#I will try though. I will try to chill out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

callmeimlost · 2 days ago

Note

Open to requests? Stand ready for my arrival 👹

May I request a Main!Mark x Starfire!reader? Like maybe reader is a kryptonian and Tamaranean mix, just super OP. Like imagine Starfire!reader coming to earth, becomes a famous hero, becomes the symbol of hope, and Mark becomes super nervous to meet her, but turns out she’s really kind and fun

(And maybe a cameo of Cecil, losing his mind trying to find weaknesses for these OP aliens that keep crashing into earth 💀🤚)

Just imagine Starfire!reader teaching Mark about krypton and Tamaran, while he teaches her about earth. And how Starfire!reader would help him after all his battles, and how she’d make him feel better by always just being there for him

(If this is too confusing, or if you’re just not getting the vision then that’s okay. Have a nice day 💕)

✷ PLANET HER:: mark Grayson x Starfire!reader

WARNING:: reader is very OP, cannon gore, mark & reader teach each other about their planets, bubbly! Reader.

SUMMARY:: after crash landing onto earth and being held by GDA to make sure your no true threat, you meet Mark Grayson who is utterly smitten with the idea of introducing you to life on earth !

MEIMEI YAPS:: this was all written on my phone bcs my iPad sucks rn, so sorry if there are any spelling mistakes. Also im so sorry it took me this long to write I was sick and then I went to a concert yesterday and had no time 🫩💔.

The smell of dirt and copper filled your every sense, the distant shouts, the sound of your planet falling apart at your own feet; it felt like a fever dream, truly unreal. Even with the two suns that hung over Tamaran like twins; yet even then a chill wracks through you, unsettling and churning in your stomach.

You felt the bile itching at the back of your throat, how your legs felt like jelly, or even your fingers shakily gripping at your family as you were sent into the endless abyss of space. You had floated through orbit; for how long? You couldn’t remember. The many planets you had passed by, even picking up on languages before setting off once more. Nothing habitable for you, nothing to make you stay longer than short of a day or two.

You had grown used to the impending trash looming around as you fly through, swatting at the debris of asteroids and trash floating from planets that had been long abandoned. Like an endless cycle of floating through nothing, before you had heard word of planet- earth, an odd sounding planet but nonetheless you were willing to try.

It had taken you days to fly to Earth, you had known you’d made it when you had seen the odd shaped metal floating not too far from the blue and green planet. And without hesitation you had set off onto your decent. At the speed you were going you could’ve been sick at just how hard you had pushed your self.

Breaking through the mesosphere the heat on your skin sizzling against your skin bothered you none, bringing a sense of comfort though it pales in comparison to the twin stars that hung in the sky of tamaran. Your skin felt like it was buzzing within the moment you hit the stratosphere, the air thin as you hover slowly.

Taking your time to now get closer, the air or lack there of, makes your head spin and your heart burn. You could feel your body dropping quicker than your brain could respond. Wind whipping past your face as your ears ring. Black splotches cover your vision as you realize there was no possible way of willing your body to catch itself from the whiplash inducing crash it was going to make.

You didn’t hear it; but you definitely felt it. Your body laid out in a crater sized hole in a rural field; the raw dirt and smell of flowers and grass had been the only comfort as you were lured into the darkness of your own sleep. Earth wasn’t off to a great start at all, your first impression on their people was slightly destructive, you didn’t mean to! How would you know that the spikes green stuff would be there?!

It was odd; waking up somewhere you hadn’t fallen asleep, almost panicked at the realization. The sterile walls, the smell of antiseptic. It felt powerful, protected. Your hands twitching at your side as the clatter of cuffs to the handles of the frame to this mysterious bed.

Your palms feel warm and tight balled in fists as you yank at the cuffs, the metal bending at the sheer strength of your incessant tugging before pulling harder out of frustration you break the handle of the bed frame making you yelp softly at your wrist that was not old still in the cuffs but now had a metal bar latched to the other end.

You can only hold it up as you look at it dumbly, before you could even try to further free yourself from the bent out shackle the door to the room slides open with an almost comical sound. A man; no- a handler. A man who looks to not know rest, the distant yet stern look in his eyes, and the crisp look he had told you that he was in charge; and he had done this to you, and it makes you press yourself harder against the pillow behind you.

The chilling blue eyes he held that pinned you to your spot and kept your mouth sealed shut, waiting for him to speak. But he doesn’t- at first. He lets in a heard of doctors who check these odd shaped projectile machines that move and fill up the once quiet room with loud medical noises. You watched with curious eyes and a pinched brow as the man steps forward at the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t ask you any questions, he only looks to the doctors flitting his gaze between them and you as he speaks in a tone you could tell he was talking about you but not to you, and the very few words you do understand stem from him mentioning Tamaran. He speaks quick and with purpose and it confuses you but you, but the small broken sentences you can make don’t seem to help either of you much.

But you improve! Only at the expense of a poor doctor trying to check your vitals when you use the Tamaranian way of exchanging language when you lay one on him. And even more to the dismay of Cecil because the moment you start forming true sentences he learns you are just lollipops and rainbows; well- for someone who grew up on a planet where warriors are practically bred.

And with that you had spent little time under Cecil’s watch from what you understood you had only been under watch for the purpose of making sure you were no real threat to Earth, you were almost harmless had it not been for the fact that you could probably blow half of the building up with only a few beams of that green light glowing around your fists when you train.

But it was a surprise not only to Cecil but you as well when Mark Grayson stumbles upon you in private training he watches you with curiosity, his skin buzzing with warmth, you were intimidating. How easy everything seemed for you, the way you effortlessly move around and can be efficient. When Cecil catches Mark he felt like a kid being scolded for eating snacks before dinner.

“who was that?” Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off of you even as Cecil was practically guiding Mark out of the vicinity, he didn’t need two stupidly strong aliens consorting around with each other seeing as Mark is a loose cannon and you are emotionally driven. Cecil would only glare at Mark before spatting “Earth’s second biggest gain and potential enemy” and it wouldn’t be long before Mark would see you again, just not necessarily in the presence of Cecil.

When you were trusted under the guise that you were to work for the GDA you were propelled into the hero scene and became popular amongst the younger crowd, he’d see you on the news when he was on patrol, how you had taken the lizard league down on your own, how you mainly worked solo jobs.

He’d see how truly easy you made it look, how you knocked around people way bigger than you, how you could take a punch and not react let alone show any weakness; and when he finally met you face to face he was practically sweating out of his suit.

You were prettier up close, you emanated an aura that could be ignored- well for the purpose of Mark’s job in that moment it wasn’t time to be star struck but do his job. Cecil had sent the two of you with a group of astronauts to Mars where you’d make yourselves stay hidden unless something where to go wrong and god did Mark try to convince himself he was petrified to spend any time alone with you; he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of another really strong alien who could understand at least a fraction of how he feels.

When the two of you are sent of to take the two day flight to mars the two of you sit quietly the first few hours as Mark as unserious as it sounds tried to be as nonchalant and mysterious as he could because in his eyes that’s what you were. It wasn’t until you offered to make food for the two of you had Mark let his guard down. You were a mystery to him; your words polite and tone soft, your stride was strong and though you didn’t speak much, your presence was quiet and slightly refreshing.

The first time you and Mark had truly tried to teach each other about your planets was when you laid out a plate of food that had looked odd and almost inedible. Mark put on the best smile he could as you watched with eager eyes “on my planet it is much like a turkey on your planet” and Mark would have worn a small smile at how cute the excitement on your face was had it not been for the fact that he’s pretty sure he watched the food on the plate move….

But for the sake of not ruining the small connection he just gained between the two of you he sucks it up and eats the food anyways- even if it was squishy and salty with an off putting color. “Do you have any meals on Earth that your family likes?” You had now seated yourself across from him curling your knees to your chest as you watched eagerly waiting to learn.

The two of you sat for the rest of the ride happily exchanging stories and history of your planets. How Mark knows that Tamaran is 26 light years away and that you’re actually Tamaranean royalty; is beyond him. He wondered if Cecil knew these things, or if it too personal? He didn’t know, so he never told; keeping it between you and him.

Though Mark does catches the looks of bewilderment when he explains that technology had not evolved that far on earth to the point of spacecrafts as advanced as ones on other planets that fly lightyears faster than a helicopter or an airplane. He didn’t know wether to feel pity or almost laugh when he realized that on Tamaran you didn’t have cell phones or internet, and you didn’t speak as fluently accurate; so when you watch him looking at pictures of Debbie and Nolan on his phone it was like he had grown a second head.

Plucking the little device out of his hands between your index and thumb as you tilt your head looking at the boxy metal piece of technology in your hand. “This is your communication?” Though it was more of a statement it came out as a question and it makes a small curious grin grow on Mark’s lips. “Cecil didn’t teach you about the power of a phone?” It sounded outlandish at first but Mark realized exactly who he was talking about; the man who only had time to stress out over everything else going on in the United States.

You only shake your head as you fill grip the phone looking down at the screen. “It is like the projectors we have on my planet….but trapped in a box” you swipe the screen and watch as another photo comes up, a picture of Mark with people who looked around his age all close together smiling happily. “Are these people your companions ?” You look up at Mark who looks at the photo’s with a smile. “On Earth we call them ‘friends’; companion sounds….formal”

Regardless of the fact you continue to let Mark show you many different photos of his friends and family, every time he showed you a picture he could feel your body temperature rising almost as if it were radioactive, yet you watch with curious eyes as he turns to you with a hint of amusement in his eyes “can I teach you how to use it?”

The explanation on how to work a phone was like a battle of with his brain; you were curious what every button does and what certain apps do. To say Mark had to test his wits with answering every question you have to the best of his ability without sounding like a complete fool. The two of you laughed at the others lack of under within certain contexts of conversations neither would have thought you’d have.

The two of you had been so caught up in his phone and how to work it that when it had eventually died, Mark would come to find out the astronauts were gone. The only thing left behind were a track of prints. “Shit!” And that’s when Mark also realized you were impressionable as you float by his side testing the curse word on your tongue and it makes Mark sigh as he realized how much of an influence his bad vocabulary would also have on you…..poor Cecil.

When the two of you eventually land on mars; the two of you work well together, though mark did have to worry a few times… It had never occurred to him before that sometimes the two of you were very emotionally charged, letting your moral compasses guide you rather than logic. And when the two of you learn of their disappearance the two of you go searching when you stumble upon the underground palace that belonged to sequids.

You watched Mark pull open the small hat hatch door that led underground, seeing the many little creatures slimy and sticking to helmet and suit of Mark as he tried to pull off the creature’s with yelps and shouts; watching him squirm makes you giggle as pull the last sequid off of him. “Are you okay?” You ask gently as the dull thump of the parasite on the group makes Mark shiver in disgust before he hums.

The two of you looking at the creatures with completely different looks on your faces, Mark had to do a double take when he saw the way you coo at the pink little membranes that squirmed disgustingly. “You think those things are cute?!” He whisper shouted he was flabbergasted on how you could such a thing to be anything but gross. But the way you nodded and stepped closer made his heart leap out of his ass.

“They are adorable!” You’d chime in quickly but quietly not to trigger any of them to attack “on my planet we keep creatures like these as pets….or we eat them!” Mark’s skin almost turned green at the idea of ever eating one of those things. “Maybe we should keep you at a distance from those” he’d chuckle cautiously as he watches you look at the pink beings with almost heart shaped eyes.

He almost has to tug you away with each carefully placed step you took towards the small creatures. And when the two of you find yourselves with your hands up surrounded by Martians who had clearly been in some kind of distress due to said pink creatures after you had basically shot it down from jumping on you, with that in mind the martians take you into their leader when you finally meet face to face with rage astronauts you and Mark were supposed to be watching and protecting.

After getting the run down on what exactly sequid’s were and what they do, Mark could clock the dark cloud looming over you at the deeply disturbing story. He had watched your once pouty smile slowly fall into a deeply disturbed frown and once he sees the look on your face he immediately feels the frown on his lips weighing down on his lips as well.

The Martian’s had practically disappeared from Mars due to the insurmountable amount of sequids had plagued the planet and had latched onto their kind before completely taking over the mind and body.

“I should have eaten them when we saw them” you mumbled to Mark and had it not been for the serious matter at hand he would’ve burst into laughter; but he had to be serious. “No eating” he says back and it makes you roll your eyes and slightly kick the flooring your very efficient plan being shot down.

“Tell me, how are you able to resist them” the Martian asked as he stands towering over the two of you and it leaves an uncomfortable pit in your stomach that makes you reach for the sleeve of Mark’s suit clutching slightly for some sort of comfort. “I come from the planet Tamaran” you answer quickly as Mark stutters slightly before dumbly answering “I’m part viltrumite; ever heard of us?” An impending and almost embarrassing silent beat passes by before he answers.

“I am the emperor of Mars, of course I’ve heard of you!” And that makes you step back slightly letting go of Mark’s sleeve so unaware that invincible belonged to an empire, to a race of people who didn’t have the greatest track record in space. “Well if you know us then you know; we like to help out wherever we can. Which is why; we were sent to help protect these astronauts” you could tell that even in costume; Invincible was just a boy at heart.

The slightly distressed look on his face as he tries to talk his way out of this. “So if your all good, we can finish our science and head home” he points towards the way you had came step back a few steps before the two men who had captured you blocked your paths. Your brows scrunch as an encroaching feeling of heat along your skin spikes. “Impossible! Human’s are sent to immediate execution!” The emperor shouts taking a step closer flickering between you and Mark.

“We cannot risk them coming into close counter with a sequid!” He urges in frustration you frown looking at your feet, you weren’t all too sure how Mark handled situations like these; but you knew for a fact that you were not a failure, you will not leave these people here to die, you will not die, and neither will invincible. You were sure of it. “I understand” you heard Mark say in an almost disappointed tone that makes your brow twitch.

