishingly similar looks, she befriends Lord Lockwood quite unexpectedly yet is left wondering if she was a fool for believing he'd look twice at a mere country girl.

[fitztragedy]

Dearest gentlereaders, It is with great pride and warm wishes that I welcome you to another London Season! What heartaches, courtships, and surprises await the young ladies and gentlemen of the 'ton? With great flourish I guarantee this column is the first to bear the news. For example, rumours have swirled that Riven Sanderson has once again returned to the city, despite an uncharacteristic two-year absence… A Lady's Guide to Fools and Fortunes

Here is mine and @septemberrie 's Revese Big Bang! Loved working with her once more on this and I had so much fun making these manips. The fic is amazing, as every fic by Skye is. But period pieces by Skye just have that extra *sparkle* bcs she writers them so, so well!! let us know what you think of it!

[oceanspray5]

Perfectly Incadescently Happy - Chapter 12: After: When He Was Vulnerable

Dearest Gentlereader, The subject that has set the ton abuzz and everyone bereft of answers may soon be coming to its conclusion yet. Naturally, I would hate to have to print any retraction however, it seems this writer, too, may have to reconsider concerning one of the more astonishing matches this season: the one between Viscount Anthony Lockwood and Ms Lucy Carlyle. But did our handsome Lord Lockwood finally open his eyes to exactly all he had to lose at the Finchley Ball? Certainly, there can be no other reason for his interference with one of Ms Francesca Bridgerton's potential suitors. Paired with his early calling at Viscount Bridgerton's house two days after and ecstatic exit, perhaps wedding bells may be in Lord Lockwood's future after all... just not with the surely broken-hearted Ms Carlyle. After the death of her best friend, Ms Lucy Carlyle is given the opportunity to be sponsored for the 1815 London season by Norrie's aunt. Instantly compared to the Diamond due to their astonishingly similar looks, she befriends Lord Lockwood quite unexpectedly yet is left wondering if she was a fool for believing he'd look twice at a mere country girl. Lockwood panics... and then finally proposes an important question.

Ao3

Hi... Lol. Sorry for the delay in this chapter guys. So many reasons for that unfortunately but the chapter you've all been waiting for is here! Please do comment if you enjoy it.

[daemon-in-my-head]

I was doodling away.

My colleague saw me doodling and my seal plush.

He requested I draw the seal.

I agreed.

He went to get dressed to leave and was like show me when I'm back.

I told him I'm done actually.

He was laughing like a madman and raving on about how this is amazing.

Dear Gentlereaders (yes i watched that show), the doodle that got him excited:

It's not even good. I tried exporting the video. I didn't even have the 30 seconds export option. Cuz it's only 10 seconds. I could send it via discord. That's how low effort this shit is. Meanwhile buddy is head over heels for the seal.

I love it when people get so excited over such minor things. His day is made and all it took was 5 minutes and a chill seal.

[mesu-senshi]

"Sweetheart and the Shadow"

part 6.

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Nikto (COD) x Reader Theme: Comedy, Romance, Fluff Trope: Bodyguard for the Rich Softy

______________________________________________________________

The warmth of early summer was creeping into the air, the kind that made the mansion’s garden explode with color and filled the halls with the scent of blooming flowers. It was the season she loved most—long days in the sunshine, Lucky chasing butterflies, and iced tea on the veranda. But it was also when she noticed something different about Nikto.

He was still ever-vigilant, the same stoic shadow she’d come to depend on, but there was a new tension to him. A restlessness. His movements seemed sharper, more deliberate, and she often caught him adjusting the straps of his mask when he thought no one was looking.

It didn’t take long for her to piece it together. The heat.

He must be miserable under the mask in this weather, she realized, the thought sparking a pang of concern in her chest. The scars on his face couldn’t make things any easier; if anything, they probably made the summer heat even harder to bear.

She decided to do something about it.

______________________________________________________________

“Nikto?” she called out one afternoon, her voice light as she leaned around the corner of the kitchen.

He was where he always was, standing near the doorway with his arms crossed, his gaze sweeping the room. He turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable as always behind the mask.

“Yes?”

She smiled, gesturing for him to follow her. “Come with me. I need your help with something.”

He hesitated but obeyed, falling into step behind her as she led him up the stairs and into her room. Once inside, she closed the door behind them and gestured to the chair by her vanity.

“Sit,” she said softly.

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. “What is this about?”

“You’ll see,” she replied cryptically, rummaging through a small bag on the vanity. After a moment, she pulled out a small bottle of lotion and turned to him, her smile warm and reassuring. “I noticed you’ve been a little uncomfortable lately. With the heat, I mean.”

His eyes flicked to the bottle in her hand, then back to her face. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she said gently, stepping closer. “And that’s okay. I thought this might help. It’s for sensitive skin—it’s soothing, cooling. I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

He stiffened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t think—”

“It’s just me, Nikto,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to hide from me, remember?”

Her words were a quiet reminder of the trust they’d built, the unspoken bond that had grown stronger with each passing day. He hesitated, his gaze searching hers, and after a long moment, he finally relented.

“Fine.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with affection as he sat down in the chair. Carefully, she reached for the straps of his mask, her fingers brushing against his skin as she unfastened them. The mask came away slowly, revealing the face she’d only seen once before—the scars, the sharp angles, the vulnerability he so rarely showed.

“There,” she murmured, setting the mask aside. Her eyes met his, her smile never wavering. “Much better.”

