#“The ghost of you lingers in everything I do. I have to wonder- Did I haunt you too?” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stylesispunk · 4 months

Text

"You're the loss of my life"

outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader

part 2 here

summary: you and Joel went from one kiss to getting married to becoming strangers.

w.c: 5k>

Warnings: angst, implications of cheating, mentions miscarriage. Perhaps some grammar mistakes because no proofreading oops!

a/n: I know everything I write is angst but is what it fits in my mind right now. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The day you killed yourself, you woke up. The salty tears streamed down to your ears. There was a pity gaze you didn't want to meet, looking down at you, perhaps asking why.

You didn't want to talk, even less to answer the pitiful comments from people who thought they had a say on all this.

You remember the fall. You remember Joel running to Sophie to save her life instead of yours, instead of both. You and the baby who was inside you. The one who wasn't there anymore because of its tiny form didn't resist the impact of your fall.

What a tragedy.

Sadness overcame you in the aftermath. In a world like this, treating your wounded body wasn't as hard as treating your heart, which became a frozen glass shell.

The days that followed were a blur, each moment blending into the next, a never-ending cycle of grief and numbness. You avoided mirrors, hating the reflection of a person you no longer recognized. The hollow eyes, the lifeless expression—they belonged to a ghost, not to you.

Joel tried to talk to you, his words a constant hum in the background. "I'm sorry," he'd say. "I didn't know what to do." But his apologies were meaningless, lost in the chasm that had formed between you. He perhaps saved Sophie because he loved her more, because in that split second, she was the one who mattered.

Not you anymore.

You spent hours in the nursery, the room you had so carefully prepared. The crib, the tiny clothes, the stuffed animals—all mocking reminders of what could have been. Your hands would linger on the soft blankets, tears falling silently onto the fabric. It was in that room that you felt the closest to the baby you had lost—a place where the field of dreams you had died.

One night, as you sat in the dark, the pain was too much to bear, and you decided you couldn't go on. The world was too cruel, too indifferent to people's suffering. You wrote a letter, your final words, to those who might wonder why. It was brief—just a few sentences explaining the unbearable weight of your grief and the unending ache in your heart. Meeting your family and beloved ones in heaven sounded better than keeping yourself prisoner in a world that would never be a safe place for anyone.

You took the pills, each one a step closer to peace. As you drifted off, you felt a strange sense of calm, a release from the torment that had consumed you. You hoped that in death, you would find the solace that eluded you in life.

But then you woke up again. The salty tears streamed down to your ears. There was a pity gaze you didn't want to meet, looking down at you, perhaps asking why.

Waking up again felt like a cruel joke. You were back in the same world, with the same pain. But something was different. Joel was there, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He took your hand, his touch hesitant and afraid.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice breaking.

You turned away, unable to meet his gaze. The wound was still too fresh, and the betrayal was still too raw to face them.

Joel's gaze burned in your back, and the smell of death was in the room. You held your breath for a moment. You wanted to smell the flowers and the baby smell of the little head of your baby, which you would never get to meet.

"Why?" he questioned, and for the first time, his voice did soothe your wounds; instead, it caused your blood to boil inside you and irritated you.

"I want Ellie here, not you."

"Baby- “

"Go." Your voice could slice Joel’s skin.

He recoiled as if struck, his face crumpling with pain. He stood there for a moment, looking lost and broken. "Please, don't push me away," he pleaded, but you couldn't hear him through the rage and grief that consumed you.

"Leave," you repeated, your voice cold and final.

Joel's shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that followed was suffocating, a void that threatened to swallow you whole. You curled into a ball, the tears flowing freely now—a torrent of pain and loss.

“Go to Sophie,” you whispered to the void, allowing yourself to cry.

Time seemed to stand still in that moment; your sobs were the only sound in the quiet room. You didn't know how long you lay there, but eventually, you heard a soft knock on the door.

Ellie's voice was hesitant when she called out your name, filled with a mix of anger and concern. "Can I come in?"

You didn't answer, but she opened the door anyway, slipping inside and closing it behind her. She looked at you, her expression torn between fury and sadness.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "Why did you try to leave me too?"

You looked up at her, seeing the pain in her eyes and mirroring your own. "I... I didn't think I could handle it anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I lost everything, Ellie. I lost you, I lost Joel, and I lost the baby. I didn't know how to go on."

Ellie walked over to you, her steps hesitant. "You didn't lose me. I'm still here," she said, her voice softening. "But you almost did. And I'm so mad at Joel. He should have saved you both. He should have done more."

“Do you think Joel doesn’t love me anymore?” you sobbed. The pain in your voice broke Ellie’s heart.

She kneeled beside you, taking your hands in hers. "I don’t know what’s on his mind now," she admitted, her voice trembling. "But I do know he loves you. He's just... broken too. We're all broken."

You pulled her into a tight embrace, both of you crying together, sharing the weight of your grief. “I lost my baby because of him.”

Ellie held you tighter, her own tears mingling with yours. "Cry,” she said softly. "Blaming him won't bring the baby back. It won't help us heal. We have to find a way to forgive and move forward."

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, finding strange solace in each other’s arms. The pain was still there, raw and overwhelming.

You were standing in the small kitchen of your home in Jackson, the dilapidated walls a far cry from the security of the life you once knew. But for a moment, you allowed yourself to dream of something better. Your hands trembled slightly as you held the small, worn piece of paper—a positive pregnancy test, a symbol of new life in a world consumed by death.

Joel walked in, weary from a long day of patrol. His eyes lit up when he saw you, but they quickly clouded with concern as he noticed the look on your face.

"What's going on?" he asked, setting down his backpack and walking over to you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "Joel, I have something to tell you,” you began, your voice shaking. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment, there was silence. Joel's expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then to something darker—fear and maybe even anger.

"Pregnant?" he repeated, his voice rising slightly. "In this world? How could you be so irresponsible?"

The words hit you like a physical blow, your earlier excitement and hope crumbling into dust. "Irresponsible?" you echoed, your own voice rising defensively. "It takes two people to do this, you know.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "You know what it’s like out there! Every day is a fight for survival. We can barely keep ourselves alive, and now you want to bring a baby into this?”

“I know this is not the best way, but what do you want me to do?”

“You know what.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought them back, unwilling to show weakness at his suggestion. "I know it's dangerous, Joel. But it's also a chance for us to have a future. To have a reason to keep going."

Joel's face softened for a moment, but then the hard lines returned. "And what if we can't protect it? What if we lose it? Bringing a baby into this world... it's a death sentence."

You turned away, unable to look at him. "I thought you'd be happy," you whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "I thought this would be something good for us."

He reached out, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now, but the damage was done. "I just... I can't see how this can work."

You clutched the pregnancy test to your chest, tainted by doubt and fear. “Are you mad because of the baby, or what would Sophie think of this?" you questioned quietly.

Joel's expression faltered, and he looked away, unable to meet your gaze. The mention of Sophie seemed to strike a chord, bringing a new layer of tension to the room.

"Sophie has nothing to do with this," he muttered, but the words lacked conviction.

"Doesn't she?" You pressed, your voice rising. "She's always in the back of your mind, Joel. Every decision you make, every risk you take, it's always about protecting her."

"She's my partner in patrol,” he shot back, his voice growing louder. "I’m just as protective as I am with everyone here! I can't fail her, or you. But this world... it's no place for a child."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I know you're scared, Joel. So am I. But we can't live our lives in fear. This baby is a chance for us to have something real, something good. Don't you see that?"

Joel's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words pressing down on him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. "I do see it," he admitted quietly. "But it doesn't change the reality we live in. I just... I don't know if I can take that risk."

The room fell silent, the tension hanging thick in the air. You turned away from him, your heart heavy with a mixture of hope and despair. "I'm going to do everything I can to protect this baby," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. "With or without you."

Joel looked at you, pain and conflict warring in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it, shaking his head. He turned and walked out, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, your heart breaking as the small symbol of hope in your hand seemed to grow heavier by the second.

The “I do” and vows seemed so foreign in the back of your mind now.

A week had passed since your almost-death. The days were a blur of grief and small steps toward recovery. Ellie remained close; her presence was a constant reminder that there was still something worth fighting for. In your head, you felt guilt and pity, not strong enough to keep believing you were the same woman who arrived here. You were the gosh of a lively fighter who became a lifeless frame.

Maria approached you in the cafeteria, where you were trying to busy yourself. She had always been a pillar of strength in Jackson and a calming presence for you since the day you, Joel, and Ellie arrived.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice gentle. "How are you holding up?"

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down. Maria sighed, pulling up a chair beside you. "I know it's hard. But you need to take things slow. You can't rush healing."

You nodded, though her words felt distant. The weight of your grief was a constant presence, making everything seem surreal. "I just... I don't know how to keep going. I don’t know how to do this again," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as Sarah’s lifeless frame came to your mind.

You had lost another child.

Maria reached out, squeezing your hand. "One day at a time," she said. "And remember, it's okay to lean on others. You don't have to do this alone."

You wanted to believe her, but the pain was too fresh and overwhelming. As the days turned into a week, you forced yourself to go through the motions, trying to find some semblance of normalcy. One afternoon, you found yourself in the cafeteria of Jackson. The noise and bustle were a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Maria was there, talking to a few people, and she caught your eye, giving you an encouraging smile. You tried to smile back, but it felt forced. The weight of your loss was a constant shadow, making everything seem heavier.

As you moved through the line, Maria came over, her expression concerned. "Hey, remember what I said. Take it slow. You don't have to do everything at once."

Something inside you snapped. The pressure, the grief, the guilt—it all came crashing down. "Take it slow?" you repeated, your voice rising. "How am I supposed to take it slow when everything is falling apart? How am I supposed to keep going when I not only lost my baby but also my husband?!”

The cafeteria fell silent, all eyes turning towards you. You could feel the weight of their stares, the shock, and the pity. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as the enormity of your outburst sank in.

Maria reached out, but you recoiled, your emotions spiraling out of control. "I don't need to take it slow!" you shouted, tears streaming down your face. "I need... I need..." You didn't even know what you needed; the pain was too overwhelming to articulate.

Joel was there in an instant, his face etched with worry. "Hey, hey," he said softly, reaching out to you. "It's okay. You're okay."

But you weren't okay. You felt like you were drowning, the weight of your grief pulling you under. You shook your head, backing away from him. "Don't touch me for fuck's sake! I don't want your dirty hands on me!”

Joel’s eyes glazed, but you didn’t care. He had become the best of the man you had married ten years ago.

Joel's eyes glazed, but you didn’t care. He had become the ghost of the man you had married ten years ago.

He froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. The cafeteria's silence deepened, the tension thickening. You saw the pain in his eyes, a reflection of your own turmoil, but it did nothing to quell the anger and sorrow boiling inside you.

"I can't do this," you said, your voice breaking as you took a step back, your chest heaving with sobs. "I can't keep pretending that everything is going to be okay. Because it's not! Nothing is okay!"

Ellie pushed through the crowd, her face pale but determined. "Mom," she said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "We're here. We're all here. We'll get through this."

Joel looked helplessly at Ellie, then back at you. "Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Just let us help."

You looked at him, the man who had once been your rock, now just a shadow of the person you had relied on. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but Ellie’s presence brought a flicker of something else—a reminder of why you needed to keep fighting.

Ellie wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as you sobbed into her shoulder. The room remained silent; the weight of your grief was palpable. But in that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope—a reminder that you weren’t alone and that you had people who loved you and who were willing to help you carry the burden.

Joel stepped closer, his hand hovering uncertainly at your back, not daring to touch you without permission. "I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "For everything. I’m so, so sorry."

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself. "You killed him," you snapped, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I can’t forgive you.”

Joel's face crumpled, the weight of your words hitting him like a physical blow. He took a step back, his hand dropping to his side. The silence in the room grew heavier, and the tension was palpable.

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible. "I know I can never undo what I've done. I live with that guilt every day."

Your anger burned hot and fierce, like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. "You killed him," you repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "And you expect me to just forgive you? To move on like nothing happened?"

Joel shook his head, his eyes filled with sorrow. "No," he said softly. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't even know if I can forgive myself. But I want to try. I want to make things right as much as I can."

You looked at him, the man who had once been your partner, your confidant, now a stranger in the wreckage of your shattered life. The anger still burned hot within you, but beneath it, there was a flicker of something else—pain, sorrow, and a desperate longing for the life you had lost.

"I don't know if I can do this," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know if I have the strength to forgive you."

Ellie's arms remained wrapped around you, a comforting presence amidst the turmoil. She gently guided you away from the cafeteria, her touch reassuring as you stumbled through the hallways of Jackson. The weight of your grief felt heavier with each step, but Ellie's presence gave you a glimmer of strength.

As you reached the door, Ellie helped you inside, guiding you to the small couch in the living area. She sat beside you, her eyes filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, the tears still streaming down your face. "I don't know," you admitted, your voice hoarse. "I just... I don't know how to deal with all of this."

Ellie reached out, taking your hand in hers. "We'll figure it out together," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "I promise."

You squeezed her hand tightly, grateful for her unwavering support. "Thank you, Ellie," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

She leaned in, wrapping you in a tight hug. "I love you, Mom," she said softly. "And I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at your eyes as you hugged her back, her words echoing in your mind. "I love you too, Ellie," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion.

As you and Ellie held each other close, the weight of her love and support was a balm to your wounded soul. But amidst the embrace, a knock on the door interrupted the moment, causing both of you to startle.

Ellie pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours with concern. "Should I... Should I get that?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

You shook your head, wiping away your tears as you tried to compose yourself. "No, it's okay," you said, your voice still shaky. "I'll go."

Ellie nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before standing up from the couch. "I'll be in my room if you need me," she said softly, giving you a lingering look before leaving the living area.

As Ellie disappeared down the hallway, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. With trembling hands, you made your way to the door and opened it, revealing Joel standing on the other side.

His expression was a mix of worry and remorse as he looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent plea for forgiveness. "Can we talk?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, the memories of your outburst in the cafeteria still fresh in your mind. But despite the anger and pain, there was a part of you that longed for closure, for a chance to understand.

"Okay," you said finally, stepping aside to let him in.

Joel entered the house, his footsteps hesitant as he crossed the threshold. The living room felt suffocatingly small as you both stood there, the weight of your shared grief hanging heavy in the air.

"I... I don't even know where to start," Joel said, his voice strained with emotion.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "I just... I need to understand," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I need to know why you did what you did."

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the abandoned streets of the city. You and Joel had been scavenging for supplies, your footsteps echoing in the eerie silence that seemed to permeate every corner of the world.

You had felt uneasy all day, a knot of jealousy and insecurity twisting in your stomach at the sight of Sophie, her laughter ringing in your ears like a taunt.

You had implored Joel to come. You just wanted to feel as worthy and important to him as you used to, even in your state. But despite your misgivings, you had pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand, determined to prove yourself capable and worthy of Joel's love and attention.

And then it happened.

If Joel had been more careful, he wouldn’t have allowed you to come. But he didn’t want to make you feel worthless.

A horde of infected had descended upon you, their snarls and growls a chilling symphony of death and despair. You had frozen; your mind was unable to comprehend the danger until it was too late.

But Joel had acted, his movements swift and sure as he pulled you away from the oncoming onslaught, his grip firm and unyielding.

And then he had seen her.

Sophie was trapped beneath the rubble, her screams echoing in the chaos as the infected closed in, their hunger insatiable.

And in that moment, something inside Joel shifted.

He had hesitated, torn between saving you and saving her, his eyes flickering with indecision, before he made his choice.

He had chosen Sophie.

He jumped off the horse, leaving you alone. You had watched in horror as he raced towards her, leaving you behind, your heart shattering into a million jagged pieces as the truth of his betrayal washed over you like a tidal wave.

You had screamed, your voice lost in the cacophony of the chaos, your tears mingling with the blood and dust that coated your skin.

And then the world went dark.

You fell from the horse, hitting the cobblestones hard. The pain was sharp and intense, searing through your body like a white-hot flame. You could hear the distant sound of screams and growls, the world around you spinning in a haze of confusion and agony.

Through the haze, you could dimly make out Joel's voice, calling out your name in desperation. But his words felt distant, a mere echo in the darkness that threatened to consume you.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos subsided, leaving behind a heavy silence that pressed down on you like a weight. You tried to move, to call out, but your body felt numb and unresponsive. Your world went black.

"I need to know why, Joel," you repeated, your voice trembling with emotion. "Why did you choose her over us? Why did you leave me behind?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you waited for his answer, the weight of his betrayal still fresh in your mind, a wound that refused to heal.

Joel's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his guilt. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I panicked. I made a mistake."

Anger surged within you at his words, a fiery rage that threatened to consume you. "A mistake?" you repeated, your voice rising with indignation. "You left me to die, Joel. You left our child to die. How could you call that a mistake?"

Joel flinched at your words, the pain in his eyes mirroring your own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry. You were my wife; I should.”

"Were you my wife?” You sobbed, “Since when is that in the past, Joel?”

Joel's words hung in the air like a heavy weight, his admission of guilt and regret piercing through the veil of anger and pain that enveloped you. But amidst the turmoil, there was a flicker of something else—a longing for understanding, for closure, for a chance to heal.

"You are my wife," Joel repeated clearly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I should have protected you. I should have been there for you. But I failed. I failed both of you."

His words stirred something deep within you—a wellspring of grief and longing that threatened to overwhelm you. "And now?" you whispered, your voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "What am I to you, Joel?"

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with sorrow. Not uttering a word.

“Do you have feelings for Sophie?” You asked, fear creeping to your bones, not wanting to hear the answer.

Joel's silence spoke volumes; his hesitation was a weighty presence in the air between you. You held your breath, afraid of what his answer might be and of the truth that lay hidden in the depths of his gaze.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Joel spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his words heavy with uncertainty. "

“You love her,” you stated. “That’s why you chose her.”

Joel's silence in response to your accusation only confirmed your worst fears, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a heavy ache in your chest. The truth hung in the air, stark and undeniable, like a shadow cast by the setting sun.

Tears stung your eyes as you struggled to process the betrayal, the pain of Joel's admission cutting through you like a knife. The realization that he might love Sophie and might have chosen her over you and your unborn child was a blow that threatened to shatter you completely.

"I can't do this," you whispered, your voice barely more than a broken plea. "I can't stay here, knowing... knowing that I'll never be enough for you. Living in a world like this is already hell, but you made it even worse. You made me feel disgusted by myself, worthless, and ashamed," you shouted. "You're a fucking coward."

Joel flinched at your words, the truth of your accusations cutting through him like a knife. For a moment, it seemed as though he might speak, might try to defend himself, but he remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Hate me; I'll wait. Until you forgive," he finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to find the words to express the depth of your pain. "Forgive you?" you chuckled bitterly. "I won't."

There are two types of grievances. The one who met the spirits in death and the one who met with the ghosts of someone who should have died in front of you. You still couldn't comprehend which one was worse. Both were painful, and both watered your eyes. But having the ghost of someone who brought you warm, freezing your aura while slipping from your grasp, leaving you crying to yourself till your head tired up and there wasn't anything left that fell into the voiceless world of sleeping, where in your dreams, you were still the same woman in the white dress, marrying the love of your life.

"I needed my husband! I need him now! And the worst thing is, I still need you, but you're just a fucking phantom."

"I'm still here," he exclaimed.

"No, you're not.".

"It wasn't even born!" Joel said.

The silence met souls leaving the lovers's bodies.

You were left speechless, tears ricocheting. Your heart was clenched in pain, and your throat felt like it was being torn apart by a monster.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Save it," you spat. You were exhausted, and your heart hurt so much that you couldn't even feel it beating anymore. "Sorry if grieving my baby was such a burden to you."

As you turned back to face Joel, the weight of your words hung heavy in the air, a painful reminder of the gaping chasm of loss that lay between you.

"Let me remind you of something, Joel," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Losing Sarah was the worst thing that happened to us, and just imagine how it is for me to know I carried her and this baby just to lose them both."

Joel's expression softened, a flicker of remorse crossing his features as he looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I know," he said softly, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"I'll move out," Joel said suddenly, his voice tinged with resignation. "So you can bring your new lover here and make all the babies you want."

His words cut through you like a knife, a painful reminder of the irreparable rift that had formed between you. "You know what really broke me?" you sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush of emotion. "You... you're the biggest loss of my life, but as much as I love you, I despise you the same. You're the loss of my life I will be yours. There's no way back from this, Joel."

As the weight of your words hung heavy in the air, you reached for the wedding band adorning your finger, a symbol of a love that had once been unbreakable but now lay shattered at your feet.

With trembling hands, you removed the ring, feeling its weight in your palm as you stared at it, the memories of happier times flashing before your eyes like a cruel mockery of the present.

Without a second thought, you flung the ring towards Joel, watching as it spun through the air before landing at his feet with a soft thud.

"There," you said, your voice choked with emotion. "Take it. Take everything that remains of us."

Joel looked down at the ring, his expression unreadable as he reached out to pick it up and his fingers trembling as he held it in his palm.

"I don't want this," he whispered, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

But you shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you stared at him, the pain of his betrayal a raw wound that refused to heal. "I don't want it either," you said, your voice barely more than a broken whisper. "But it's all we have left."

And with that, you turned away, unable to bear the weight of his presence any longer. The wounds he had inflicted upon you ran deep, a festering wound that refused to heal.

1K notes · View notes

pinkslaystation · 3 months

Text

No longer a memory [Simon 'Ghost' Riley]

You are reading: [Part 2] Read [Part 1] here! Word Count: 1.4k You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he did feel the same.

When Ghost was asked about his emergency contact, he mentioned Soap's name.

"You can't put down another soldier, mate. Gotta be yer ma or summit." His higher-ups informed him.

"Why no'?" He grumbled, leaning against the wall in the dingy office.

"Wot if you're on a mission with 'im? Wot if he's injured too? Hm? Just do me a favour and put down yer missus, will ya."

Ghost rolled his eyes in annoyance, slamming the door shut as he walked out. With an important mission coming soon, it was vital that everything was in order before they left.

He just doesn't get it. Why does a skilled killer like him need an emergency contact? He's only been fatally injured once, and when they contacted his previous emergency number back then, was it really a big deal with someone at the nearest Maccies picked up?

Gaz frequently laughs at him, "Tried to call your mother, ordered a quarter pounder instead." It's a running joke in the team.

Ghost skims through his phone contacts, and he's embarrassed to see how few numbers he has: 5 being his teammates including Gaz, Soap and Price, one being KFC, one being his mother which he had saved under Slag. He scrolls up and down rapidly, debating to himself, should he just give them a fake number?

No...they'd find out again.

He clicks under the spam numbers.

His eyes shift to a familiar number.

It was yours.

The monotonous ticking of the clock paired with the irregular typing of the keyboards were burnt into your brain unknowingly. You've lost count of the number of days you've been in the menial job now, your first job since graduating university. How long have you been with that company, 2 years? 602 days now? You're counting the days 'til the weekend but even during that, you've got no one to come home to.

What a pathetic life.

Sometimes you wonder what Simon was doing in that exact moment was he working like you? Was he also in London? Did he...think of you, the way you think of him? It's possible he's forgotten, I mean after 5 years you've lost contact with the majority of your classmates- so much for best friends for life.

You check your phone, 9:28 P.M. 2 more minutes and you're running out of there.

By the time it hits 11 P.M., you're tucked away in bed a movie playing the background as you're aimlessly listening to reddit stories on TikTok whilst watching a minecraft speedrun.

You switch to using Instagram, by that I mean stalking. Your friends seems to be growth further away from you, one sending you an e-invite to their wedding, one welcoming their 1st child into their families, and yet you're still hung over about the last day of secondary school. The way the last time you had seen him had been in form, when he glances at you walking in late. The way his hands would purposely linger against yours when you were asked to hand out sheets to the class.

The mere thought of him jolted you. That, and the sound of your phone ringing.

It was an unknown number.

There's a hitch in your breathing. Was this a sign? What's the phrase, speak of the devil and he has appear? Was it perhaps...Simon?

You wait for a minute before picking up, not wanting to come across as desperate.

"...Hello?" You murmur.

"Hey." The voice is harsh and cold. It reminded you of Simon.

"Simon?" You whisper, a smile appearing on your face.

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"What? No- Alan. From Accounting. You left some documents here at work, they seem important. You gonna pick 'em up?"

You blink. Once again your're stuck in another fantasy. In what world would it be Simon? The man who couldn't even reply to your texts in summer holidays. The man who wouldn't even attempt to return a full smile when you locked eyes in the corridor. The man you shouldn't have feelings for. Because, well, it's not like they were ever reciprocated.

What a pathetic life.

Alan, the dickhead from Accounting interrupts yet again. "Yo, you there? Wan' me to bin them?"

You sit up in your bed, sighing deeply uncomfortable, "Pull up your pants man, I'll be there in 30, Jesus. Just leave them on my desk."

Question. What's short but intense, most people dislike it, but you find it thrilling? One would think a conversation with Simon. But the answer is: London traffic.

You'd assume the usually busy roads to be dead and empty at 11:30 P.M. ish, but you're heavily mistaken, my friend. Seems like London nights are the life of the party. Driving past busy clubs and lit up pubs, whilst listening to One Of The Girls by The Weeknd [SUCH A GOOD SONG-] made you feel like a movie star in a coming of age film.

One where the guy gets the girl.

Of course, the majority of the drive you've being beeped at, or you're doing the beeping, but it's what really appealed to you when making the move to the heart of London. Life moves on whether you want or not, might at well be at the capital of England. Though sometimes you feel you're more likely to run into Simon in the north...

By the time you reach the entrance of your workplace, you begin regretting your outfit decisions, making eye contact with yourself in the reflection of the glass doors: A black hoodie and flared joggers. Nothing wrong in the clothing of course, but compared to the Data Analysts and Investment Bankers that are judging you right now, it makes you feel like the smallest person in the room.

Just a elevator ride up, grabbing your shit, another ride down, brisk walking to the car, and you can go back to the comfort of your bed. Easy, no?

You're in the elevator finally. The weird look from the receptionist really was the cherry on the cake.

Soon enough, the doors open again at the 9th floor, and you're met with the dark room of your department, which only had 2 of your colleagues slaving away at their desks, one which you're 99% sure is rotting away as they type on their keyboard.

You briefly nod at the two as they look up from the elevator doors opening, to which they returned.

Where's that file, where's the fucking file. You mumble to yourself, sifting through all the papers from your desk. The rotting lady looks up to you, shushing you for the noise.

Yeah, if only you had the courage to shush your toxic-ass husband...You think. Soon we'll hear your reddit story next to some trashy ass run on Subway Surfers on Tiktok...

The way down the elevator was excruciatingly slow, which was odd considering it was working perfectly fine 5 minutes ago.

The doors open again, at the 8th floor and 3 analysts walk into the once quiet elevator, and now you're face to face with the loud chatter of clients, and business meetings and...who left a mess in the men's toilets...

A phone rings again, and the analysts all search their coats, thinking it was theirs.

Not me.

Neither.

How is there service in this elavator-

Someone coughs, and you open your eyes from drowsiness, the 3 business musketeers silently urging you to pick up your from and rid them off that irritating ring tone.

Silently apologising, you bring your phone out of your hoodie pocket. It's another unknown number.

With no hesitation this time, just pure frustration and fatigue, you pick up the call, "Alan, I swear to God, if you're calling me again-"

Correction. There is service in the elevator. It just wasn't good.

The line breaks at the other person on the phone speaks.

"He- Co- It's an emergen- He- -mon Ril- -jury-"

"Huh?" You respond, partially not hearing as the line breaks every now and then. but also because the other 3 people decided it was okay to talk on full volume.

You try once again, "I'm sorry I can't hear you."

"Missi- crash- 3 dead- -husba"

You snort, you wish these 3 analysts were dead right now-

"-Rile- Come- t- -ocation- sen- -by text- -sband-"

The line goes dead, and you're stuck staring at your phone with more confusion than you had started. Husband?

What was that? Wrong number? No, they had addressed you by your full name. You couldn't hear much, but from what you gathered...an emergency? I mean, that alone you could tell from the shrill from the speaker's voice.

The elevator door opens again and this time, it's the ground floor and all 4 of you walk out. It looks like the scene where the rich, popular characters make a grand entrance, straight out of a K-drama, except one person clearly missed the memo about dressing formally.

You check your phone's call log, debating whether to call them back.

Before you can lock your phone and shove it back into your phone, it dings again, a text from the very number. They've given you a location. A quick search on your phone, shows you google images of an army training ground. You check the time. It's just past midnight.

Looks like you're going on an adventure.

The drive to the army grounds was shorter than Google Maps had said, and now you're parked on the side of the roads waiting for the gates to be opened.