He was onto something; brute force, maybe. But it was still something! And by the time you make it back to the surface hoards of martians had been chasing you through the thick clouds of dirt cloud your eyes you keep up and almost pass everyone before you yell over your shoulder you can see one of the human’s falling behind with a petrified face. “Flying sounds real efficient right now invincible!” You push yourself of the ground using the leverage to pick the woman up and a man before Mark follows behind you back into the ship.

As you and Mark try holding off the Martian’s as the smoke rises the two of you were practically clearing house until Mark had practically gotten tossed right under the ship. “You try and get that thing off the ground, I’ll hold them off. Can you do that?!” You ask over your shoulders as you feel anger growing in your stomach. Your eyes were glowing green and Mark didn’t know if he should be concerned or do what you say; regardless he would try.

He gets the ship up in the air in no time as he gets hit with the heated beams you could hear the pained grunts he let out making you return the favor, hearing the jets buzzing you take off towards the ship as you make your quickly awaited exit, you see Mark fly back down for a Rock that makes you laugh. “What’s that for?” You ask sitting on one of the wings. “Just thought I’d get something out of this whole ordeal” he shrugged holding the rock out to show you.

You tilt your head with a sad smile, Mark didn’t have to look at you, he could feel a sense of sadness lingering “it reminds me of the color Tamaran” you run a finger over the rock letting the dirt of mars stain your finger a burnt chalky orange. “Do you miss it?” He asks finally looking up at you with sympathy dripping from his words. “Sometimes…but i can’t go back” you swing your feet back and forth enjoying the lack of gravity with each moment.

He doesn’t say anything, at least not about why you can’t go back home; because he wasn’t there yet. He wanted to ask so many questions, but he’s too scared he’d overstep so he took the silent route instead. The two of you enjoyed the ride back home. It was better than awkwardly sitting together for hours.

Though when the two of you got back to Earth and checked in with Cecil it seemed he wanted the two of you to work together more often, keeping an eye on not just the two of you; but Mark’s own father. With the disappearance of the Guardians of the Globe and their unsuspecting deaths everyone searching for answers publicly and privately.

You had only met Omni-man in passing once or twice, not one for help or conversation you seemed to steer clear of him regardless of the fact that he was invincible’s father. When it all came spiraling down; Omni-man had officially lost it. Chicago was in ruins, people were trapped under collapsing buildings, cars and debris filling the streets.

Cecil had sent you out to do damage control as much as you could, the fight had ripped through subways, killed pilots and cracked a fucking mountain. When you had seen how much damage was done you were pissed. Nothing could have prepared Cecil for an angry alien basically standing over of him shouting. “You have to get this under control, he will kill him! You’re just sitting here watching it!” It was an outrage, how could he just stand there and watch like this was peak entertainment?

You had been so caught your own anger you hadn’t realized the woman who watched you with wide eyes on the brink of tears. “You know Mark?” She asks weakly and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest as you nod walking closer gently taking her hand into yours gently “Me and Mark went to Mars together. He was my first…friend on Earth” the word sounded weird falling from your lips but it felt like the right word.

“I’m so sorry this happening; I’ll see if can do anything to help Mark” squeezing her much smaller and weaker hand gently “I’ll do whatever I can” the gleam of hope flickering through her eyes makes you give a firm nod without saying anything else you look to the other workers amongst you watching Omni-man practically brutalized his own kin.

You took off towards the mountains, your body practically buzzing with heat and anger, your eyes and hands glowing and buzzing the closer you get to the fight- more like pummeling; but you had decided you were going to stand a fighting chance, and you were going to help Mark in anyway you can.

You understood that that the Guardians of the Globe was Earth’s protectors, and the track records Viltrumites had back on Tamaran Omni-man had a huge target on his back now. You’ve watched neighboring planets be destroyed and fallen victim to the empire you had so desperately prayed stayed far away from your home.

You were angry, these people, Mark; close to or already being dead- it pissed you off, how could you come to a planet like Earth and want to destroy it? Ruin the little peace it already holds? Every sharp turn, no matter how hard you pushed yourself to fly faster it still didn’t feel fast enough. You had grown to care for Mark since you’ve met, dealing with his small rants about some silly little earth cartoon on paper, or even sprinkles of him talking about school work.

So the moment you see Omni-man looming over the onyx haired boy whose face was practically swollen shut, blood covering his uniform. You could feel your insides churn at the sight, the bile sitting at the back of your throat, how your body tensed and fists tighten. You don’t hesitate to throw yourself into the mix; tackling the man off of his own son.

Thinking back; had you been human you’d had died. The brute force the two of you exchanged wasn’t much; but who could really beat a viltrumite who had been alive for centuries that had conquered planets and killed for strength? He had broken your arm and had finally flown off. Even with the sharp pain running through you in searing waves with every inch you moved, you still found yourself laying beside Mark’s feeble body checking if he was still alive; once you had fully recognized him as breathing and alive you had accepted exhaustion and passed out beside him.

And from then on you had an unwavering loyalty to Mark, going as far as to wheel your own IV around in the hospital to marks room and sit by his side watch trashy TV on mute because remotes still confused you, sometimes apologizing for not doing more, complaining about Cecil, just even eat dinner. Debbie had started to see your face way more often after the fallout of her family.

Even at times you had become very protective over him, going as far as to stand outside of his room and glare at Cecil for the poor job he was doing taking Mark under his wing. And eventually when Mark had woke up you two were glued at the hip. In return for helping him during his fight with his dad he’d help you emerge in Earth culture!

He teaches you about social media, slang, he at one point had to use parental controls in order for you to not accidentally call or text any of the numbers he gave you. You did break the first phone Cecil got you, you were very concerned when you got a call from Mark but couldn’t see him, his voice barely audible from how low your volume was making you shout into the line before ultimately throwing the phone out of stress.

He taught you how to make ‘Earth food’ though it was debatable on if it truly mattered what you ate because truly….you ate anything; and that kind of scared him. Having to explain why eating burnt toast or something that has been in the fridge for clearly too long was not something people on Earth do, he got an odd stare and a shrug before you reluctantly threw it away.

You do teach Mark about your planet, the history, the environment, how you were born into a planet where being warriors was normal; brutality was not frowned upon as much as it is on Earth. Though you have questioned him on why people don’t kill their enemies you had to have a serious discussion on why that isn’t exactly always okay.

Mark takes you to different countries, states and cities to show you how much fun Earth was; Breakfast in Paris and Dinner at Mark’s with Debbie with food from her favorite Mexican restaurant. The field trips were always great, he enjoyed watching the way your hands and eyes glow green when you got excited to experience new things.

Eventually when things start to get sour between Mark and Cecil especially after going through that rough patch with his dad, finding out about Oliver, and most of all Cecil not trusting Mark. Mark had been nothing but good! He could do no wrong in your eyes. The day Mark parted ways with Cecil you dipped in solidarity.

You help him train Oliver, you adore the small boy. Sometimes Mark comes to you for advice when he needs help with how much Oliver starts to pick up the ideologies of their father and how fast he’s even rapidly growing. You try your best to help make his work load less heavy. With the year he was having you don’t know he hasn’t found the time to lose his shit.

Mark appreciates you more than he has probably said it; feeling just slightly less alone because of the random alien that crashed into Earth like a meteor and just stuck around. Although you do have a slight innocence to you now; Mark looks back on his first encounter with you and can’t believe how nervous you made him when really you were in a way….kind of like him.

#callmeimlost ☆‧₊˚❱ ✿•#mark grayson x reader #invincible #mark grayson imagine #mark grayson fluff

269 notes · View notes

teeskzagain · 1 day ago

Text

mature themes, nsfw, 18+

a/n: currently working on an scoups fic that’s about blow minds. but randomly this scenario came to my head, so i had to dish it out.

real quick thought:

jerking off seungcheol while surrounded by a group of friends.

you guys would’ve been hanging out with a few friends, probably chilling in someone’s basement. the idea of watching a movie would’ve been brought up, and soon everyone’s scrambling to find a spot on the couch.

that’s how you end up right next to cheol towards the end of the couch. he’s up against the arm rest, you’re plastered to his side, and the rest of the couch is filled with the remaining friends.

initially, you don’t notice the change in atmosphere with seungcheol. yeah, you would feel his shoulder slump down lower, his legs widening. the blanket you had for yourself somehow ends up on his lap and more, but that’s just him getting comfortable.

yeah?

he continues adjusting himself until you two are completely covered in the soft fabric. but that doesn’t bother you. the movie goes on. your eyes would be trained to the screen and lips slightly parted out of anticipation. of course the movie dino selects is some thriller, action movie—and your body shakes every time he jumps from excitement.

during the halfway point of the movie is when subtle changes start to emerge. your arms that once rested against your chest would fall to your legs by this point. the fingers that are barely touching seungcheol’s leg stay there for a little bit. a few seconds of silence would pass until suddenly you feel his hand grasp your own then gently place it on top of his thigh.

this would be the start to it all. but not the official start. he’d have a signal—an indicator, that would let you know for certain, he’s in a mood. his head drops down slightly. the tips of his hair tickles your ear. and lowly, he’d produce one of the most ungodly, most guttural groans that would land straight into your stomach.

there it goes.

even then, you wouldn’t react. in fact, this would be a quite normal interaction between you and cheol. you guys are friends, nonetheless, but the sort of friends that also get one another off. and had you two been completely alone, there wouldn’t be a need for quiet touches or mild whimpers.

right now, seungcheol wants to get off— but that’s most likely because he enjoys the fact that this is so secretive and chaotic. and you’re more than willing to try it too.

with a pounding heart, you allow your fingers to travel across his pant leg and stop near his zipper. both of you face forward and make your movements as hidden as possible. he guides you in pulling down the barricade, and it’s you who wiggles your fingers through the crack while brushing against his underwear.

you’d sense his girth pertruding from his boxers, so in one quick motion you swiftly help pull his throbbing cock out of both his underwear and pants. at that, a low grunt flows through your ears and you have to hold back your own shaky breath.

without wasting any more time, you begin to pump your fingers up and down his length. he would try his hardest to not draw attention to the fact he'd shift his pelvis around, discreetly adjusting the angles at which you’re jerking him off.

if you were to look over his way, you would see the way he softly rolls his head. you would see his face remain stoic, though his eyes have a slight droop to them. his other hand is outside of the blanket and sitting on the arm rest. but if you looked closely, you could see the sporadic clenches his fist would do.

he must’ve already been horny before starting this whole thing. that’s why he’s already putty in your hands.

you swallow thickly as you speed up the pace of your fingers. his thick cock always feel so good. everything about him just turns you on so much. the stickiness of his precum would coat his skin so well, and act as the perfect lubricant.

you’d start to become so caught up in the arousal, you almost miss when he would eventually lean over once more. this time in a barely audible tone, he’d have to warn you, “fuck. I’m about to cum so fast. sh-shit, you tryna make me ruin your nasty little fingers already?”

he watches your face flex although you try to remain unresponsive. just a blank expression turned slightly away from him. however, that doesn’t stop the tiny, tiny whimper that hardly escapes your throat. without even looking you can already tell he’s close. his tip is leaking out more and more liquid, a common sign that seungcheol is about to ejaculate.

his stomach started to convulse which was evident by the quick spasms you’d feel from his torso. with the loudness of the movie overpowering anything else, you could even hear the increasingly rapid huffs he’d try to keep inside of him.

now it’s time to finish it all. your hand squeezes his cock every so often, a tactic you know he enjoys. you’d also focus a lot of your stimulation near the head of his dick since it’s more sensitive. when his huffs turn into quiet grumbles that buzz just right into your ear, you knew it’d be over soon.

he leans into your ear one last time, practically kissing your lobe, as he gasps, “you’re about to make me…god, you’re…oh fuck i’m cumming.”

just like that, your hand becomes overtly soaked in semen, the liquid firstly filling up your fist before dripping out of the side. his cock continues to pulse out more arousal, all the while seungcheol groans perfectly in your ear.

the two of you finish out the rest of the movie like normal. when it was over, while the rest of your friends chatter amongst themselves about the film, both you and seungcheol chime in. you guys try to add to the conversation in hopes of seeming perfectly fine. as if nothing ever happened.

#seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol #seungcheol smut #seungcheol imagines #scoups #scoups seventeen #scoups seventeen x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #scoups hard thoughts #seungcheol hard hours #teeskzagain #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol scenarios

187 notes · View notes

incloudcity · 2 days ago

Text

unexpected play | jh86

summary: you’re a focused, no-nonsense junior trying to survive midterms, and Jack Hughes is the golden boy—the kind of chaos you’ve always avoided.

The door hit something.

Correction: someone.

You blinked, mid-coffee crash and Red Bull high, and found none other than Jack Hughes—frat boy legend, hockey team captain, and campus golden boy—clutching his forehead.

“Oh my god,” you blurted, your carefully color-coded flashcards exploding across the floor. “I didn’t see—are you okay?”

Jack was grinning, leaning against the doorframe with a hand dramatically pressed to his temple. “That’s one way to say hi.”

“I’m serious! I didn’t mean to—”

“You decked me with a library door,” he said, biting back a laugh. “You’ve got a hell of an arm.”

You stared at him, mouth parted. He was too chipper for someone who’d just been clocked with industrial-grade glass.

“I was trying to escape midterms, not commit assault,” you muttered, crouching to gather your flashcards. “Are you actually okay?”

“I’ve taken worse hits on the ice,” he said, brushing off his hoodie. “At least this one came with an apology.”

Of course he made a hockey joke.

You’d crossed paths with Jack Hughes exactly three times:

1. Once when he spilled beer on your tote bag at a party your roommate dragged you to.

2. Once when he asked to borrow your notes for a class he definitely didn’t attend.

3. And once when you told him—firmly—that you weren’t interested in being another name on a list of flings or a prop in someone’s post-game photo.