______________________________________________________________

She squeezed a small amount of lotion onto her fingertips and stepped closer, her movements deliberate and gentle.

“This might feel a little cold at first,” she warned, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded stiffly, his jaw tight as she brought her hands to his face. The first touch of her fingers against his skin made him tense, but she didn’t pull away. She moved slowly, her touch soft and deliberate as she began to massage the lotion into his skin.

The scars were rough beneath her fingertips, a testament to the pain he’d endured, but she treated them with the same care she’d give to the most delicate glass.

“You don’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff.

“I want to,” she replied simply, her eyes focused on her task.

Her hands moved with practiced care, tracing the lines of his face as if she were committing them to memory. She worked the lotion into his skin, the coolness of it soothing the heat that had been building beneath the mask.

Nikto closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he let himself lean into her touch. It was… comforting, in a way he hadn’t expected.

“There,” she said softly, her voice warm and filled with affection. “All done.”

He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. The look on her face—soft, caring, and utterly unjudging—made his chest tighten.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, the words feeling inadequate for what she’d just given him.

She smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be comfortable.”

He didn’t reply, but the look in his eyes said everything he couldn’t put into words.

As she stepped back, picking up his mask to hand it to him, she paused. “You know,” she said with a teasing smile, “you don’t always have to wear this around me. I like seeing you.”

His heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took the mask from her and set it aside, letting it rest on the vanity.

For now, he thought, maybe it was okay to let the walls down. Just a little.

Because with her, he was starting to believe he didn’t need them anymore.

[itsbansheebitch]

and that is the beauty of interpretation, gentlereaders

[storycraftcafe]

so gentlereaders, I'm still very sick and am have a drs appointment on monday. Im talking any strenuous of even mild activity makes m have a coughing fit and i am always tired as shit.

I'm also still unemployed (thus skint and cant donate to anything and anyone so please DO NOT ASK) but finally got a safety net in place that can keep the lights on while i frantically jobhunt. (funny aside a sister brand of the place that fired me is offering the same job as a much higher rate and you bet im gonna send that to the folks i trained with)

Anyway asides aside, this is why that promised waffling on structures that aren't the heroes journey is taking far too long.

Im not well.

[gardevoirtist]

🖋️ - The muse shares an old embarrassing/funny story about themselves

Oh, I've got an embarrassin' story, alright.

OKAY, SO, STUPID INJURIES STORY TIME WITH GAR.

It was one of my dads that taught me how to cook and bake and all, right? So, while we were easin' me into doing stuff like that, I volunteered to take somethin' out of the oven--don't remember what it was now, but I think it might've been a pizza?--anyway. I grab it outta there with one hand in an oven mitt, then realize, "oh, crap, this isn't steady and I'm gonna drop it".

Gentlereaders, guess who tried to steady a pan that was literally just in the oven barehanded and ended up burnin' their hand and droppin' the damn thing anyway. My hand just smarts thinkin' about it again!

We were freakin' out in the moment, but at least we can laugh about it now...

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

I checked the 6x01 and missing Blaine tags. I'm wondering if there are any fics set after the breakup in season 6 where Blaine is not going back to Lima. He stays in NYC, or moves somewhere else. And I don't mean fics focused on his first weeks after the breakup, but rather fics set over a span of a few years, or few years alter. Maybe he even disappears for a longer time and his friends are wondering where he is.

See the previous ask that I've responded to - with the reunion tag. I don't know exactly which fics have Blaine not go back to Lima, maybe you can check that out? What I've tried to recommend here are fics that he's in another place (even if the fic follows canon and he initially goes back to Lima). I've also tried to recommend some that are not the most commonly recommended or discussed reunion/reconciliation fics, but others worth reading also. ~Jen

The One That Got Away by @catcat-85

AU after the breakup scene in Season 6 Episode 1. Heartbroken and devastated after Kurt ended their relationship, Blaine changed his life completely. He quit NYADA. Enrolled at NYU and became a Pediatric Surgeon. He married Sebastian Smythe and they later have a beautiful daughter named Elena. Kurt realized he made a huge mistake by letting Blaine go. But the realization came too late. Blaine had already moved on and wanted nothing to do with Kurt. Kurt did his best to move on with his life. He graduated from NYADA and started getting cast in off Broadway productions, which led to having his big break when he was cast to be Link Larkin in Hairspray on Broadway. Since then, his career had taken off and he became a successful actor, but he couldn’t find a man he loves enough to marry. Desperate to have a family of his own, he found an egg donor and surrogate to have a baby, a boy which he named Chris. This is a story about a lost love between Kurt and Blaine, as well as a love story between Chris and Elena. No matter how hard their parents try to keep them apart, Chris and Elena find each other. Even after 25 years, the strength of their love might just be the thing to bring Kurt and Blaine back together.

~~~~~

We all write our own endings (and we all have our own scars) by wintercreek

It's not enough that he looks like Blaine; of course he has to sound like him, too. But there is no way Blaine Anderson is running a café in Arizona. No way.

~~~~~

Then and Now by mistyday

A look into a relationship that's bound to always come back together, no matter what.

~~~~~

This one is a season 4 breakup, where Blaine changed his life and they didn't get back together.

Foundations by Gentlereader

After breaking up Kurt and Blaine went their separate ways.

Blaine's now a successful LA musician while Kurt is a high school counselor.

The creation of the Pavarotti Music Foundation was their dream... and now its a reality.