Theories are racing through your head right now, who do you know that's in the military currently?

Your coworkers? No.

Your university friends? No.

Your secondary school classmates? No.

Simon? Can't be.

The gates open, and you drive to the 2 men standing by the doors to the building, one is dressed like a doctor, the other? Like Stalin.

You get out of your car worried, "Hi, someone called over the phone?"

"Aah, yes. Mrs Riley. A pleasure to meet you. I mean I didn't think you were even going to come." He turns to the doctor.

You don't fail to hear the words exchanged between the both of them.

"What if she works at Maccies as well...she's dressed like it-" he murmurs, smiling at you widely.

The doctor on the other hand, seems to be more tense about the situation, "Sir, can we just send her in already, it's 1 A.M., I got a family to go home to-"

"Wasn't your wife cheating on you though-"

"Sir- How do you know- Okay, Miss. Mrs... Riley, was it?" The doctor turns to you.

You raise an eyebrow at him, "No. Um, no. My first name's not Riley, it's-"

"Will you just follow us. Please."

The inside of the building was almost the opposite than the outside, a loud brightly lit environment with crowds of doctors and nurses rushing around, compared to the silent dark grounds.

"Sorry, where are we going exactly?" You question, as the two men walk in front of you.

"You're handling the news better than I expected, Riley." The military leader (?) notes.

What news?

"What news?"

There's no follow up answer, instead they lead you to a quiet corridor, just outside a room, to which they gesture you to open. The doctor reads from a file, "He's going to be fine, just a few cuts and bruises-"

You interrupt, "I'm sorry?"

"What he's trying to say- we found him unconscious, seems like he inhaled too much of the gas. Thought he was in grave danger. Wasn't responding to anything. Broken rib cage, but he'll be fine. He always is, this man."

The doctor agrees with the solider.

"Indeed, a few months of bed rest, and he's be back in better shape."

The two stare at you, as you look at them with an unreadable expression.

"...And...I'm here because?"

They share a confused look.

"You're his wife, no? His emergency contact? That's what Simon said at le-"

"Si-Si-Simon?"

One second you're at home, the next you're a work again, and now you're in the bathroom with your head in your hands, sitting on the toilet lid, panic pulsating through your blood. For some reason, you can't find it in yourself to tell the truth, that you're not Simon's wife, so instead you pussied out and excused yourself to the nearest bathroom.

The good thing is, the 2 men believe you're crying over Simon's injuries, the bad thing is that he's awake. And he's been made aware of the call to his emergency contact: his wife.

"Good to say you mate. Called your wife. Sensitive one, that. Rushed-"

Simon breaks out of his dazed look. "Wife?" He barks.

The doctor shares a knowingly glance to the solider, Simon's higher up. "Yes...the one under your emergency contact?"

"Wot- Oh. Er- Yeah." Simon clenches his jaw, rubbing his temple, "Did she pick up or sum-"

"No Simon, she's here. In the bathroom."

The minimal colour in Simon's pale bruised face drains out in a click, and he's staring dead straight in front of him. For a second, no one talks, there's no movement, not even a breath is exhaled. Simon's not religious but he prays the 2 can't hear his beating heart thumping rapidly.

How was do when he sees you? A smile? A wave? A 'haven't seen you in so long'? No...he selected spouse when he put your number down for his emergency contact, if anything, he's got a role to act in front of the staff and higher-ups.

There's a knock on the door that breaks the silence. The door creaks open awkwardly, and a small head peeps out.

Simon's breath hitches.

When your parents instructed you to get out fairy land, you did. You were called delusion by your friends throughout adolescence, and you're teachers feared your expectations in life were always too high.

You remember the first time your parents told you the story of how they met. In your mind it was a romantic story, two doctors meeting together for the first time in the hospital, locking eyes and blushing furiously when their fingers touched through gloved during a high-risk heart transplant surgery. So when they mentioned that it was mere 'marriage of convenience' type relationship to you, your belief of love at first sight hit the iceberg of reality and sunk. Sunk deep.

So mustering the courage shouldn't be that difficult, right? Love doesn't exist...

The first step into the hospital room felt like walking into every exam hall you've ever entered in your entire life merged into 1...times 10. Nerve-wracking was an understatement.

Your goal was to just lie and act at his wife, play pretend and hope Simon plays along with it. It's all acting.

A marriage of convenience, you could say.

"Hey, Si-"

Your breath breaks, cutting off your own words as your eyes lock with Simon's. The room seems to shrink, and the bustling noise from the hospital corridor fades into the background. Simon's gaze is intense, his usual stoic expression softening for a brief moment. It's something the doctor and the soldier haven't seen, given the 5 years of knowing SImon.

He reaches an arm out, without speaking a word.

"Oh, erm." Taking his hand, he gently drags you, motioning you to sit on the chair beside his bed. Small electric shocks course through his fingertips and into yours, a warm feeling bubbling through your chest, and you can't help but smile at the way his eyes lock onto you, as his fingers gently caress your hand.

Simon’s grip tightens ever so slightly as you sit down, his touch simultaneously reassuring and questioning. You swallow hard, nerves prickling your skin. It feels like a minute has passes by the 2 spectators in the room feel like their watching a slow-burn romance movie.

The soldier clears his throat, breaking the silence. "We’ll give you two some privacy," he says, gesturing for the doctor to follow him out. As the door clicks shut behind them, the heavy silence continues to fall over the room.

Simon’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gesture that feels both foreign and familiar. His mask of stoicism cracks, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath. "I didn’t think you’d come," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. Your heart rate increases with every word he speaks, the hints of his northern accent peaking through the harshness of his voice.

You smile. "Well, here I am," you reply, attempting to sound casual despite the thundering of your heart. "Guess I couldn't ignore the call of duty." Your attempt of a pathetic joke makes him grin.

Simon interlocks his fingers with yours, and you swear your body changes to manual breathing. "SImon...You don't have to act, they're not here..." You mumble.

Simon chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually so guarded, now seem to search yours for something unspoken. "I'm not acting... and...I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What for?" Both of your hands gently hold Simon's and you notice the way just one of his hands dwarf both of yours.

"That day...the last day. I tried to come, I swear, love. I was late-"

"I waited for you Simon." You blankly state. Simon freezes at the slight frustration in your voice, "I waited so long for you, hell, the teachers nearly kicked me out."

Simon nodding understandably, grinning slightly at the thought.

"I know. I asked our form tutor, missed ya by 15 minut-"

"Then why didn't you call me Simon? Hm?"

The lack of response let's you continue, the heat from your hands warming Simon's.

"I called you, I texted, I reached out to your friends-"

"-but it's difficult when I had none, right?" Simon cuts you off, his eyes urging you to look at the situation from his perspective, "The moment I saw you in that classroom on that first day, you were the only person that smiled at me. When I forgot my lunch, it was you that shared with me by your desks. Fuck, it's always been you, and I was too fucking embarrassed with myself to even be around someone as perfect as you."

Simon squeezes your hand as he continues.

"I didn't want you to be seen with me, because...you deserved better, love. You've always had. Good grades, good school, good life, didn't was you to be dragged down by a dick like me." He huffs out, turning away, "Signed up for the military that day, y'know. Remember when you said you wanted to just give up on your dreams of uni and jus' join the army. Just use all your frustrations on a gun or sumthing... I bulked up over that very summer."

You stifle a warm tear as it escapes and runs down your cheek.

"Wanted to be someone for you, swear down. So I signed up for the military...and I- that day. I was going to tell you...and ask you out."

Raising your eyebrows, you feel the atmosphere shifting, he continues.

"Yeah," Simon chuckles, reminiscing, "Wrote a letter cos I didn' know how to get my feelins across. But uh, I was too late. And when I asked your friend, and they told me you were moving out for uni...I just thought it was better to let my feelins die out. Didn't wan to drag you down any further..." He mumbles the last part.

A mix of emotions flood through you as Simon's words settle in the room. The weight of the years apart, the misunderstandings, and the unspoken feelings hang in the air. You take a deep breath, wiping away the tear that escaped earlier.

"Simon," you begin softly, your voice trembling with a blend of sadness and hope. "You never dragged me down. If anything, I felt lost without you."

Simon's gaze shifts back to you, eyes searching for any hint of resentment or anger. Instead, he finds warmth and understanding, a look he's not seen in years. "I thought you'd be better off without me. That you'd move on and find someone who could give you everything I couldn't."

"But I never wanted someone else," you confess, your voice firm despite the quiver in your heart. "I wanted you, Simon. Even when you weren't there, I kept hoping you'd come back. Do you know how many times I've looked at my phone hoping it was you that was calling me?"

Simon laughs, moving ever so slightly closer to you, his thumb continuing to stroke your hand, his touch grounding you both in the present moment. He takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.

"I'm here now," he says finally, his voice steady. "And I'll call you ever chance I get. Don't want to waste any more time."

You squeeze his hand in response, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Neither do I."

Simon presses a chaste kiss against your forehead and you lean against him.

"The name Riley really does suit you, y'know." Simon whispering into your hair.

"One step at a time, Si." You whisper back, burying your smirk into the crook of his neck.

Maybe your parents were wrong, maybe love at first sight does exist.

Outside the room, the 2 men straight in awe at the couple. The doctor sighs, "No more trouble in paradis-"

The solider nudges the doctor, "You wish that was you, huh."

me rn

tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @chessecakelover, @owkittie, @cheomain, @corvusmorte, @k4es, @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese, @yyiikes, @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk, @spankmydepression, @yourfavbabigirl

#call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #ghost #ghost angst #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon angst #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff

434 notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 11 months

Text

You have a few questions about Ghost’s mask and he has some answers. (platonic, self-indulgent banter)

———————————————————————

You sit side by side outside the medic’s office, waiting for your physical exams. You’ve both just returned from a mission, and it’s standard procedure for all personnel to undergo routine checks upon returning to the base. ‘It’s the protocol’, they said. Boring shit.

Adjusting your shirt, you recline on the chair, glancing at Ghost’s back. He’s slouching, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked together. He turns to his left, looking at something you’re not interested in paying attention to right now.

He’s fascinating.

“Did you make it yourself?” You ask, nodding towards him.

He doesn’t hear you. That, or he pretends he doesn’t do so. You gently nudge his knee with yours to get his attention. He turns over his shoulder, his eyes locking with yours.

“The mask,” you say, pointing at him, then gesturing to your face, “did you make it yourself?”

He keeps staring at you, but not in the same way when he first turned towards you. It’s more ominous now, like a sign in the middle of the road warning you that there’s been an accident ahead. You don’t know what that accident entails, or what you will face if you get closer. Is it a truck that spilt yellow dye all over the road? Is it a major crash with casualties? Do you want to find out?

Yes. Yes, you do.

“I just think it’s neat.” You say, shrugging.

His eyes linger on you for a few more seconds until they end up traveling from your head to your waist. He finally looks away.

You keep staring at the side of his face, studying it; there’s a faint outline of an ear, a barely visible jawline, the skull plate sewn on his painted balaclava.

“Does it get clammy in there?” You ask again, this time louder.

You know he heard you, but he doesn’t turn to look at you this time. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising, and so does his head. He closes his eyes, and with a long exhale, he lets it all out. He stretches his neck to the left and then to the right.

“What is it that you wanna know?” He asks.

“You never removed it during our mission, not one single time,” you explain. “Got me wondering if you ever take it off, that’s all.”

He lets out an almost inaudible chuckle; it’s so quiet that you can’t hear it, but you can see his shoulders rise and fall. He slowly shakes his head as he gazes down at the floor. Hopefully, it’s a genuine reaction and not just an attempt to release the tension building up.

He straightens himself, sliding back in his seat before reclining. His shoulders press against yours, and you make room for him as much as possible. It almost feels like he’s intentionally expanding his presence; otherwise, he might have been more considerate with his posture. On the other hand, so would you with all the drilling.

“I, too, wonder about you.” He says.

“About what?” You ask.

“Whether you ever stop talking.” He replies, turning to look at you.

“I have questions.” You explain as your eyes drift to his right ear.

“I can tell,” He says and gestures for you to go ahead. “Let’s hear ’em.”

You straighten up and twist your upper body towards him.

“Ok, so,” you begin and clasp your hands together. “How does the medic check your ears if you keep them covered?”

“My ears are just fine.” He responds almost too quickly.

“How do you know?”

“I keep listening to you, don’t I?” he replies. “It’s my nerves that need checking.”

“Why?”

“Cause I keep listening to you.” He repeats. “Anything else?”

“What about your mouth?” You ask. “What if they need to check that during the examination?”

“I’m sure you’d manage that for both of us,” he replies as he leans further back, resting his head on the wall. “Since yours rarely stays closed.”

“Is that so, Lt.?”

He shuts his eyes and slowly nods.

“Do you have an answer for everything?” You ask.

“Do you want to find out?”

“Do I?”

“Do you?” He says, opening his eyes and looking straight at you.

You open your mouth to say something but decide against it. You close it and twist your body to the front, yet you can feel his eyes burning through the back of your head.

“You forgot the nose.” He says.

“What?”

“The nostrils.” He explains. “You asked about almost every single orifice in the human body except the nostrils and the arsehole, for Christ’s sake.”

“Do they check those?”

“Only if you have allergies,” he replies. “Or an infection.”

“Allergies in the arse?” You joke. “Never heard of that.”

“No,” he says, pointing at you. “Pain in the arse.”

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley x gn reader #simon riley #call of duty #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost call of duty

2K notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 7 months

Text

The Lethe

An Ichor Veil masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 7.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Greek mythology au, modern retelling. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Smut, M/M/F, loss of virginity. Praise kink. Breath play. Pain play. Feelings of fear, jealousy, and anxiety. Mention of abuse by reader's mother.

The next morning, you wake alone.

You lay alone too, dread swirling in the cosmos, a thick, uneasy tension swooping over the palace where you linger, the protracted creep of corroded hanging moss, a thick curtain of dying green.

Memory is sharp. It’s fickle. It has a hold on you, your mind, your body, and your legs shift restlessly in bed, thighs pressing together.

Cerberus snores on the rug in front of the fireplace, lean and lissome and stretched long.

They open their eyes as soon as your feet touch the floor, shaking off their stupor and trotting over to rest all three heads on top of your thigh.

Pet me.

How could you say no?

“I really have to use the bathroom.” You whisper after giving each ear a good scratch, stretching tall, bones and muscle all stringent, but not sore. Almost nothing feels tender, you realize, and when you inspect yourself in the bathroom mirror, there’s no evidence of last night.

No raw, punished skin.

No puncture wounds.

You’re relieved, the impending doom-like feeling that plagued you the moment you opened eyes lessens, and-

A small shard of disappointment settles in its place.

Did you desire to wear their mark? To have them on your skin, by choice?

Your back is an ugly crisscross of fine golden lines, all remnants of the Whip.

These, you did not choose. These, you do not wear proudly, or at all. You hide them. You’d rip them from your skin if you could. Pull them out from tip to tail, scratch yourself raw.

You’ve already tried.

Your fingers find the faintest remnant of last night, a small dip in your skin the circumference of a tooth. Everything comes flooding back, the sting of your palm against the John’s cheek, the indulgent dig of the cuffs in your wrists.

They stole you.

Do you care?

You expect to feel more unsettled. More enraged, but it only trickles through like a summer’s spring, barely bubbling up through cracks in the earth. You feel betrayed by their thievery of you, but something else lurks beneath the surface, something soft and beautiful, threatening to drag you in with it.

It’s dangerous here, but not in the way you were expecting.

Maybe it is the separation from the wildest part of your being that has cooled your temperament, somewhat.

Only somewhat.

After all, you did hit John in a fit of rage, did you not?

A loud knock rattles the door. Cerberus whines.

“My lady.” A Naiad stands on the threshold of the room, your room, you suppose, her black clothes, nearly white hair both ethereally sleek, hands clasped in front of her waist.

“Um…”

“Your presence has been requested, if you are…” she pauses, delicately, jaw tilting with a shadow, eyes narrowing into slits. “Awake.” She sweeps over you, performing an inspection for something from head to toe, and you find yourself studying her ears, their needle pointed tips accentuated by such symmetrical bone structure, she nearly looks like a cat.

She regards you like one too. Aloof. Holier than thou.

Bitchy.

“I am.”

“Wonderful.” But it doesn’t feel wonderful, the word overflowing with acid. Who is this female?

“I’m sorry, who…”

“I am Minthe, my lady.” Why is everyone calling you that? All the time? You frown.

“Like the plant?” Cerberus shifts at your side, rising on their haunches just so, and she glares at them.

“Yes, my lady. Like the… plant, as you say.” Her teeth shine into a smile, forced and uncomfortable.

Something is wrong here.

“Will you be joining us, or shall I inform them you deign to continue resting?” Us?

“No, I’m well rested, thank you.” She inclines her head, graceful movement elongating her already supple neck. You study her, cataloging her razor-sharp fingernails, polished heels, chin length bob. She seems like an assistant of sorts, heavy black book tucked under arm.

“Very well. I will wait for you here.”

“My Kings. The lady Persephone.” Gross. Minthe announces you, stepping to the side to allow you entrance from behind, the removal of her in your path revealing a large office, two dark stained wood desks with two very handsome gods seated behind them. Bookshelves blanket the walls, and in the middle of the room, a magic made map of the cosmos glows, gold and blue light dancing across the black marble floor. There’s a giant leather armchair in the corner, wide enough for two, and a soft blanket folded over the back. It’s cozy, homey, a welcome surprise.

Your body aches. Desire simmers in the bottom of the stomach, skin prickling with a shiver.

How is it two beings you hardly know are so capable of making you so crazy?

“Darling.” John croons, rising from his chair. There’s a sharp intake of breath to your side, barely audible, stifled. “How did ye sleep?” He’s close now, close enough that you could reach out and touch him, if you were so bold.

A magnet draws you closer.

A collar. A leash.

Hades holding the end of it.

“Fine, thank you.”

“That will be all, thank you Minthe.” Simon dismisses her, still focused on you. She steps away in silence, and when the door clicks closed- John is on you.

He presses close, arm snug at the small of your back, forehead dipping down to rest gently against yours.

“Sweet Persephone.” He murmurs, thumb tracing the apple of your cheek. “Are ye well?”

“Yes.” You breathe. You welcome his touch, this affection, and it feeds a sapling, roots trying to take hold, trying to survive. To grow. To bloom.

His lips lay above your brow, long kiss freezing into a slow moment, and Simon watches with a satisfied smile, a loving glance exchanged between the two as John pulls away. “Have ye eaten?”

“No, she, Mint, brought me right here.” He holds a laugh at bay. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Minthe was once our consort, now she works as an assistant of sorts.” Simon says the slowly, and the room darkens, shadows building in the corners, flooding the cracks and crevices of the bookshelves.

Well, that explains just about everything, then.

“Your consort.”

“Aye. But ye dinnae have to worry, we’ve not been with her in quite some time. We’ve been waitin’ for-“

“Johnny.” Simon stands, moving into your space. It’s only his name, and still so much more is communicated within those two syllables.

Waiting for what?

“Would you like breakfast?” He’s smooth with the disruption, steering and redirecting the train of thought.

“We hoped ye would want to take breakfast in here, with us.” John explains softly, and you nod. A simple request.

“Sure.” You pause, considering. “Could I…” Would they still have them? Is it rude to ask? You’re not quite sure how it works. Is there a kitchen?

“You can have whatever you like, darling.” Simon encourages.

“Portokalopita?” Johnny chuckles, tugging you a little closer, mouth to your temple.

“Of course.”

The orange cakes arrive with a fragrant pot of coffee and some Greek yogurt, slivered almonds on the side. Your usual breakfast. You blink, suspicious for a half second before remembering-

“Why were you watching me?” Simon tenses. “I mean, it’s obvious, now, that meeting John outside of Hebe’s was not coincidental, was it?”

“It was not.” You tuck your feet up into the chair, shifting on your side with a steaming cup in your lap. “We have been… curious about you.” Your blood runs cold. The marks on your back begin to sting, a phantom pain you know does not exist, but still plagues you. Hurts you.

“Curious.” You croak. “Why?”

“We have heard stories. It is rare that we find ourselves so… fascinated by one who dwells in Olympus. John and I, we felt… a desire, to learn what we could.” John smiles, turning fully to face you, reaching for one of your hands.

You do not give it. You’re uneasy, like there’s a direness lurking in the darkness of the room, waiting to pounce. It’s an overwhelming inclination of trepidation, of misanthropy… much like the rivers spilling from this land.

“So, you spied on me.”

“We did.”

“And… you don’t see an issue with that?”

“I… understand how this may be unsettling to you.” Unsettling? More like a set up?

“I don’t…” You sip your coffee, trying to pick through a smattering of words. You must choose them carefully, you’ve come to realize, to get answers. “I don’t understand, why go to such great lengths? There are dozens of other goddesses, more beautiful, more composed, more worthy of your attention than… me.” You, Demeter’s daughter. Demeter’s failure. You, the goddess who rarely leaves her temple, the one who does not engage in socialite events or associate with the more powerful Golden ones in the city.

You, who talks to plants.

“I mean, look at Hebe, or Artemis, one of the Pleiades, they’re all-“

“No.” Simon cuts to the quick. “We do not care for other goddesses, sweet Persephone. We only care for you.” An undercurrent of power ripples, shuddering between the three of you. “Our affection, our care… is only true for you.”

“Me.” Because they do not know you. If they did, the affection would certainly wane. How long would it be, before Minthe was warming their bed once more?

“You, darling. It’s why we brought you here. To know you, as you are. Not as your mother intended, or how chatter portrays.” You look between them, slow eyes finding solemn faces, dogmatic in their assurance. “We had hope you might… enjoy our company, as we believed we would enjoy yours.” John shifts. It’s a fractured movement, barely perceived, but unsettled, and he cocks his head afterwards, gaze thick and focused on you.

“I told ye, we’d never hurt ye.”

“I know.” You whisper. You believe it now, to an extent. A pool of guilt tugs you into its current, an apology bubbling up over your tongue. “I’m sorry… about… striking you, last night. It was unbecoming of me.”

“I know ye are.” He soothes, and Simon interjects.

“The next time you feel an overwhelming urge like that, you tell us. We’ll take care of you.” His smile drips with a predatory gleam, and you’re suddenly inside a memory, the feeling of ichor sliding over your skin, spilling down around your fluttering rim, his finger pushing inside your body where you’ve never been touched by another. His mouth, covered in it. Golden lifeblood smeared across his lips, John’s cum spilling down your throat, molten earth, burning you anew.

What started it all? The idea that they locked your magic away? That they took you?

That they trapped you.

“I felt…” You tap over your heart, signifying the part of you that’s missing, and he nods in acknowledgement.

“I understand. It’s a difficult thing, we’ve asked of you, and you’ve done so well.” Your hands tremble, fighting the urge to preen like a raven beneath the praise.

It encourages you. Urges you to talk, spill secrets, let go of weights holding you at the bottom of the sea, where you cannot breathe.

“My- my mother. She used to do something similar. When she felt like I was out of control. When I became… too much. It’s a familiar feeling.” They exchange a long glance, and then John kneels, a hand on your knee, the other stroking deft circles into your thigh.

“Persephone. The scars,” Your eyes slam shut. “on yer back. They were made with a magical object. Did Demeter do that?” He demands, and you inch away, trying to create space, trying to escape this- this conversation, this vivisection.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You whisper. “Please.” His eyes are so blue. Like the Aegean, a venetian, crystalline color that deepens when he frowns, his emotions worn so plainly for both you and Simon to see. He’s distressed, like he wants to scoop you up, carry you away. They’re both staring at you with… pity. “Do not pity me.” You snarl, hackles rising.

“It is not pity you see, darling.” Simon shakes his head. “We do not pity you, or your strength. The story of your temple is known far and wide, even to those down here. It is sadness that we feel. With you.” The lump in the back of your throat is thick, too thick, and it threatens to derail your composure.

You push past everything else. The assurance you could come to them, when you felt like you were going to explode, detonate across the world, when everything turns white and you need your pain, your pleasure.

You’re only here for a day longer.

The rest of your breakfast is put aside, and you stand between the two with an open palm.

“Well, then. What’s on the agenda for my last day?”

There are many places in the Underworld that hold you captive, but Hecate’s piece of it, a forest of dew dropped trees with gnarled trunks and lavender flowers, vibrant mosses shuddering beneath your feet, a hollow thrumming with the wildest of magics, leaves you breathless. The goddess is just as striking, tall and elegant, deep black hair that swings at her hips, emerald eyes and pointed nose perfectly set in her face. Her skin glows, a sepia drenched harvest moon, and when she reaches for your hand, you swear you hear the barking of a dog.

“My lady.” She gives you a graceful squeeze before she releases and bows her head. “You are more lovely than the rumors credit.”

“Oh.” Your face heats. “Thank you.”

“The rumors say ye’re as fair as Aphrodite.” John teases, and your eyes go wide.

“Surely not.” You brush it off, but the tingle across your skin remains, flattery nestling in your heart. “Your home… is beautiful.” You try to give it back, deflect it upon her, and she watches you with knowing eyes.

“Thank you. It was born from me, as I’ve heard your temple was from you?”

“Yes.” She motions to a winding path that disappears into the thick of the trees, and you oblige, soaking in the sparkle of the wood. The magic is dense here, heavy, like water, flowing through all things, the roots, the leaves, the crows adorning the branches, following you from perch to perch. You don’t notice, when John and Simon start talking, asking Hecate a question about… something, too transfixed on the multitude of colors flourishing at the tops of the canopy, leaves and petals fanning out like a muted rainbow.

Again, you’re struck with a confusing consideration.

How is it the Underworld is capable of such life?

Hecate’s piece of this realm is alive, lush and untamed, resonant magic oozing from every spiral and cell in the moss, in the bark, in the air. Amethyst leaves ranging in size from head to hand fall from the sky like the changing of seasons, and the entire hollow breathes with it, power pulsing in a light breeze all around you.

Even the crows are thriving, living things. Part magic, part bird.

You frown.

“Persephone?” Simon questions, gentle hand on your back. It’s warm, and firm, pulling you into the touch, butterflies in your belly slowly cracking their eyes opening, greeting the day with a flutter of wings.

“Sorry, it’s just… the crows, they’re… alive?” Hecate laughs.

“Yes, they live. They’re my own murder, traveling as I do, between the Underworld and Olympus.” She holds out a hand and an iridescent, onyx feathered companion lands gracefully in her palm, preening. “There are many corvids here, now. Magpies, jays, treepies. They’re supposed to stay confined to the hollow, but I suspect some of them have made friends in Asphodel Meadows.”

“Now? Were they not here before?”

“No birds lived in the Underworld, before Hecate’s residency.”

“Hades allowed me a home,” she smiles at them, gentle appreciation aglow on her face, and then turns back to you. “a gift in itself, and so, I give them one in return.”

“You are more than generous.” John says. He walks close, hand lax at his side, fingers occasionally grazing yours. The touch is hardly a moment, fleeting, but it burns you through, muscle, soul, and bone shivering in response.

“Hades is benevolent, though they’d never let Olympus know it.” She murmurs, raven black hair catching in the wind.

“I’m starting to see that.”

“This is the Lethe.” Simon gestures to the rushing river before you. It’s not a river of hopelessness, like the Acheron, but something else. Something different.

It’s a river of loss.

“What… what is it?”

“The Lethe is the river of oblivion. She takes memories from souls, freeing them from past torments, or pleasures.” John is gentle, grasping your elbow, keeping you close at his side. You don’t resist, sinking into the warmth of his body, letting his steady comfort guide you away from where you stood at the edge, entranced by the low rumble of the water, the melodic call echoing from the rocks below.

“Or it serves as a punishment.” Simon warns at your back. The chorus rises, song reverberating, and you tip forward, away from John, straining to hear who it calls, the repeated exhalation of your own name.

“Persephone.” He warns, heavy magic blanketing the ground, cypress and white poplar drifting on the breeze, thick with the weight of his magic. “If the Lethe were to take you, there would be no returning to Olympus, or your memories. She is a power even we do not control.” She.

“She? What do you mean?”

“She was, is, a goddess in her own right.” Your eyes widen, the river hissing and crooning to you, desperate vibrato just on the cusp of her song, a sound sharper than a banshee’s wail. “Of all the rivers in the Underworld, she is the one to be feared. We can free a soul from the Acheron, or the Pyriphlegethon, we can forbid a crossing of the Styx, but we cannot return memories taken by the Lethe.” Simon draws you away, arm around your waist. “Come.”

John drags you back to the meadow.

He cradles you in his arms, opposite Simon, who sits silently, eyes half lidded, reclined on his elbows.

“Do ye like it here?”