He’d laughed. You hadn’t.

Now, though, he just watched you as you reassembled your academic chaos.

“Cramming hard?” he asked, nudging one of your flashcards with the toe of his Nike. “Or just really passionate about brain anatomy?”

“Neuroscience. And yes, I’m cramming. Unlike you, I can’t rely on being good at skating and charming professors to pass.”

“Oof.” He clutched his chest. “That one hurt worse than the door.”

You looked up at him. He was in joggers and a hoodie that’s logo resembled his frat’s, hair mussed, a dimple peeking from his grin like it had its own agenda.

“I’m not your type,” you said flatly, mostly to shut him down.

Jack tilted his head. “What’s my type, then?”

“Anyone who thinks your snapback is a personality trait.”

He laughed. A real one. Loud, surprised, and stupidly infectious.

“Okay, fair,” he said. “But maybe I’m branching out.”

You arched a brow. “Why would you want to branch out?”

He handed you a flashcard, his fingers brushing yours. “Because I think you’re more fun than you pretend to be.”

———

You weren’t sure why you came. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the way Jack had looked at you—not like you were another challenge to win, but like he genuinely meant what he said.

You wore jeans and a cozy sweater. You brought your roommate, who beelined to the dance floor in less than sixty seconds. And you stood on the edge of the crowd, clutching a LaCroix, wondering if this was a mistake.

Then Jack spotted you.

His face lit up. He pushed past a couple of guys and crossed the room with ease, like it was the most natural thing in the world that you—you—were there.

“You actually came,” he said, half in disbelief, half impressed.

You shrugged. “Might as well see what all the noise is about.”

He handed you a red solo cup. “No pressure. But I make a mean vodka lemonade.”

You sniffed it. “This smells like a regret hangover.”

He laughed. “You’re brutal.”

“I’m honest.”

“Even better.”

You didn’t mean to stay long. You definitely didn’t mean to end up outside on the porch, sitting beside him on a rickety bench, talking about everything from your favorite sci-fi books to the weird comfort of academic burnout playlists.

He told you he wasn’t always this chill. That he puts a ton of pressure on himself to be the guy everyone expects. That the frat stuff was fun, yeah, but also exhausting sometimes. That he misses home. That he doesn’t get taken seriously by half his professors, and that he’s kind of used to girls not really seeing him—just the version of him they want to say they hooked up with.

And for the first time, you saw him.

Not as a frat boy or a jock. But as a person.

He took off his hoodie without a word when the wind picked up and wrapped it around your shoulders.

It smelled like laundry detergent and a little like cologne, and you hated how warm it made you feel.

“You still think I’m not your type?” he asked, voice quiet under the string lights.

You looked at him—his earnest expression, the nerves hidden behind his smile, the way he was really trying—and let out a breath.

“I think you’re more complicated than I thought.”

“Is that a good thing?”

You smiled, for real this time. “I think it might be.”

#nhl x reader #jack hughes x reader #frat!jack hughes x reader

165 notes · View notes

hatethysinner · 2 days ago

Note

Saw you were taking requests and I’ve been thinking about what would happen if one of your OCs gave Remmick a gift. You know this pathetic wet man would not have a normal reaction

I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS REQUEST! i think it'd be so fun to return to my previous fics and do requested add-ons! no warnings for this, just pure unadulterated pathetic!remmick fluff. this will be a an add-on to the weary blues, but there's no need to read it before this one (though i do highly recommend it).

The hour was late. Not just late in the way clocks measured it, but in that shapeless, misty sort of late that made time feel slippery. The bookstore breathed around you, shelves and walls wrapped in deep shadow, the kind that folded itself politely out of the way so nothing would feel truly alone. No people passed outside. No wind stirred. Even the moths had given up circling the single lamp hanging on the other side of the tinted glass.

Remmick was here, of course.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, spine curved against a low shelf, thumbing absently through a forgotten paperback whose cover had long since faded. His coat was off, neatly folded over the back of your favorite armchair. His sleeves were rolled past the elbows, exposing pale forearms marked with the soft dents of old scars. Every few minutes, he glanced up. Not like he was expecting anything, just to check that you were still there.

That you hadn’t disappeared.

You were at the counter. Pretending to tidy something. A stack of journals, maybe, or that tin of bookmarks that no one ever bought but he always seemed to mess with. Your fingers moved in idle little patterns, but your mind wasn’t on the task.

It was on the box in your pocket.

Small. Softly wrapped. The kind of thing that would disappear in someone else’s hands, but felt almost too large here, in this strange, suspended pocket of midnight and quiet.

You hadn’t meant to give it to him tonight.

It hadn’t felt like the right time. Then again, you weren’t sure what the right time looked like. There were no birthdays tonight. No holidays. No calendar hanging by the register to count down days or circle occasions. There was only now. The dark, and the dust, and the low crackling of the candle you'd light when the chill tried to settle too deep into the floorboards.

But tonight had been soft. That rare kind of soft, the one that didn’t ask for anything but gave something anyway. You’d spent most of the evening in shared silence, passing dog-eared books back and forth, occasionally reading aloud when the words called for it. Remmick had listened like it meant something, like your voice could reshape the air around him if he let it. He hadn’t said much. He didn’t need to.

His presence was enough.

His quiet was never empty.

You watched him now as he flicked through another page, mouth twitching faintly at some line that landed just right. There was a smudge of ink on his finger, probably from that pen he kept tucked behind his ear. His hair had dried funny after his earlier shower, curling up at the ends like it had forgotten how to behave.

He looked good.

Not polished. Not composed. But full.

Alive in the way that only people who have been half-dead know how to be.

Your fingers brushed the edge of the box in your pocket again.

You weren’t sure what he’d do when he saw it. If he’d laugh. Or cry. Or try to give it back. He wasn’t used to gifts. He’d said that once. Quietly, like it wasn’t important, like it hadn’t gutted you on the spot.

He’d never had a proper gift before.

Not one that wasn’t transactional. Not one that wasn’t a favor owed or a mistake forgiven. Just… something someone saw and thought, this is his. Just because.

And yet you’d bought the cufflinks anyway.

Found them in a little antique shop two towns over, tucked away in a velvet-lined tray between cracked lockets and pins with missing stones. They weren’t flashy. Weren’t modern. Just a pair of old silver squares with the faintest etching at the edges.

You’d known they were his the second you saw them.

You weren’t sure why. Just that they were. Like they’d been waiting. Like he’d left them behind in some past life and they’d been clawing their way back to him ever since.

He shifted, drawing your attention back. His foot knocked against a stack of books, and he winced like he thought you might scold him.

You didn’t.

You just looked at him.

Really looked.

At the sharp angles that softened when he was tired. At the curl of his lashes, too long for someone who hated being seen. At the way he held the book like it was breakable, even though his own hands bore proof that he rarely was.

And suddenly, it didn’t matter what the right time was.

You just wanted him to know.

That he was thought of.

That he was wanted.

That something in this world had been chosen for him. Not because he earned it, not because he begged for it, but because someone looked at it and thought, yes, this belongs to you.

You closed the distance slowly.

Not rushed.

Not dramatic.

Just real.

And the box in your pocket felt heavier with each step.

“Hi,” he said, like he hadn’t already been in the same room with you for hours. His voice was soft, a little warm burst in the cold bookstore air, and when you looked at him fully, his whole face lit up. Like you were the one thing in the world he’d been waiting for all night, even though he’d never left your side. “Ya looked busy. Didn’t wanna bother ya.”

His thumb held his place in the book, but the rest of him leaned in your direction. Eager. Not in a loud, desperate way. Not like the first night, when he clung to your presence like it was the last lifeline he’d ever have. This was smaller. Gentler. The kind of eagerness that didn’t ask anything, only bloomed quiet and patient in your light.

You felt the box again, the corners pressing faintly into your palm where you'd slipped it free from your skirt. For a second, you hesitated. Not out of doubt, but because something about this felt so sacred, it needed to be right.

“You weren’t botherin’ me,” you said. Your voice was low, meant just for him. “I was just… thinkin’.”

He tilted his head, that little inquisitive tilt he always did when he sensed something beneath the surface. But he didn’t press. Not yet. He gave you the space, like always, but you could feel his attention. Sharp as a blade, soft as a breath.

You took the few remaining steps that brought you close, until you were standing in front of him. You didn’t sit down yet. You just watched him for a moment, memorizing the way he looked like this. Curled up and content, but always on the edge of some deeper ache.

“I have somethin’ for you.”

That got him. He blinked up at you, startled. His fingers fumbled slightly over the spine of the book, and he sat up straighter, gaze flicking between your face and your hands. “For me?” His voice cracked a little on the second word, like he didn’t quite believe it. “Why?”

You held out the small box. It wasn’t wrapped extravagantly, just enough to protect it, just enough to keep it a secret until now. He didn’t take it right away. He looked at it like it might vanish if he moved too fast.

“Because I saw it,” you said, your voice steady, “and I thought of you.”

That did it.

He reached out slowly, reverently, and took the box with both hands. His fingers hovered over the lid like he didn’t want to ruin whatever magic kept it sealed. For a second, he just stared. Then he glanced up at you again, like asking for permission. When you nodded, he opened it.

The cufflinks caught the faintest sliver of light from the lamp above. Silver. Old, quiet silver. The kind that never shouted for attention but demanded it anyway. Etched at the corners with delicate, almost-forgotten lines. Not a pattern, exactly. More like a memory.

Remmick went still.

Completely still.

Like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“...What are they?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, though he already knew. He just needed to hear it. Needed to make it real.

“Cufflinks,” you answered softly. “For when you want to feel like yourself. Or someone you used to be. Or someone you might become.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on them, wide and dark and glassy. His hands trembled a little. Just enough that you saw it. Just enough that he knew you saw it, too.

“I’ve never had…” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “Not like this. Not somethin’ just mine.”

You sat down next to him, close enough that your knees brushed. His shoulder leaned into yours automatically, seeking warmth, steadiness, anything to anchor himself in the moment.

“They’re yours,”

He exhaled, a long, shaky breath that sounded like it’d been trapped in his chest for years.

“Thank you,” he said, so quietly you barely caught it. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

He said it like a prayer.

Like the world was about to crack open under his feet and this was the only thing that might hold it together.

And he hadn’t even tried them on yet.

He kept staring at them like they might disappear if he blinked. Still cupped in his palms, the cufflinks looked small. Delicate, even. A stark contrast to the calloused stretch of his fingers. The silver caught the lamplight again, this time bending it into something gentler, something more secret. Like moonlight in a locked room.

“Do you wanna try them on?” you asked.

He startled, just a little, blinking up at you like he’d forgotten where he was. “Now?”

You nodded. “Unless you’d rather wait.”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly. His thumb brushed one of the cufflinks again, like he was reassuring himself they were real. “No, I-I wanna.”

You smiled. He looked like a man asked to wear something sacred, too stunned to argue but too enthralled to rush. You let the silence linger, soft as silk, while he reached slowly for the buttons at his wrist.

He worked them loose with unhurried hands, his sleeves coming undone without fanfare. You could see how he rolled his cuffs neatly back each time. Habit more than style, probably. He always looked like he was halfway between rest and running, like he never knew which the night, or you, would ask of him.

“Here,” you said, holding your hand out gently. “Let me.”

He hesitated for a breath, then gave you his left wrist.

His skin was warm. A little clammy, a little shaky, but he didn’t pull away. He let you unroll the cuff and align the holes, his knuckles twitching every time your fingers brushed bone. You took one cufflink, turned it just so, and slid it through with ease. It clicked softly, the metal cool against his pulse.

He stared at you the whole time.

Not intensely. Not like he did when he first met you, all nerves and hunger and that shaky, desperate pull. This was quieter. Like he couldn’t believe you were here, doing this. Like you were something delicate he was afraid to breathe too hard on.

You moved to his other wrist. He offered it just as easily.

The second cufflink slid in just as smooth. When it clicked into place, his breath caught.

Not loud. Not sharp.

And then you looked up, and the light hit his face differently.

It wasn’t dramatic, not really. The lamp on the shelf behind you didn’t flicker. The air didn’t shift. But something in his expression sharpened, just for a heartbeat. His lips parted slightly, and the faintest glint of teeth showed. Not sharp enough to be a threat, but too pointed to be forgotten. His canines always gleamed, small and precise and not quite right.

And his eyes. His eyes, already so deep and unreadable, caught a color you hadn’t noticed before. In the heart of that ancient blue, there was red. Not bright. Not fire. Just a thread of it, like old embers buried under ash. Watching. Waiting.

He didn’t blink.

You didn’t look away.

You liked his canines. You liked the strange glow in his eyes. The way it made him look like he belonged to something older than night. You didn’t flinch. You never had. Even when part of you knew, knew he wasn’t just some poor soul from the road. Even when nothing about him quite added up, you’d let him in anyway.

You smoothed down his cuff with your thumb.

“They suit you,” you said.

He blinked like he’d forgotten how to.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He looked down at his wrists, then turned them gently in the low light, watching the silver catch. His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. More of a stunned, breathless awe. Like you’d handed him a second name.

“Do I look,” he said, hesitating, “like I belong to somethin’?”

You paused. Then leaned in, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You look like you finally believe you do.”

He let out a small, helpless sound. Not a laugh. Not a sob. Just something deep and quiet that lived in his chest and finally found a way out. He pressed his cheek into your temple, breathing you in like he didn’t need air, just this.

His arms came around you, hesitant at first. Still so careful, like you might vanish. But you didn’t. You leaned into him, solid and real and warm, and he sank into it like it was the first real place he’d ever been allowed to rest.

For a long time, you didn’t speak. You just stayed like that, curled together on the floor between bookshelves and forgotten time. The town beyond the window didn’t exist. The cold couldn’t reach you here.

Eventually, he whispered, “Nobody’s ever given me anythin’ like this.”

You drew slow patterns on his sleeve. “You deserve things like this.”

He kissed your head. Not urgently. Not hungrily. Just once. Just thank you.

Then: “You’re not scared of me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No,” you said, eyes closed.

Even when you should be. Even when something old stirred just beneath his skin. Even when the shadows moved different around him than they did around anyone else.

“No,” you said again.

He was quiet after that. His breath slowed. His shoulders eased. You stayed tucked into him, cufflinks catching the glow of your little lamp. He held you like a promise, soft and otherworldly, and you let him.

This was your secret, after all.

Yours and Remmick’s.

And out in the world, maybe that wouldn’t mean anything. Maybe they'd hate it if they knew.

But here, here in this forgotten bookstore, in the hush between hours where nothing else dared to breathe, it meant everything.

#remmick x reader #remmick #remmick x you #sinners #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #remmick sinners #remmick fluff #fluff #black!reader #black!fem!reader #remmick x black!reader #i love drabbles who would've thought #this was srsly so fun to write pls give me more yall #inboxxx #request #drabble

113 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 6 hours ago

Note

Could I request a Baby Eliza going through teething and the Munson family trying their best to soothe her highness?

Her Royal Highness deserves everyone in the household trying to ease her pain

Words: 1.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“I know, baby, I know.”

You sigh as you pace the length of the living room, six-month-old Eliza wailing in your arms. Her cries of pain are a knife in the heart, and you wish more than anything you could take it away from her.

“Here’s the ring.” Eddie comes in from the kitchen, holding out a frozen teething ring in your direction. Your poor little daughter has her first tooth coming in, and the two of you have been going through the list of things that could possibly help her.

“Thanks,” you say as you take the cold, green piece of plastic. “Come on, baby. Open up. Let’s see if this helps.”

Eddie lets out a yawn and rubs a large hand up and down his face. The two of you had only managed to get about three hours of sleep before the sound of wailing from the baby monitor jerked you awake. It figures, you can’t help but think: Eliza just started consistently sleeping through the night when this pesky tooth had to come along and cause another sleepless whirlwind in the Munson house.

Hope bubbles in your chest as Eliza’s cries quiet down to whines as she starts to work the frozen ring into her mouth.

“There we go,” you say softly.

“Wish I had one of those when Luke started teething,” Eddie says through a yawn, gesturing to the ring. “Feel like I tried everything with him before I finally came across it.”

As if the little girl recognizes her father’s words and refuses to do anything like her older brother, she moves her mouth away from the ring, letting it fall back into your hand.

“No, no, no,” you sigh as you try to put the ring back in. “Come on, Eliza. It will help, I promise.”

Tiny hands come up to rub at her face, one scrubbing back and forth across her top lip as if trying to wipe the pain away. She inhales, her little lungs getting ready, then cries out even louder than before.

“Why don’t we try whiskey?” Eddie suggests.

Your head snaps towards him, and your brows furrow.

“Whiskey?”

He covers another yawn with the back of his hand while he nods.

“Yeah, numbs the gums. That’s what I did with Luke before I found the teething rings,” he explains. “Put him right out, too.”

The mental image of a drunken baby Luke pops into your head, and you can’t help but laugh in your sleepless state. You shake your head, though.

“No, I don’t think so. Plus, I don’t think we even have any.”

“I could go get some?” Eddie jokes, hitching a thumb over his shoulder towards the front door. The sleepy smile on his lips is so endearing, even when you’re so drained.

“Oh, hush,” you say with a breathy chuckle.

Eliza continues to cry, and the longer it goes on, the more you want to cry along with her. It’s been almost an hour now that you and Eddie have been trying different techniques to soothe your infant. Her chilled pacifier, a cold spoon, some thin slices of bananas, and the trick that worked with Ryan as a baby, a washcloth soaked in cold water.

“What is going on?” Luke groans as he stumbles into the living room, Ryan right behind him, letting out a huge yawn.

“Eliza’s teething,” Eddie says, catching the contagion of a yawn from his oldest son.

“So?” Luke huffs. “I’ve got a new tooth coming in and I’m not crying about it.”

His irritation does nothing to help your and Eddie’s already fraying nerves. Luckily, Ryan steps in for you.

“Yeah, but you’re getting an adult tooth,” Ryan says, giving his little brother’s shoulder the smallest of shoves. “You’ve already had a tooth in that spot. Eliza has a brand new, sharp tooth slicing her gums from the inside out.”

His visceral description makes you wince and hold onto your girl a little tighter.

“Ow,” Luke whines, bringing his hands up to cover his own mouth.

“Yeah, ow,” Eddie agrees, shaking his head to dispel the image.

Eliza bumps her head against yours, fresh tears falling down her cheeks as her body wriggles in your grip.

“I know, sweet pea. Here, you want Daddy?” You look up at your husband, who immediately opens his arms for her.

“Come here, squirt,” he says as you transfer her over. “Daddies can fix everything, right?”

“Well…” Luke cheekily whines before Ryan shoves him again.

The baby’s cries quiet down somewhat, but still persist as she gets comfortable in her father’s arms. Her wet, shiny eyes search the room, taking in all of her family members surrounding her. When her gaze lands back on her father, she eyes the hair that’s falling out of the ponytail at the base of Eddie’s neck. Eliza reaches one drool-covered hand out and grabs onto a brown curly strand. She pops it in her mouth and works it with her gums, the sight reminiscent of a horse chewing on hay.

“Ugh, gross, Liza!” Luke whines, wrinkling up his face in disgust.

You quickly step over and remove the section of hair from her mouth, tucking it behind Eddie’s ear for good measure.

“I don’t think that’s gonna help you, little girl.”

“She didn’t like this?” Ryan asks, picking up the discarded teething ring.

“Nope,” Eddie says with a sigh. “Hasn’t liked anything so far.”

“You should try whiskey!” Luke suggests.

Eddie’s eyebrows raise as he looks at you and nods his head towards your youngest son, like See? What’d I say?

“Daddy’s hair probably tastes better than whiskey,” Ryan scoffs. You hope the thirteen-year-old keeps that negative view of alcohol for at least another eight years. “Have you tried distracting her?”

“A little,” you say. “You boys might be better at that, though, since you can always make her laugh. Wanna help?”

“On it!” Luke darts back down the hallway, and you and Eddie share an amused look.

He comes back a minute later with a Beanie Baby, a Cabbage Patch Doll, and two stuffed animals from Eliza’s room. Luke holds onto the unicorn stuffie that he bought for his sister and tosses the pig and Beanie Baby to Ryan. The older brother eyes the toys curiously before raising his eyebrows in question.

“Daddy, sit,” Luke says, his hand gesturing to the couch.

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice. He settles down on the couch with a squirming Eliza in his lap.

“Hey! Liza!” Luke kneels down on the opposite side of the coffee table from Eddie and places the two toys he’s holding on the surface. “Look!” He picks up the unicorn and starts to make it walk across the tabletop. “I’m Bob the Unicorn, and I like to eat cabbage! Oh look, there’s a Cabbage Patch Kid.”

Ryan kneels down next to his brother and puts the Beanie Baby and the pig down next to the other toys. The older Munson boy picks up the purple Beanie Baby bear and makes it walk towards the unicorn.

“No! You can’t eat her!” he makes the bear say in a high-pitched voice. “She’s my friend!”

Eliza’s cries continue, but her eyes stay glued on her brothers and her toys. Part of you thinks she’s wondering why they’re playing with her things.

“I’m a unicorn,” “Bob” says, “I can do whatever I want!”

Evidently, Eliza doesn’t like that rule. She lets out a squeal and buries her face in Eddie’s neck.

“No, no!” Ryan tries to capture her attention again by making the pig dance. “Look, Eliza!”

The distraction is no longer enough, though. Your daughter wails and bunches her little fists in Eddie’s holey Iron Maiden t-shirt. Desperation wrings you dry as you rack your brain for something else to try. The helpless feeling and the lack of sleep are teaming up in your brain to whisper that you’re not a good enough Mom. You need to shut that voice down right away.

“I’m gonna grab the washcloth again,” you say with a sigh, needing to do something.

Ryan pushes himself off the ground and walks over to his dad and sister.

“Can I hold her?” he asks.

“Here ya go.”

Eddie hefts her over, and Ryan begins to sway back and forth, building up to a full-blown dance with his sister in his arms. Eliza’s whines momentarily stall as she gets used to the movement, but quickly remembers her pain.

“Eds?” you call from the bathroom. “The water won’t get cold.”

The man groans and drops his head before pushing himself to his feet.

“Always something,” he mumbles as he shuffles down the hallway.

Once her dad is out of sight, Eliza’s whines turn into an all out production of wails and tears.

“Hey, no, no,” Ryan coos, trying to soothe her. “It’s okay. Daddy will be right back.”

The small girl fidgets in her brother’s grip, a tantrum brewing beneath the surface.

“Luke?” Ryan asks. “Can you…?”

“Come on, munchkin,” Luke says as he takes his sister and walks over to sit. He plops down on the right-side cushion and rests his elbow on the arm of the couch. Eliza settles on her back, her head propped up by Luke’s arm, and his other hand rests gently on her stomach. Drool begins to build up and leak down the little girl’s chin.

“Oh no,” Luke says, “we’re not gonna have tears and drool.” He slides his hand up to wipe her mouth off, but two tiny hands grab his and keep it where it is. Eliza looks at her brother’s hand for a moment before lifting it to her mouth and popping the knuckle of Luke’s forefinger in her mouth.

“Really?” Luke gives her an unimpressed look.

“Ew, who knows where that’s been, Eliza?” Ryan adds.

But then there’s nothing. No other sound. Silence fills the room, and the brothers share a hopeful look.

“She’s not crying,” Ryan says.

Eliza happily gums at Luke’s finger, staring up at him with still-teary eyes, but no new waterworks start.

“It feels weird,” Luke says with a giggle. “I think I’m magic, though.”

“Right.” Ryan rolls his eyes.

You and Eddie pop back into the room, a cold washcloth held in your hands. Both of you stop in your tracks when you see Eliza lying on Luke, silent and content. Her eyes quickly look over at you as she noms on his knuckle, before tilting her head back again. Before either you or Eddie can reach the couch, her eyes are shut and she’s fast asleep.

“Wow,” Eddie whispers.

“I think you’re stuck there all night, bud,” you joke.

“Whatever,” Luke grumbles, his own eyes getting heavy now. “I’m the hero of the day.”

Eddie laughs and ruffles the boy’s curls.

“Good job, Super Luke.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie Munson fan fic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWs #request

70 notes · View notes

selenophyyy · 2 days ago

Text

Above The Rush

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Romance, fluff, slice of life

Words: 596

Synopsis: Amid the hustle of daily life, two lovers retreat to a quiet rooftop, choosing to pause. As the world rushes below, they savor the peace of each other’s company, neglecting deadlines and distractions. In this fleeting moment, they rediscover the beauty of stillness and shared connection.

Note: Did I just bust a writing block in one sitting!? OMG! On top of that I wrote fluff with no jump scares!? Exams changed me haha. Anyways, give it a read. It turned out pretty funny and cute :]

Your legs dangle down the roof, swinging along the fleeting wind and passing traffic. The road flickers with dots of crimson and yellow, honking back and forth.

Everyone is trying to make it through the fast-paced world, yet you sit on top, pitying the workers racing to their offices with their fingers clasping half-cold coffees. Some are busy cursing at the blocking drivers as some steal glances at their watches, breaking into a sprint to make it on time.

Time that flows endlessly, yet no one has enough to spare any.

Not even you; you're just good at procrastinating and avoiding responsibilities. Music drums in your ears as you choose to pass your morning, observing people rather than hurrying to catch up with the world.

“What's my philosopher thinking now?” Jeonghan presses the cold drink against your cheek. You pull out your earbud as you feel the icy touch of the drink. With him by your side, you grab your coffee.

“The world is too busy,” you thought aloud. Jeonghan hums in agreement.

“We can't freeze time, but we can slack off,” he grins, his fingers sliding in yours. You roll your eyes, quenching your throat with your coffee.

“You will find any excuse to not work,” you point out, squeezing his hand in contrast.

“I just want to spend time with my greatest, the most amazing and exceptional love of my life,” he gushes, exaggerating as always.

“If Seungcheol beats your ass for ditching work, I’m not stopping him,” you warn lightly, shifting your weight against his shoulder.

Jeonghan lets out a bubbly gasp, his face twisting into fabricated hurt. “You're mean, but he loves me more than you.” He sticks out his tongue, making your eyes roll back again.

"Okay, Heather," you snicker. "A lazy one at that," you add, pinching his side, making him squeak. You scoff at his dramatics.

“Look at those buildings, roads, and people. Life is overflowing with stuff and stories,” you mention, donning your philosopher hat once more.

“Yeah, everyone is living their own stories,” Jeonghan hums with a knowing smile.

“Look at that cat, chilling down the street,” you note, pointing at the poised animal taking its morning stroll.

“It’s really in its own world,” Jeonghan chuckles. You hum, shifting your gaze to a shop owner sliding up the shutter, opening his bakery shop for the day.

“Do you think he will turn into a chipmunk with leftovers from yesterday?” You wondered aloud if yesterday's microwaved bread would greet his stomach. Jeonghan snickers at your unhinged behavior.

“Not everyone is a glutton like you,” he teases, earning a smack on his scalp.

“Look at that pregnant mother seeing off her ducklings to school,” you observe, swinging your legs.

“Did you just call her kids ducklings?” Jeonghan erupts into a loud guffaw.

“But watch closely—her sons are literally walking to school in a line, like ducks,” you say, your lips curving down as if to emphasize the comparison.