“It’s beautiful.” You trace the fragile petals, white velvet smooth and soft, canary yellow pistils shimmering in the afternoon sun. “I love narcissus.” Simon’s mouth quirks to the side, turbulent sea settling after a storm when you look his way, and John tucks your back into his chest, heavy arm across your shoulders.

“The Underworld agrees with you. It is not every day the Narcissus sing for a soul.” His mouth is on your cheek. You press, pushing skin between teeth, and he obliges with a nibble, not enough to sting, but with enough pressure you feel the edge of his incisors, vicious points of his canines.

“It’s… not what I expected.” This is easy to concede. Easy to close your eyes and slip away in the web of them, their hold, their touch. Easy to pretend they didn’t steal you outright, they haven’t locked your magic away, they haven’t taken you from your only home.

“Would ye come back? To visit with us?” Your eyes are still closed, and you hold them there, fingers sliding through the lithe growth of grass, stroking across stems and petals, feeling for the pulse of their power, the magical force of nature existing the same in a tiny blade of greenery, as it does in every fiber of your goddess hood.

“Yes, I think I would.”

They lay you down in a crux of a hill, legs spread upon a bed of Narcissus, fragile blooms crushed beneath sacred weight, a cacophony of power joining together.

Your mouths meet, again and again, limbs and tongues and teeth joining together in a rapturous haze, a firestorm brewing inside you, a swell of power so strong you can feel it tearing at your skin, glorious and brazen, clawing at the cage. It is wild in your heart, in your mind, and only burning brighter as Simon tugs you close, a hand over your heart, his mouth on your breast, teeth grazing your nipple atop muslin, an insatiable god devouring at a mystical altar.

When he bites down, your legs fall wide, and John kneels in prayer.

There are many names for it, you know, but in this moment, it’s as if time is old, a god’s back bowed for you, his mouth on your cunt, sacrosanct promises running free like the rivers of this land, like the spring bubbling up from the depths of your temple, pulled from the land like John pulls pleasure from you.

Ichor runs. It paints you in gold, drips from Simon’s mouth and between your legs, mixing with the slick and spit swirled by Johnny’s tongue, the cusp of a cliff’s edge growing closer and closer-

But not close enough.

A gilded hand fits your throat, a collar made of divinity, and he squeezes, enough to make your vision spot, fingers digging into the dirt and roots and stems of flowers long crushed. John does not relent, only pushes you farther and farther against the edge, sanctifying the bond stitching between the three of you each breath you draw, the spool of Fate spinning long woven threads stretching to the end and beginning of time, knitting you into the patchwork of their lives, their eternal existence.

Their goddess.

Your Hades.

“Come, Persephone. Come for us.” Light explodes, forcing your eyes shut, and you tremble between them, crying out their names in near hysteria, celestial light bleeding from your skin like a star in the sky.

John gasps.

Simon tips his chin to the sky, and laughs.

Their room is quiet. Dark in the daylight, an empty burrow dug by a fox, pitch black emptiness as far as one can see.

“I’ve never…”

“We know.”

They hold you like treasure, like glass. Gentle words and touch, John cradles you in the cove of his body, magic zinging across your skin, sparks flying in the room.

Simon kisses the inside of your knee, arranging you carefully between John’s spread legs. He’s hard at your back, heavy cock throbbing hot on your skin, but he only grabs your hand to hold it when you reach for him, tucking you gently back into his cradle with his lips on your neck.

Is this what it feels like? Love?

“What do you want darling?”

“You. Both of you.” Simon, aglow in the flickering fire light, smiles at you and John, pride and glory, divinity still fresh between his teeth.

“Let us care you for tonight.”

You nod, and clothes vanish. John’s cock weeps in the cleft of your ass, his body trembling with effort to hold himself still, and you turn your face to his, letting him work his tongue into your mouth as Simon stretches you a finger, tiny explosions of pleasure imploding with each stroke.

Hands, teeth, tongue- a tangled mess of divinity.

Powerful gods, together mightier than Zeus, worshipping between your legs, glory abound in the sound of your moans. Simon gives you more, languid touch turning fevered, adding another finger to your soaked entrance, and you gasp, spine quivering in pleasure.

The gods kiss. Simon cups John’s cheek, holding him steady, exploring, deep and true. You can only watch, mouth ajar, taking in every lavish touch exchanged, Simon’s bicep flexing as he pumps John’s cock, a crease in his eyebrows when there’s a huff and moan.

“Darling.” Simon murmurs, thumb and forefinger holding your chin. John presses his lips to your neck again, nipping and sucking your skin, fingers ghosting over your belly and breasts. It makes you squirm, insatiable hunger rising in your throat, in your soul, and you yearn for them, for this, for it to culminate and flower.

Bloom.

“Please.”

“Ye dinnae need to ask.” John hums, delicately lifting one of your knees, exposing you like a spring blossom. “Look at ye, already desperate for him.” He strums through the wet mess between your legs, fingertips lifting to his mouth, lashes fluttering as he licks.

You want to correct him. Want to tell him it’s not only for Simon, but for him too. That everything is for both, a balance of scales, pain and pleasure and passion all revolving around the two of them, with you in orbit.

But your words fail, and John looks at you with eyes full of stars, endless night dotted in endless nova, like you’re the one being orbited, being loved, being worshipped on consecrated ground.

“You give us a great gift, little goddess.” Simon’s palm rests on your thigh, thick, swollen cock leaking against your skin. He’s big, bigger than you’re sure will be comfortable, a little bit of fear starting to pique as you shift, and he leans, an elbow near your shoulder, face above yours, level with John’s. Everything slows, Olympus stopped in its tracks, the Underworld holding its breath, and the three of you breathe, magic tugging and tearing at your souls, dragging you closer to the cusp of something unknown.

You can feel it.

“We’ll go slow.” He strokes your cheek. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much, yes?”

“Yes.” There’s a softness in him, intimidating edges all worn gentle, and his eyes are heavy, focused as he pushes into your body, fire and flood making your fingers dig into John’s thigh.

It burns.

It hurts.

It’s good.

The agony is decadence, sharp tinged pain morphing into fiery pleasure, burning in your soul and your veins. You moan, and John presses his thumb to your tongue, holding your jaw firm as Simon begins to move, carefully working you open with gentle strokes, gritted restraint clear in his jaw.

“F-fuck.” You hiss around the digit in your mouth, and they both watch, observing, waiting for a safe word or a warning sign.

Nothing comes.

Only pain.

Only pleasure.

“More.” You croak, and Simon noses your cheek, lips drawing a line up Johnny’s forearm as he strokes, hips swinging to meet yours, body trying to fold in half when he seats himself so deep you swear you can feel him in your belly. “Oh gods.” Your eyes roll back in your head.

You’re on fire. Burning in the pits of Tartarus, crammed between the gods of death, exalted through mounting pleasure and pain, twisted together in veneration.

Simon shoves deeper, up through your cunt to your throat, through your magic and out your mouth, insanity leaking from your lips like you drip around his cock. It’s obscene, the way he batters into his body, the lap of John’s tongue in your mouth, his finger against your clit, how you light up beneath them like a supernova.

“There it is.” Simon’s eyes glow, observing and inspecting, watching the way you take his cock, celestial light spilling from your pores. You cling to them, shiny like a pearl, iridescent and wild, groaning with each thrust.

They split you open, crack your very soul wide, broken cypress beneath an axe.

It’s an unrelenting pace, an lewd show of slick and tears and sweat- ichor that runs down your throat when John pinches your clit, inside of your cheek crunching between your molars like a meal.

“Ahh, please- please.” You’re rambling. Begging.

More. More. More.

“Sweet little thing.” Simon spits, cadence transforming into something slow, the subtle rock of a boat on the sea, nudged up against your cervix. “Perfect little pussy, made for your gods.” Plural. Like they’re both housed in one, experiencing together, breathing and fucking and biting, as one.

John pushes his nose under your jaw, iron grip lashed across your waist, holding you steady, keeping you in place over the reverberation in your chest of screams and moans, noises unlike a goddess and more like an animal, a tiger, a bird-

Simon slams into you. The pain is shocking, and you scramble, reaching for purchase, clinging to him, to John, explosion of stars illuminating your vision.

When he rains a hand down across your flank, your eyes roll back, slipping beneath the swell of pleasure and pain, a war raging between the two.

“Good girl-“ Simon grits, and you pulse around him, greedily, squeezing with another strike against your flesh, fingers dug into your hip. There’s a glimmer of darkness in the room, ebbing cruelty lingering in the corners, watching in wait, bidings its time, knowing it needs the right moment, the perfect crescendo in order to strike.

“Look a’ him.” John marvels. “Makin’ a mess of ye.” You blink up at them both, lashes webbed with tears. They’re beautiful, etched from marble, perfectly cast in the image of ultimate power, dark and decadent, decay and hope, sculpted together.

They will break you.

“Please-“ the plea breaks off in a gasp.

“We know, darling. We know.” John soothes, syrupy and smooth, a hand running over your ass with another whip of his fingers. He probes at your rim, lightly testing before pushing in, stretching, exploring, and you keen, curling around them, muscles burning red like hot coals. It sears. It nearly pushes you over the edge.

You want to fall with them, into them. You want them to take everything, to give you pain and pleasure until you’re not sure who or where you are, remake you in the image of these emotions, this wildness flowing between the three of you.

John pushes a second finger in beside his first, and you see stars. Three become one, bursting into light and bathing the room, touching over the bed and walls and gods, casting opalescence across their faces.

“Fuck!” you gasp, and Simon’s lips curve on your skin, voice low and rough when he speaks.

“Ours.” He vows, chokes, guttural. “Our goddess." He fucks you deep, relentlessly, firm hand gripping you flesh. "You can take it, show us your light.” He’s lost himself in you, and you in them, crying out as they throw you over the precipice. “Come, darling.” It takes no urging. You’re already there, praise and agony and explosions of nerves imploding, throwing you into an orgasm that has your legs locking in place around Simon, your fingers tangling in John’s hair.

You become light. Divine incarnate. Celestial dawn, touching the peaks of existence for the first time. It flows and flows from you, overpowers your senses, drowns you in a sea of exhalation.

Simon shouts something. His mouth finds yours, but you’re lost in the waves of your own pleasure, still holding tight to both, anchoring yourself through the erratic thrusts of Simon’s body, his hips jerking as he fills you with his own gift, a touch of divinity lodged where he ends and you begin, his hand wrapped around John’s cock and stroking until he’s spilling. Simon’s tongue on yours, on John’s, open mouths and wet faces bent together to make one, hallowed, consecrated temple, the planes of your bodies twisted together in the depths of the Underworld.

Your light shines and shines until you think your heart may give out.

Maybe it does. Maybe it bursts into stardust. Maybe it becomes theirs.

“Will ye have dinner with us? A last meal?” John presses a kiss to your shoulder, decadent and sweet. You’d forgotten about your need to leave, forgotten about Olympus, and the reality is somber. Still in their arms, and you already long for them, mourn them, dread the lugubrious return to your own realm, where your life awaits.

“The door.” You murmur, fingertips tracing over Simon’s chest, the hallowed ground where your head lays, where you listen to the steady thump of his heart. “Will you show me?”

“After dinner. Please.” John murmurs it into your skin, and though it’s a shattered promise waiting in the wings, there is nothing in you deciding to protest or say no, not when he tugs you free, rolling you onto your back so Simon can tuck you into his arms. “After dinner, we’ll show you.”

He spreads your legs, stroking a finger through the seam of your cunt, watching lazily with heavy lids as you whimper.

An offering he will give.

An offering you will receive.

“After dinner, then.”

You wake to an empty bed, much like this morning.

“John? Simon?” The sheets are soft against your skin, but there’s bitterness in the air, magic like death lingering in the room.

It feels like rot.

The door is ajar, barely. It allows light to spill in across black marble, the faint, sharpened pitch of an argument echoing down the hall.

You sit up.

What’s happening?

There’s a wine-red robe draped over the edge of the bed, and you don it, quickly, quietly slipping down the onyx halls, straining to listen.

“The Fates decided, and they chose benevolently. We are honored by such a gift.” The Fates decided what? There’s a strangled, indignant laugh. A female’s.

Power snaps, rough and wild.

“You cannot possibly mean to make this… this goddess of spring your Queen.” What? Acid brews in the pit of your stomach, swirling together and forcing you forward, desperation on the balls of your feet. Is that Minthe? Is she talking about you?

“Persephone is to be our wife; ye will speak of her with respect or not at all.” John snaps. You’re what?!

“We have waited, and would wait centuries more, to receive her. Her presence brings an eternal season, to us, to all who would love her, here in the Underworld.”

“But you do not truly care for her.” You tremble. A sea devours you, pulls you beyond the black water, down into the trenches, far deeper than anyone ever knew existed. There, it tosses you side to side, virulent rage and sorrow rising beneath your feet, pushing you back up to where you break the surface.

And break free.

The agony in your heart shatters the strongest magic, draws your own power back into yourself, twists it together to become something more, something wicked, something villainous.

Ungovernable Persephone.

“It is more than care. It is devotion, an all-consuming passion. One you would not understand.”

“But she’s a freak! A shut in li-“ Minthe’s words do not continue. They flail in her throat, the same way her soul does as you appear around the corner and twist it, making it malleable, ripping and tearing until it grows anew, sprouting with vigor into a new form.

The ground shakes. John shouts something at you, but you’re far past reason, far past explanation, and now there is only Demeter’s vengeful daughter, a wicked soul.

Rotten to the core.

Your magic swells. The palace trembles, and you feel the flow of life, Hecate’s grotto, the souls, Asphodel meadows. Every bloom and blossom cry out with you, and you scream your rage into a terrible power, one with thorns and vitriol. They surge together, and you draw from them like drinking from a river, pulling and pulling until you can no longer see, or hear, lost in the wind, the bliss of your wicked soul, your weaponized magic.

“Persephone.” A gentle voice calls, Hands cradle your face, a thumb smoothing your brow. “She cannot hurt you, Persephone. Stop this. Now.” A demand, sweeter than primrose and lily, drips like nectar against the will of your rage. “It’s alright. There is nothing to fear.” He murmurs, empyreal restraints tightening at your wrists, harnessing your power, redirecting it into the ether, commanding it still and steady.

When your vision clears, it’s horror you face.

Horror of your own doing.

You stumble away, clutching the robe to your chest, mouth agape.

On the floor between you and the Kings of the Underworld, is a small mint plant. It sprouts from a tiny clump of dirt, timid and frail.

It harbors a soul.

It harbors your wrath.

You are a monster.

“No, darling-“ John tries to reach for you, but Simon stops him, an arm out, catching him at the waist. There is sadness on one face, aloof calm on another.

Are these really the gods you gave yourself to? The ones you believed would care for you?

You are a fool.

You turn for the door and run.

You’re sprinting towards a river.

In the dark, you can’t be sure which it is. You’re not sure of anything, in these moments, these shattered clips that fracture your heart, the confusion that ricochets inside your brain, a silver pinball bouncing off walls with lights and noises exploding in the silence. Everything competes with the rush of a river, roaring swell crashing against rock, humming alive in the dead of night.

Their wife.

They brought you here to be their wife.

You laugh out loud to the cool, crisp air.

A fool.

Fate’s tool.

They weren’t interested in you. You aren’t special. You’re only a sanctimonious fortune from the The Moirai. Something promised. Something they feel you deserve.

Something you have no choice in, again.

But would you choose it?

Simon’s words ring in your ears.

“Persephone is to be our wife; you will speak of her with respect or not at all.”

“We have waited, and would wait centuries more,”

“It is more than care. It is devotion, an all-consuming passion. One you would not understand.”

The Fates.

The Fates decided.

The Fates decided to honor them… with a gift.

A gift.

You laugh again. It catches, hysterically, building and building into an explosion, a wild streak of pain taking root in your heart, and beneath your feet, Narcissus blooms. Even at a full sprint, the rage in your voice is palpable, and it breaks, cracking your chest wide with a sob.

They were never going to let you go.

They do not care for you. They only care for what has been bestowed to them. Their gift.

Not you. Not Persephone.

“Persephone!” A shout in the distance echoes over the valley, and only urges you faster, feet flying through a meadow. No flowers grace your shins, only grey grass, silvered in the moonlight.

Another voice calls to you.

The promise of oblivion. Of freedom. Memories laid to waste in her path, scars and agony and heartbreak all put to rest, buried beneath a mountain built of abeyance, weightless in the face of true nirvana.

Freedom.

Freedom from this truth, this betrayal. Freedom from your own stupidity, your foolishness washed away, soul wiped clean. Freedom, from the crack of your mother’s Whip, a magical object sculpted from the breadth of her power, built to hurt only you, for eternity.

You stand at the water’s edge. She’s too strong, and you cannot pull away, feet glued to the riverbank, fixed upon the rage of her waters, the power behind the swell.

Would it be so terrible?

You see Hebe. Melia. Nell. Their light, their laughter. The way their smiles sculpt their faces, how their power tastes when it infects the air. Your friends, forgotten.

But still she calls. She lashes her power to your own, strips of bark laid against your soul, binding you to her, tugging you closer and closer to the water.

You dig in your heels. The cacophony thunders, drowning everything else out, the scream of your name, the haunting in your heart.

You fight.

You fall.

Simon has never felt such terror.

Ichor turns cold in his chest, fear and panic rising into a tidal wave, an epic monster of emotion, filling his lungs with leaded salt water, choking out his last breath.

“Simon!” John shouts. He pushes his power into the river, cutting the current effectively in half, slowing its pace to a trickle. It will be enough, to find you.

It won’t be enough to save you.

Simon stands motionless. He cannot see anything, except the memory of your fall. Slipping into the river, disappearing beneath the water that will take your mind, your memories. The intricate pieces that make you, you.

He does not deny he had considered it. Allowed it to darken his mind, disrupt his intentions. He discussed it at length even. Argued with Johnny about bathing you in the water, bringing it in through a spring, disguising it as something it was not. Something safe.

“If she bathes in the Lethe, we will be all she has ever known, Johnny. She will no longer hold the pain, the torment from her mother’s hand, she will not carry the grief, the guilt of leaving Olympus behind. She will be ours. Wholly.”

“Ye’re talking about erasing who she is. The things that make her ours. Without them… what is she? An empty soul. A husk. Ye know what they’re like after they bathe in the Lethe. Ye cannae possibly want that for our wife.”

Johnny was right, of course. A million little pieces made up the goddess that you were, and Simon was a selfish being. He wanted every single one.

But now…

Johnny finds you in the bend of the river, limp and unmoving.

You’re almost gone. Simon knows it, can see it, can taste it. He can hear the realm, weeping for you. Your meadow, covered in Narcissus, each flower’s face wet with tears for you.

“Open yer eyes, Persephone.” John shakes you roughly, grip tight with panic, and then cradles your head to his chest like a babe, rocking back and forth. “Come on, little goddess. I’m here, we’re right here. We’ve got ye.” You’re silent. Near death, eyes and skin a thin membrane, everything washed away in the Lethe.

You’re gone. They’ve lost you.

Your heart slows. Your breathing stutters.

He’s been here before. He knows this feeling all too well. The frightening emptiness that even he, Hades, cannot combat.

“Simon.” John snaps. His hand hovers over your diaphragm, more magic, more power releasing into your body, filling you with all that he can give, all that you will take.

They’ve lost you. Before they even had a chance.

Too proud. Too arrogant. A monster on a throne.

He caused this.

“She is not gone, Simon. Help me.” John hisses, tenacious and hopeful. Strong. Simon’s compass in the dark. The brightest star in his sky. Forever buoyant.

Unstoppable John MacTavish.

Ungovernable Persephone.

And… him.

Your skin is cold, ice, and you’re so delicate in John’s arms, so broken, that Simon considers falling into the Lethe himself, just for a moment. “We need to get her inside.” John rocks you, cooing above your ear, trying to soothe the radiating distress, the rattle of your chest. “Sh-sh-shhh. Ye’re safe. We’ve got ye.”

Simon tugs all his power around you and Johnny like a jacket, a blanket tucked snug on your shoulders. It warms you, easing the shivering and jerking, and he holds it there, unleashing the untouched depths of his power, of Johnny’s, of this realm, forcing it into your soul the only way he knows how.

An idea blossoms in his heart. One born of midnight flower, bat orchid and hellebore, black dahlia and elderberry. Framed by the flowering vines that cover the outside of your chambers.

It’s an idea blooming from the very essence of your magic, your goddess-hood.

It’s reactionary. It’s wicked.

Rebirth.

Split your soul, and theirs, again. Merge their power, and yours.

Wed you.

“Johnny.” He whispers. He steps closer, hovering, a hand strong on the back of his neck, the other cupping your cheek.

“We shouldnae.” He shakes his head. “I cannae do it.”

“We must.”

“She will ne’er forgive us.” He cradles you tighter, almost defensively. You moan, the sound wretched and pained, and Johnny pales.

“The Lethe has taken her from us. She is fading, I know you can feel it.” Johnny slams his eyes shut, brow quivering. “Look at me.”

“Si.”

“This is our only option.” For every protest, he has an answer. For every reason why not, he provides an alternative. It snakes forward, through John’s rebuttal, through the time it takes for Simon to pull both him and you into his arms, on the banks of the Lethe in one moment, in the din of their bedroom another.

“She might remember, one day.” John lays you on their bed, the rasp of your lungs only increasing with each moment. “Her magic is strong.”

“Then we will beg for forgiveness and hope her vengeful spirit gentles.”

#peaches writes #AIV #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #simon ghost riley

592 notes · View notes

skygemspeaks · 4 months

Text

fic concept where xie lian, early into his second banishment, finds out that if he goes to offers prayers at one of mu qing or feng xin's temples, they will always inevitably show up to see him, each time in a different form and pretending not to know who he is

they think they're being SO slick, but xie lian always manages to clock them immediately, because they're not very good actors and because he knows them better than he knows himself. he doesn't say anything though because he's afraid to scare them off. they'll usually hang around to talk to him for a few hours, and it's just. it's nice. to not be alone for a little while. to know that they still care, even a little bit.

(he knows they don't care about him, not anymore, not after all he's done. he knows that their need to keep tabs on him is probably due to a lingering sense of loyalty to the crown prince they had once loved so dearly, the crown prince who had died long ago. he tries not to think about that)

after he ascends for the third time, he wonders if either of them will come talk to him, as themselves for once. they don't. he tries not to be too disappointed by it.

then, he's tasked to take care of the ghost groom on mount yujun, and then nan feng and fu yao show up as volunteers to aid him in his quest, and xie lian doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. he wonders if it's just going to be like this from now on. he decides not to say anything though because even this is better than nothing.

then they come with him to banyue pass, and when they return to puqi shrine afterwards, he invites them to stay for dinner.

they both decline, ready to make their escape, and xie lian can't help it. he starts crying.

they both immediately freeze in their tracks, horrified, before immediately rushing to him and starting to fuss over him, asking if he's okay, if he's gotten hurt.

(it's at this point that hua cheng decides to make a discreet exit for them to have this conversation in private)

"i-i'm sorry!" xie lian sobs, tripping over his words as he desperately wipe at his tears. "i just-i just thought it would be different after i ascended again!"

fu yao and nan feng are both baffled. "you thought what would be different?" asks fu yao hesitantly.

xie lian flails his arms between the three of them. "THIS!" he wails out loud. "but now you're LEAVING again and-and-and you won't even show me your real faces so i can apologize to you properly for everything i did wrong!"

nan feng and fu yao feng xin and mu qing turn to stare at each other in mounting horror as those words sink in.

"Your highness, you knew this whole time???" demands feng xin, his face beet red from embarrassment.

"why didn't you say anything?" mu qing hisses through his teeth, turning his head in an attempt to hide his mortification.

"because i thought if i did, you wouldn't come back!" xie lian replies, still sobbing

feng xin and mu qing both lock gazes, having a wordless argument as they try and figure what to do now that their covers have been blown.

in the end, feng xin is the one that gives in first, taking a deep breath as he gathers up his courage and lets his disguise drop. he steps forward, and pulls xie lian into a rough embrace.

"your highness, you have nothing to apologize for," he says. "we're the ones that did you wrong."

xie lian is still sobbing, but he's clinging onto feng xin like his life depends on it, and he's shaking his head in denial.

"you both stayed by my side longer than i deserved!" he insists. "if i had just listened to mu qing and swallowed my pride, things wouldn't have gotten as bad as they did!"

now mu qing steps up, and though his face is still flushed red, he looks determined as he joins the embrace.

"regardless of who was right or wrong, that didn't give me the right to treat you the way i did that day, your highness....i'm...s-sorry."

xie lian shakes his head again, ready to argue, but mu qing stubbornly speaks over him.

"the reason we came to you in disguise was because we were too ashamed to show our faces to you. we hope your highness will forgive us."

xie lian insists that there's nothing to forgive, and in the end, feng xin and mu qing both end up staying for dinner anyways, though they're saved from having to eat any of xie lian's cooking when hua cheng returns from his impromptu walk with some food that had been given to him by the neighbours for helping them with some tasks while he was out.

#tian guan ci fu #xie lian #xianle trio #feng xin #mu qing #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #raw fic #long post

282 notes · View notes

sweetnothingtm · 2 years

Text

RUTHLESS// simon riley x reader

pairing simon riley x f!reader

word count 4.6k

content warning rough sex, knife play, degradation, oral sex, the mask stays on!

authors note i hope you enjoy you dirty little freaks. thank you for everything ♡

It’s an honest mistake - really. Had you known any better you would’ve kept it right where he left it.

But you can’t help yourself, lingering just a moment longer to stare at the blade that shines in the light. Its tip was stuck in the wall, the black hilt of the knife worn from use. Soap is calling your name, but you stay put, lip caught between your teeth.

It’s the lieutenants, his initials engraved into it - and you pocket it without a second thought.

You hide it from him like a dirty secret.

At first, you reason that it’s a good knife - a waste of potential to be left in the wall. It’s been polished and sharpened, the tip of the blade pricking into your finger. You had to keep it, you thought. Despite the fact that he would eventually come back for it, eyebrows drawn in confusion at the empty hole where it used to stick. You don’t necessarily use it, but you keep it on you at all times. It rests in your breast pocket, your heart beating against it even now.

A reminder of him. All the little unspoken truths and harbored emotions that you kept from him.

Then you think he could've asked for it back. You don’t admit that you have it, but if he wants it then he’ll try to find it. You have a bad habit to absentmindedly stare at him during briefings, and you notice the empty spot on his vest. It’s a similar shape to the knife.

You’ve been free falling for the lieutenant since the day you met him. Always a little too desperate and eager, you did your best to please. Arriving early for meetings, being the first one up, getting your report and handing it to him finished not a day later. He’d catch your gaze, cocking an eyebrow almost as if in challenge. You’d blush, breaking his stare and shoving down all those months of pining.

He taught you how to aim, how to disassemble your weapons and put them back together, hell- he’d just about taught you how to breathe. A ghost that’s hellbent on haunting the living, he kept you waiting patiently and obediently. You just needed a sign - something to tell you that he sees you.

The lieutenant doesn’t ask for it back. Yet. You’re starting to fall asleep looking at it, eyes half lidded and thumb rubbing over the hilt softly. It flips between your hands under the table at meetings, head in the clouds with your superior storming your thoughts.

The initials are ingrained in your memory like it was branded. SR. You start to carve it in bathrooms, trees, your bed frame. It’s shameful to admit, but having a piece of him is nice to carry. It’s because he’s your boss, the guy whose job it is to keep you alive. You’re just being sentimental for a friend.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows it’s gone. There’s a part of you that hopes you’ll never have to give it back.

Eventually you’re beginning to treat it like it’s your own. You carry it with you like a lost piece to a puzzle. It’s got a spot on the inside of your vest, hidden from his eyes. You let it dance on your skin in boredom, and use it to cut stray threads off you. But you can’t cut the lieutenant loose.

Your eyes are blinking away boredom and disinterest, head hung low as the drowning deep voice of Ghost continues on. It’s late, and you’re tapping your boot impatiently as Johnny and Kyle are making small talk about the stupidest shit.

The knife clicks open and closed, fingers unconsciously brushing against the blade. You really just need a shower and eight hours of sleep, but time is ticking away.

Think Lt will let us sleep in tomorrow?

Not a chance, Soap

Bastard doesn’t even sleep. It’s not fair

You feel like kicking yourself to stay awake. Yawns are bubbling up from your chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. It’s been a half hour since he started talking about procedures, protocols, what to do if blah blah blah. You fiddle with the knife in your hands, glancing down at the initials. Simon Riley. You wish you were in bed, the soft glow of your lamp illuminating your favorite kept secret.

He can tell too, and it’s infuriating him. You’re messing with your hands, lip caught between your teeth as your leg bounces in the chair. You rest your arms on the table, leaning forward and absentmindedly playing with something. Then he sees it, the black hilt that’s worn from the grip of his hand. It’s got the same engraving too, the one he got custom done his first day on the force.