He chortles, finding your attempt to justify even more hilarious. “Sometimes I want to crack your skull open and see how your mind works,” he quips, casting a charming smile contrasting his bloody words.

You shoot him a side-eye.

“At least it works,” you retort. Jeonghan laughs uproariously, as though it were the most hilarious joke ever.

The couple continues to bicker as the sunrise paints the morning, the clouds fluffing their hearts in the early hours.

The city buzzes with the hustle and bustle of a busy day, and the couple chooses to melt away their time in each other.

Author's Note:

The vision of you shoot him a side-eye:

This was just fl going 'this is deep shit' and Jeonghan being a clown and menace lmaoo.

I love how this drabble gives off this vibe:

i want to write more on this kinda dynamic haha!

Anyways, leave your thoughts and constructive criticism is always appreciated :]

74 notes · View notes

hey-itsdollie · 7 hours ago

Note

Hi, I love your blog!

Could I please request head-canons for Kaiser, Rin, Sae, Nagi, Bachria, (and whoever else if you feel like, if it’s not too much) of how they’d feel about having a goth gf? 💀 🖤 ⚽️

I ♡ Goth Girls

yesss I've never seen something like this I hope I do it well!

‧₊˚ ┊ Block Lock boys with a goth gf!

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » kaiser. rin. sae. nagi. bachira.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ fluff, female reader, semi-crack fic, use of pet names, goth reader!

── .✦ Michael Kaiser

Kaiser would be estatic about having a goth girlfriend. Considering he's more eccentric and enjoys eccentric things. He'd enjoy showing you off, always having you send fit checks to him, and even letting you decorate his things like his car, room, and even phone aesthetic.

He adores your aesthetic, giving anyone death glares who choose to look at you the wrong way.

Even a small glance Kaiser is already memorizing the person's face, body structure, and clothes. You don't normally care much but whatever you're laid back about he is more high strung for.

"Michael enough, I know that look."

You would stare at him unamused as he sends death glares at a small child who was just mindlessly staring up at you. Sighing relieved once the kid walked away with their parents.

Back to decorating his room, it was simple Kaiser wasn't one to decorate much considering he often travelled due to matches. So whenever you were over you'd leave something in his room. He had many plushies ranging from gloomy bears, gothic looking bunnies, and even light pastel cats.

Polaroids of the two of you hung from his walls, considering you preferred to take material photos than just keep them tucked away in your phone.

During his birthday you never knew what to get him, you also knew very well he didn't like recieving gifts so you decided to make him things instead of buy him knick-knacks.

Adding to his new decor, crocheted blankets and small plushies were now on his bed.

Kaiser became some what of a softy after getting with you. Sure he threw his tantrums from time to time and had an attitude. But you noticed a change in him, you calmed him down even though he wouldn't verbally admit it.

"Don't move." You ordered one hand gripping his chin as the other applied his eyeliner almost perfectly onto his skin. This had become part of your routine whenever you stayed over at his place, which was often.

"Liebling, how does it look?"

"It'd be better if you didn't move so much."

"I can't help it, I love having my eyes on you~"

Kaiser gave you the attention you never thought you'd want. And sure enough, he grew on you quite quickly.

── .✦ Rin Itoshi

Rin didn't think much about having a goth girlfriend, to be fair he never thought much about relationships in general. He's lowkey the type of guy who doesn't care about how people look or dress. Will he give weird stares? Hell yeah. But it's not like he's going to fully hate someone for it.

When he got into a relationship with you everything was chill. Sure you didn't watch much football, you only knew of the blue lock program due to theory videos on the internet.

So during one of his breaks, you ran into him at an arcade the guys had dragged him to. He was hella nervous. You wore large platform boots, a ton of makeup, and had piercings. Rin wasn't really expecting someone like you to come up to him, the aesthetics clashed- plus he had no idea who you were.

"You're part of blue lock right?"

Rin thought it was a hassle but decided to answer your questions. He just wasn't expecting for you to ask him about brain washing and if there were tunnels under blue lock.

To put it simply he thought you were crazy.

Few months into the relationship and he still thinks you're crazy. Doesn't mean he doesn't love you.

"Please Rin let me do your eyeliner! Just this once!"

You often begged him to try out some things you enjoyed doing. He always said no after you asked to give him piercings. That one hurt you bad when he said no.

"Fine, if it'll make you stop whining."

You squealed and began doing some rubbed out eyeliner on his waterline, grinning from ear to ear as your smiley piercing was on display.

"He loved seeing your smile, the tension in his body melting away as he patiently let you do his make up.

You and Rin were the definition of loser bf and goth gf; while you collected small random figures of skeletons wearing animal costumes he was collecting action figures and football cards.

Just like with Kaiser Rin was heavily over protective with you. Whenever Otoya or Shidou commented on him having a "goth baddie" for a girlfriend he was always 0.2 seconds away from knocking their lights out.

He would do it even if they didn't say anything, knowing you always cheered him on no matter what.

── .✦ Sae Itoshi

Sae had known you for a while, way before you chose your aesthetic and way before he left for spain. Childhood friends you would say whenever someone asked how you knew the red headed football player.

To say he was shocked that you were goth would be an understatement but it didn't necessarily bother him. He found it quite unique, he loved it.

He enjoyed going on shopping sprees with you, not minding that he had to quite close to thrity minutes to an hour for you to get ready. You were laid back and he was aswell, you never rushed to be anywhere.

"You're beautiful Blossom."

Sae would say smoothly watching you get ready using your light up mirror that had bats carved into the wood. You would be painting on your eyebrows, one halfway done as you turned and blew him a kiss.

The press was quite shocked to hear Sae had a unique girlfriend, but he loved showing you off. Your sense of fashion always blew the press away.

Even on dates you often took him to thrift stores, he was used to the idea that he'd need to spend a fortune on his significant other, but instead you made your own clothes and jewerly, and preferred to thrift.

The most he normally spent was on concert tickets. Which he didn't mind considering he got to watch you get all dolled up.

Sae got used to your antics quite quickly. For example, he normally expected to be sent a playlist at 3am from you. The message saying "This playlists reminds me of us" or just a playlist full of song recommendations.

He loved how passionate you were about things even small things that most wouldn't glance at. It made him want to become passionate over football again, it was just the effect you had on him.

And even though you didn't force it on him you tried subtly to bring him and his young brother together again. You spoke to Rin often as he went to you for most things whether it was him asking about Sae or just being agitated about anything and everything.

Of course Sae was aware of this, even hesitantly asking to see any pictures Rin would send you or ask about his brother.

It started with Sae sending check up messages to Rin—he would either get left on delivered or left on seen—but now he has short conversations with Rin.

It's slow but it's something. And he had you to thank for that.

── .✦ Seishiro Nagi

Nagi would not care about how his significant other would look or dress. He'd be quite indifferent about it, considering he probably looks for whoever wouldn't be a hassle.

Reo on the other hand was probably shocked to see his white-haired friend with you. Questioning how exactly Nagi got a girl like you considering how lazy and laid back he was. Was it the height? The looks? Dare he say personality??

You had met Nagi at a costume store, looking for new decorations for your apartment as Nagi was dragged to go shopping with Reo—who was in a completely different store—he just wanted to come in for air conditioning...

He ended up walking out with a scheduled date.

You found Nagi immensely attractive, though others might say otherwise. He seemed like he didn't care about his looks. His hair was messy as if he just got out of bed, his clothes kind of thrown on yet still looked relatively presentable. Not to mention his height and lazy sleepy eyes.

He was just your type.

On the other hand, Nagi wasn't expecting some goth chick who barely met his height with her platform shoes on to walk up to him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think you worked at the shop.

In his eyes he thought you looked like a video game character. Specifically, from a horror game.

Being the blunt man he was he voiced his thoughts. To anyone's surprise you took it as a compliment and asked him out.

The two of you often lazed around together and played video games. Mid way through walks you would remember tiktok trends and decide to do them.

"Nagi just stand there." You would direct before walking up to him and stepping on his dirty converse before kissing him with your hands cupping his face.

Nagi also seemed to enjoy staying at your place more than his own saying "It's cozier" whilst having his head buried into your cleavage. With your black out shades and dark lighting in your bedroom, it was the perfect nap atmosphere.

── .✦ Meguru Bachira

To say Bachira loved having you as his girlfriend would be an understatement.

Showing up to your date with a white shirt saying "I ♡ My Goth Gf" was not that shockingly for you. He seemed to brag to everybody about you, proving to others that he was far scarier than you when they made nasty comments.

Effectively threatening to unleash his monster on them.

You two were like Beast boy and Raven, even dressing up like them for Halloween per Bachira's begging.

Your profiles on anything always matched with icons of Beast boy and Raven. He loved it. To him you were as pretty- if not more beautiful than Raven.

He was sure to take millions of pictures of you in your costume. Saving them and making one his phone's wallpaper.

Bachira was adorable to you, both of you being outcasts in certain situations made your bond tighter. He was the more energetic one in the relationship but it never clashed with any activities or dates.

He often didn't dress up either wearing pajamas or shorts with random graphic tees while you always went out with your outfits and if you decided to wear pajamas your make up made up for your laziness.

Often times your boyfriend would plead with you to do his make up like you would your own. And in the end, he would always act like he was at some hard-core concert.

His goofiness never failed to make you smile. Not to mention his mother loved you. She loved your creative aesthetic, using you as a model for some paintings.

Before going to see you Bachira always bragged about you to his mom saying "Oh isn't Birdie perfect mom!" in response the older woman would just laugh and agree. Happy her beloved son found someone who loves him as much as he loves them.

Bachira was open with his feelings almost immediately, he ran up to you after one of his matches and asked you out. Out of luck you agreed, which led to now.

Your boyfriend laying in your bed practically buried under all your plushies and blankets, refusing each time to put the plushies on the ground saying "Those are our kids! I can't kick them off the bed!"

Soft snores left him as his chest raised up and down comfortably. You smiled taking a picture before crawling into bed with him.

Sorry if anyone is a bit ooc, I enjoyed writing this :P

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

54 notes · View notes

luvnoirs · 9 hours ago

Text

FOUR: FWU

some of your love— a paige bueckers fanfiction

contents/warning(s): paige driving with one hand AHHHHH, lowkey fluff and kinda emotional 🥀 💔 word count: 3.5k

SEVYN → ARLINGTON TX

i said goodbye to dijonai then waited patiently for paige to grab her belongings.

i should've said no.

or sucked it up and just called an expensive ass uber.

but i knew dijonai was tired from the game, and i would have hated to drag her out an extra twenty five minutes, through traffic tonight.

so i said yes.

yes to spending an excruciating thirty minutes in a car with paige bueckers, who i can admit that i've been purposely avoiding as much as i could.

"you ready?"

paige was suddenly standing in front of me, her book bag strapped over her left shoulder with a pair of sabrina's in her hand. she changed into crocs and put her ponytail into a bun.

no.

"yeah," i nodded as we started walking.

i fell a couple steps back, not because i wanted to, but because she genuinely took bigger strides and i struggled to keep up with the heavy duffle bag digging into my shoulder.

most of the fans were gone along with some of the staff, so the only sound we could hear was the occasional chatter of security and the soles of our shoes against the floor.

paige glanced back, then again with a smile. "you okay back there?" she slowed her pace to match mine.

"i'm great. you just walk too damn fast."

paige, now walking besides me, breathed out a small laugh. "what'd you even pack in that thing anyway? shit is like half your size."

"well, it was my first performance today so i packed a bunch of extra shit just in case," we reached the door and paige went first, holding it open as i walked through and out into the parking lot. "never again, though."

paige hummed, spinning the keys in her hand as she stayed quiet for a moment.

"i saw some of it," she said. "not the whole thing, but they had it on the tv in the locker room."

i glanced at her, her eyes staring straight forward as we walked towards a black car in the last row.

"you did really good."

a beat of silence settled between us as her words repeated in my head.

"thank you," i muttered, watching as she reached the car first, stopping in front of the passenger side.

she opened the door and gestured her hand to my duffle bag. "i'll put this in the trunk."

i gladly let her take my bag and slid into the passenger seat. the inside was cool from the night air and i felt a chill run through my body. i rubbing my hands, waiting as paige popped open the trunk and our bags away, then circle to the drivers side. it wasn't until she was seated, the door closing with a thud, that i suddenly felt myself heat up.

paige started the car and adjusted the temperature, but didn't start driving right away. instead, she started scrolling through her playlists. i watched her finally decide on a playlist titled 'late night car rides'. i instantly recognized a brent faiyaz song start flowing from the speakers at an appropriate volume.

she rested back in her seat with one hand on the wheel as she drove off. i clutched my phone, trying to find anything to help distract me, but i had no new notifications.

we were on the second song by now, something by partynextdoor, and there were still no words spoken between us. which was weird, considering how well be bonded together at the dinner before myisha's comment.

but i think we both knew that there was something unspoken between us.

"you gon' keep staring at your phone like we're strangers?" paige's voice cut through the silence as she rolled to a stop at an intersection.

i looked over to find her already watching me with a faint smirk on her face.

i gave her a small, tired smile, "sorry, i just... didn't know if this was gonna be weird or not."

"why would it be weird?"

i didn't respond right away, just shifted my gaze to the car in front of us. my teeth chewed on my bottom lip, a million thoughts racing through my mind.

i wanted to be honest with her and say that i liked talking to her more than i should've. that i found her incredibly attractive and genuine. that i liked the way she looked at me. that i wanted to know her more.

"you know why," i finally muttered.

"sevyn, if this is because of what myisha said..." i could see paige shift from my peripheral vision, her hand still resting on the wheel while her other ran over her jaw as if she was carefully trying to find her words.

"it's not," i cut in, my eyes finding her again. "well, not exactly."

i exhaled slowly, the words in my head threatening to spill out any second.