You took it.

Simon didn’t think you’d have it - just a sneaking suspicion. He’s lost it before, usually to find it the next day in his jeans. Yet he saw you leaving, cheeks scarlet as you avoided his gaze. Your hands were shoved deep in your pockets, mumbling soft apologies as he brushed past you and back into the room. It wasn’t there, though.

He missed it. Simon carried it with him everywhere, like it was a part of him. It’s the only knife he owns, always wiping it clean at the end of the night. It twists between his fingers at night, the hilt worn from the palm of his hand. He would lazily flick it open, thumb rubbing along the edge of the knife. He thought he’d find it by now - but there you are, treating it with the same care that he has.

The lieutenant pauses, words trailing off as he stares at the familiar blade. You glance up, catching his gaze with eyes that are dark and heavy. You blink once, twice, straightening and looking down to your hands where the open knife lays. You freeze, the air around you running cold. Heart faltering and chest tightening, you wait with baited breath. Never has the truth been laid so bare before you. His eyes are kept on your face, pinning you in your seat. Does he know?

The lieutenant breaks your gaze, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms. You’re absolutely mortified, shoving the knife in your back pocket and biting your tongue. Johnny looks to Ghost, pausing his conversation with Kyle at the unexpected silence. You’re distracting yourself by looking at anywhere but him, breaths uneven and shoulders tight with anxiety.

Ghost takes a moment to regain his control, mind clouded with the image of you playing with his knife. He runs a hand down the haunting white mask that separates you from him. Still wearing the uniform and gear, his hand rests on the empty spot of his vest as his eyes drag straight back to you.

He has to know.

“Johnny, Gaz - take your gossip outside. We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” he states, leaving no room for questions. The lieutenant breaths a long sigh, head cocking to the side as you blush a deep red. You whip your head to him, standing up straight at the sound of your name. He doesn’t dismiss you. The boys nod begrudgingly, standing up and stretching while grunting goodbyes as they shuffle out of the room. The door swings shut, clicking back into place and leaving you stranded.

It’s just the two of you, a thick and nauseating tension arises as moments slip by in an uncomfortable quiet. Your hands are balled into fists out of anxious habit, nails digging into the palms for your hands. He’s shrugging off the vest, peeling off his gloves and tossing everything on a nearby chair. His bare hands brace against the side of the desk, eyes staring straight through you.

“That’s my favorite knife that you stole,” he says, voice patronizing as you stupidly blink at him with innocence in your eyes. Your mouth opens and shuts quickly, head spinning with all the ways you can lie yourself through this.

“I don’t have it, maybe you lost it?” You say, shifting uncomfortably as he cocks an eyebrow at you. He looks at you as though you’re on fire, burning up with every lie that you feed him. You fumble, shaking your head at him and letting poor bluffs take the lead, “I just bought this one. I got it from a store in-“

“You’re a bad fucking liar.”

You freeze, words stuck in your throat as his voice rings in your ears. You’ve been caught like a deer in the headlights, eyes widening and panic setting in. His fingers drum against the side of the desk, and he almost looks like he’s found his new pet not behaving.

Glancing to the door, you swallow a thick ball of fear. It’s a few feet away, right there and waiting for you to run. Excuses and dishonesty coat your senses, trying to cover up lost tracks as you look longingly to the exit. The knife sits heavy in your pocket, a ruthless and terrible reminder of the fact that it doesn’t belong to you. You should’ve given it to him when you had the chance.

He waits for you to answer, and he’s gritting his teeth every second you stare at him all pretty and dumb - like you don’t know a goddamn thing. Honestly, a part of him feels a little prideful that you kept it in the first place. You intoxicate and torture him, forcing him to keep distance from the forest fire he wants to call home. The lieutenants been waiting for you to spark since the day he met you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, voice struggling to stay even as his eyes narrow at your words. You try your best to remain calm as the lieutenant continues to stare, skin flushed with fear as he shakes his head at you. “You’re a rotten brat, you know that?” He spits, watching with hate as you look away with your chin held high. You won’t admit defeat, not until it’s ripped from you with prying hands.

“It’s got my fucking name on the blade, sweetheart-“ he grounds out, leaning forward as his eyes burn into your own. “And unless you’ve got it branded on you too, I’d suggest being a good girl and giving it back.”

The room is laced with a thick silence while you shiver where you stand. You nod meekly to him from across the table, letting loose an uneven breath. You hold his gaze, stomach churning with months of suppressed fear and unrequited adoration. You speak to him softly, as if your voice is made of truth.

“You left it, and I found it. It’s mine now,”

He laughs at you, the sound hateful and violent in your ears. He pushes himself off the desk where he leans, the mask building a wall of irritation around him. His footsteps land heavy as he’s crossing the room, sauntering towards you with a determined look in his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he states, shaking his head condescendingly at you.

Three steps, and he’s right in front of you. His figure towers over you, face tilted down to look at you. He smells like tobacco and pine, and you notice the spread of ink that peeks out from his sleeve. A finger grazes under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his dark eyes. “Give it back.”

It’s a losing game, and you’re trying desperately to win. You shake your head, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself. No.

The lieutenant drags over a chair, exhaling heavily as he takes a seat. His legs are spread, a hand resting on his thigh as you shake under his touch. He looks away for a moment, as if he’s mulling over something. Tsking softly to himself, he reaches a hand out and hooks it into your vest before tugging you down, “patience is wearing thin, sweetheart. I want it back, now.”

Your breath fans hot against his mask, eyes widening in shock as his grip tightens on you. His eyes are swimming with a haunting rage. The careful distance you’ve kept from his is crumbling, heart skipping a beat to catch up with the lieutenant. He pulls you closer, and you’re tripping under yourself as the mask stares back at you in challenge.

“I’m sorry, sir-” you whisper under your breath, the tip of your shoes hitting his boots as your shoulders sag. “I’m keeping it,” you say honestly, letting the shame wash over you. There’s nowhere to hide, all the time spent trying to get him to see you when you should’ve been running.

“Wrong answer.”

His hand drags you down and over him, knees pressing into your stomach as the breath is stolen from you. His hand finds its place along the back of your head, keeping you down as his fingers run along your back. Head spinning with all the ways in which you’ve been waiting for this, you squirm on his lap and brace your hands under you and on his thigh.

The lieutenants face drops down to you, mask brushing against your cheek. Your mind is blank now, the feel of his hot breath against your skin causing you to freeze. His dog tags dangle over your back, brushing against your shirt. “You should really mind your manners,” he admits, plucking the knife from your back pocket. “You know better than this.”

Your ass hangs up and over his knee, his hand resting along your upper thigh to keep you in place. The blade clicks open, and he lets loose a chuckle as he appreciates it. He flips it between his fingers out of sight, pulling back your hair as it takes place against your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut at the touch, the cool metal pressed against your skin and causing you to shiver.

There’s a moment where it’s just the two of you in silence. You count your breaths, biting your cheek and waiting patiently for the lieutenant to make his next move. Apologies are at the tip of your tongue, but fall short as his blade runs along your skin.

A sickening smack lands against your ass, body jumping from the unexpected touch. Desire runs up and along your spine, head cloudy with longing for a ghost in your haunted home. You can feel his hand rub softly into your skin, breath coming loose as he pulls away. “Lieutenant - please, I’m so sorry-”

Another smack, this time harder as it leaves a sting. “Simon - don’t you remember, love? That’s the name I’m gonna carve into your fucking skin,” he spits, digging the tip of his knife into your throat as you nod to him. Heat is pooling between your thighs that rub together in anticipation, lip caught between your teeth as you peel open your eyes and glance over your shoulder to him.

You regret ever having bothered.

He stares at you with a hateful lust, a smirk playing on his lips that are just out of your sight. Simon dips his fingers between your thighs and rubs soft circles, savoring the way you melt under his touch. You wiggle your hips, shifting on his knees and spreading your legs open just an inch. He notices, sending another smack to your ass. “Filthy,” he laughs, two fingers dragging along the wet desire that continues to grow within you. “You’re not even sorry - are you?”

You shake your head, nails digging into his thigh as his fingertips dig into your clit. “I am - I didn’t mean to steal it - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon,”

His name is unexpected as it falls from you, but you say it like it belongs to you. The bulge in his pants is growing, dick twitching at the way you squirm on his lap. All those months spent dreaming of you on your knees is starting to catch up with him, and he just can’t run away. He grits his teeth, the sound of his name on your lips sending him straight to hell. Good thing he’s friends with the devil.

Simon’s hands leave you suddenly, the knife clicking closed and set onto the table. He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you back until your neck is craned and your eyes begin to water at the pain. “If you really are sorry - then get on your knees and ask for forgiveness.”

He abruptly pushes you off his lap, and you tumble to the ground with your head smacking against the floor. You pull air into your lungs desperately, body recoiling from the shock of being thrown off of him. Hands pushing from under you to brace yourself, you look to him with innocent wide eyes and full lips that wobble in fear. He leans back in the chair, arms braced on the sides as he looks at your expectantly.

Shamefully, you crawl between his legs and sit on your knees. The knife sits alone on the table, watching you mockingly as you blink up to Simon. There’s a wide grin spread across his face, though you’re not able to see it. The mask keeps you from him, a careful distance that he isn’t willing to give up yet.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumble softly, blushing crimson as his hands fall to his belt. “I’m sorry.” He unbuckles the belt, dragging down the zipper as his eyes remain on your pretty little face with eyes glossy from tears. He’s nodding to you, pushing down the waist of his pants until you’re staring at the swollen tip of his dick that’s wet from pre cum.

“I know you are - but I want to see you beg.”

His hand comes to lazily stroke himself, hissing as he squeezes the tip of himself. Your hands gently rest against his knees, chest coiling tight with a familiar ache. You sit there patient, waiting for his approval as Simon jerks himself off. The heat between your legs is burning, heart struggling to keep a steady pace.

Then he gives a small nod, hands drifting to the side as your mouth waters. You lean forward, little lips parting wide. Simon sighs softly as your lips wrap around him, cheeks hollowing and eyes fluttering closed.

Your head bobs in his lap, hand coming to stroke what you can’t take. His hand tangles itself in your hair, guiding your movements slowly. Your tongue dances along his tip, his hips bucking at the touch and fingers tightening their grip. Simon lets his head fall back, waves of pleasure rocking through him at the way you hum against his dick. “Shit, you’re such a nasty slut,” he laughs out.

Lips dragging along his shaft, you take him inch by devastating inch without hesitation. Your nails are digging into his knees, clawing at him to take control as he begins to unravel. His shoulders drop, groans pulled from him when drool dribbles out from your lip and onto him.

Simon watches as you force him to the base of your throat, soft gargling sounds emitting from you. You can’t take all of him, but your hand massages the rest of his shaft, the touch soft and delicate. His head is cloudy with desire, forcing your head further down until you start to choke, tears blurring your vision. He’s abandoning all self control, letting it slip from his fingertips like a thread of gold. Doesn’t matter when you’re on your knees for him, sucking his dick like its the only thing you’ve dreamed of.

“There’s my good girl,” he says, hips bucking into your mouth. You’re humming, bobbing your head yes as you continue to let him fuck your mouth. He feels sick with pleasure, hand pushing you further along his dick until he’s seeing stars.

You’re eagerly on your knees, chest tightening with every moan that fires from Simons lips and aims straight to you. It’s got you feeling confident, sitting up on your knees and licking your tongue along the bottom of him. “Fuck - that’s it, sweetheart,” he grounds out, and you’re pressing your thighs together to stop yourself from dripping. You look up at him, dick caught in your throat and eyes sparkling with obedience.

Your teeth drag along his shaft, causing him to slam your head down. You choke, struggling to pull back and catch your breath. “Bloody hell,” he muses, the pad of his thumb rubbing into your cheek softly. You pull away, lips smacking as you try to control your uneven breaths. Simon watches as you rub the drool and spit from your lips, eyes turning a shade darker when you give him an innocent smile.

“Come here.”

When you stand, his fingers push themselves between your thighs. His hand comes to undo your pants, your lip caught between your teeth as you wait patiently for him. He’s pushed down the hem of your pants, hands coming to grip your waist. You stand there silently, holding your breath when he glances up to you. “Well? Show me how sorry you are,”

It takes you a moment to peel away your clothes, strewn on another chair where his things lie. Your cheeks are bright red with embarrassment as your arms snake around his neck, hesitantly coming to sit in his lap. He leans over to grab the knife, flicking it open again and pressing it against your chest. “Simon,” you breath softly, fingertips brushing along the base of his neck.

“Can you forgive me?”

He shakes his head at you, muttering filthy curses as his fingers dig into your waist. You’ve been waiting for this, soaked through and blind with guilt, you let the tip of him brush against your folds. Simon drags the knife to your throat, watching you with his breath held as you sink slowly onto his dick.

It’s a feeling you’ve only ever dreamed of. He pushes into you completely, heart beginning to falter and freeze at the pure pleasure that spreads between you. Your stomach is tightening, hips grinding into him softly. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, the hold on his knife tightening until his knuckles are white. “I’m considering it.”

It wouldn’t be so bad - to spend the rest of your life chasing after this high.

Hesitation has been tossed aside, breaths becoming in sync as he watches with baited breath as you grind into his lap and mewl out moans.

You pull yourself up with shaking thighs, falling back into him and letting a moan slip past your lips. You bounce on his dick, hips rolling and grinding with his knife pressed against your throat. Disgraceful slick wet sounds are ringing in your ears like a sickening melody. His hands are pressing and pulling you down, his hips bucking up with your movements.

Simon garbs a handful of your ass, keeping you in balance as you ride him ruthlessly. The knot of pleasure is tying itself tight, and you’re whining in his ear from the ecstasy “That’s it - look at you, such a good girl riding my dick.”

“Mm-mm,” you moan, head falling into the crook of his neck as he drags the knife to your chest, letting the tip press against your skin. “Please - please, I’m so sorry, Simon,” you gasp out, tightening your arms around his neck as he slams his hips into you.

His touch is rough and ruthless, impatient with pleasure as he smacks your ass that’s now red with his handprint. His. The thought sends him spiraling, groaning loudly. Simon lets you roll into him, bouncing in his lap with his breath fanning hot against your neck. “Careful,” he laughs against you, fingers traveling to your clit to rub harsh circles. “I just might think you like this.”

And you do. In fact, you’re overwhelmed by the sensational desire that’s boiling within you. Your moans are becoming desperate, nails scarping along his shoulder blades as he continues to fuck you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, practically hanging off of him as he rubs the wet pleasure between your thighs.

It’s just the two of you. His hand is greedily snapping your hips back to him, and you meet the touch eagerly. There’s a fire that’s building within you - and neither of you can smother it out. Your chest is tightening, lips mumbling out pathetic moans as Simon laughs, the sound dark and tantalizing. “You do - don’t you?” He asks, and you’re nodding into his neck with pleas rippling off of you. “I know you do, I bet your pretty little pussy is gonna cum on my dick-” he states, suddenly grabbing your throat and forcing you to look at him.

You hold his stare, mewling out and begging for him as he rubs quickly. You’re losing your sanity, hips eagerly grinding into his lap until a simmering heat takes a hold of you, crying out in pleasure. “Right about now.” He finishes, watching as you smile innocently at him.

He still fucks you though, riding out your orgasm as he chases after his own.

It only takes him another moment until he’s following you, sloppy and lazy thrusts into your hips. Simon is grounding out your name, gritting his teeth and savoring the way your slick cunt tightens around him. His head falls back against the chair, breath hot and uneven as he snaps and slams his hips into you one last time.

Then you’re sitting pretty and patient in his lap, letting him grow soft in you with your lip caught in between your teeth. Your eyes are glossed over with happiness, stomach flipping as he closes the blade and leaves a hand resting against your waist. Seconds slip by in silence, buy neither of you seem to mind. His breath is slowly untangling itself from yours, gaze dark and haunting.

When you peel yourself away from him, shaking hands pulling up your pants and blushing scarlet, he tugs you closer to him. You button your pants, still wet from the way Simon pulled all those dirty little secrets from you like they were his to begin with. He lets his hands slide to your ass, giving it a final squeeze.

“Such a good girl,” he says softly, a smile playing at his lips as you blush deeper. He stands, cupping your face in his hands and looking at you with the same adoration that you’ve given him for months. “I think you’ve learned your lesson - yeah, sweetheart?”

You nod up to him eagerly, the strings of your heart snapping and breaking as he pulls himself from you. “Uh-huh,” you breathe, and you mean it. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, letting his finger commit the feel of your skin to memory.

“Be good for me - get some rest, love.”

He left the knife in your back pocket, and it sits there now - waiting for him to come back.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost riley x you #ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw22 #cod fanfic #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod mwii

5K notes · View notes

thehighladywrites · 10 months

Text

— “tell me you’re mine.” “ i’m yours.”

☀︎ — pairing: azriel x afab!reader

☀︎ — summary: you dream that azriel was cheating on you and now you can’t look at him without being annoyed. It’s not really his fault, but still… azriel reassures you, promising that you’re the only one for him.

☀︎ — warnings: a sprinkle of angst, fluff, a bit of crack, smut, oral (m. receiving), fingering, dirty talk, fluffy smut ngl, mentions of crying, cursing, mentions of hickeys and bruises

☀︎ — amara’s note: i loved writing this, also this is my apology fluff fic for the angst fic. hope you liked it! also english isn’t my first language so if you see any grammar errors, no you didn’t 🫶🏽 i think this is my proudest work🥹

tags: @callmeblaire @rowaelinsdaughter @azrielslightintheshadows @hauntedwitch04

Azriel’s brows furrowed as you avoided his hug for the second time today and just walked past him, acting like he wasn’t more than a ghost. This whole brushing him off thing had been going on all day and he was genuinely confused. Were you in a bad mood? Was your cycle coming? Azriel knew you were emotional during this time, but you usually stuck to him like glue.

He checked his mental calendar - no, not for another two months.

Did he say something to you? He replayed everything he said and every conversation you had yesterday and today but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Well, except for the fact that you were flat out ignoring him.

Azriel felt distressed over the fact that you ignored him, and he just wanted to be closer to calm down. Knowing he might have upset you, deeply unsettled him, prompting a strong desire to bridge the emotional gap between you.

Azriel found solace in your presence whenever he felt upset. You'd sprawl on the plush bed, arms open wide, inviting him into your embrace with a soft and tender expression. His head would rest on your chest, settling his weight on you, comforted by the beat of your calming heartbeat. It was a sweet sanctuary he sought when the world felt heavy.

There was nothing calm or sweet about the way you didn't spare him a second look, pouting as you carried on with your day. Occasional dagger stares shot his way, and even though you thought he didn't notice, he did. Of course, he did. The tension in the air was palpable as your silent discontent lingered.

Azriel decided to start small and ask an easy question, not daring to accidentally say something that will set you off.

“So, angel, what have you done while I was gone? Is the book you picked out yesterday any good?”

Sipping on the delightful peppermint tea, you huffed and snorted, keeping your gaze fixed on the window from the comfort of the soft sofa in the sitting room.

“Well, wouldn’t you just love to know?”

His brain was scrambled at this point, desperately attempting to save the clearly and very obviously dying conversation.

“Uh, yes? I’d love to know. If you don’t want to talk about the book then that’s fine but-”

“You’re just giving up so easy, Azriel. Atleast fight a bit. No wonder you cheated on me…”

Huh? What the actual fuck?? Confused and shocked, his brain went haywire, jaw dropping as he struggled to find words. A bewildered look crossed his face as he grappled with the unexpected situation.

He cheated on you? What were you talking about? The mere thought of being near another woman made him nauseous. Really, he didn’t like being around people at all, so the thought of going out of his way to find someone and then invite them to bed was something that made him shiver.

“What are you saying? I would never be unfaithful to you, please let’s just talk.” he dropped to his knees infront of you, panicked, trying to find the words to explain himself and to clear his name of something he didn’t do.

“You cheated on me. Yeah, with some blonde girl. And you seemed to enjoy it, too. Ugh, I’m so pissed, I can’t even look at you.” You put down your teacup a bit too hard as you folded your arms over your chest, glaring out the window in silent anger.

The crackling of the hearth was the only sound as Azriel's face paled. He was at a loss – how did you come to believe he was unfaithful? Where did these thoughts come from? The mystery hung in the air, a palpable tension challenging the warmth of the fireplace.

“If I truly was unfaithful, can you provide details? When did this happen, and where was I with this girl?” You felt his pleading, questioning stare burn into you from where he knelt.

Okay, so maybe you shouldn’t keep this up. He didn’t actually cheat on you. It was a dream but it felt so realistic that when you woke up and saw him besides you, you actually snarled. There you were, struggling to look at him without mentally replaying the scene of some random woman giving Azriel's body a tour. Fucking hell, you had never felt such betrayal and hurt by something that didn’t even happen.

But it felt silly to tell Azriel that you were mad at him for something your subconscious created , a dream you had dreamt. So you simply avoided him instead.

But damn, he was persistent.

Perhaps it was irrational, but you felt a desire to stir up some drama, maybe hoping to shake things up a bit.

“Okay, Azriel, I’ll spill. Yesterday at Rita’s, this blonde woman was all over you, touching everywhere. And you, shamelessly soaked it up like it was a spa. In my dream you also smiled as you held eye contact with me. You totally knew I saw you and did it anyways.” You looked away, breathing deeply as the memories invaded your mind.

Azriel felt a combination of relief and disbelief as you revealed it was all a dream. But he wouldn’t downplay what you imagined since he deep down felt your hurt through the bond. You had already been married for decades but the bond had snapped about 7 months, still new, so he understood that seeing him with someone else was hard. Hell, he’d feel absolutely murderous if he ever dreamt of some male feeling you up and fucking you, even if it was a dream.

He stood up as he dragged you to your feet and tilted his head, assessing if he should approach you or not,

“Sweetheart, you know I'd never do such a thing, right? How could I ever be unfaithful to you, my sweet girl? You're my perfect mate, my loving wife, my everything.”

He stepped closer and closer until his enticing scent enveloped you. Oh, how did you go an entire day without being close to him? Your mate towered over you, gently gripping your chin and tilting your head up. His face mere centimeters away, a magnetic force pulling you into a moment that blurred any lingering doubts.

“ I love you more than anything on this planet. In no universe would I ever stray away from you - you’re my beloved home, my cauldron fated. Over my dead body would I ever entertain another woman. I’ve waited for over half a millennium for you and I’d wait a million more for just a minute with you, sweetheart. I will never allow myself to disrespect you like that ever, I promise.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as he drew closer, his soft lips meeting yours. In that moment, your love for him overwhelmed everything else. His gentle kiss offered reassurance and warmth, the sting of the bargain tattoo fading into the background as he continued, sending shivers down your spine.

Needing one last push of reassurance you beg him for a last sentence. Looking up at him with glossy eyes, you whisper,

“Say you’re mine. Say you belong to me.”

"I'm yours, I belong to you. Just as you're mine, you belong to me."

Tears streamed down as your heart raced, overwhelmed by his sincere devotion to you.

He wiped away your tears gently, his eyes filled with unwavering affection. “No more doubts, my love. We're bound to each other, and I'll spend every moment proving my devotion to you.”

His words hung in the air, creating a comforting embrace that removed any lingering insecurities, even ones in dreamscapes.

You slumped in his arms, finding solace in the embrace of his huge arms. He held you tightly, rocking you gently from side to side, creating a soothing rhythm. Your tears dried, replaced by a sense of calm as the only audible sound became the steady beat of his heart. Inhaling his calming scent, you grounded yourself in the reassurance of your mate's embrace.

Azriel tenderly stroked your hair, his touch a gentle reassurance. In a heartfelt moment, he pressed a soft kiss to your hairline, expressing his love and commitment without the need for words.

Your heart swelled with love, the connection through your bond overflowing with overwhelming warmth. The excess energy and love pulsated between you two, prompting you to contemplate a way to reciprocate the comfort and love to Azriel.

Lifting your head from its resting place on his chest, you stood on your tiptoes and initiated a kiss. Your arms remained cradled by him, your head guiding the motion as you continued to share this affectionate moment with your husband.

Azriel noticed the quickening beat of your heart, your eyes fluttering as the kiss deepened. He knew what you wanted and he couldn’t deny you ever. His lucious lips curving into a smile. You did your best to keep eye contact with him but it was difficult given that Azriels eyes had darkened over with lust, pupils expanding as his lids were slightly lowered.

Staring him dead in the eyes you whispered your desires,

“I want you. I want you everywhere. I want your mouth.”

You placed a kiss on his cheek.

“I want your hands.”

You kissed his other cheek.

“ I want you inside me, mate. “

You gave him a final kiss on the lips, sealing your wishes.

Azriel let his eyes flutter shut, struggling to tame his desires. He knew you inside and out, knew exactly what pace and setting you craved in that moment. Bending down to your level, Azriel picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

As Azriel carried you to the bedroom, you couldn't resist planting tender kisses along his neck, sucking and biting as you created bruises. The soft touch of your lips added a playful warmth to the moment and you couldn’t help staring up at him. His handsome features captivated you – the straight nose, sharp jaw, and beautiful eyes. He looked as if The Mother Herself had carefully carved him. His long, dark lashes and perfectly shaped brows added an extra layer to the masterpiece that was Azriel.

A possessive pride swelled within you. As you continued trailing kisses along his neck, you couldn't help but revel at the fact that Azriel was undeniably yours. A sense of exclusivity and fierce protectiveness filled your mind, boasting that no one would ever touch him the way you did, no one would ever love him the way you did.

‘Suck on that you blonde bitch’ was all you could smugly think.

Azriel gently placed you in front of the full-length mirror by your bed, positioning himself behind you. With deliberate care, he bent down, pressing kisses to your head, temple, ear, cheek, and finally, lingering on your neck. Each kiss was an expression of affection, creating a trail of shivers along your spine and arms.

His hands slid down to your waist, giving it a firm yet gentle squeeze. The slow, deliberate touch made the moment feel personal and intimate. You make eye contact with your husband through the mirror and slightly nod, giving him permission to continue.

You step back, making him feel your ass through his pants, grinding against him as his hands travel up to your breasts. Azriel lightly squeezes them before moving to play with your stiffened nipples. His moves elicit a gasp from you as you revel at the feeling of him touching you.

You press against him again, this time harder. Azriel hisses as he lightly grab your neck with one hand, focusing his clouded eyes on yours through the mirror.

“Watch it. This is about you, not me, baby.” He unzips your dress, letting it pool around your feet. Instinctively you bring your hands up to cover yourself up, looking away, and realizing that you’re in fact completely stark naked infront of your fully dressed mate.

Azriel is having none of it. He wants you to see how beautiful you are. Wants you to see how your face twist in pleasure. Wants you to notice your little quirks that you otherwise wouldn’t see. He wants you too see the goddess he’s worshipping every day.

“Eyes open, sweetheart. You have to see how beautiful you look.” His hands envelops yours as he lowers your hands, leaving you bare infront of him. You hear rustling behind you and feel a sudden warmth pressing against your back. Opening your eyes, you see Azriel undressed with his warm chest pressed against your back. He looked massive, wings splayed proudly behind him, big arms flexing as he leaned down. His lips pressed against your ear, and the hot breath sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re my perfect girl. Look at you, all nice and ready for me. Now, imagine I see this everyday, imagine you laying under me, taking me like a good girl. That’s what you are right, a good girl?”

You nod absentmindedly as your mind goes blank. You just wanna make him proud of you, just wanna please him. “Uh-huh ‘m your good girl, Azzie.”

He flashes you a smirk, hands traveling further down as he teases your clit before pushing in his finger. You let out a sound of pleasure as your head slumps back into his chest, his massive hand wrapping around your throat. In and out his fingers go as your pleasure rises, blood heating at the thought of him fucking you on the bed later. Your breathing unevens when he twists his fingers and presses his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles as he pushes in another finger.

Your eyes cross in delight when he curls his fingers and hits that spot that sends electricity through your body, making you grab onto his built forearm. Azriel whispers promises of nasty scenes, promises of ways he’ll fuck you stupid. He’ll make sure you’ll never think he’d stray away from you. He’d prove himself forever if that’s what it took for the thoughts to leave your head forever.

Not sure what the mood is today, you ask him for permission to come. If you normally did it without asking, he’d edge you. And that was just not something you wanted to happen today so better safe than sorry. But before you gather your pleasured mind and ask him, Azriel beats you to it.

“Cum on me. Let go on my fingers, beautiful. It’s okay baby, you deserve it. Don’t you think? After all, my girl gets what she wants.”

As if his words triggered something in you, he pumps once, twice and you let go as you scream out his name. Azriel keeps fingering you through your high, looking you deep into your eyes as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them.