"i'm just gonna be honest," i continued. "i really liked talking to you. more than i should have."

the light turned green and the car in front of us accelerated forward. paige's expression only softened as she continued looking at me, then she finally turned and pressed her foot to the gas.

"and paige... you seem like a very good person. not even just from what dijonai told me—"

"you talk to dijonai about me?" she shot over a quick look with a dumb smile that made my stomach flip.

"i—" i felt my cheeks heat up. "shut up and lemme talk."

and she did.

"i'm seeing someone," i mustered up almost too quietly. like i was ashamed to admit it. "it's complicated... and i didn't want you to think that i was leading you on or anything. i'm sorry."

"don't apologize for that." paige countered. "i'm not gonna sit here and lie to you and say that i'm not attracted to you, because i am. but i don't want to make shit messier for you either. i'm not a homewrecker."

if only she knew our home was already wrecked.

i swallowed, my leg bounced anxiously and i tried to stop it. a woman walking alongside the sidewalk caught my attention as i stared out the window, but all i could feel was paige sitting next to me, patient and nonjudgmental.

"if it makes you feel better," paige said eventually, her voice low and steady. "i can talk to the leasing office. see if they have any vacant spots—"

"no," i responded quickly, then much softer. "you don't have to do that. we're two grown adults. we can be mature enough to be friends."

she hummed, like she was skeptical. "friends?"

i turned my head at her, my eyes brows raised. we were stopped at yet another stoplight and she rested back in her seat, watching me with low eyes.

my stomach flipped again.

"yes. friends," i reiterated. "and friends can't look at me like that."

paige stifled a laugh, tilting her head curiously. "like what?"

"like that!" i pointed to her. "like you want me."

"i do, though," paige said simply. "but like you said, we're grown. you have someone else. i can respect that."

i shifted in my seat, feeling hot under her gaze. i turn away.

"good."

a new song filtered through the speakers as another moment of comfortable silence came between us.

"i usually stop for food after games. you want something?" paige suggested.

"please," i sighed dramatically. "i'm starving. the food at the arena is not good at all. you'd think with the ticket prices they'd be able to afford real food."

"bro, dont even get me started," she glanced over, her eyes gleaming with humor. "i don't know how fans eat that shit."

paige turned the music down to a distant hum. "have any places in mind?"

i thought for a second, scanning our surroundings to see if i saw something interesting. but as we passed a familiar area, i gasped in realization.

"oh my god, there's this spot with food trucks not far from here," i sat up straight. "i used to go there all the time with dijonai. make a left right here."

paige listened, flipping on her turn signal. "it must be good then."

i exhaled with a smile, my stomach grumbling at just the thought of it.

"nana's kitchen is definitely the best truck there," i said. "reminds me of my actual nana's cooking back in alabama."

we arrived at the lot in just a few blocks. it looked nearly the same as it did years ago during my senior year in college. a string of lights lit up the area as 7 trucks were scattered across the pavement. there wasn't that many people, only a few groups here and there chatting and ordering food.

paige parked and we both stepped out.

"which one is nana's kitchen?" paige asked, locking her car as we started walking.

"right there," i pointed to the white truck, decorated with pink flowers and calligraphy.

the familiar smoky smell hit my nose as we approached closer. the line wasn't long at all thankfully. only a couple, who were in the middle of ordering, their hands clasped together as the woman leaned closer into her lover.

my eyes flickered down, noticing how close i stood to paige who was reading the handwritten menu on the side of the truck. i shifted over and crossed my arms over my chest, pretending not to notice.

"so what we gettin'?" paige asked, her hand holding her jaw like she was in deep concentration. "catfish... jerk chicken... meatloaf..."

"so you get one meat, two sides," i explained. "i usually get their catfish or ribs. but i always, always get their baked mac and cheese. it taste so good."

paige looked over, her eyebrows furred in fake seriousness. "damn, you got me stressing now."

"just get what i get," i sucked my teeth, "cause you not gon' be stealing shit off my platter."

"that's crazy," paige's eyes widened. "cause you're the one who wanted my food in the first place."

the couple who ordered before us stepped to the side as they began to wait for their food. i hushed her with a finger in her face, then stepped forward. my eyes lit up at the familiar face.

"auntie!" i dragged out excitedly.

the older woman gasped, clutching her chest as if she'd seen a ghost. her hair was slightly grayer than i remember and her face a few lines deeper, but she still had the same homey smile.

"oh my!" she laughed, pointing a hand at me. "well i'll be damned."

i grinned sweetly, my hands resting on the metal counter of the truck. "how you been? it's been a minute."

"tired. always busy. you know, same ol' crap," she waved me off. "but look at you! all grown up. you graduated by now right?"

"yup. class of twenty two," i nodded. "i moved back to alabama for a bit, but i'm back down here for work."

her gaze slid towards paige next to me who watched the interaction patiently, her hands resting in her pockets.

"n'who is this?"

"oh, this is paige," i introduced her, noticing how auntie may's eyes squinted suspiciously. "my friend." i added quickly.

paige nodded her head politely. "nice to meet you, ma'am."

i butted in before auntie may could say anything else because if there was anything i did remember, it was that she never held back.

"this is her first time here. can you hook me up like old times?" i pleaded.

"like old times, huh?" auntie may giggled. "child, what y'all want?"

i ordered for the both of us, settling with catfish, mac and cheese, collard greens, and two water bottles. she slipped me an extra two pieces of cornbread like she always did and then told us the discounted price. but before i could finish reaching for my wallet i felt a hand stop me.

"i got it."

"unt unt," i shook my head, trying to push her hand back. "it's fine, i can pay."

"i know you can, but i want to," paige challenged, pulling a few bills out her wallet.

"paige—"

"lord, just let the girl pay," auntie may chimed in, already reaching for the money paige held. "you brought her here, she pays. it sounds good to me."

"auntie, you just met her. you're not supposed to side with her." i huffed.

"oh, please," she opened the old junky register. "i don't pick sides. paige came correct. real polite, and money ready."

"whatever," i mumbled under my breath, grabbing our cold waters from the counter.

"plus, she's real cute for a white girl." auntie may added, handing paige back the remaining balance with a wink.

i turned my head, "auntie, stop it."

paige hunched over and laughed, high pitched.

"what? i got eyes," auntie may said with a shrug. "we'll have your food ready soon, alright?"

i stepped to the side, staring at paige with a playful glare.

"she's hilarious," paige said, still laughing under her breath. "i like her."

"yeah, she's definitely a character," i scoffed, handing her a water. a smile still tugged on my lips. "i missed her, though. she makes me feel closer to home."

paige leaned against the warm truck next to me, far enough for my liking but still somewhat close enough to feel it.

"do you miss home?" paige asked quietly. "alabama?"

i opened my mouth, then closed it again. a million thoughts ran through my mind.

"sometimes, yeah," i said softly. "my family... everybody who's known me since i was little."

"most of my family moved to maryland," paige said thoughtfully, "but, i miss minnesota sometimes too. definitely not the cold though."

i let out a short laugh, "yeah, you definitely need some more sunlight."

paige shot me a look, "what you tryna say? i'm pale?"

i raised my hand, pinching my fingers close together. "just a little vitamin d deficient."

without warning, paige hit me with her water. not hard, but soft enough just to make me flinch. "can't believe this is the treatment i'm getting after paying for our food."

our food was ready a short time later and i thanked auntie may again. she didn't fail to give me a very short lecture of coming to visit her again and i promised her that i would.

i led us to a picnic table that glowed under one of the lights, tucked away in a quiet area. we sat down across from each other.

"this smells amazing," paige licked her lips. she didn't waste any more time before opening her container, the hot steam rolling into the night air.

"it tastes even better," i added, opening mine as well. "first bite is gonna change your life."

paige stared at her plate, like she was contemplating about what to try first.

"try the mac," i suggested.

she glanced up at me, then used her fork to dig out a nice piece. she waited a few moments for it to cool down, and then finally ate it.

her eyes shut as she chewed. i could tell she was enjoying it.

"this might be the best mac and cheese i've ever had."

we spent the next half hour talking between bites. our conversations bounced from silly one minute, but serious and deep the next. i liked it.

how easy it was. how i could joke with her yet be vulnerable all in the same breath.

she told me more about her family in maryland and minnesota, then about her days in storrs connecticut. how she'd go in the gym against coaches orders and shoot for sometimes hours when she was out with an injury. and how one time she accidentally made a hole in the wall in her dorm and blamed it on the maintenance guy.

then the conversation slowed and she asked about how i started dancing.

"my mom," i started, playing with the foil from the plate quietly. "she used to dance. owned a whole studio and everything. i was younger, like six or seven when my dad left us though."

my eyes flickered down as i continued.

"then money got tight. my mom couldn't juggle having a job and a dance studio, so she sold it and got a second job. she didn't really dance much after that." i exhaled heavily. "i think that's why i fell in love with dancing. seeing my mom have to give it up kinda made me want to do it for her in a sense."

my eyes glanced back up to find her listening intently. not pitiful, just... listening.

"i think that's beautiful," she said. "that you're carrying it on for her."

"yeah, i guess," i shrugged softly. "she passed after i graduated. she always thought i should focus on something real. find a real job."

"i'm sorry," she slightly frowned.

i offered a small smile, "it's fine."

"do you know how many people in high school told me basketball wasn't a real job?" paige said with a soft scoff. "that i wasn't gonna go pro and that i needed to be realistic?"

i slowly shook my head.

"when i was in college, there was this girl named abby who was diagnosed with cancer. over the years, the team and i became very close with her and her family. she'd come to our games, we'd visit her at the hospital or have dinner together at her house and what not. i honestly wouldn't even call her a fan, she was like family." paige said, a small smile on her face like she was revisiting the moments in her head.

she continued, "one night after practice, we found out that she ended up in the hospital with a brain bleed. she passed a few weeks later."

i chewed on the inside of my lip, feeling my heart ache as paige spoke.

"i was devastated, of course," paige said. "but it made me realize that this isn't just a sport. that being myself and doing what i love was able to give her joy and help her through the unimaginable."

i looked away, suddenly aware of the lump forming in my throat.

"i'm sure the kids you teach feel the same way, even if they're too young to say it. you give them something more than just dancing," her voice was softer. "that's what's real, sevyn."

i didn't know what to say at first. i was afraid that if i looked at her i'd either cry or kiss her. but i blinked away my tears and glanced back to her.

"thank you," i murmured. "i think i needed to hear that."

the wind picked up, nearly blowing away our almost empty plates. i suddenly looked around to find that most of everyone cleared out.

paige cleared her throat and checked the time, "you wanna head back now? it's getting kinda late."

i nodded and we both gathered our trash, throwing them away. we walked back to her car and got in, a comfortable silence between us.

another brent song played low through the speakers and paige hummed along as she drove. the ride was short, she pulled into the lot smoothly and parked.

i hated that i wanted to stay in the car.

but i got out anyway, the click of the seatbelt replaying in my head. i met paige near the trunk as she got our bags.

i reached for my duffle bag, "thank you... again."

"you don't have to keep thanking me." paige hit a button, triggering the trunk door to automatically close. "it's what friends do."

right. friends.

we didn't say much as we rode the elevator up to our floor. probably because i was too busy thinking about her rather than what to say to her.

thinking about how her real laugh was loud and high pitched, a juxtaposition to her naturally low and sometimes deep voice. thinking about how she slipped a fifty dollar tip in auntie may's tip jar when she thought i wasn't looking. thinking about how her expression softened when she talked about abby.

the elevator dinged, dragging me away from my own thoughts. i followed behind her as we turned the corner and walked the short distance to our doors. hers on the left, mine on the right.

we both dug out our keys, pausing with them in our hands like we were stalling.

"i had fun tonight," paige said, turning her head back to me. "definitely gonna have to visit nana's kitchen again."

"not you stealing my favorite food spot," i teased.

"guess you'll just have to come with me then."

my grip on my keys tightened.

"yeah, maybe," i nodded.

paige shifted, turning around to unlock her door. "goodnight, sevyn."

i watched as she gave me a smile before disappearing behind her door.

#some of your love #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x black!oc #uconn wbb #wlw #wbb

51 notes · View notes

imafirefly · 2 days ago

Text

"Yes." Lev's confirmation is no doubt a chilling one but may not have been all that surprising. "She wouldn't talk about it. She still won't talk about it." He had never approached Abby about what had gone on on the mainland. He knew why she did it, why she wouldn't let him tag along. Not only was it for his own protection but it was to preserve what good he had left in him. In some ways, it was fair to question if Abby had any left or was she too far gone at this point? "I heard the others talking about it when they got back. They had been out there for months. They said Abby was quick but with the Rattlers she recognized..." His words trailed off at the end of his statement. There was no need to state the obvious. That trip had unearthed a brutality she had long tried to bury deep and one that she still grappled with at points. Abby was a great soldier, one of the only things she ever felt truly good at. "When she came back, she was still the same, but also different." It was quite the statement from him and he had a feeling Ellie would understand. Must have been that wisdom she alluded to.

"Nineteen, and you didn't piss her off. She's just... not good at talking about things." Understatement of the year. "I'll make sure she gets to the lake. We'll see you there." He smiles at Ellie and surely it's obvious by now that there's a healthy respect and rapport between the two of them. With no more hesitation, he slows his pace as Ellie runs forward to allow Abby to catch up to him. She's still in a bit of a daze though she makes at attempt to clear her mind as she approaches him.

"Hey - something wrong?" she questions and is relieved when he shakes his head no. "Ellie says the lake is just past the trees. She's running ahead to get a start on fishing. Wanted to try and get food ready sooner rather than later. Are you okay?" Her brows knit together and she nods with a laugh, resting a hand on the back of his neck and giving it a squeeze in a moment of sibling like teasing before letting go. "Heat must be getting to me. Nothing some rest can't fix. You worry too much, it's kinda sweet." Abby flashed him a smile before she began walking alongside him. It was less than a half truth but Lev knew better than to push her.