“Delicious.”

Your ears ring, and your vision blur as your knees wobble, nearly falling. Azriel swiftly picks you up, planting a reassuring kiss. He praise you, telling you how good you were and how proud he was. You couldn’t think straight, only wanting more of him.

He placed you gently on the bed, preparing to head to the bathroom for a cloth to clean you up, but you halted him with a request.

“Can I repay you Azzie?”

Your eyes sparkled, and your face glowed with a content smile. With a tilted head and a subtle pout, you hoped he would agree to your request. You were quite tired but you so badly wanted to please him back.

He sensed your exhaustion, and originally he was so supposed to keep going but you were half asleep. He changed his plans and shook his head.

“You’re tired, angel. Rest up, I’ll be fine.”

But you kept resisting, urging and pushing that you weren’t that tired. And since Azriel can’t say no to you, he accepts. You let out a small victorious sound and slither down the bed, making room for Azriel as he settled against the headboard. You moved in closer to him, leaning forward and arching your back. You look up at him once for confirmation and continue when he nods.

Without hesitation, Azriel's hands found their way into your hair, stroking your hair softly before skillfully gathering it into a makeshift ponytail. You fall on your forearms, propping yourself up and obediently await for his words of command.

Azriel gently gripped your chin, his thumb grazing your plump bottom lip. In that moment, words were unnecessary; you already understood what he wanted.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” His words makes you blush.

You look away from his intense eyes and lower your gaze, pulling a chuckle from him. “Baby, stop. You’re making me nervous,” you plead, giving him a cheesy smile you kiss his thigh and move on.

Trying to hide your flustered face, you start out slowly, teasing him with kitten licks all over his tip. Azriel’s hands tightened around your hair making you look up at him with a smirk as he grits out,

“Play later.”

You suck on the head, hollowing your cheeks, before slowly taking in more and more, struggling when you feel him hit the back of your throat. Your mind replays the lessons Azriel taught you, prompting you to inhale through your nose.

His head thrown back against the headboard as his mind swirls with pleasure. He lets out groans and hisses of pleasure, his deep voice letting out praises,

“Fuck, that’s it. Such a good girl.”

“You’re doing so good, keep going.”

“My beautiful, beautiful y/n. You should look like this all the time, mouth full of my cock. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Your mates praise makes your eyes gloss over in submission. There was really no better feeling than being praised and loved by him. Your Azriel.

By the way the muscles in his thighs started tensing you knew he was getting close. You suck your cheeks in more and take him deeper, trying to please him as best as possible.

The room was filled with obscene noises and gags as he hit the back of your throat, bucking his hips.

Pulling away, you use your hand and twist it around his shaft while sucking on the sensitive head. Determined to make him finish, you throw in a few sentences you know will get him there faster.

“you’re so big Azzie, taste delicious too.”

“does my mouth feel good around your cock, az? you wanna cum?”

“let’s see if my pussy feels better, yeah?”

Before you can put him back around your mouth, he grabs your arms and drags you up so that you’re straddling his lap. Without warning he pushes you down on his cock as you let out a loud moan at the stretch.

“You’re right, your pussy does feel better.”

Your hands automatically grab onto his broad shoulders as you grind and bounce on him. You tighten around him as he brings his fingers down to your clit. Looking down on him, you find him smirking, satisfied that he caught you off guard. He knew you didn’t really plan on riding him but you were not fucking complaining.

Quite the opposite actually. You sounded like some deprived whore, moaning and babbling out in pleasure, licking and biting his neck and lips.

Both of you knew you were close. Azriel breathing quickened as you tightened around him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” A soft whimper escapes you as you gaze down at your man. His sweaty hair sticks to his forehead, a rosy blush adorning his cheeks and neck. In his eyes, full of love and affection, as he whispers for the second time today that he's yours forever.

“I’m yours, forever baby, I’m yours.” Azriel chants as he comes, body trembling as you grind on him,soon falling off your high and slumping against his chest.

“I love you so much, honey,” you whispered.

You looked up at him, tears welling up as Azriel held you close, making you feel overwhelmed by the depth of love. The connection between you was an unbreakable thread, weaving through your souls. In his embrace, every touch and shared moment became a testament to the bond you shared. The room faded away as your love for Azriel became an emotional beacon, each tear carrying the weight of countless cherished memories.

Oh, how you loved him.

In the quiet of the moment, Azriel gently wiped away your tears, his eyes reflecting the same depth of emotion.

“I love you too, sweetheart” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your overwhelmed heart.

The reassurance in his words melted away the pain, leaving only the warmth of shared love.

#talkswithamara #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar imagine #azriel x reader fluff #az x reader #azriel acowar #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acomaf #azriel acofas #azriel spymaster #azriel acosf #azriel x fem reader #azriel x female!reader

658 notes · View notes

urdepressedslut · 1 year

Text

Lovesick

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky is so in love with you it hurts, and he doesn’t know if he can keep his feelings locked away from you anymore.

♡ Warnings: light angst, hints to past suicide attempt, mentions of imprisonment, fluff, bucky being oblivious and adorable

“You’re staring again… Kinda creepy.” Sam mutters to Bucky, snapping him from his thoughts. Which were all of you of course.

Bucky glanced to Sam, smiling with red cheeks at being caught gazing upon you. But he couldn’t help himself. He was so in love with you, it hurt. He was lovesick, his thoughts consumed longing for you. The lack of emotionally and physically connecting with you eating away at him.

Sam smirked at Bucky getting lost in his thoughts again, glancing from him to you with a knowing look. Bucky wasn’t one to express how he felt, but he’d confessed, and Sam knew he was falling apart.

You had come from a rough past, growing and adapting slower than most. You were kept trapped away from any human interaction for five years, which resulted in you becoming a whole different person.

Fact was you didn’t remember who you were before, you had remembered the basics, your name, parents. But that was about it. You felt like you had started over in life, but along with a fresh start you had issues that lingered.

You had been given a second chance at life some would say, but it was a life that would be tainted, haunted with ghosts from your previous one. So was it really a fresh start?

You didn’t know.

You met Sam and Bucky soon after you’d been freed of isolation. They were shocked to find out you had used to be a well respected agent, before everything happened. Feeling terrible that all your training, hard work was thrown away, now having to start all over again. Some was muscle memory, an instinct that never left you. But you found yourself re-training with the two. You found yourself healing slowly in the company of them. Of course you’d grown attached, and so did they. The three of you stuck together, a deep bond having formed.

While you and Sam had more of a sibling bond, there was something extensive about you and Bucky. He was able to empathize with you, knowing full well how badly you’d suffered, and that was something you’d grown to appreciate. Having someone able to relate, was reliving in a weird way, made you feel less alone.

Bucky had immediately liked you, admiring your strength, finding your kindness infectious. You were a rare pure soul, that didn’t deserve the suffering you’d endured. At first glance he was protective, his mother-like instinct kicking in at the sight of your skittish form.

Months had gone by, and you were doing much better. You were still a little slow, and you became overwhelmed quicker. You were to be treated with a little more care than most. Nevertheless, Sam and Bucky were proud of how far you’ve come.

“You should tell her.” Sam startled Bucky from his thoughts once again, looking over at him with a hesitant expression.

“I don’t know man… I don’t wanna pressure her. She’s been doing so well, I don’t wanna jump the gun and freak her out.” Bucky rambled on, anxiety clouding his mind.

“You aren’t going to freak her out, she loves you Buck. I can tell.” Sam assured him, no teasing tone lingering.

“You can’t know that. Have you talked to her?” Bucky wondered.

“No, but it’s hard not to think otherwise with the way she looks at you.” Sam pointed out.

“How— how does she look at me?” Bucky pushed, not believing he could be that oblivious.

Sam on the other hand, thought he was completely oblivious.

“Seriously Buck? Are you missing your eyes too?” Sam asked incredulously, “She looks at you like you’re her whole world.”

Bucky thought back to the days he’d caught you glancing at him and Sam.

“She looks at you like that too.” Bucky argued.

“It’s different… I’m like a big brother she’s never had,” Sam stated, “Then you… It’s different.”

Bucky took in Sam’s words, and he couldn’t deny that yes, you and Bucky had an amazing friendship. But he was afraid that’s all it was. His chest ached at the thought that you wouldn’t want to be something more with him.

Bucky was about to respond, when Sam interrupted him, grabbing him by his shoulder.

“Your girl is looking this way.” Sam told him, motioning his head to you.

Bucky glanced to you, his eyes meeting with yours. You were holding his gaze, your eyes warm and glowing. It’s like he had never seen it before, but now that he was gazing into your orbs, he felt like your eyes were saying a million words. It was giving him hope, that you might feel the same way.

Bucky excused himself from Sam, heading towards you. Getting closer he was careful not to interrupt the little girl talking with you, the sight making Bucky watch with fondness.

“My friend is being mean to me!” The little girl whined, crossing her arms with a huff.

“Oh, well that’s not okay. Where’s your friend?” You asked, ready to scold a kid for being rude to this sweet girl.

“She’s standing right next to you.” The little girl said as if it was obvious.

Your eyes widened slightly in horror, and glanced to either side of you, furrowing your brows in confusion when you saw no one.

“She is?” You asked her, receiving a nod, “Uh… I don’t see her.”

The little girl started laughing and you faked a smile, scratching the back of your neck.

“No one can see her, she’s invisible.” She told you with a wide grin.

You understood immediately what she was saying, and felt embarrassed that you hadn’t caught on. You weren’t used to hanging around kids, and you weren’t really good at talking to them.

“Of course, how could I forget?” You asked the girl playfully, trying to will your cheeks back to normal color.

Luckily for you, the little girl’s attention span had her running away to a group of kids, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Why did that interaction stress you out so much?

Bucky’s face hurt from how much he was smiling, but he couldn’t help it watching you talk with the little girl. Something about seeing you with kids had his stomach full of butterflies. You made him feel like a nervous school boy with a crush.

“Hey doll, making some friends?” Bucky teased you, and you met his gaze, smiling warmly at him.

“I think so, the kids are adorable.” You told him, the kids even though they were difficult sometimes, they were precious.

“You seem good with kids.” Bucky acknowledged.

“Oh not at all, I was actually very nervous. I feel like I talk to kids like they’re dumb sometimes… And I don’t mean it— Of course not, I just don’t have like any experience with kids.” You rambled on, while Bucky thought you were adorable.

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it. You’re better with kids then I am.” He admitted, though the kids he’d seen today had taking a liking to him, which warmed his heart.

It was quiet for a moment, the two of you taking in each other’s company. Then you thought of a random question.

“Have you ever wanted kids of your own?” You asked him, your question taking him by surprise.

Bucky hadn’t always thought of the idea, but he found his mind wandering towards the idea more, ever since he’d gotten close with you. Though he assumed it was impossible, maybe back in the 40’s. But after everything that had happened with HYDRA, he wasn’t sure if his body was physically able to.

“Never really thought about it.” He lied, “You?”

“I’ve never really gave it much thought either, but it would be cool to have a mini-me running around.” You admitted, though the overall idea of kids terrified you.

Bucky smiled at the idea of a miniature you, the idea warming his heart.

“Uh, so actually… I wanted to talk to you doll.” Bucky started, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“We are talking Buck.” You said with a giggle, the sound giving Bucky butterflies.

“No no,” He chuckled, “I mean about something kinda serious. Something that I need to get off my chest.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the word serious, watching his playful expression slowly fade.

“Oh? Is everything okay?” You asked him, growing concerned.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I just wanna talk.” He assured you, calming you with his genuine expression. "Come on, let's go on Sam's boat."

Bucky grabbed your hand, helping you stand. The two of you walked onto the boat.

You immediately started fiddling around with the helm of the boat, pretending to be at sea. Bucky watched with heart eyes, leaning against the doorway.

“You know…” He started, getting your attention, “I’m super proud of you. For how far you’ve come.”

You smiled at his praise.

“Wouldn’t be here without you.” You told him truthfully, he was your rock. Sam too of course. But Bucky was special.

“I’m always gonna be here to help ya, but you gotta give yourself some credit.” He stated.

“I do…” You started to argue.

“(Y/n)…”

“No I do,” You trailed off, getting serious all of a sudden, “But sometimes I think back when things were pretty bad and… Well you were there. I really do mean it— I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Bucky immediately knew what you were talking about, and he cursed his mind for remembering the haunting image so vividly. You had been at a very low point in your recovery, and you tried taking yourself out of this world. His world. His hands clinging onto your crimson covered wrists was an eye opener, that he didn’t want to live in a world where you didn’t exist. The very thought horrifying him to his core, his body frozen with dread.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bring it up I just—”

“No no, don’t apologize doll,” His voice wavered, “Just hate that you ever felt that way is all.”

Despite rehashing over rough memories, you couldn’t help your chest from feeling warm, seeing Bucky care so much about you, had you feeling fuzzy. He had been so protective over you since that day, and some would call it overbearing, but you found yourself feeling safe. You knew Bucky would stop anyone from even blowing a breath of air your way if that meant you’d be in danger.

Bucky recognized that warm glow in your eyes again, as you gazed into his. He took a deep breath, seeing as this was his best chance.

“(Y/n), I like you… A lot.“ He rushed out, and you were still smiling, no shock shown on your face.

“I like you a lot too Buck.” You shot back, stepping away from the helm and closer to him.

“You— Really?” He wondered if this was all his imagination.

Sam was right? Psh, no way.

“Really Buck. I’m not good at expressing emotions— feelings, or any of that stuff. But I do know that I always want to be with you, I always want you around, even if we aren’t talking to each other. Just knowing you’re near is enough.” You confessed, hoping that what you said made sense.

By the look on Bucky’s face, you assumed you said just the right thing.

“Doll, I’m crazy about you. You’ve got me wrapped around your tiny little finger, I’m yours.” He told you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to his chest.

“Buck?” You whispered, cupping his face with your small hands, feeling him lean into your touch.

“Yes doll?” He whispered back, looking at you like you were his entire world.

Well, because you were.

“I think I love you.” You told him shyly, your cheeks reddening.

Bucky’s heart nearly gave out at your words, but he couldn’t help the overwhelming rush of joy that your confession had given him.

“I think I love you too doll.”

A/N: my ideas come to me at the most random times, this one came to me a couple days ago while I was eating cereal 🥴🤷🏻‍♀️

#reader insert #marvel imagines #buckybarnes #oneshot #imagine #light angst #fluff #marvel cinematic universe #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

alyrasturnz · 3 months

Note

Can you write a fic with Chris based off of wildflower by Billie Eilish?

Like y/n was the love of his life but they broke up and now he’s seeing someone new trying to move on but she can tell he isn’t over y/n and they have a heated argument about it.

I feel like “everytime you touch me i just wonder how she felt” and “i wonder, do you see her in the back of your mind in my eyes” are such good inspo

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎WILDFLOWER

❐ summary » y/n was the love of his life, yet their trajectories diverged, culminating in a grievous breakup. now, as he endeavors to move forward with someone new, the specters of his past love persistently haunt him. his new partner discerns the lingering affections for y/n, and tensions escalate. a fervent argument unfolds, exposing the raw and unresolved emotions that continue to tether him to y/n.

❐ pairings » bf!chris x fem!reader

❐ warnings » lowkey cheating, toxic!chris, arguing, happy ending (for y/n)

❐ a/n && w/c » should i start a taglist • 3.57k

in the tranquil embrace of the dimly lit room, chris and paige lay entwined upon his bed, their bodies a seamless tapestry of connection. the gentle whir of the ceiling fan above whispered through the silence, a soft serenade that punctuated the stillness, as if the very air conspired to preserve the sanctity of their shared moment.

chris's arm was draped around her, his fingers weaving intricate patterns on her shoulder, as though inscribing silent poems upon her skin. paige nestled closer, her head resting against his chest, attuned to the steady cadence of his heartbeat. it should have been a moment of unblemished contentment, yet her mind was a tempest, far from the tranquility her body sought.

as chris's hand moved tenderly along her arm, paige's thoughts began to swirl in a chaotic dance. she closed her eyes, seeking solace in the darkness, but instead of peace, she was haunted by vivid images of you—chris's ex—intruding upon her mind like unbidden specters.

she wondered if chris had held you in this very manner, if his touch had imparted the same comfort and warmth to her. the thought gnawed at her, a seed of doubt taking root in her heart, its tendrils weaving through her mind, casting shadows over the fragile serenity she sought to grasp.

she wondered if he saw y/n in her eyes, even though she was nothing like y/n. y/n was sweet, fun, and carefree—everything she was not. the comparison lingered like a ghost, casting a pall over her thoughts and deepening the chasm of insecurity within her.

yet she couldn't shake the unsettling thought that he had only ever chosen her because she served as a faint echo of you, a mere shadow of the person he truly longed for.

she shifts ever so slightly, her movements almost imperceptible, as she wonders if he compares her to you. with each passing second, her chest tightens, the weight of unspoken comparisons pressing down upon her heart.

chris shifted slightly, pulling her closer, his breath warm against her hair. paige tried to banish the intrusive thoughts, to anchor herself in the present moment, but they persisted—relentless and unforgiving. each touch, every gentle caress, seemed to be imbued with the lingering shadow of your presence, an echo that refused to fade.

she wondered if he ever whispered the same sweet nothings to you that he now murmured to her. did he cradle you in his arms like this, weaving promises of forever into the fabric of your shared moments?

he swore that you and chris merely drifted apart, that love had simply faded like the last light of dusk, but you couldn't bring yourself to believe it for a moment.

you had parted ways with chris on seemingly good terms, a mutual agreement that love had simply waned, a mere facade concealing the tumultuous emotions buried deep within. she sensed that the stolen glances from across the room held far more significance than either of you dared to admit.

after all, you were his first love, the initial spark that ignited his heart, a flame that, despite the passage of time, still flickered faintly in the recesses of his memory.

paige's mind raced, each question more painful than the last. she felt ensnared in a web of insecurity, unable to escape the relentless comparisons that haunted her. the more she struggled to free herself, the tighter they clung, like shadows in the dim corners of her consciousness.

chris's voice pierced the tumult of her thoughts, soft and laden with affection. "you okay, paige? you seem a little distant," he murmured, his words a gentle tether pulling her back from the abyss of her reverie.

she hesitated, her heart pounding like a distant drum. should she voice her fears? would he grasp the depth of her turmoil, or would it only drive a wedge between them? yet, the weight of her thoughts was too heavy a burden to shoulder alone.

"chris," she began, her voice quivering like a fragile leaf in the wind, "do you ever think about y/n when you’re with me?”

chris's brow furrowed, a labyrinth of perplexity etched across his features. “what do you mean?"

paige drew in a deep breath, attempting to anchor herself amidst the storm of her emotions. “i just.. i can't help but wonder if you see her when you look at me, if you compare us. it feels like she's always there, in the background, and i can't compete with that."

chris's eyes widened, a flicker of astonishment dancing within them. "paige, no. y/n is in the past. you’re the one i want to be with.”

but the words, though heartfelt, did little to calm the tempest raging within her. "every time you touch me, i am haunted by the thought of whether your touch was the same for her. whether your love was the same for her. i need to know that i’m not just a substitute.”

chris sat up, his visage etched with anguish. "paige, you are not a replacement. you are my everything."

chris bit his tongue, the weight of unspoken truths pressing heavily upon him. he knew that none of those words held any semblance of veracity. not a single one.

but as paige gazed deeply into his eyes, the lingering doubt refused to fade. the phantoms of bygone days clung tenaciously to her thoughts, casting long, indelible shadows that resisted the light of hope. the road ahead, winding and enigmatic, appeared laden with treacherous uncertainties, each step a venture into the unknown.

paige crossed her arms tightly and averted her gaze, her voice quivering with raw emotion. "chris, i see the way you look at her. it's like your heart still belongs to y/n, no matter what you say to me."

chris reached out to her, his eyes pleading with a silent desperation. "paige, that's not true. i love you. y/n is in the past. you're the one i want to be with now."

but paige recoiled from his touch, her eyes brimming with hurt. "every time she walks into the room, your eyes light up. i can't compete with that. how can i believe you when your actions say otherwise?"

chris sighed deeply, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "paige, you're misreading things. yes, y/n was a big part of my life, but that chapter is closed. i'm here with you, trying to build something real."

tears welled up in paige's eyes as she shook her head, her voice trembling with emotion. she took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield her heart. "trying isn't enough, chris. i need to feel like i'm the only one in your heart, not just a placeholder until you figure things out."

taking her hands in his, chris gazed deeply into her eyes, his expression earnest and imploring. he gently traced his thumb across the back of her hand, his voice soft yet fervent. "you're not a placeholder, paige. you're everything to me. i wish you could see that."

paige pulled her hands back, her fingers trembling as she took a step away. her voice broke, a mixture of frustration and sorrow. "maybe i would, if you weren't so caught up in your past. i need more than words, chris. i need to feel it in my soul, and right now, all i feel is doubt."

frustrated, chris began pacing back and forth, his hands running through his hair in exasperation. "what do you want me to do, paige? how can i prove to you that you're the one i love?"

her voice trembled as she spoke, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "i don't know, chris. but i can't keep living in the shadow of your past relationship. i need to know that i'm your future, not just a consolation prize."

chris halted his pacing and turned to look at her intently, his heart aching with every beat. "paige, you're not a consolation prize. you're the person i want to spend my life with. but if you can't see that, i don't know what else i can do."

paige whispered, her voice barely audible, as if the very words pained her to utter. "maybe... maybe we need some time apart. to figure out what we really want."

heartbroken, chris reached out one last time, his voice a raw plea. "paige, please. don't do this. i need you."

he knew, deep within the labyrinthine corridors of his mind, that it was a lie. he didn't need her in the way he had so fervently convinced himself. what he truly yearned for was a sweet escape from the relentless swarm of thoughts that plagued his consciousness, each one a persistent whisper in the cacophony of his inner turmoil.

among these thoughts, y/n stood as the most consuming, a constant presence that refused to be silenced, a beacon of both torment and longing.

but paige stepped back, tears streaming down her face like rivers carving their path through a desolate landscape. "i need to feel loved, chris. and right now, i just don't." her voice, tinged with a sorrow that resonated like the mournful call of a distant bird.

with those words, she turned and walked away, her silhouette fading into the encroaching shadows, leaving chris standing there, a solitary figure amidst the twilight of their love, a poignant testament to the fragility of human connections.

paige stormed out of his room, her emotions a tempest barely contained. you were seated on the couch with nick, the vibrant spectacle of rupaul’s drag race playing out on the screen, an ironic contrast to the storm brewing within the confines of the house.

“paige? you okay?” you ask, turning your gaze to her, your eyebrows furrowing in concern as you try to decipher the storm of emotions reflected in her eyes.

paige stopped abruptly, anger coursing through her veins like wildfire. “i'm fine!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the room as she stormed out, leaving you to turn and exchange a bewildered glance with nick.

“why do i have a feeling i just got lied to,” you muse aloud, your voice tinged with skepticism, as nick snorts in response, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“i'm going to hold your hand while i tell you this,” nick replies, his tone a mix of sincerity and jest, before turning back to the tv. you chuckle, the moment a fleeting blend of humor and earnestness.

suddenly, a loud thud reverberates through the room, followed by chris's voice, laced with frustration, uttering a string of colorful expletives.

your gaze shifts to his room before returning to nick. “i'll be back,” you say, rising from your seat and making your way towards chris's room with determined steps.

you knock gently thrice upon his door, each tap a measured beat against the wood.

“go away!” he yelled from the other side of the door, his voice slightly muffled and barely audible through the barrier.

you disregard his command and gently push the door ajar, peeking your head through the narrow opening. “chris?” you call softly, your voice a tender whisper in the dim light.

his head was cradled in his hands, and he sat perched on the edge of his bed, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. as you entered, he slowly lifted his hands from his face, revealing eyes that had softened upon seeing you.

“y/n,” he murmured, his voice carrying a mix of surprise and relief, as he rose to his feet, the tension in his posture gradually easing.

“are you alright?” you inquire, stepping into his room with a gentle grace and closing the door behind you, sealing the world outside and creating a sanctuary within.

“no,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly. “i just got into a fight with paige, and i feel so guilty..” he sighed deeply, his breath heavy with remorse.

you tilt your head slightly, a look of curiosity and concern crossing your face. “guilty? why do you feel that way?” you ask, your voice gentle yet probing, seeking to understand the depths of his remorse.

“because,” chris begins, his voice trailing off into silence as he stares at you, his eyes searching for the right words. he bites his lip, the reluctance evident in his expression. after a moment of heavy hesitation, he finally confesses, “because she thinks i’m still in love with you.”

the corner of your lips curl up into a smile, which quickly blossoms into a loud, unrestrained laugh. “that's utterly ridiculous!” you exclaim, the absurdity of the notion striking you as profoundly amusing.

chris remains silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “she’s not wrong,” he finally says, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. your laughter halts abruptly, the gravity of his words sinking in.

“what?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his admission hanging heavily in the air.

chris's eyes were filled with a palpable desperation as he stood there, his hands trembling ever so slightly. “i don't know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “but what i do know is that i can't stop thinking about you. i need you back in my life."

you took a step back, shaking your head in disbelief. “this isn't right, chris,” you said, your voice firm yet laced with pain. “you're still with paige. oh god—this is so wrong.”

"i know, i know," he said, his eyes brimming with a desperate plea. he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers trembling slightly. "but i'll handle it. i'll talk to her." he took a deep breath, his voice cracking. "i just can't bear the thought of losing you again."

you looked at him, your heart aching with a tumultuous blend of emotions. "chris, you have to understand," you said, your voice wavering. "you can't just leave her for me. it's not fair to anyone." your eyes searched his, hoping to convey the depth of your turmoil.

"i don't care," he said, his voice growing more desperate, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. "i love you, y/n. i'll do whatever it takes to make this right." his hands clenched into fists, a testament to his determination.

tears welled up in your eyes as you turned away, your shoulders trembling. "you need to figure things out with paige first," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i can't be a part of this until you do."

chris reached out, his hand trembling, but you stepped back again, creating a chasm of unspoken pain between you. "please," he whispered, his voice breaking like fragile glass. "don't walk away."

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself amidst the storm of emotions. "i have to, chris," you said, your voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. "for now, at least. you need to sort things out with paige."

chris sank to his knees, his hands clawing desperately at the empty space around him, as if trying to capture the fleeting remnants of hope. "y/n, please," he cried out, his voice reverberating with the raw, unfiltered agony of his heart. "i can't lose you. you're the one thing that makes sense in my life."

you turned slowly, your gaze falling upon him with a poignant blend of sorrow and steely resolve. "chris, this isn't just about us," you said, your voice carrying the weight of unspoken truths. "it's about doing the right thing. you need to end things properly with paige before we can even contemplate the possibility of something new."

"how can i?" he asked, tears streaming down his face like rivers of sorrow. "how can i let go of you when you're the only thing that feels right in this chaotic world?"

"you have to," you said, your voice soft but unwavering like a gentle but firm breeze. "for both our sakes. you need to be honest with her, and with yourself. only then can we truly see if there's a chance for us amidst the uncertainty."

chris's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. he knew you were right, yet the mere thought of losing you, even if only temporarily, was more than he could bear. "i'll do it," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the gravity of the moment. "i'll talk to her. but promise me you'll wait for me."

you looked at him, your heart breaking for the man you loved, yet understanding that this was the only path forward. "i can't promise anything, chris," you said gently, your voice tinged with both sorrow and hope. "but if you come back to me with a clear heart and a clean slate, then maybe... just maybe, we can find our way back to each other."

with that, you turned and walked away, leaving chris kneeling on the ground, his heart shattered into countless fragments. yet, amidst the ruins of his despair, there lingered a glimmer of hope that one day, through the trials and tribulations of time, he might earn your love once more.

»--•--«

on the following day, chris materialized at your doorstep, his breath ragged and his form soaked in perspiration, a testament to the urgency that propelled him to your abode.

his eyes, a tumultuous sea of resolve and fragility, locked onto yours as he found his voice, which quivered yet held a steely determination. "i have ended things with paige," he declared, the words cascading out with an air of irrevocability. "i did it for you."

you stood there, stunned, the gravity of his declaration slowly permeating your consciousness. your heart raced, each beat a drum echoing in the silence that enveloped you both. you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

"chris," you began, your voice a delicate whisper tinged with uncertainty, "are you certain about this? you might regret this."

he took a step closer, his eyes unwaveringly fixed on yours, the intensity in his gaze palpable. "i've never been more sure of anything in my life," he replied, his voice growing stronger with each word, like a river gaining momentum. "i realized that i can't go on without knowing if we have a chance. you're the one i want to be with."

a tear slipped down your cheek as you absorbed his words, the weight of his confession settling deep within you. "i... i don't know what to say," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart, each beat resonating like a drum in the stillness.

"then don't say anything," chris said gently, his hands reaching out to cup your face with a tenderness that belied the intensity of the moment. "just let me show you how much you mean to me," he continued, his voice a soothing balm, promising a depth of feeling that words alone could never convey.

he took a deep breath, his eyes delving into yours, searching for any flicker of hesitation. "i know i've made mistakes," he continued, his voice laden with raw emotion, each word a testament to his vulnerability. "but losing you made me realize what truly matters. i want to make things right, to earn your trust and your love again," he declared, his plea resonating with a sincerity that sought to bridge the chasm between past errors and a hopeful future.

you felt your heart soften at his words, the sincerity in his voice weaving its way into the very fabric of your being. "chris, it's not going to be easy," you said, your voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. "there's a lot we need to work through," you continued, the enormity of the journey ahead casting a long shadow over your tentative hope.

"i know," he replied, his grip on your face tightening slightly, as if fearing you might slip away like sand through his fingers. "but i'm willing to do whatever it takes. i just need to know if there's a chance for us," he implored, his voice a fervent plea, echoing with the desperation of a soul seeking redemption.

you looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his commitment and the flicker of hope that danced like a fragile flame. "maybe there is," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, like the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. "but we have to take it one step at a time," you continued, knowing that the path ahead would be a delicate balance of patience and perseverance.

a small, hopeful smile spread across chris's face, illuminating his features with a newfound light. "that's all i need," he said, his voice suffused with relief, like the first breath of spring after a long winter. "one step at a time, together," he continued, the words a solemn vow, promising a journey shared hand in hand.

without another word, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. it was a kiss that spoke of promises and new beginnings, a kiss that held the hope of a future woven together. as you kissed him back, you felt a sense of peace and certainty wash over you, like a gentle tide embracing the shore, knowing that this was the start of something profoundly beautiful.

154 notes · View notes

sophrosynesworld · 4 months

Text

with all my love,

Edit: This is now a series with more parts available. Enjoy!

This idea came into my head, basically your significant other is an absent Katsuki Bakugo. After months of a loveless relationship, you decide to leave this note and finally move on.

Dear Katsuki,

If you’re reading this, I’ve already moved my belongings out of our home. You might not believe me, but I’ve had the majority of my items packed in a suitcase next to the front door. It’s been sitting there for the past week, but you never once questioned it.

Each day I waited, hoping you’d notice, hoping you’d ask me about it. Each day, my heart broke a little more when you walked past it without a second glance. I wanted so badly for you to see, to care, to fight for us.

I can’t live like this anymore. I’m tired of sharing a house that feels more like a cold, empty shell than a home. I’m tired of sitting alone at the dinner table, my heart sinking with every passing hour that you’re not there. I’m tired of not seeing you for days on end, of lying awake at night wondering if you’re bleeding out in an alleyway. I might not be a pro-hero, but I’m still your partner. I was your partner.

For months, I fought to gain your attention back, praying to whatever god would listen. I used to beg them, offering anything they wanted, just so you would notice how much I've changed. I started working out again, sculpting my body into something I thought you’d find appealing, hoping to catch your eye like I once did. I even joined a cooking class, learning to make all your favorite dishes. I wanted to surprise you with a homemade meal. You would have known that, if you made it home for dinner once in 4 months.

Do you remember our first apartment after graduation? That tiny studio next to the noodle shop? I find myself there sometimes, watching the new couple who lives in our old place. It's become a painful habit, seeing them live out what we once had. Her boyfriend seems kind, and they slow dance in the kitchen, just like we used to. Sometimes, I can almost hear your laughter echoing in their space, as if our ghosts still linger there.

I remember when we used to laugh and dance together, our dreams tangled like a ball of red string. We would stay up late, talking about our future, making plans that felt like promises. Now, our home your home haunts me. The warmth I once felt has been replaced by a suffocating darkness. I don't know what changed, Katsuki, but pretending everything is fine is tearing me apart.

I often wonder what your biggest regret in life will be. Is it pushing your friends away, no matter how hard they try to love you? Maybe it will be all the times you let your anger get the best of you. Could it be not taking a moment to stop and smell the roses, to appreciate the simple, beautiful moments life has to offer.

I don't know if you've found someone else. Part of me dreads the truth. I don’t want to know if there’s another name on your lips, another face in your heart. I don't think I could bear knowing their name or imagining you whispering those same sweet words into their ear.

Izuku says it’s selfish, but I hope your biggest regret in life is losing me. I hope you see my face in every little thing—the flowers you never stopped to admire, the meals we never shared, the quiet moments you never savored. I hope my laughter echoes in your silence, my tears in your loneliness. I hope my memory haunts your future as painfully as our present haunts me.

If you still love me, Katsuki Bakugo, I haven't felt that love from you in months.

With all of my love,

#You may love me #Katsuki Bakugo #but I haven't felt that love from you in months.#my hero academia #fanfic #angst #mha #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader

236 notes · View notes

empresskylo · 11 months

Text

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 11 ⬅ch.10

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | sexual assault implications/ptsd. blood. wc 4.1k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | this ch gave me butterflies ngl /:

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“now, let’s get you outta here.” ghost said softly as he carried you out of the enemy building. his gentle tone made you want to weep—to forget everything that had happened between the two of you, but you knew you couldn’t. you could, however, forget it for the time being.

ghost held you as he loaded you up in one of the trucks. you didn’t pay much attention to the person driving or your surroundings, all you could focus on was the terrible doom that was lingering in your chest when your thoughts went back to that feeling of abandonment. when you felt like they’d never reach you in time and you were left to the hands of the enemy.

ghost sat beside you in the truck, the side of his body against yours. you would have told him that it was okay and he didn’t have to watch over you, but you didn’t have the energy to voice anything. and you had a feeling ghost wouldn’t have obliged anyway.

after being in the vehicle for a few minutes of silence, you finally felt the weight of your situation. your emotions weighed on your chest like a boulder. you sank into your seat and leaned against ghost on instinct, your head resting on his shoulder. he didn’t seem to mind. his gloved hand came out and rested on your knee, reminding you that you were safe and no longer alone. it was a physical reminder that he was there.

ghost insisted on carrying you aboard the plane too. you could have argued, but you didn’t exactly trust your legs.

soap was at your side the second ghost set you down in a seat of the plane. “jesus, thank god you’re okay,” he whispered. soap’s voice was far more erratic than usual. he held your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “how are ya feeling?” he asked, looking you up and down.

ghost sat across from you and tentatively watched the way you and johnny interacted. “i think i’ll be fine.” you attempted a halfhearted smile, but with the way soap’s face sank, you wondered what you actually looked like.

“iaso,” laswell said making you look up.

“kate, thank god,” you said unsteadily. a temporary feeling of guilt entered your system. you hadn’t even asked about laswell since being rescued.

you appraised her. she looked well. she still looked like herself. she didn’t appear to have any injuries at all. a despicable part of you was envious.

“what did they do to you?” she asked, kneeling in front of you.

“i…” your words faded. you knew you’d have to talk about it. and really, nothing they did was that bad, but your adrenaline was wearing thin and you knew your voice was going to shake if you spoke.

“i think she just needs some time to come back to us,” soap said lightly to laswell. laswell nodded before putting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a warm look. “you did good out there, sergeant.” a small sense of relief filtered in through your thoughts at her praise—even though you didn’t think she meant it.

it didn’t take long for the plane to land back at base, johnny talking to you the entire time, making sure you were truly okay. he didn't ask you to respond to anything he was saying, he simply filled the void with his soothing accent. you even felt your lips form a smile at one point.

when you started to unbuckle and push yourself to stand, ghost’s hands were on you, scooping you back up into his arms. his hand rested on your lower back and the other under your knees.

“you don’t have to carry me,” you said without much conviction.

soap glanced over at the two of you then ducked his head and finished gathering his things before exiting on the ramp. you felt your face warm, wondering what soap was thinking about seeing your lieutenant carry you like this, especially after your pitiful confession to soap.

ghost didn’t reply to you as he walked down the loading dock and brought you in through the entrance closest to the infirmary.

“no, please,” you said in panic, seeing where he was taking you. ghost’s eyes flickered down to look at you for the first time since he picked you up. his attention made your throat close. “can you just take me to my room?”

“you don’t wanna be examined?” his voice was rough as he spoke like he had been shouting. being a medic yourself, of course, you knew you should be examined. even though your injuries weren’t that bad, you could still have internal damage.

you shook your head. “no. i just want to lie down in peace. i don’t want to answer anyone else’s questions. at least not yet.”

ghost hesitated for a moment before he resignedly obliged.

“god,” you groaned. “i hope my roommate isn’t back yet,” you mumbled absentmindedly. ghost could hear the whimper in your words. if she was back, that meant she was sure to hound you with questions and make you go to the infirmary.

“hmm,” you heard ghost hum in reply.

a few moments later, ghost placed you down on your bed— no, wait. this wasn’t your bed. “this isn’t my room,” you said dumbly, looking around.

“i know. it’s mine,” he replied darkly.

you felt your face heat. “w-why would you take me to your room?” you sat awkwardly on his bed as ghost clicked the light on.

“no one will bother you this way,” he said matter-of-factly as if this was simply something he did all the time.

“but–but where will you sleep?”

he shrugged. “doesn’t matter. not tired anyways.” he was still strung up on adrenaline, but he was definitely lying when he said he wasn’t tired. ghost felt beaten down. exhausted. like he would never catch a fucking break.

he rubbed the back of his neck, his mask itching. ghost gave you one last look over before turning to leave the room, to give you your privacy to sleep, or do whatever else you needed to in order to recuperate.

“wait, don’t leave me!” you said quietly but with clear panic laced in your voice. you had leaned over to grab ghost’s hand and you grunted in pain. you sat back on the bed to quickly disguise the anguish that covered your face at the sharp pain in your ribs. “don’t leave me with my own thoughts.” you twisted your hands on your lap, too embarrassed to look at him.

ghost’s eyes traced your silhouette, clearly annoyed with the way you groaned in pain as you reached for him. he wanted desperately to drop you off in the infirmary.

“what kinda thoughts?” he asked, his tone stoic but with a hint of concern.

it felt like that night you had a nightmare and ghost stayed with you even though he probably didn’t want to—but that couldn’t be further from the truth. the memory sent a wave of bashfulness through you.

“oh, uhm.” you looked up as he approached you, standing right before you on the side of his bed. “i guess i’m just blaming myself.”

even though ghost still had his mask on, you could tell he raised an eyebrow. “it’s not your fault you n’ laswell got captured. no one—”

“no. not that. i guess i just… i feel like i don’t belong here.” you looked away from ghost, trying to will the tears to stay put. you were so sick of crying. “you, and soap—and even gaz—spent so long training me, and it’s like it all went out the door the moment i was put in any real danger. i should have been able to escape. to fight them off.” your eyes betrayed you and you quickly wiped the tears away “i should have been able to fight him—”

it was ghost’s turn to cut you off. he sat on the edge of your bed where your feet were, making the mattress dip in. “iaso,” he said, gaining your attention. his fingers itched to reach out and wipe away your tears.

“i like it better when you use my real name,” you said shyly.

when ghost didn’t respond, you looked up. his eyes were pouring into yours; the way he was staring at you made you shift uncomfortably. “what?”

“nothin’,” he finally said. he had been debating telling you he preferred it when you called him simon too, but it got lost in his throat.

“no one thinks less of you for what happened,” he said.

you gave him a skeptical look, expecting him to laugh. “you don’t know that.”

“if any of ‘em do, i’ll be sure t’knock some sense into ‘em.”

you softly laughed, then winced in pain from the movement of your ribs.

“you’re hurt,” he said tersely.

“i’m fine.”

ghost stood from the bed. “i’m gonna go get someone t’take a look. i can ask soap—”

“no, wait. please don’t go.” you felt your body retract in on itself feeling so vulnerable in front of someone you had respected so much. that you still respected so much.

something behind ghost’s eyes sharpened as he looked back at you. he walked over to the side of the bed, inches away from you. “then you gotta let me look.” his words were deep and smokey.

you gave him a hesitant nod. he sat on the bed beside you, making the mattress sink down. his hands came to the hem of his shirt you were wearing and he slowly pulled it up over your head. you whimpered in discomfort as you extended your arms up. your ribs didn’t hurt quite this bad earlier, that’s how you knew the adrenaline was wearing thin.

you were immediately flustered as you sat in your ripped shirt and tank top. reminders of what had happened— what had almost happened —fled back to you.

ghost saw your apprehension and nudged you to take the ripped shirt off. he threw it to the floor and looked back at you. you now sat in only your black tank top, and you were glad for it. the shredded shirt just haunted you, reminding you of the way his knife felt cool against your skin and the ripping noise it made as he dragged it down the front of your shirt.

ghost fingers gently gripped the hem of your tank top and edged it up, bringing you back to reality and out of your dark thoughts. his eyes flickered to yours to make sure you were okay with this. you were glad he had his gloves on—and so was he. if his skin had made contact with yours…

he shook the thoughts away and focused on what he was doing. you squinted in pain as he lifted your top up to your bra and breathed your name. your real name . if it wasn’t for the situation in which he said it, you would have swooned.

ghost’s hands clenched where they gripped your shirt, making fists as he looked at your bruised rib cage. the bruising stretched across your whole abdomen, deep purple and red. “is it bad?” you asked.

ghost took a breath in before lowering your shirt. “i’m gonna go back for that son of a bitch,” he growled.

“what? no! you can’t go back. didn’t you say you killed everyone?”

ghost tried to calm himself by looking away from you, unable to focus as he looked at your cut-up face. “a couple got away. and if the man who did this to you was one of them… i don’t know if i can live with that.”

his eyes danced over to yours before he looked back down at his lap. “simon,” you breathed. you were exhausted. your eyes felt like they were burning the longer you kept them open.

“i need you to wait here a second.” you gave him a worried look. “i’m jus’ gonna go get ya some ice. i’ll be right back.” he wanted to add ‘ i promise ’ at the end of his sentence but thought better of it.

when ghost returned with an ice pack, you had slid under his blankets. he noticed you put his shirt back on and his chest tightened at the sight.

“comfy now, are we?”

“i was going to fight you on staying in your room. had all the talking points ready in my head and everything. but i can’t keep my eyes open,” you said through a yawn. your eyes drooped.

he passed you the ice pack and you gave him a small smile. you bit your lip as you rested it over your ribs. it hurt at first, but the coldness was immediate relief. “thank you.”

you watched silently as ghost shifted on his feet, observing you for a moment, before uniting his boots and kicking them off. next was his tactical vest that he dropped on his desk. the metal of his belt clanked as he undid it. your eyes went wide. “what’re you doing?”

ghost smirked under his mask. “you told me not t’leave. you don’t think i wear all this to bed, now do ya?”

you swallowed and looked away. ghost removed his belt, gloves, and helmet. “care if i…” his words trailed away but his head gestured forward, implying he was asking permission to sit beside you on the bed.

of course, you two had shared a bed before, so how would this be any different? and you were the one making him stay. and it was his bed. you really had no room to say no.

you nodded and ghost clicked off the light, sending you both into darkness. you heard the ruffling of clothes and realized he was taking his mask off. the light from the hallway shone in through the crack of the door and illuminated a sliver of his face as he turned to you. he slid into the bed, above the covers, beside you and you desperately wished he’d turn the light back on.

it was quiet for a few minutes and you were surprised it didn’t feel uncomfortable. “at least i have a reason for my nightmares now,” you joked.

you could hear simon’s head turn on the pillow, his face now looking towards you. he didn’t say anything, but you got a feeling he was telepathically reprimanding you for saying that about yourself.

“aren’t you hurt, too?” you whispered. even though you didn’t have to talk quietly, the darkness of the room made you anyway.

“i’ll worry ‘bout it in the mornin’.”

you wanted to fight him on this but you didn’t have the energy.

it couldn’t have been earlier than six at night and yet you fought to keep your eyes awake. finally, you fell into a restless sleep, simon’s arm warm where it rested against yours.

you awoke hours later and pried your eyes open. the room was still dark—it must have been one or two in the morning—and you could still sense simon beside you, his smell surrounding you: gunsmoke and mint. that’s when you tensed. simon must have shifted in his sleep because now he was on his side, his arm draped across your waist. your cheeks went red hot.

you debated between pretending like you never woke up, letting him keep his arm on you, or asking him to move—you really had to pee. finally, you slowly sat up, his grip on you tightening. “s-simon,” you stuttered. he groaned in his sleep and you felt his hand that was draped across you grip your shirt protectively. your heartbeat kicked up speed. “simon,” you said again.

that last attempt finally woke him from his slumber because he shifted his head to look up at you. he must have realized his arm was wrapped around you, but he made no effort to move it. you swallowed hard. “what is it?” he asked. your breath hitched in your throat at the deep baritone and rasp of his sleepy voice. holy shit , you didn’t think his voice could get any deeper than it already was, but you were wrong.

“i have to use the bathroom,” you said embarrassed. simon breathed in before rolling away from you, taking his arm with him. you felt your heartbeat steady, but you also pouted at the loss of contact.

being a lieutenant had its perks. simon had his own bathroom. it was small and simple, but still, it was a private bathroom. you would have killed for a bathroom of your own.

you slipped off the bed and scurried to the toilet, all too aware of his gaze following you.

once you were finished, you stared at yourself in his dirty mirror. you gently lifted your— his —shirt and looked at your rib cage. even with the faint light in the bathroom, you could tell it was pretty bad.

you startled at a soft knock at the door. obviously, it couldn’t be anyone but simon. you gulped before opening it, trying to step around him, assuming he had to use the bathroom next. but to your surprise, his arm stretched across the doorframe, caging you in.

you looked up at him, your lips parted in shock, and he backed you up against his small sink. his hands were on your hips before you could say anything and he heaved you up and sat you on the counter of the sink.

you watched him in silent astonishment as he pulled out his first aid kit. he began digging through the bag and you saw him crack a very faint smile. “like what ya see?” he teased, his voice still groggy from sleep.

your fists clenched as you looked at him. looked at him . his mask was off. you knew he had taken it off earlier, but you couldn’t really see him in the dark of his room. but now, in the bathroom, regardless of the poor lighting, you could really see his face.

simon pulled out an antiseptic from the bag and looked directly at you. even though you were propped on the sink, he still towered above you. he ignored the way your eyes watched him, widened in shock. his hands softly stroked the side of your face where he began to clean the cut that sliced down your cheek. “shoulda taken care of this earlier,” he mumbled, annoyed with himself for letting you not only skip a visit to the infirmary but to let you go to bed with your face still sticky with dried blood.

you let him clean your face, his eyes obviously avoiding contact with your own. after he was done, he set the bag away. “you should let me look you over,” you said quietly.

he shook his head as he looked at you. and jesus christ, every time he looked at you he took your breath away. he was so handsome. his hair was rather short, but still stuck up in odd places from sleep. he had scruff that covered some of the scars on his jaw. there was a clear scar that slit through his lip, you remember feeling it when he kissed you that night that felt so long ago. his eyes were a dark brown and his lashes were soft and light against the charcoal face paint he still had yet to wash off.

“m’ not hurt,” he said.

you jumped off the sink, making him take a step back, and your hands found his chest. he swallowed and his lips parted ever so slightly at your contact. “no? so this doesn’t hurt?” you asked knowingly as you pressed your hands up his chest. your small boost of confidence came from being a medical professional and wanting to mend simon, knowing he was hurt. and also a bit of sleep deprivation.

you studied his face, unable to look away, and knew he was holding back on wincing. “simon, just let me look,” you said defeated.

he surprised you when he tore his short-sleeved shirt from his top half and let it hang in his hand. his torso was exposed to you in all its glory. you tried not to think about how toned he was as you examined his chest, the small amount of hair trailing down beneath his pants. you could see the way he was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in rigorous patterns.

you saw old, faded scars marring his chest. then your eyes found the one lower on his torso, a scar from where you had sown him up weeks ago. then your eyes traced up higher and you saw fresh, bright red blood. there was a clear cut on his side, higher up towards his armpit. it wasn’t deep and had stopped bleeding, but he needed it cleaned.

you grabbed for his med back and pulled out what you needed before ordering him to lift his arm so you could clean his cut. his eyes watched you intensely the entire time you worked. you felt your fingers waver momentarily—the combination of him shirtless, staring at you, and maskless was leaving you starstruck.

you finally set everything back away and looked up at him, a bit awkward about what to do next. simon looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the way you were swimming in his long-sleeved shirt. he took a step towards you and you mirrored him, backing into the sink. the light in the bathroom flickered. your hands gripped the counter on either side of you as you let simon edge in closer. he hunched over slightly, his head tilted, his eyes locked with yours.

you held your breath as he moved, somewhere between wanting him to continue and wanting him to stop. simon’s hand reached up, desiring nothing more than to cup your face and pull your lips to meet his. but he refrained. he stretched his fingers in phantom pain and settled on tucking a stray hair behind your ear. he watched your throat bob as you gulped and fire blazed behind his eyes.

he wanted to lean into you. to say he was sorry. to have both his hands all over you. to kiss you until you both lost your breath.

you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, waiting for something to happen. “i was right,” he grunted. you raised an eyebrow at him. “it fuckin’ sucks lettin’ people get close, jus’ for them t’leave you.”

you matched his firey gaze. “simon…” you breathed, at a loss of what to say. so he let you in? he listened to you, at least somewhat, when you told him it was worth having people in your life who care about you. how it hurts like hell losing them, but you would gladly take all the pain that comes with loss if it means not being alone.

and then he thought he lost you. and every fear he ever had, every attempt to keep people out so this specific situation wouldn’t happen, came to fruition.

finally, simon stepped back and gave you a sideways look. you wished he wasn’t so beautiful under his mask, maybe then this would have been easier.

you followed him back into his small quarters and obliged when his hand found the small of your back and pushed you towards his bed. he was only slightly worried you might have wanted to leave after this.

you crawled back into your spot and watched as simon sat on top of the covers, his back against the wall, propped up as he got lost in his own thoughts.

“you’re not going back to sleep?” you asked quietly.

he didn’t look down at you as he spoke. “close your eyes,” was all he could muster.

you tried to hold back any sense of rejection as your eyes fluttered closed, desperate for sleep.

after several minutes, you heard simon shift. he looked down at you finally, curled up in his bed, thinking you had fallen back to sleep already. you could feel his gaze on you, burning holes through you. he sighed before sinking down so his head was on his pillow and crossed his hands across his torso. his head turned sideways on the pillow and he couldn’t stop the half-hearted grin as he looked at you beside him.

he hated that he was already on the verge of falling asleep again. this would be the second time he slept in a bed beside you. the first time being in your own bed after you had nightmares. and he hated— absolutely despised —the fact that this was going to also be the second time he slept peacefully and would wake fully rested.

chapter 12 ➡

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #beneath the mask

555 notes · View notes

anantaru · 2 years

Text

cw. kissing, making out, fluff but mixed with a sprinkle of angst, this is very soft and indulgent, gn! reader

a/n. this was very indulgent and nice to write so i had to share with the village right away :) enjoy

you love to kiss scaramouche, kiss and kiss and kiss him again — numerous times — until you have to withdraw to catch up on some much needed air. but then he‘s airily smirking into your lips with a low chuckle spilling from his tongue, pressing out broken puffs from his chest, and his cheeks— with such a pretty red tint on his pale skin as you watch him crumble into pieces when you cradle his face.

the holding affection of his delicate prints arouse significant comfort and it was enough to relieve yourself from your day to day struggles, forgetting everything around you and twining into him— lips curved into an ardent smile.

scaramouche clears his throat before easing himself back into you with a subtle peck— offering you another kiss, one more— and another one, until you‘re both smiling into each other again. a teem of electro like tingles course into your veins as his hands further web into your tousled garments, his fingers pulling you benevolently into his body— it’s nothing more but an affectionate act to kuni, so he could have your skin lingered on top of his, your silent whines against his lips, so his features would be overcome with need and devotion he never received before.

for all that, it‘s equal to what you do, to lift the heavy burdens off his shoulders effectively, tenderly moulding into his tongue again— each upsetting memory departing from his state of mind, it‘s as if you‘re making direct contact with his soul through your deep rooted kisses, leaving a cavernous fire to burn from inside his chest. whereas scaramouche too, tastes like sweet sweet heaven on your lips, he kisses you like it‘s an addiction, worships your body as if it‘s the finest, most fragile— so compassionate — his fingers, ghosting on your skin, featherlight.

by the same sign, kuni didn‘t resonate with any of those sentiments. he who— prior to being with you, found false solace in the sinking feeling in his belly that had been automatically shielding himself from, yes, love. because kuni wasn‘t fully comforted by suddenly being wanted by someone. he didn’t like it, the sense and how it plagued his heart, the feeling on its own or— that he couldn‘t control it, again, that's what it was.

that there was no way of turning it off. there‘s rage, anger but love? it was more intense, it wasn't allaying to his frozen cold, and a part of him wondered how to turn it off, yet the incapability of treating his new feelings and reactions burned heavier in his boiling anger.

scaramouche, who had done horrible undertakings in his life, no, it was beyond that— he realizes deeply, how dark and twisted the deeds in his past were. what was the conclusion of such awareness? distantly, it cemented a closed off silence in him, again, his mind felt detached and pitch black, reminiscing the days from when he had been discarded.

the man was not worthy of such pure, candid love. yet why, why did you give it to him regardless, accepted him with open arms and a fresh spirit— and it freed him from the bleeding shackles of the promise he signed with himself. the ceaseless shadows of his recollections, evaporating and gone.

a source of light was consuming him whole, demolishing his tragic memories, deeper than before, and a new kiss seared into his skin— but the flames, those warm familiar flames, carved your name into his broken soul.

#scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #genshin impact scaramouche #wanderer x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact wanderer #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles

1K notes · View notes

marksbear · 1 year

Note

haii !! i really loved the ghost x tattoo artist!m reader you did and i was wondering if you could do one for a nail artist? like the reader has a successful nail salon and the reader loves to practice on ghost's natural nails which results in ghost walking around the base with glittery nails LOL the other guys teases the hell outta him but ghost doesn't gaf bc its makes the reader happy :33

love ur works btw !!

Thank you for loving my works and my tattoo reader fic it means a lot to me! This is such a cute idea and fic!

SIMON “GHOST RILEY X NAIL ARTIST MALE READER.

-Ghost had to swallow down his pride when you first asked him if you could practice on his nails.

-The more you started to beg he grumbled disagreements until he finally had enough and said “okay fine.”

-Ever since then it has became a regular thing for the two of you.

-Kinda like a bonding and trust experience for the two of you.

-At first he preferred the more dark colors and shorter nails, but as he became more comfortable he warmed up to the longer nails and bright colors.

-Having matching nails almost every week.

-He secretly loved that one time you painted your initials on his nails and you did the same, but with his on your hands.

-He spends a lot of money for your supplies. Buys you the latest kits and everything else you need.

-Stops by at your nail salon a lot. Leaves huge tips without even getting anything. Some of your regulars thinks he’s your sugar daddy from all the stuff he gives you.

-He made himself a cozy little spot next to your desk so he can watch you work and make sure your safe.

-You taught him how to do his own nails.

-There’s moments where he’s alone in the base and he has nothing to do so he digs in his bags and gets out a little nail kit you bought for him and starts to paint his own nails.

-Soap and Gaz almost walked in on him doing it but he hid the stuff so fast.

-He likes to kiss and cuddle you while he waits for his nails to dry.

-For the last night together before he had to go back to the military you paint his nails bright and glittery while he’s asleep and when he wakes up you run for your life.

-Price was the first one to notice the glittery nails on him. Price was welcoming him back sticking his hand out for Ghost to shake. Ghost shakes his hand and walks past not noticing the raised eyebrow that Price had.

-Gaz was next cause in his corner of his eye he saw something glittery and bright so he turns to look and see it was Ghost hands. He turns back around not thinking much of it before whipping his head around back at Ghost with wide eyes.

“Got your nails done?” Gaz asks with a teasing smile.

“Shut up before I kill you.” Simon snaps back.

-And Soap was the one to notice them last. The team were around the round table talking about their newest mission until Soaps eyes lingered around stopping once he saw glitter. He slowly looked up to see who hands they were and his mouth dropped once he was meant with Ghost.

“L.T has glittery nails!” He blurts out in a laugh while Gaz is in the chair next to him dying.

-Even price couldn’t hold back his laughter.

-As the boys laugh their asses off Ghost just roles his eyes and let out a sigh.

-Ever since then the boys have been on Simon’s ass but his nails. Always wanting to see them if he gets them painted something new. It’s like their his biggest supporters and haters in the same time.

Back with the two of you!