As they waded through the trees, both took advantage of the partial shading and slowed their pace even more. It was a breath of fresh air to be out of the direct sun for the first time in hours and the closer they got, the more she found her mind soothing itself. Get to the lake, set up shop, and maybe they would get through this rest of this day without any more hiccups.

God she’s in a fog, her mind swirling at hurricane level force. Had she said too much? No, no she hadn’t given many details at all but what words she did speak brought back images so vivid that they made her while body ache. “Fuck,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head a few times as if she would be able to shake those memories out. If they were still plaguing her after so many years, fat fucking chance a simple please go away would do the trick now. Her skin felt like it was on fire and she could feel the blade slicing into her again. And again. And again. And again. The sting of the salt water had kept her awake and at that moment, she swore she could feel it again even if they were hundreds of miles from ocean.

Her whole being ached, brain working overtime to desperately try and suppress what she had worked so hard to bury. Just get to the fucking lake, she told herself. If she could make it there, they would all have their respective parts to play and Abby could get some time to herself to regroup. The Rattlers had been the closest she’d come to dying… and then Ellie showed up. There was both rage and sickness washing over her at that moment as she recalled the events of that day.

There’s no effort to pick up her pace to keep up with them. At that moment, a healthy distance was preferable anyways. There was no productive conversation to be had with her in a moment like this so instead, she would let Lev keep the other woman occupied. Whatever that may have looked like, she didn’t care. She just needed to stay away and Lev knew her well enough to know what she would need.

The young man kept pace alongside Ellie and was stoic as she spoke. He was thoughtful with his own words and spoke carefully when around others. “It was,” he agreed with her, “but they can’t hurt anyone anymore. They’re all gone now. Abby made sure of it.” It’s an admission that Abby would have never willingly divulged and something that she refused to let him witness at the time. They’d fought but ultimately she’d been able to convince him that it was best for him to stay on Catalina. Lev turned briefly to look at Abby trailing along behind them before he brought his focus back to Ellie. When he spoke, his words were soft, voice quiet. “I’ve learned to live with it. I don’t know if she can.”

#mothinked

126 notes · View notes

mi6-cafe · 3 days ago

Text

It’s almost time to sign up for 007 Fest!

What is 007 Fest?

007 Fest is a month-long July celebration of all things Bond! This year marks our 10th Fest!

This year, the storyline we are following is dueling conferences. Agencies from all over the world are coming together in the spirit of cooperation and trust. It’s JELLYFISH Con!

For four days, agencies will show off their new tech, brag about the skills of their agents, showcase anything and everything. The goal? To form new alliances between agencies, inter-agency agent partnerships that can be called upon in times of need.

Everything is a little tense when trying to get naturally suspicious people to work together, but the biggest challenge might not be anything anyone predicted. It might be the convention happening on the floor below theirs: The International Mystery Writers Convention.

It's up to you, the support staff, the hotel staff, the B team who make things run smoothly to ensure that's what happens this time, too. When you sign up for Fest, start thinking about how you want to fit into this world. It's not critical, but there are some fun bonus challenges that build on some role play elements. Don't worry about which agency you might be a part of; we will be assigning time-zone-based stations for Fest depending on the demographics of sign ups.

During July, decide on your goals at the beginning of each week in July. Completing these weekly goals helps save the conference from that week’s threat! (But if you don’t complete them…well…maybe your station’s part of the conference ends up a little more lava-covered than it was before…yes, even though you’re not anywhere near a volcano… Luckily, you can help each other out!)

More info on our wordpress or our tumblr post.

I don’t write or art! Can I still participate?

Absolutely! If you want, you can only make social goals—hosting or joining watch parties or Discord chats, for example.

We also have fun immersive goals/scavenger hunt activities that don’t involve writing or arting.

Additionally, the ‘creative’ goals don’t have to involve fanfic or fanart; if your weekly goal is to make 5 James Bond memes or three headcanons, we support that!

And if you want to make a “hold my beer” level of goal, we also offer prompt tables and other challenges!

You can also participate without goals during certain weeks or the whole month if you want! 007 Fest is as chill or as high-key as you want to make it.

How can I sign up?

Sign-ups are open June 1st until June 15! Just fill out the form (forthcoming in a reblog) and we’ll contact you around June 18 so you can meet your team. If you’d like to onboard after that, you can, it will just take the mods a little longer.

We look forward to saving the world with you in July! :D

#007 Fest admin #007 Fest 2025

40 notes · View notes

ebodebo · 3 hours ago

Text

The Conditioning: A Salt to the Wound Prequel

pairing: simon riley x fem!reader

word count: 12k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, rough & unprotected sex, p in v, complicated grief, complicated family dynamics, an attempt to repress memories, mentions of military & war trauma, cutting skin for blood, graphic depictions of death, foreshadowing, mentions of gun violence, little to no effort doing johnny's accent, mentions of abuse, heavy angst, mention of prescription drugs, mentions of death, questionable ethics & morals, religious speak, fluff, intertwined plot points from original fic (more on that below,) purposeful omission of tags to avoid spoilers, & no use of y/n.

author’s note: before reading, i would like to note that this is a direct prequel to salt to the wound. i highly encourage you to read that before this. anywho, i’m back with an expansion of the salt to the wound universe! i’ve decided to expand upon the original story, but not in the way i initially intended. i thought it would be interesting to explore more of simon’s perspective on his marriage and the deal he made in the original fic, thus this prequel was born. although, this fic does pov switch, it does so less occasionally. regardless, i sincerely hope this installment is satisfactory. if salt to the wound left you sad or unsatisfied with reader's ending, i hope this brings you some satisfaction. i don’t want to spoil anything, so i won't say anything more. i hope you enjoy. read at your own discretion.

The lines between Hell and Earth are blurry…

The air carried a bone-chilling cold that seemed to penetrate Simon's very being.

It felt as though the night carried a treacherous vengeance that was cowardly whispered in the form of icy wind.

Despite the cold, Simon hovers near the front entrance of the Thai place he had been dragged to on a blind date set up by Johnny, a fresh cigarette between his fingers, the smoke offering him a little warmth.

He should have known better than to take up Johnny's offer.

It was naive of him to think that an older brute like himself could find someone who would take him, baggage and all.

How could anyone possibly love a man so rough around the edges, broken and battered by life?

He's got scars that run deep, both inside and out, and they're the kind that won't heal easily.

Might not heal ever.

Still, he's convinced that someone will come along and fix him, make him whole again.

Always had his head too high in the God-damn clouds to see the storm brewing where he ought to be on the surface.

Out of the cold night, a voice broke through. "Think I could bum a cigarette off you?" Simon's eyes snapped up to see you standing before him, a warm smile on your face, a sudden spark of connection in the icy air.

He narrows his eyes skeptically. "You smoke?"

"Not really," you shake your head. "Just had a shitty night."

He doesn't ask you to explain; he really doesn't care. He flicks a cigarette from his pack and hands it to you.

"Can you light me?" you ask sheepishly, putting the cigarette between your lips and hovering closer to him.

His lip quips as he flicks his lighter, hovering just below your cigarette. The flame quickly lights the end, sending smoke down your lungs.

You suck down the smoke gracefully, closing your eyes softly trying to seize your nerves.

Simon watches you for a moment. "Shouldn't be doin' that," he mumbles. "It's bad for you."

Your eyes snap open, a smile growing on your face. "You're one to talk," you say, blowing the smoke out between your lips. "I saw you smoke three through the glass," you cock a brow, eyes darting to look down at the ground next to his boot to see smashed cigarette buds.

He tilts his head back, smoke blowing through his nostrils. "You been watchin' me?" His voice is rough, but you can tell there's humor in his words.

"Maybe," you shrug, tilting your head forward slightly to look at him through your lashes, a cheeky grin on your lips. "Saw you with a woman in there," you casually say, taking another puff. "You didn't look so happy."

"Saw you with a man," he counters, eyes shamelessly darting between your eyes and lips. "You didn't look too chipper either."

Your shoulders sag at the thought. "Yeah… my boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend," you correct quickly. "He dumped me." Your voice carries a mix of sadness and a palpable sense of relief.

Simon cringes. "Oof. Heartless bastard."

You chew on your lip, your curiosity piqued. "And you?"

He lifts a brow, taking another drag. "What about me?" he prompts curiously.

You roll your eyes playfully. Men. "Did you have a nice date?"

He puffs out the smoke, nodding along lightly. "That was my little sister."

Your face morphs into horror. You even drop your cigarette on the ground from how fast you cover your mouth with your hands. "Oh! Oh my God… " you start, genuine horror in your tone. "I'm so sorry… I, I just assumed—" you stutter, face stiff.

Your shoulders relax as he lets out a gruff laugh. "Relax. Just takin' the piss," he chuckles. “Nah. Didn't know the girl. Was a blind date my mate set up for me," he explains through a dry laugh. "She was too uppity for me."

"She was cute," you try to find some good. "But, yeah, I overheard her talking about her daddy's multiple vacation houses in the Hamptons, before proceeding to complain about the price of the champagne," you agree with a chuckle.

He leans just an inch closer, now interested in the conversation. "Did you hear her go on about her father’s private broker firm?" He brings his cigarette to his lips.

You giggle, leaning closer. "Yeah. Looks like daddy's raking in the big bucks, huh?" You nod, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

Simon pulls back, flicking his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it purposefully. "Broker firm sounds like a euphemism for where daddy parks his questionable investments."

You make a faux cringe face. "Yikes. I can see the raging jealousy oozing out of you," you gesture to him, with a sardonic infliction that's hard to miss.

He smiles. "Oh, yeah. Just riddled with jealousy," he goes along with it, his smile growing as you share a laugh, the warmth of your camaraderie evident in the air.

The following words that flow off Simon's tongue come without warning. "Would you wanna grab a beer at the bar down the road?" His eyes flick to yours, looking back to his as your laughter dies down.

His nervousness is palpable, evident in the way his Adam's apple bobs as he maintains eye contact. "Are you asking me on a date?" you inquire, sensing his unease.

"I'll pay," he says, skirting around the question.

You let out a dry laugh. "Well, I didn't think I was going to… " You trail off, only now realizing that you didn't even know his name.

"Simon," he fills in without hesitation. "Call me Simon."

"Okay… Simon." His name rolls off your tongue in a purr that has him at a loss for words. "I'll get a beer with you, although I'm shocked you would settle for someone as dull as me after being dazzled by Hampton royalty," you jest, smiling at him.

He smiles back, harder. "Mhm. Always been more interested in the common folk," he jokes, as you spin on your heels, laughing, walking next to him towards the shitty dive bar on fifth.

In that moment, Simon sees his future.

A future that he had never dared to dream of until that very moment.

It all flashes through his brain in a light blur.

He sees simple mornings, when the light casts a warm glow on your skin, almost bringing him to tears. He can almost feel the softness of your skin and the warmth of the morning sun.

He can see you in a long wedding dress with a sheer veil, not daring to fully conceal your beauty before he sees his babies on your hip as you bounce them lovingly.

So many years full of pure love, until you both find yourselves on rocking chairs on your porch, connected to your grand white house, wrapped in a white picket fence that he will have spent years building up from the mud with his bare hands.

By then, half your grand babies will be learning to walk, while the other half will be busy decorating your driveway with chalk drawings, begging him to take them for a drive to see their uncle Johnny.

His visions of his fantastical family looked like the picture a soldier keeps tucked away in the pocket of his military uniform to protect it from spilled blood.

Serves as a reminder, motivating him to keep fighting through the war. Even in the direst moments, with a gun pointed to his head, his humility laid bare, he will keep fighting for his family, for they are where his heart lies, still untouched by vengeance, pure as the heavens above.

His future, as he envisions it, is a canvas of bright potential.

Yet, he remains oblivious to the looming shadow of a devil's bargain that will one day bind you two, leaving your soul eternally tainted and trapped.

For now, he can continue his fruitless efforts, ponder you with heart-filled eyes, and dream carelessly innocent dreams.

But the devil does not bargain with such innocence, for a darker fate awaits him.

A few months later, Simon is parked in the creaky chair of his home office, filing some paperwork. He is shivering; no amount of heat can warm his skin.

His raging fever, which had ruined his sleep, had carried over from the night before, leaving him feeling his skin flush and dry, barely able to sit upright in the wooden chair.

But that's the thing about Simon, he doesn't know when to quit.

He is stubborn, strong-willed to a disturbing degree.

He hadn't yet found his limit; the breaking point that would make him just stop.

Must have gotten that from his mother because his father sure knew when to quit while he was ahead.

Simon leans over his desk to scribble on some files, each movement seemingly being harder than the last. He grunts just as he finishes a sentence, lightly tossing the pen to wipe his tired, sunken eyes.

His head flicks up at the sound of his doorbell ringing. With a sigh, he slowly stands and moves over to the door, opening it to see you with a bright smile and a warm pie in your embrace.

"Made you pie," you say, lifting the pie to ensure he sees it. "Hopefully, you like cherry," you smile meekly, watching his eyes drift to the pie.

He lifts his head to look at you, trying to keep his voice steady. "Love cherry," he mumbles, though some emotion has seeped through his tough front.

He can't believe you went and made him a pie.

You had been on a handful of unofficial dates in the past few months, but nothing official came about.

You were just friends, at least he assumed you were friends.

But here you were, the sweetest girl he's ever met, with a fresh pie you say is meant for him. He couldn't have possibly imagined you would go and do something that would make him think you care about him.

"Are you alright? You look tired," you ask, narrowing your eyes in concern. You observe his deep eye bags, and your worry is palpable.

His eyes flick up to see your concerned ones. "Think I caught a cold," he murmurs. "Thanks for the pie, sweetheart." He takes the pie from your hands.