-He will paint your own nails if your too tired to do them yourself.

-He will also do your customers while you watch over him helping him if he needs it or messes up but that isn’t often.

-Simon’s in the salon so often people began to think that he worked there. So just for laughs and giggles you gave him a name tag.

-He’s a bit nosy so when a customer is telling you about there life or some drama is going on in their life he’s also listening and reacting in the back.

-People mistake him as a boyfriend that’s waiting patiently for his girlfriends nails to be done but that isn’t the case.

-So he will just straight up and tell him that he’s waiting for his boyfriend to be done with his clients and close shop.

-Once a month you give him long acrylic nails and you give yourself some two and for weeks your just messing and annoying each other for weeks. When he finally had enough he bit off one of them because you had them in his face.

-You got revenge by covering his gun in bright glitter.

So you two are even for now.

THE END

#simon ghost riley #Simon ghost Riley x male reader #Mordern warfare x male reader #cod x male reader #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #Mw2 Simon x male reader #x male reader #male reader #the bear club

981 notes · View notes

nexysworld · 9 months

Text

Summary: It was like staring at a finished puzzle, everything clicking together correctly. Yet despite his fantasies, and how peaceful you looked – he knew deep down a piece was missing. The truth was you weren’t really his, at least not in the way he wanted, and he was going to have to change that. Pairing: RE4R!Yandere Leon x Reader Tags: Suggestive themes but no smut, Yandere, Mentions of murder, stalking, canon typical violence, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, drugging A/N: This was a ko-fi commission for a really wonderful person. I had so much fun writing a little self contained story about Yandere Leon. <3

Read on AO3 || Ask Box || Masterlists || Ko-Fi

Part I: The Small Details

Leon tapped his fingers against the scratchy worn fabric of the couch as he watched you curled up on the other end of the sectional nearly asleep. The colors of the TV flashing across your skin, the only light in the dark living room. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d found himself admiring you like this – running his eyes over the contours of your face, imagining what it would be like to trace them with his fingers. You were always the cutest like that, eyes lidded, mouth parted slightly as you teetered between dreamland and reality.

It was like staring at a finished puzzle, everything clicking together correctly. Yet despite his fantasies, and how peaceful you looked – he knew deep down a piece was missing. The truth was you weren’t really his, at least not in the way he wanted. As close as the two of you were, he was aware of the fact he was only a friend to you.

Every time he felt he was getting closer to making you his, you would wander off into the arms of another asshole. Every time it ended the same way, with you running back into his arms sobbing, if only you could see how much better off you’d be with him. If only you knew.

Though, what he neglected to tell you was he was the reason each of them ran off. Typically it didn’t take much. Some blackmailing via the use of government tools coupled with the threat of violence usually did the trick. They’d be off, tail between their legs leaving you with nothing more than a break up test or worse, being ghosted. He hated to see the downfall of it, the way the tears spilled down your cheeks as your face scrunched up. The sad way you’d ask him if you'd done anything wrong. It crushed him, but he knew it’s what you needed, what was best for you. Leon sighed, scooting slowly over to your sleeping form reaching a hand out to gently brush some of your hair out of your face before leaning down to place a soft kiss to your forehead. He let his lips linger there, taking in the scent of your hair and relishing the feeling of the contact. ‘Goodnight Sweetheart.’ He thought to himself before making his way to his own bed, down the short hallway. He curled under the plush sheets wishing you were with him.

The next morning he found you moving about the kitchen, cracking some eggs into a pan while the smell of bacon wafted towards him from the other. He loved watching you do things, somehow you managed to make even the mundane beautiful in his eyes. “Good morning.” “Oh, morning!” You said in return, pushing the eggs around in the pan as they cooked. “Hope you’re hungry. I think I cracked too many eggs by accident.” “Starving actually.” He went to pull the chair out to sit, interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. A sigh escaped his lips as he saw Hunnigan’s name on the caller ID. If there was anything of note about the woman, it was that she had the world’s worst timing. “Give me a minute.” Leon said, bowing out of the room. It was just a run of the mill mission, but the details took forever to get through, at least that’s how it was feeling when all he wanted to do was get back to you. The moment the woman finished her speech, Leon tucked his phone back into the pockets of his cotton gray pajama pants before sliding back into the kitchen and taking his seat. “Work again?” You asked, scooping food onto his plate. “Unfortunately.” He replied, slightly muffled as he was already chowing down. He used his hand to cover his mouth before swallowing. “You know, they’ve been reaching out to you a lot lately – are they ever going to give you a break?” Taking your own seat, he was already half finished by the time you scooted in and took your first bite. He shrugged, a smile coming to his face at your concern. “Comes with the territory.” “Territory? I mean the last time I was over here they were calling you at what, 3am? You had to book it out the door before barely saying goodbye.” “Like I said, it comes with the territory.” “Uh huh…” You replied, an eyebrow raising. “What kind of territory are we talking about? I know you’re not a doctor, or a cop, so what kind of job has you on-call 24/7?” Leon let out an annoyed sigh. This was a conversation the two of you have had many times since you met. He’d tried just about every tactic of avoiding the topic as he could, but you seemed unrelenting in your quest for knowledge about his line of work. “I work for the government.” “Sure, I know that, but most government workers are like 9-5’s, I thought that was the point.” “Not that kind of government – You’re always asking me this, why do you want to know so bad?” “Because you’re my friend Leon.” Ouch. “And I care about you.” ‘Then why can’t we be more than friends?’ He thought to himself before shooing the thought from his brain. He considered your words for a moment, taking a sip of his orange juice. “Will you take no for an answer?” “No!” You said firmly, a triumphant smirk overtaking your features. “Especially not this time. C’mon Lee, please? Please?”

As much as he wanted to stay firm, like he always did, something about this particular morning and the sound of your pleading voice cracked his shell just a little. “I can’t tell you, because I don’t want you to get hurt because of it.” “Oooooh spooky.” You replied with a roll of your eyes. “If you won’t tell me I’ll just have to start guessing. Let’s see, what kind of government job would be dangerous and have you darting off at all hours of the night. Hmmm.” You brought your chin to your face in mock thought – Leon would’ve thought it was adorable if not for how much he didn’t want to be having this conversation. “Are you in the mafia?” Well that’s not what he was expecting, he almost choked on his OJ, brow raising as he let out a snort. “Mafia? You can’t be serious! Where’d you even get that from, you think just because I’m Italian I’m in the Mafia.” He teased in return. “It makes sense, a secret life of crime – working with the government to take out rival families.” “You watch too much TV.” “Ok, ok, that was ridiculous. But seriously, I thought we were close. You can’t even tell your best friend what you do for a living? Do you not trust me? I’m hurt.” Your bottom lip jutted out into a mock pout and you batted your eyes dramatically.

He knew you well enough to know that you were half kidding. The pout and exaggerated tone were part of the joke, but damn if that look still didn’t kill him inside. “Fine.” He conceded. “I work for a special part of the federal government. Let’s say we handle things like viruses and stuff.” “Viruses…and stuff?” The way you tilted your head like a confused puppy made his heart trump out of beat for just a moment. “What does that even mean?” “I guess you could say we clean up after them, make sure they don’t spread. That kind of thing.” He was hoping her questioning would stop soon if he gave just enough information to satisfy your curiosity finally – he should have known better though. “But then why would knowing that have anything to do with me getting hurt?” Your eyebrows knitted together, frustration evident on your face. He wanted to smooth out those anger lines with him thumb. “Leon, there’s something you’re not telling me and I don’t like it. What do you really do for a living?” “I just told yo–” “No, cut the crap. Tell me the truth. The real truth. The whole truth –” “Or so help me god? What is this, an interrogation at the witness stand?” “Not funny.” You said firmly, crossing your arms as you leaned back in your chair, staring him down. “Not only am I hurt that you’re still not being honest, but now I’m worried too. Worried about you.” Leon matched the intensity of your stare, taking the last bite of his food. He mulled over things quickly, knowing he had to reply soon before the situation grew more tense. On the one hand, he still didn’t want to open that can of worms with you. On the other hand, maybe if you did understand what was out there, what he protects you against every day it would bring you closer. Maybe it was just the thing he was needing to take things to the next step, have you all to himself – to finally fit that last piece of the puzzle into place.

“Ok, if you really want to know what I do for work, let me show you.” “Really?” “Really. But I do have to warn you, you might see some pretty gnarly things.” “I can handle gnarly.” “If you say so.” He knew this was a gamble on his part, but he was too committed now to back out. Scooting his chair out, he stood grabbing his dishes. “Wait here for me, I’ll be right back.” He gently set the glass and porcelain into the sink as you gave him a thumbs up, a tiny piece of egg stuck to the corner of your mouth. Instinctively he reached out, flicking it off your face. “So messy.” He chided, teasingly. Leon headed down the hall and past his bedroom at the locked door of his home office. He’d never let you in there before, and he wasn’t about to let you in there now. Too much evidence of his love for you, among other things. Pictures of your smile scattered about in the forms of polaroids, documents he printed for keeping tabs, and an extra file cabinet dedicated to those he deemed unworthy of your life.

None of that was important though, what he was really looking for was the heavy metal laptop on the center of the cheap wood desk. The “Property of the United States Government’s Division of Security Operations” logo was worn down from years of use. Leon hadn’t bothered to request a new one, only ever using it for filing and reading reports – or a virtual meeting on the rare occasion. Grabbing it, he slunk back to the living room, leaning back down onto his couch.

A wave of anxiety washed over him as he considered what he was truly about to do, what he was about to show you. “Done eating?” He asked, patting the seat next to him. You responded by standing and stretching for a moment before walking over and plopping down next to him. Eyeing the laptop a smirk came to your face. “I guess you really do work for the government. I’ll be damned.” “The sticker give it away?” He asked with a chuckle. With the press of a button, the laptop came whirring to life. As it loaded he looked at you. “I know this probably goes without saying, but anything you see is confidential. Anything. I could get in a ton of trouble if a civilian saw any of this.” “Scary. But yeah I get it.” He could see the subtle change in your expression. Underneath that excitement and confidence there was a hint of trepidation.

Leon gave you one more moment to back out, before he entered his information into the login screen. Once the desktop was in view, he opened the web browser and pressed his finger to the scanner on the keyboard. “D.S.O Case Archives,” read the top of the web page. He toggled through a few navigational pages until finally an archive of folders appeared. “There’s two case files I want to share with you. The first was the incident that lead me to my current job.” He clicked on the file titled, “Raccoon City,” a document appearing on the page. Details of the year and date were at the top along with a case summary. “Go ahead, check it out.” He handed the laptop over to you, letting you scroll through the document. Eyeing your face carefully, he studied each change in your expression, each hitched breath as you made your way through it. A gasp left your mouth at a photo halfway through. It was a clip taken from security footage, one of the ‘lickers’ as Leon remembered dubbing them. The monster had its tongue out, deformed face almost staring at the camera. “This is a joke right? That can’t be real.” Despite your best efforts to remain brave, Leon could sense the unease beneath it all. “It’s not a joke.” He assured softly.

“Is that you?” You asked, pointing to a picture farthing down on the document. It was an old photo of himself, still in his RPD uniform. It looked more like a mugshot, he was in a gray room bandage wrapped around his shoulder. “Yeah. It was my first day as a cop when the outbreak happened.” “You were a cop, I never knew that…. But Raccoon City? I’ve never even heard of a place like that.” “That’s because you didn’t read far enough.” You leaned back for a moment taking in that information before returning to the webpage, scrolling through as you finished the report, eyes scanning over every line of text, every image. “Wait, the government bombed the city? Just like that? Wiped off the planet?” He nodded solemnly, patting you on the back. “Yeah. They thought it was the only way to prevent national panic and contain the outbreak. I managed to get out, but so many people weren’t as lucky.” “I don’t understand.” “That’s just how the government operates –” “No… I mean… Why would you work for them now? After knowing what they did?”

Not expecting the question, he thought for a moment before deciding to just be truthful. “It wasn’t my choice. After I managed to get out, I was picked up by some agents wanting to interview me. Afterwards I was “asked” to join this government program.” He shrugged it off. “I don’t mind it though. I became a cop because I wanted to help people, and I still get to. The money’s good, and if not for this job I’d never have moved here and met you.” A dry laugh escaped your lips at the last part. “You’re insane. But I guess it’s good you can think positively after…that. I’ll be honest though, I don’t know if I fully believe this. I don’t think you’re lying but like, monsters? Zombies? If I didn’t know you as well as I did I’d be calling you crazy.” ‘If only you knew just how insane I am for you.’ He nodded in agreement. “I get that. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it either.” “And so like, you deal with things like that all the time?” “I wouldn’t say all the time. Some missions are more normal y’know? Stand bodyguard for some high ranking official. Escort this person, investigate this lead – a lot of which don’t go anywhere.” He shrugged it off. “What…what was that second one you wanted to show me?” “Are you sure? You look a little freaked out. We can stop.” “No, no I want to see. Please.” You said, handing the laptop back to him. He didn’t question you further, instead exiting the document before scrolling to find the next one. “The Kennedy Report - Las Plagas” was the title. Again, the folder contained a document littered with information and photos.

Not even waiting for him to speak, you grabbed it from him, hunching over as if getting as close to the screen as possible would help you take in the information. “Wait, you wrote this report? And…Leon this was the last time you were away.” The shock on your face was palpable, mouth agape, eyes wide. He found it amusing that information alone had such an effect on you and you hadn’t even made it to the meat of the report yet. It made his heart thud. “Yeah, and yep.” He confirmed. “The President’s daughter? No way…” You continued to mutter little comments to yourself as you read along – nose nearly touching the monitor by the time you reached the first picture of a plaga. “Jesus christ! What the fuck is that thing?” He could tell you weren’t really asking, as you just continued your venture through the webpage, face becoming more contorted with confusion and an unreadable expression to Leon. The bottom of the report held a photo of him and Ashley Graham standing next to one another outside a helicopter. You reached out to touch the screen, finger on his chest. The look of discomfort on your face was quickly replaced with a smile, as if you were masking whatever it was you were really feeling. “That’s what you wear at work? If that shirt was any tighter you might bust through it, really showing off the muscles, damn.”

He couldn’t contain the snort that left him. You were too precious, making jokes to deflect how you were really feeling. It was something Leon himself was all too familiar with, just another reason he knew you were that missing piece to him.

Grabbing the laptop, he closed the lid and set it on the side table. He didn’t speak, giving you a few minutes to process.

“That was real?” “Yeah.” “All of it?” “Yeah.” Nodding, you flopped sideways to rest your head on his shoulder. He felt his chest tighten at the contact, resisting the urge to wrap his arm around you and kiss your forehead – just like he’d done when you were sleeping. “Thank you for telling me. I get now why you didn’t before. I’m sorry for prying.” “It’s alright. I get the curiosity.” Daring to take a chance, he did wrap his arm around you, combing his fingers through your hair. He felt you relax against him. “Made me feel a little better actually.” “Really?” “Yeah, it’s not often I get to open up like that.” “Can I ask you a question?” “Of course.” “You said part of why you never told me before was because you were worried about me getting hurt. What…what did you mean by that?” “Working on missions like that puts me in front of a lot of dangerous people. That’s not even including the government itself – they like their secrets. I guess I’m just worried the more you know, the more there’s a possibility of you being a target.” It was there, only for a second, but he caught it – a look of fear, it nearly crushed him. “Don’t worry though.” He added. “I’d never let anything happen to you. Ever. Promise.” “Lee…” The nickname you only used on special occasions, your voice so soft if you weren’t leaning on him he wouldn’t have heard it. “Yeah?” He didn’t expect the way you moved so quickly, moving so you were straddling his lap, staring directly at him – looking into his eyes with an intensity he’d never seen before. You gulped down and took a few breaths in as if to stop yourself from crying before wrapping your arms around him tightly, chin resting tightly on his shoulder. He mimicked your actions, squeezing you tightly against him. It affirmed his decision that telling you was the right thing to do. He could already sense that you two were closer after this, knew you’d be his soon. For now though he chose to linger in the moment, enjoying the way you felt against him – how you clung to him.

Part II: The Short Interlude

Leaving that conversation with Leon left you feeling indescribable. It was easy at first to shake away those icky feelings, burying them under the ongoings of day to day life – but at nighttime the struggle would begin. The lingering memory of those awful images and nearly worse the stories behind them.

Denial was the first thing you tried, shaking your head as if the thoughts would empty themselves too. ‘That would never happen here. That stuff couldn’t possibly be real. The government wouldn’t really do that, right?’ The more you thought about it though, the more feelings of anxiety would wash over you. It had you rethinking a lot of things, things you wouldn’t normally have taken so seriously. Several late nights were spent suddenly missing your family, or old friends you haven't seen in a while.

The growing ‘what ifs’ weighed on you heavily to the point where you decided you wanted to be home again, close to your loved ones. If god forbid something happened they were who you wanted to be beside.

Of course you felt bad for leaving Leon, especially after how he admittedly opened up to you. It made you feel guilty, like the world’s shittiest friend. But worst of all, you knew you’d miss him. He was a great friend. The best really, more than you could ever ask for. The thought of leaving him behind tugged at your heart – but this is what you needed, at least for now.

It took all of your willpower to muster the courage to pick up the phone and dial his number. Swallowing down the nervousness, you pressed the cool glass to your ear, letting it ring. Each loop of the dial tone made your resolve falter. About to end the call – he picked up on the last ring. “Hey, Lee.” You said, pacing back and forth inside your own apartment, not wanting to stand in any one spot too long. “Hey, it’s been awhile.” “Yeah – you know I wanted to apologize for that. I know I’ve been acting really weird since the day you showed me all that.” “That’s ok, I know it was a lot. Is everything alright? You don’t normally call, just stop by.” “Yeah, yeah.” You said clearing your throat awkwardly. “I just had something I wanted to tell you, that’s all.” “Something to tell me over the phone and not in person?” You could hear the speculation in his tone. “Sounds like it must not be good news.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say it’s bad news.” “Uh huh…. So what’s up then?” “Well this past weekend I went to visit my parents. While I was out there, I started looking around at places to move to.” “Wait, you went out of town and didn’t tell me? And now you’re talking about moving? Why?” “Well, I didn’t think I needed to tell you.” Shocked by his upsetedness you frowned, biting your lip in thought before adjusting the phone between your neck and shoulder. “Look, just after everything it got me thinking. I just think being near family is what I need right now.” “Is it because that stuff freaked you out? Because if it is, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intent–” “No, no….I mean maybe a little. I know you didn’t mean it but –” “Come on, your whole life is here, you can’t really be planning on moving so abruptly.” “Leon –” “I’d miss you.”

Those words crushed you. “I’m going to miss you too, Lee. A lot.” “Then don’t go.” His voice was quieter now, softer. If the phone wasn’t right up to your ear, you wouldn’t have heard it. “Leon, I have to.�� “No you don’t.” His voice was flat, authoritative – the abrupt tone shift shocked you.

“I already made an offer on an apartment.” The phone clicked, ending the call on his end. You stared down at the black screen for a moment before trying to redial the number. It rang twice before going to voicemail. You tried again a second time. Then a third time. By the fourth of him clearly declining your calls, you gave up. ‘Asshole, hanging up on me.’

It’s not how you wanted any of this to go. You slumped down onto your own couch, head in your hands as you thought about everything. “Man this sucks.” It was starting to get dark out, the streetlamps of the parking lot just flickering on, adding a soft yellow glow through the window. Even though you had lived alone this whole time, suddenly your apartment was feeling very lonely. You bounced your leg as you thought about your next move.

With nothing immediately coming to mind, you decided to try and distract yourself, flipping through the channels of your TV, not lingering on any one station for more than a minute or two, before starting back at the top of the list. When that didn’t work, you curled up under the throw blanket hoping sleep would be enough to distract you – instead, all it did was bring back the memories of the countless times you found yourself wrapped under one of Leon’s blankets, always soft and smelling like that fancy cologne he wore, as you’d fall asleep at his apartment.

You fell asleep missing him.

Part III: The Whole Picture

The morning sun beat down heavily against your eyes. Mumbling you rolled over, not ready for the day to start yet, hands grasping at the plushness beneath you. The softness of the duvet lulled you back into that sweet sinking feeling, nearly unconscious again when it hit you.

You fell asleep on the couch.

Where was the scratchiness of the knitted throw blanket? How did you have so much space to move? Jolting upright, you looked around, nearly blinded by the light against your sore sleep-filled eyes. Rubbing them quickly, you looked around while they adjusted, heart racing as you realized it wasn’t your living room. “What the–?” It was a plain white room, nothing really in it besides the bed and closet doors at the far wall.

Attempting to stand, you almost fell, catching yourself against the tall bed. It felt like you were drunk, your head was clear, but your limbs felt numb and heavy, like walking with noodles for legs. It took a moment of deep breaths and sheer will for you to finally fling yourself from the bed to the window, putting your weight against the sill.

All you could make out in the distance was a flat field of tall grass blowing in the wind, stopping only at a wall of trees. It was a far cry from the urban cement and neon lights of the city. You craned your neck to see if you could make out anything recognizable in either direction – it was just more of the same. A sea of unkempt grass surrounding whatever building you were in.

A noise behind you made you jolt with panic, in fear you let go of the sill attempting to run as you collapsed to the ground.

“Oh sweetheart…you’re not ready to be up and walking yet.”

The familiar voice made you turn instantly, eyes locking with those sky blue ones you were so accustomed to. Your mind was so scrambled by everything going on you didn’t even register the pet name at first. “Leon?” “In the flesh.” He replied, moving to crouch down next to you. He ran his hand from your shoulder down your side to your legs, eyes scanning every part of you. “You alright?” “Where am I?” “Not important, with that drug in your system you might not feel if you hurt yo–” “What drug? Leon where the fuck am I?” Attempting to crawl away from him, he stopped you easily, wrapping an arm around you to hoist you up. Any attempt to kick your legs was futile between his strength and whatever was in your system, there was no helping you when he tossed you back onto the bed.

“Calm down Angel, calm down. I’ll explain, just, you need to calm down.” “I don’t need to calm down. I need to know what’s going on!” You tried to sit up, but he pushed you back down gently. He leered over you, hands on your arms with a grip that was firm but not tight or painful. His face read full seriousness as you peered into his eyes – he didn’t speak, the cold mix of his stare and the ensuing silence made you wash over with fear. “I said, calm down.” His words were flat, cold. You couldn’t ever remember hearing him like this. The cold aura that seemed to be emanating from him had you biting your tongue only for a brief moment. “How the hell do you expect me to calm down? Tell me what’s going on right now Leon.” “Always so stubborn.” He said softly, whole body relaxing above you before he let go of his hold. Making his way to the other side of the bed he flopped onto it, pulling you close so you were resting with your head on his chest. He wrapped one arm around you and used the other to gently caress your hair. The switching of emotions nearly gave you whiplash.

“I–” “Shh.” He cooed, continuing to pet you like he was taming a pet. “Shh, don’t speak Angel. I know you have a lot of questions, just relax.”

Your brain wasn’t comprehending anything going unless, especially not his odd demeanor or the pet names he was using in abundance. It’s not like you had never imagined yourself curled up with him like this before – but given the situation it just didn’t feel right. You dared to bring your eyes back up to his, and there they were soft, caring, just like you always remembered them being. Once comforting they were now unsettling. Nothing felt right at this moment; your stomach churned with unease and anxiety. If physically capable you’d have squirmed away, pushed at him, but you were stuck. All you could do was bite with your words. “I’m not going to shush. Not until I have answers, and quit calling me that.” You looked up at him, giving your best icy stare. He stopped running his fingers through your hair. “Alright, alright.” He conceded. “What’s your first question?”

“Where am I?” “You’re home where you belong.”

That wasn’t very helpful and certainly didn’t answer your question. “You know that’s not what I mean. Where is “home?”” It was brief but you caught his eyebrow twitch at your pushing, something you’d only ever seen when he was irritated and trying to hide it.

“Home is with me, the exact location of this house you don’t need to know. Understand, princess?” The cold, flat tone was back again. “Any more questions?” “What did you do to me?” “Nothing, silly.” “It’s not nothing, my arms, my legs –” “It was just a little medicine to help you sleep on the way here. It’ll wear off soon.” “How did –” You actually didn’t want to know the answer to that. “Why?” “Why what?” He raised a brow as he tucked some hair behind your ear, an action that was once sweet – something you loved that he would do whenever you were upset. Right now though every touch of his fingertips stung, his non answers beginning to irritate you beyond belief. “What do you think I mean? Why are you doing this? Why did you bring me here?” “Because this is where you belong. I told you that already.” “Leon, come on. You know damn well that’s not what I meant!” You finally snapped out of frustration. “You know what? You’re fucking crazy – take me home right now!” His grip on you tightened slightly, not as tight as before, but just enough as a warning. “This right here is exactly why you’re here.” He snapped back. “You don’t listen. You don’t think. You have no idea what’s best for you. I’m sorry but I can’t keep letting you go on like that, I have to keep you safe.” “Wha–” “I love you.” He said the words with such firm confidence you were stunned. Despite yourself your cheeks dusted red from hearing the confession, thoughts swirling through your head in hazy clouds of confusion.

“Leon what the hell –” “I love you.” He said again, cupping your cheek with his palm. “That’s why you’re here. Why I have to keep you safe.” You swatted his hand away as best you could, confusion, anger, and shock morphing your features. He didn’t seem to care for your discomfort as he spoke again. “No more questions. Just relax.” He emphasized his point by sitting up and leaning forward to rub at your thigh. You weren’t sure what he was doing,definitely suspicious of his intentions, until he began kneading at your muscles with both hands. “Feel good?” He applied more pressure as he wired his way down, at first it was a strange sensation, pins and needles mixed with numbness, until it faded and all you could feel was the warmth of his hands on the spot he was working. “Use your words sweetheart.” “Don’t patronize me like that.” “You don’t have to be that way.” He sighed, but continued massaging your muscles. “It’ll help get you walking a little better so I can show you around, help you get settled in. I’m sure your attitude will change after a while” He spoke while he worked, pushing and rubbing against the flesh on both legs. “Doubtful.” You couldn’t deny it was pleasurable, but most of all you were keen on getting your movement back. It was clear that he was – crazy, to put it mildly. Either he snapped, or he was never really the Leon you knew, regardless, one thing was true: you needed to get out of here. “That should do it.”

He admired his work before slipping off the bed, and grabbing your hand. “Let me help you up.” Sliding both your legs over the side of the bed was much easier than before, though you were still lacking the ease of coordination you were used to. “You’re going to show me around now?” “That’s right.” Without the ease of proper limb movement you knew there was no making a run for it at this exact second. Considering your situation, you decided to be neutral, allowing him to show you around without much hassle. At best you figured it would be a good way to scout for information, a better understanding of your surroundings. The house itself was basic. An old ranch style home, one story only a few rooms. Each one was sparsely decorated and furnished, similar to the bedroom you had woken up in. No personal items in sight, white walls, nothing cozy about it. It felt eerie, too cold and open.

Leon prattled on with an explanation for everything. He left it blank so you two could make it your ‘own space’, he couldn’t wait to settle in with you and make it a home. You replied to his excitement with automatic answers when he forced them out of you, refusing to even feign appreciation. The wood flooring echoed loudly with each heavy step you placed down, you made note of that. Where he talked about putting up photos, you saw the window next to the wall as a potential escape route. The back door had an odd lock set up, several on the outside and the inside, clearly designed both for keeping you in and anything else out. ‘Don’t try that door.’ You added to your mental notes. The bathroom was the last one shown to you, simple, a white claw tub with a pull-string style toilet, mirror, and sink. Nearly nothing was noteworthy about it until your eyes caught the inside door lock, the push button kind. Sure enough, the outside of the knob lacked a keyhole, only that tiny circular pinhole – the only door in the whole house that locks only from the inside. You of course made note of that, bolding it in your head. “So, what do you think? I know it’s a lot different from what we had in the city, but I’m sure once it’s spruced up a bit you’ll feel better.” “Are you going to let me invite friends over?” You asked, sarcasm dripping from your tongue.

Of course if he noticed, he didn’t care, blowing past your attitude with more of his delusional talk. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It would be a long while before I would feel comfortable letting anyone step foot in here.” “Sounds lonely.” You replied flatly, rolling your eyes before scanning around some more, trying to see if there was anything else that could help you. “You’ll have me.” He replied, pressing his lips to your forehead in a soft kiss. You steeled yourself to whatever emotion it brought out in you, resisting the urge to slap him. “Of course and when you’re halfway across the world for work, I bet I'll have tons of fun staring at the grass.” “We’ll get you a cat.” “Leon, I’m getting really tired of this –” “You’re pushing it.” “I’m pushing it? You take me to some texas chainsaw style house in the middle of nowhere against my will and I’m the one pushing it? You’re lucky you drugged me, otherwise –” “Oh cool it.” He ruffled your hair. “You’re adorable when you’re upset, know that? Like a kitten.”

You saw red, biting your lip, your hand came up to make contact with his face not able to contain the frustration anymore – disappointed when he grabbed your wrist catching it easily. “Exactly what I’m talking about.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, letting out a deep sigh. “Look, I know something that will chill you out.” “I don’t want anymore medicine.” “It’s not medicine.”

“I don’t believe that.” “You don’t have to.” He said with a shrug, before turning you and leading you carefully back through the house, stopping at the large set of french doors at the front. To your dismay it held the same, if not more locks than the back door. The large window next to it was a casement type with a crank, the slats looked just big enough for you to slip through if you could manage to get them open; another note added.

You watched as he dug in his pocket for his keychain. The green and black one made out of paracord, you recognized it as the one he always used for his car keys, except now it held a slew of others. Leon made quick work of the lock system, expertly flipping through each colored key. Anticipation burned in your core with every click of a lock turning into place, closer and closer to the smallest taste of freedom.

The air outside was colder than you expected, the breeze that made the grass sway had picked up since your view out the window. It stung slightly against your cheeks, but felt great compared to the stale air of the house. Taking a deep breath in, you closed your eyes just enjoying the smell, the feeling, pretending he didn’t exist for a moment. The urge to run created an uncomfortable uneasiness in your legs.

The view wasn't much different than the one from the bedroom window. An endless sea of grass stopped only by a wall of trees in the far distance, except now the sunset was adding purple and yellow hues to everything. It occurred to you that you had no real idea how long you were out or what time it had been when you woke up. Nothing outside was distinguishable, nothing recognizable. At least until you scanned all the way to the right and noticed where Leon’s jeep was parked – if his vehicle was over there, then likely the path in and out was too.

“I know how much you love the sunset, it’s better here too. Another reason why I picked this place just for you.” He took a few more steps out with you, but held you close to him. More of the property made its way into your vision, not a ton, but enough that when you looked to the side, you could definitely see the dirt path that led out into the thicket of trees. ‘That’s the way I need to go.’ “Sweetheart, are you listening to me?” “How could I not be, you’re right there.” You could see the annoyance on his features again, he didn’t bother to reply to you this time, instead looking off at the sky himself. You weren’t exactly sure what the plan was yet. Even if you hadn’t learned about the details of Leon’s work, it wouldn’t take a genius to know he would be hard to get away from. Anyone with working eyes could see how built he was, but coupled with knowing that he was skilled at likely this exact kind of thing – if you even had a 1% chance of escaping, you needed an advantage. A head start, a distraction, anything.

As the sun dipped lower and lower, the hazy warm colors of the sunset disappeared into the ever growing darkness that began overtaking the landscape. He wasn’t wrong, it was different from the city, no neon lights or dull street lamps for illumination. As pretty as the stars were twinkling above, the rest of the world was dark. Another thing to worry about, if you even managed to get outside long enough to run.

Despite spending the entirety of the sunset in deep thought about your escape plan, nothing came to mind. Settling in on the fact that you would have to remain here at least for the night, you didn’t protest when Leon corralled you back inside. “We should start getting you ready for bed.” “I haven’t even been awake for more than a few hours.” You protested, not wanting to relinquish consciousness yet. “Today’s been stressful, and you’ve been extra fussy. It’s clear you need more rest.” He patted you on the back before toting you back to the bedroom, ignoring your protests. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you turned up your nose and looked away when he began to strip himself out of his day clothes, peeling the fabric off of himself to make way for his pajamas. “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t stain your neck like that, might hurt yourself.” “Whatever.” When you turned to look at him your eyes landed on the fact he was only choosing to wear a thin pair of pants as his ‘pajamas’. You’d seen him less than dressed before, but in this context it was definitely different. While you’d indulged in admiring his physique before, now it was a reminder of just how strong he was. The pants too left little to the imagination, him obviously having opted on going commando. “You don’t seriously plan on sharing a bed, do you?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we?” “I don’t want to share a bed with you.” “That’s not up for you to decide. Besides, I’ve seen you sleep, you’re beautiful like that – I refuse to give up that view ever again.”

The words made your stomach churn. “Well, I’m not tired.” “That’s alright, you will be once you take your medicine. It’ll help you sleep.” Another protest died on your tongue as he disappeared from the room before returning with a few pills and a glass of water. They were small and pink, nothing you recognized. Accepting them from his hands, you considered if you should take them or if you could get away with only pretending.

The decision was made for you as a crack of thunder outside jolted his attention for a moment, pulling him to the window. In a snap decision, you stuffed them into the pillow case before pretending to put your hand to your mouth the moment he turned to look at you before gulping down the water. “Open for me.” You did as you were told. “Tongue up too.” You moved the muscle up and down, side to side to make sure that he could see nothing was within your mouth. “Stand.” “Oh come on, you told me to take the pills. I did.” “I said, stand.” He repeated, gently pulling you back to your feet.. He looked at where you had been sat, running his hand along the sheet and lifting the pillow before doing one final search on the floor. Pleased with the lack of what he found, he smiled at you. “Good girl. Let’s get some rest.” There was no avoiding the inevitable now as you slipped under the covers against your will. He’d pulled you in close to him, hot breath on your neck, body heat and muscles pressed into your back. His heavy arm laid over you like a blanket made of stone, keeping you in place. There you were stuck, trapped. Plush lips placed a few kisses on your neck as well, stiffening your body like a plank of wood. “Stop that.” You commanded, doing your best to jerk your neck from him. For once, he did as you asked, allowing you to adjust far enough away that you were out of the range of his lips, still stuck under his arm.

It made you sad, angry, every emotion in between. Despite only being aware of your situation for hours, it felt like a lifetime away that things were normal. You and Leon were friends, crashing on his couch while you watched movies – clinging to him at your most vulnerable emotional moments. Still no comfort was found in his touch, especially not in the dark silence of the room. If anything, it was making you feel worse than it had earlier, claustrophobic even. Despite knowing you needed to remain still, pretend to at least sleep, all you wanted to do was fidget, brain recounting the day's events over and over again, landing on that bathroom door. The knob, the only lock in the house that could benefit you.

The unbearable need to get away was gradually becoming all consuming the longer you were left with your thoughts. “Leon?” You called his name gently once his breathing had evened out along with his heartbeat. No response came, just a mild fluctuation in his breath, a twitch of his arm. ‘He must be sleeping.’

While no grand escape plan had come to you, the opportunity to at least get some solitude and to abate the restlessness in your legs kept tugging at your brain. Gently, you lifted his arm off of you, squirming out from under it to scoot to the edge of the bed. “Where …you…going?” His voice was slurred with sleep still, and he made no motion to move. “I have to pee really bad.” You did your best to match that same slurred sleepiness, hoping he was still under the impression you’d taken whatever medication it was he’d given you. “Just be quick.” He rolled over to the other side pulling the blanket with him as if he was settling back down to sleep.

Slowly you creeped around the bed, mimicking the heavy gait you had earlier when first waking up, even once you creaked the bedroom door open you continued allowing your footsteps to be heard, not wanting to make him suspicious of anything.

The bathroom was exactly the relief you had intended. Freedom to stretch and move your limbs, freedom of silence that didn’t feel all encompassing as you lightly drummed your fingers against the porcelain of the sink. Time was limited this evening so once you had enough time to breathe, you flushed the toilet before splashing some water onto your face, resolving yourself to head back to the room.

Turning to make your way back, the little button lock on the bathroom door was pushed out towards you, catching your attention once more. Clicking the button into place, you attempted to twist the knob – sure enough it stuck in place just like you had hoped. ‘No fucking way!’ You cheered mentally.

‘Ok, he forgot one lock… but how does that help me?’ Looking behind you, you took a chance by sliding the shower curtain open as quickly and quietly as possible. There eye to eye you came with a window. It was the same crank open type as the living room, but with only one panel that opened out. It would be a tight fit, but with enough determination you could probably fit. Debating on if this was something you should try tonight, or hold onto the idea for a better occasion. ‘But what better timing would there be before he noticed the lock?’

Taking a chance, you closed the door again making sure the lock was in place and testing the knob. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.” You chanted to yourself, stepping into the cold tub. The crank on the window was old, and you were sure it would be loud. “Quickly. Gotta do it quickly.” It took all your strength to get it to budge, arm muscle aching, but finally it gave way beginning to turn. A loud screech echoed within the tiny bathroom. Immediately you stopped, listening for movement from the other room.

Nothing. So far so good. You went back to turning it, the window opening slowly with each turn. At the halfway mark you halted, this time the sound of another door creaking made the hair on your back stand straight. The thudding of heavy steps barrelling towards the door had your fight or flight mode going haywire. “Sweetheart.” His voice was low with having just woken. “Come out here.” The sound of his fist against the door made your heart skip a beat and made your stomach churn as if you were going to throw up. “No.” You called back, hurriedly trying to finish getting the damned window open.

His hand met the knob, attempting to turn it when it stuck. He jiggled it a few times, fear settling ice cold in your stomach at his voice. “Open. The. Door.”

It was a command. His fist continued to beat against the door and his other hand fought with the doorknob behind you, the wood creaking and bowing with each blow. It felt like time stood still and sped up all at once. The impending fear of him breaking through the door felt like it was only milliseconds away, while the crank of the window felt like it would take years to get open. “Angel, I’m worried about you. Just open the door.” He called through this time, his voice a soft coo in comparison to the harsh way he was handling the few inches of wood that kept you apart. “No you’re not you freak! Leave me alone!” You shouted, voice wavering as a loud boom was heard behind you, followed by the sound of wood cracking. “Angel, I don’t want to scare you. I just need you to come out right now please. Just come back to bed. It’ll be alright – we both know you won’t make it far even if you get out the window.” So he did know your plan, if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through you, that might have rattled you. But you were determined, with one more push, the window was open enough for you to pull yourself up and through, just in time for one more solid blow to the door behind you.

Plopping to the ground, you had just enough time to see Leon through the window staring down at you before you took off. Legs moving as fast as they could take you, you just ran. No thought for the path you saw earlier, no thought of where, just pure speed.

It was so dark you couldn’t see anything through the tall grass as you ran, feet stinging as you stepped on various rocks and anything else hidden in the dirt between patches. Had your arms not been held out in front of you, a head-on collision with a tree would’ve been imminent as you reached the edge of the property.

Not a track star by any means your stamina was waning as your legs grew sore. Knowing you couldn’t outrun him, you hoped you could at least hide, scrambling into the blanket of trees staying as quiet as you could.

“Sweetheart!” You heard his voice calling you in the distance. “It’s not safe out here.”

You ducked down under the root of a large tree, shivering against the cold and silently praying nothing was under there with you. “Just come back and we can talk. You have no shoes, you’re not in outside clothes, it’s dark. I’ll give you one chance to come back, you’re not going to like it if I have to play chase Angel.”

‘I’m not your Angel, asshole.’ You hunched in on yourself more, trying to make yourself smaller as his voice grew louder, hoping you wouldn’t be noticeable. You didn’t hear him again, or any impending footsteps after several moments. Ambient noises of the forest overtook your ears, crickets chirping a frog in the distance croaking – hyper aware of everything, the hairs on the back of your neck stood straight up. You felt like a cat, ready to pounce at any second.

When there was still no sign of Leon, with limbs trembling, you stood, tilting your head to see if you could hear anything. The whistling of the wind picking up was the only difference, the cold air biting at you. Mustering up the courage, you took a single step forward. Then another, and another. Moving from one tree to another, praying to the universe that you made the right choice, that you were heading opposite of whatever direction Leon fucking Kennedy was in. With each progression forward, the fear ebbed away as your confidence slowly renewed. The farther into the woods you managed to get, the darker it was getting. The canopy above began to block out any remnants of the small moonlight that guided any of your previous moves. Feeling vaguely safe, you stopped to take a breath and to assess what to do next – one possibility hunkering down until sunlight came. ‘Who knows how long that could be, and he’ll be scouring these woods all night.’

“You got this. Just think….think…”

And that’s when you felt it from behind, his arms clamped around you, one hand covering your mouth. A muffled “mmph” escaped you before you registered a sweet smell overtaking you. You flailed desperately, feet digging into the mud, nails making crescent shapes in his tight forearms, desperate to get away. Your movements were becoming uncoordinated again, head hazy as the world turned hues of pink. “Got you Sweetheart. It’s alright, it’s alright.” Leon’s voice cooed in your ear again. “I’m not upset, I promise. You don’t have to be scared. We just gotta get you home.” His words warped and began to sound strange as your vision went funny – the few dark shapes you could make out twisted and bowed like looking through a circus mirror. You couldn’t help the giddy and giggling feeling you had, leaning back into his touch. “That’s my girl, come here.”

“N-no.” You protested between the laughter, like a child being tickled.

He lifted you bridal style, kissing your cheek before stealing a quick peck from your lips you neither returned nor rejected, watching for a moment his face was swirling in different shades of skin tones as he stepped out of the thicket of trees back into the field. “See? So much easier to be a good girl, isn’t it?” You flopped your head against his shoulder as he continued the trek back, not answering. Vaguely you heard him mumble something about making sure the windows were locked down, but you were too focused on the cartoon looking building that kept swaying in the breeze like grass, eyes becoming heavier and heavier. “I’m s’tired.” “I know, Angel. I know, get some sleep. Tomorrow will be our real first day home.”

Too close to unconscious to process anything else, your eyes finally slipped closed, the sinking feeling of sleep wrapping itself around you.

388 notes · View notes

frvnkcastles · 2 months

Note

Could I please request one where reader is dating Frank but kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering when or if Frank’s going to break up with her constantly since her last boyfriend (and several ex “best” friends) left/ghosted/broke up with her unexpectedly for no reason so she doesn’t know why and worries about her body/everything she wears and everything she says and does and is trying not to do anything wrong so Frank doesn’t do the same to her but Frank of course catches on, finds out the problem and makes her see different and that’s she beautiful and worth staying and being cared for even though it’s hard to believe because no one has ever chosen her and wanted to stay before…

Thank you, I love your work ❤️😊

I CAN SEE A LOVE RESTRAINED ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’ve been hurt one too many times, and letting Frank in isn’t as easy as you’d like it to be.

Warnings: Abandonment/trust issues, body image issues, angst, hurt/comfort, reader is friends with Matt, feminine nicknames, language

Word count: 3.2k

Author’s note: Thank you so much for the support, anon! I definitely understand this feeling that you described and it really sucks. That said, I’m positive people will appreciate you and see how wonderful you are, don’t give up <3

It was fair to say that your past relationships, romantic as well as platonic, had left their mark on you. You were a naturally affectionate and loving kind of woman but being left on multiple occasions had hardened you, made you more reluctant to share the love that you had within you. It was a natural reaction — you just didn’t want to get hurt again, and so, you settled for keeping people at a distance, never really allowing yourself to lower your defenses enough to let anyone in.

That proved to be extremely hard when you met Frank. He was handsome and intriguing, not a very talkative guy but he had effortlessly made you smile and laugh, regardless. He had been reserved about you, too, mostly because he wasn’t looking for anything casual nor serious, and he certainly didn’t trust Red to find him the kind of company he liked. But when his friend of sorts had insisted on introducing you to him, annoyingly persistent, he had caved in and figured it couldn’t hurt to give a chance to the person Red spoke so highly of.

”How come you ain’t together if she’s so perfect?” Frank had questioned, fully suspicious of Matt and his intentions, but the man had quickly laughed him off.

”I don’t think we’re meant to be anything more than friends. But she’s a wonderful person and I think you’d hit it off. I’m not just doing this for you, I think she could use some company, too”, Matt had explained, not entirely acting with your blessing. In fact, you had no idea what he was up to, but he knew you well enough — you were getting lonely whether you wanted to admit or not, and despite their disagreements, he knew Frank could be worthy of your time.

And that was how you ended up shaking Frank’s hand in your favorite bar where you never went to find company, just a drink after a long week. Matt had known you’d be there and more or less shoved Frank inside, and as annoyed as he was, Frank couldn’t deny that the sight of you immediately made his heart skip a beat.

”Did Matt put you up to this?” you asked eventually, well-aware that the two of them worked together often. It wasn’t frequent for Matt to set you up with anyone, but he was the only thing common between you and Frank, and you weren’t stupid.

Caught, Frank chuckled. ”Yeah, yeah, he did. I ain’t gonna lie, I had my reservations but uh, talkin’ to you… I don’t regret comin’ in here. You seem real sweet”, he admitted, his eyes lingering on your figure. Not only did he find you sweet, he thought you were absolutely gorgeous, and he fucking hated the fact that he was going to have to tell Matt he had been right.

You blushed at Frank’s words and shrugged. ”Thanks, but I—I’m not really looking for anything right now. You seem great too, don’t get me wrong”, you gave him a half-apology, chewing on your lip nervously. He was charming, you had to give him that much, but you really weren’t up for having your heart broken yet again, and so, you found it best to keep Frank at an arm’s length.

”Hey, I get it. Can’t say I was expectin’ anything much when I walked through that door but I guess you kinda got me rethinkin’, ’s all”, he nodded in understanding before licking his lips and taking the plunge. ”Maybe we could get another drink sometime? No pressure, no expectations. Just hangin’ out, I guess”, Frank went on, a hopeful look in his eyes, and it wore you down.

”Sure”, you swallowed, feeling familiar anxiety rush in your veins as you agreed.

But like he said, there were no expectations. It could just be two friends grabbing a beer, nothing more. So, you gave him your phone number and hoped for the best.

You met up a couple of times after that. Frank couldn’t believe he was being so forward and that he really was so into you, but it was a fact he couldn’t deny. He had a strong will and good self-control, but he found himself losing all of that around you. Previously used to solitude and being wary of new connections, he now felt hooked on you, needing more and more even if he was willing to do it on your terms.

He could tell you liked him back, though. As much as you tried not to, you couldn’t help it. You started to feel less lonely and he occupied your thoughts on a daily basis, and it scared the shit out of you. You weren’t ready to fall in love again, but it seemed your heart wasn’t waiting for permission.

A few weeks passed with you getting to know one another, and one night, he was walking you home in the dark night, far too protective to let you make it all by yourself. Once at the door of your apartment building, you both lingered, not quite ready to say goodbye, but unsure what else there was left to say.

”I had a good time, sweetheart. I’m glad you ain’t sick of my clingy ass yet”, he joked, and it made you smile nervously. You were mere inches away from each other, his taller build towering over you with his fingertips brushing against yours. Your heart was hammering in your chest and you could feel the undeniable tension in the air, and so could he.

”Of course, not. I like spending time with you”, you whispered, quiet but close enough for Frank to hear. His heart soared at your words, flattered and honored that for someone who chose her company carefully, you had given him the time of the day.

His eyes fell to your lips, and when you didn’t pull away, he made the move and leaned in. Right before his lips could graze yours, though, you ducked your head with a swell of panic in your chest. It was all too real suddenly and the idea of moving from a mutual interest to something concrete terrified you.

”Shit”, Frank breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut. ”Sorry, I shoulda asked. Just thought… Doesn’t matter. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable”, he added while stepping back, and in an instant, guilt and regret took over your body. Seeing the rejection on his face hurt worse than the risk of letting him in, and that was enough for you to know that kiss or no kiss, you were in too deep.

”No, I’m sorry. It’s me, I—I just can’t. Sorry”, you repeated before turning your heel and rushing inside, too embarrassed to stay and look at Frank’s hurt face any longer.

He frowned at your words, but let you go. He had pushed your limits enough for one night, but even if he didn’t stop you from running indoors, he couldn’t help but get stuck on what you had said. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him back, something else was holding you back, and that caused worry to flare up in him. Clearly, someone had hurt you badly, and he felt pure anger at the simple thought of it.

That same night, he tracked Red down, itching to pick a fight, but mostly he wanted to find out what was stopping you from going all in. He could sympathize — after all, he had closed himself off to relationships after Maria, and even now, when he had grown so attached to you, he struggled with that little nagging guilt in the back of his head that didn’t want him to move on.

”She ain’t ready, Red. Wanna tell me what happened or should I punch it out of ya?” Frank grumbled as he joined Matt on the rooftop, an unhappy look on his face that only deepened when he saw the mysterious smile on his friend’s face.

”You weren’t ready, either”, Matt retorted before sighing deeply. ”She’s been hurt a lot, Frank. Every guy she’s been with has broken her heart. It’s the same with best friends, too. Everyone leaves her. So, yeah, she’s careful about who she lets in”, he continued, causing the anger to fade from Frank’s face. At least Red had stayed, but he knew he wasn’t the most stable presence, either. He didn’t think he himself would be, for that matter, but he wanted so badly to prove to you that he’d stick around.

”She don’t deserve that”, Frank grunted, unable to understand why anyone would turn their back on you. Sure, you were stunning in a way that took his breath away, but you were also a good, caring person. You had such a big heart and you were an excellent listener, not to mention how funny you could be. And even though you knew who Frank was and what he had done, you had never judged him.

”I agree. That’s why I wanted you to meet with her. Platonic or romantic, I knew you could appreciate her for who she is”, Matt explained, and sighing, Frank couldn’t deny that he had been right. He thought you were amazing, and he really wanted you to know that.

So, the next day, he made his way to your apartment. He was uncharacteristically nervous, his usual cool demeanor cracking under the pressure of the situation, but he was good at concealing it. He stood on your doorstep, calm and collected, and once he had knocked and you opened the door, you couldn’t have suspected he was feeling troubled in any way.

”Frank”, you exhaled, honestly surprised. You were sure that your refusal to kiss him would have pushed him away, but here he was, and you reluctantly felt relieved. You had given him enough reason to walk away, but he kept showing up, and it gave you hope.

”Red told me about your shitty exes. I want ya to know that they’re assholes for leavin’ you like that and that… that I wouldn’t do that. I know I come with a lot of baggage, but I swear to you, I’d treat you right, sweetheart. Shit, you really… you really got me, y’know? I really care about you and I wish I could make you less scared ’cause I know you care about me, too”, he rambled, calling you out in a way that maybe you needed to be.

Gulping, you nodded to confirm he was right. ”I do care about you. I wish I didn’t, but I do”, you confessed, sending his heart reeling. ”I just don’t want to be let down again. I really can’t do it again”, you pointed out, not sure if Frank would get it, but he did.

”I hear you, sweetheart. It ain’t the same thing, but I know loss, and I don’t wanna go through it again. Maybe we could learn to trust again together. I know it’s fuckin’ scary to let your guard down, I sure as hell have a hard time with it, but you make me wanna try”, he shared, his voice so soft and careful. He wasn’t used to opening up about his feelings, but he knew you needed honesty, and he wanted to give it to you.

”Okay. I… I think I can do that. I want to trust you”, you told him, sparking a smile on his face.

Hesitating, he stepped closer to you and took his hand in your own. ”Can I kiss you?” he asked in that low, husky tone of his, full of want, and it sent a shiver down your body. You nodded, and he broke into a grin, cradling your face in one massive hand and dropping his mouth to yours. It was slow and careful, just testing the waters, but you could tell he was holding back, and it made your stomach do flips. He really wanted you, needed you even, and that felt so good.

He was willing to take things slow. However you wanted him, he was yours. And sure enough, you fell into a comfortable rhythm with him, both of you head over heels for one another, and Matt was pleased whenever you two showed up to a night out together, Frank’s hand protectively around your waist. The three of you began to spend more time together, allowing Frank to see the more carefree, relaxed side of you that Matt brought out, but you also dedicated plenty of moments to just you and Frank. Right before your eyes, you built a relationship, and you were so happy with him.

Nevertheless, there was something of a dark cloud above your head, invisible to Frank but so heavy on you. Your mind fed you constant worries and anxiety — since everyone else had left, surely Frank would do the same. And without even fully realizing it, you began taking great measures to avoid such a fate.

”Which one do you like better?” you asked Frank, holding up two dresses that were casual enough for your movie date, but too important for you to make the decision on your own. You had become highly worried about everything you wore, always wondering if Frank liked what you had on or if he was ashamed to be seen with you. Maybe your body wasn’t good enough, to begin with.

”Why’re you askin’ me, sweetheart? You’ll look stunnin’ either way”, he chuckled, not really seeing the point, but his answer didn’t satisfy you.

”Pick one. Please?” you pleaded, desperately wanting his input, and it twisted his face with surprise.

”Uh, alright. The one on the right”, Frank chose, and instantly, your stomach dropped — you had thought the one on the left was better. But it mattered to you what he thought, as you certainly didn’t want to give him any reason to leave you, and so, you put on the dress he had pointed out.

You picked at it the whole drive to the movie theater, uncomfortable with how your body looked in it and convinced that Frank was seeing it, too. You felt insecure and you wanted to cancel the entire date, but you didn’t want to upset him, so you swallowed it down.

”Somethin’ wrong with the dress, baby?” Frank noticed your compulsive touching at the clothing, and feeling exposed by his question, you gave him a weak smile.

”No, no, nothing. It’s alright”, you insisted, before swiftly changing the subject. Still, Frank didn’t forget about it. If anything, he was starting to notice a pattern of you seeming so uncomfortable in your own skin, leaving him stuck between wanting to reassure you and fearing he’d only be creating a problem by bringing it up.

He picked up on the anxiety that followed you pretty easily. But it wasn’t until you began putting yourself down out loud that he cut in.

”Hey, bring me that black shirt f’me?” Frank called out from the bathroom where he was brushing his teeth, preparing for the day ahead of him. You reacted to his request as quickly as you could, digging through his designated half of the closet to find that one button-up you loved to see on him and hastily carrying it to the bathroom for him.

You handed the shirt over, and you instantly clocked the look on his face. ”Oh, shit, I shoulda specified. The other one, sweetheart. This one got all torn up from that one asshole’s knife the other night”, he corrected you gently and with care, but it hit you straight in the heart, making you feel like you couldn’t do anything right.

”Sorry. Sorry, I—I’m stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking”, you stammered, turning around to go back to the closet, but Frank stopped you with a grip on your wrist.

”Hey, you ain’t stupid. It was a mistake. Where’s this comin’ from, huh?” he glanced you over with concern, hating the sound of you criticizing yourself like that. He saw no need for it, and the way you jumped to it was something he wasn’t going to look past.

You shrugged, trying to move on from it, but Frank wasn’t that easily convinced. ”Look at me, sweetheart”, he demanded softly, and shyly, you brought your gaze up to his. ”I don’t like you speakin’ that way ’bout yourself. You didn’t do anythin’ wrong, yeah? It ain’t a big deal”, he promised, and his attempts to reassure you got your eyes to sting with incoming tears.

”I just don’t wanna do something to make you leave me”, you whispered, wiping your eyes to avoid him seeing you cry. ”Sorry”, you added, and shaking his head, Frank pulled you in, his head tilted down at you. He was so close, you could sense his warmth and his stare, and you felt so vulnerable in the small space.

”There’s nothin’ to apologize for, sweet darlin’. Hey, listen to me. There ain’t a thing you could do to make me leave. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, ’m here to stay. I wanna be with you. The real you, includin’ every little thing you think I couldn’t love. I do”, Frank started, staring you down and trying to make you see he was completely serious. He would have never done anything to hurt you on purpose, and he wished he would have had the words to convince you.

”You really mean that?” you asked weakly, trembling from anxiety. You really wanted to believe him, but it was hard to unlearn everything you had grown so accustomed to.

”I mean it, baby”, he swore, leaning in to kiss your forehead. ”Is this why you keep bein’ so careful with what you say around me? And why you ask me what you should be wearin’?” he wondered, and embarrassed to admit it, you nodded.

”I just want you to still think I’m worth it”, you sighed, breaking Frank’s heart.

”Clearly I ain’t been very good at this boyfriend thing, ’cause I never want you to doubt how I feel ’bout you. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, and I adore everythin’ you do and are. Can’t think of anyone sweeter and kinder than you. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a long while and I… I love you”, he told you, sincere and full of feeling. His words made your eyes widen, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words, but eventually, the right thing tumbled out of your mouth.

”I love you, Frank”, you smiled, unable to hold back the joy you felt upon hearing that. ”I’m always the one to love more. To get more attached. But you… you really care about me, don’t you?” you spoke in amazement, starting to see that he was serious about you.

”You’re goddamn right I do. And you’ll always be worth it to me, pretty girl. Nothin’s gonna change that”, he emphasized, his dark eyes filled to the brim with something fiery. For the first time since you had met him, you trusted in him one hundred percent and didn’t let the inevitable anxiety and doubt shift your faith.

As he leaned down to kiss you, passionate and needy, you felt like you had found your happy ending. And for once, you had hope, and thought that with Frank, you actually had a chance of healing.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

104 notes · View notes