You pass the pie along, and the warmth of the pan spreads across Simon's skin, making him close his eyes softly. "Are you taking care of yourself?" you ask, a slight frown on your lips as you see the tip of his nose tinged red.

He doesn't answer, just looks down at the pie.

You had made a beautiful lattice, and only a little cherry filling broke through the sweet dough.

"Simon," you urge, your determination to make him open up evident in your voice. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

He looks back at you. "I'm alright."

You frown again; he hasn't been. "Can I come in?" you ask, your patience reassuring.

"Wouldn't wanna get you sick. Too pretty to be bedridden," he tries to joke, but his chest rumbles with a rough cough.

Your skin warms at the compliment. "I take my vitamins," you assure. "Don't worry about me, okay?" You place your hands on your hips, so he knows you're serious. "Now, am I going to have to shove you to get inside, or are you going to let me in willingly?" You arch your brow, your lips pursed.

His lip quips; he is too tired to fight you, so he simply steps aside, allowing you to step through the door with ease.

He doesn't feel the surge of nervousness he probably should, as you step into his house and observe every fine detail, down to the scratches on his light wooden floors.

"You have a cat?" you ask, turning to him with a smile.

He shakes his head. "Nah. The other owner did," he explains, moving to grab your purse, which is hiked on your shoulder, and gently laying it across his kitchen island.

"Are you taking any medication? Drinking enough water?" You start questioning as soon as Simon's shoulder relaxes.

"You some kind of nurse?" he asks in a humorous tone, a playful glint in his eyes, but you don't laugh.

"I'll take that as a no," you roll your eyes, hands moving around his kitchen blindly to find his cups.

"I can get you some water," he moves over to you, unable to let you do anything alone. You swat his hand away, narrowing your eyes at him.

"It's not for me," you explain, grabbing a large glass and putting it under the tap to fill it to the brim with cold water. "Drink up, boy boy," you shove the water into his chest, and only a little sloshes over onto the floor.

"I'll clean that," you smile sheepishly, already moving to grab a rag off the counter. He sets the water on the counter, his hand gripping your shoulder, beckoning you to stand.

"What are you doin'?" he asks with equal parts humor and confusion.

Your lips morph into a confused smile. "What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely puzzled by his question.

He gently grasps the wet rag from your hand. "I mean you bringin' me pie, askin' about medicine, makin' me drink water," he lifts a brow. "What's all that about?"

You tilt your head to the side. "I'm taking care of you, Simon," you say with a reassuring smile, your eyes reflecting your genuine concern.

His lips flat line, mind swirling. "Takin' care of me?"

"You're sick," you say, taking the rag from his hand. "Shouldn't be doing anything," you move to set the rag in the sink; you'll wash it later. "You need rest," you tilt your head forward, a glint in your eyes.

Simon is left utterly speechless, his mind struggling to comprehend what he is hearing.

Here comes you, this sweet girl who forces her way into his house bearing a pie and a gleaming smile, wanting to take care of him.

Nurse him back to health.

"Go sit," you tell him before he can ask if you're serious, ushering him to his couch. "What do you want to watch?"

His eyes stay glued to yours, his mouth slightly open.

"Since you won't say, you'll have to watch what I want to," you flick through the channels until a trashy British reality television show dawns on the screen. The room is filled with the sound of some too-on-the-nose pop song that just so happens to sing the exact same scenario as what was occurring.

His eyes flick to the screen, a small smile growing on his lips.

"Lay back," you urge, pushing him back to lie against the back of the couch. "Where do you keep your medicine?"

He looks at you, utterly perplexed. "The, the bathroom. First drawer to the right," he murmurs, with a stutter, his confusion evident.

You roam over to the bathroom, the only place you've ever seen in his house. You had to pee on the way to the cinema and made him stop at his house so you could.

You didn't snoop through his things like you would usually do to the guys you've dated because you suspected he could smell any ounce of disorder like a hound.

His eyes stay locked on the television as he hears you fish for the medication in his drawers. He taps his foot against the floor, feeling uneasy at the thought of lying still and doing nothing.

His fear of being deemed useless is a constant companion, driving him to move even when he can't.

It's the soldier in him who's seen and done things that most can't even imagine.

He keeps moving, his mind never stopping, to avoid fully comprehending what he has had to do.

Blood forever spilled in the name of protection.

Or so he says.

He hears your feet pattering on the wood back to him; you had stripped your shoes off at some point. "I got you some ibuprofen for the aches, some Afrin for decongestion, and some cough drops, I think, for… well, you know," you dispense the pills into your palm, handing them over for him to take. "You need water? Let me get you some water." Your care is a balm to his weary soul.

"I'm fine. Had to swallow some pain pills in the desert one time. Couldn't even use my own spit cause my mouth was all dry," he reaccounts, taking the pills dry.

"You're drinking the water," you say, as you grab the cup and put it on the coffee table in front of him. Then, you hand him the cough drops. "I've never seen cough tablets before," you say, looking down at the table.

He lets out a dry laugh, grabbing the tablets from your hand to drop them in his mouth. "They’re some Scottish thing. A friend gave them to me," he mumbles, leaning deeper into the couch, feeling relaxed.

"Mhm," you hum, watching his eyes close gently. "Get some rest," you sweetly say as his eyes completely shut and he drifts off, a soft snore coming from him as he sleeps comfortably.

When he wakes up some hours later, he feels less hot and achy than he had all night and day. When he moves to yawn, he almost chokes on the thermometer in his mouth. He pulls it out gently with a soft sigh and a confused mutter.

He moves to stand, and a cold compress falls from his head to the floor with a soft thud. The thin linen blanket that covers his legs bunches up and slips off him.

He can hear the soft hum of water hitting the porcelain tub in the bathroom. He quickly stands, reaching for the gun that is normally strapped to his person, but feels nothing.

The padding of feet comes closer, and before he can react, his shoulders sag as he sees you smiling at him with lavender foaming bath soap in hand. "You're awake," you observe. "Good. I drew you a bath. It'll help soothe your muscles," you walk over to him, gesturing for him to follow you to the bathroom.

"I'm not gettin' in the bath." A part of him believes you're joking, so he laughs.

You aren’t.

"So, you're just going to waste the water?" You cock a brow and plant your hands on your hips.

He tilts his head back with a deep sigh. "You use it."

"I drew it for you, Simon. Don't be rude," you narrow your eyes at him, and he feels a little scared.

With a deep sigh, he moves his feet towards the bathroom. "You better not tell anyone about this," he instructs with a rough voice as he ducks into the bathroom.

"Scouts honor," you promise with a cheeky smirk.

He begins lifting his shirt over his head, and your mouth drops open at the sight. He glances at you. "Your jaw will lock if you keep it like that," he jokes with a smirk, tossing his shirt to the side.

You shake your head, slightly embarrassed. "Shut up, you old man," your face warms and when you look at him, he just gives you a rough chuckle.

Once you turn out of the bathroom, he strips with an irritated noise, dipping himself into the warm bathtub, the bubbles creating a soft embrace.

You come in and are pleasantly surprised he actually got in the tub. You sit on the toilet lid, feeling the humid air. "Can I wash you?" you ask, as you grab a stray loofah from the cabinet just above the toilet.

He nods, and you soak the netted material in the sudsy water and begin gently washing his chest, repeatedly collecting the water and squeezing over his aching bones.

"Can't believe I'm lettin' you give me a bath," he mumbles after a moment of silence, though he feels a sense of peace he hasn't felt in years.

You laugh before he sees your teeth chatter and your body shake.

He grabs your hand, halting your actions. "You cold, sweetheart?"

You shrug. "Just a little."

There's a glint in his eyes, and before you know it, he's gripping your waist, hauling you over the porcelain side of the bathtub, and submerging you into the warm water.

"Simon!" you yell, laughter falling off your tongue as the water spills over the side and onto the bathroom floor as you straddle him. Your laughter seizes when he kisses you, deeply and passionately.

He doesn't know what has come over him.

He just needed to act on impulse.

He just had to kiss you.

His lips move against yours with an ease he doesn't feel scared of. Your hands drape over his shoulders, and your lips move in sync.

He finds himself pulling back slightly. "Stay the night and the rest of the week," he mumbles, desperately trying to find the right words.

You smile at him, brushing his hair back off his forehead. "Are you trying to ask me to be your girlfriend?"

He grips you tight, pupils widening. "What do you say?"

You press a kiss to his cheek. "I say yes."

His lips press back to yours fervently, and you can't help but put a break out in a toothy smile.

Spontaneity can kill.

Acting on impulse shows no willpower.

Simon must really be his father's son.

Always so quick to act without thinking.

Guess some habits are hard to break, aren't they?

And what a shame he found someone to indulge his recklessness.

Pity, really.

Was starting to actually like her.

"You sure about this?" Simon asks, holding your hand, his beer long forgotten. You both sit, squished into the booth at a small diner downtown.

"Come on. Don't tell me you're nervous?" you tease, feeling his tension. He sighs through his nose, his eyes wandering to the salt and pepper containers neatly lined on the table.

"Soap… Johnny… he's… a bit outspoken," he mutters, hand twitching in yours.

A frown etches into your face before your hand releases its own and brushes against his cheek, making him turn to look at you. "Simon, I love you," you smile. "It only makes sense for me to meet the people you love," you say as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Simon could feel his stomach dip at your words.

You love him.

A pure and innocent, no strings attached kind of love.

He doesn't get to ask why before seeing Johnny strolling in. The confidence that oozes off him as he approaches the booth you and he are sitting at makes him roll his eyes.

"Aye, Simon, my boy," Johnny greets Simon warmly, a hint of familiarity in his tone that Simon can't help but bristle at.

Simon swallows any bad taste Johnny had put on his tongue when he came in.

He was family after all.

"Who do we have here?" Johnny slides into the booth seat across from Simon and you. You smile a welcoming smile before you stick your hand out for Johnny to shake, giving him your name.

Simon raises a warning brow when Johnny almost bursts out laughing at your chivalry. Johnny smothers his laugh, taking your hand in his, giving it a slight shake, and playing a sly smile on his lips.

Once you pull away, Johnny makes himself comfortable in the booth seat, leaning forward slightly. "So," Johnny starts, already grinning. "How'd this happen?" He gestures between Simon and you.

Simon throws his arm around your shoulders. "The Thai place," Simon gruffs.

Johnny's keen eyes widen. "She's the girl, then?" he prompts, but before he can be corrected, he leans forward towards Simon. "I told ye' that goin' on the blind date was a good idea, ye old prude. Ye got yer'self a pretty bird out of it," he laughs excitedly.

Simon rolls his eyes, and you can't help but smile. "She's not the girl I went on the date with," Simon gruffly corrects. Johnny's expression changes, like a kid who's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Johnny shifts over to the table to whisper to you. "There was no date. Just jokes," he tries to save, sending Simon a wink as if he had saved him from revealing some big secret, and you laugh.

"I was also on a date," you explain, eyes glancing at Simon. "We met outside the place," you laugh as Johnny releases a breath of relief at the admission.

"Phew, thas' a relief," Johnny pretends to wipe his forehead from faux perspiration. "Thought the big guy was gonna wring me out."

"That option isn't completely off the table," Simon roughly says, though it carries some humor.

Johnny's laughter abruptly gives way to a serious expression, catching Simon off guard and causing your amusement to fade. "He's not payin' ye to be here, right?" he questions, his tone now skeptical.

You let out a fake gasp, hand hovering over your heart. "How'd you know?"

Johnny's eyes widen and flick between you and Simon. "Ye… paid her to come?" His words hold more admiration than criticism.

"She's fibbin', Soap," Simon chuckles, his hand playfully pinching your side. You can't help but yelp a little. "Not payin' her."

Johnny's skepticism is met with a playful eye roll from you. "I came here willingly. No money involved," you confirm, swaying your beer.

"Don't trust ye, birdie," Johnny muses, a mischievous glint in his eye. He then turns to Simon with a sly smile. "Have ye two podged?"

"Speak English, Mactavish," Simon says, sipping his beer.

"Sex," Johnny says with ease. "Ye two done that yet?"

His bluntness leaves you wide-eyed, and Simon's grip on his beer tightens. "Johnny," he warns.

Johnny rolls his eyes with an innocent shrug, eyes landing on you. "Come on, birdie. Yer folks have had that talk with ye, yeah?" He prods, paying no heed to Simon staring daggers at him.

"We're taking it slow," you say, swallowing the shock of the question. You opt to just answer and try to ease the palpable tension coming off Simon.

"Takin' it slow? Where's the fun in that, Lt.?" Johnny's teasing tone raises the tension, causing Simon to let out an audible sigh and his hand to come to his tired eyes, the air thick with discomfort.

"We're adults, Johnny. Not horny teenagers. We don't just crave a quick fuck," you murmur over the rim of your beer, causing Johnny's eyes to snap in surprise, even making Simon lip quip from Johnny's shock.

Johnny narrows his eyes, trying to find a crack in your facade. "Fair point. But what if it's piss?" He leans back in the booth, oozing a confidence you can't place.

Simon goes to speak, probably to tell Johnny to shut the hell up, but you go before him, hand gripping Simon's tighter.

"Oh, trust me, it won't be," you say with a confidence that Johnny marvels at.

Johnny gives you a lopsided smile. "I like yer bird, Simon. She can hold her own," he nods towards you, giving you a stamp of approval that wasn't needed.

You don't get to say anything before you see your phone buzzing on the wooden table. You grab it quickly to smother the sound and flip it over to see your sister calling you. "Do you mind?" you ask, eyes shifting between them.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Simon picks his arm up so you can slip out of the booth easily. You give him a smile and start walking towards the front door, heading outside.

"Simon," Johnny begins when you're long gone, getting Simon's attention. "Take care of yer' bird," Johnny says, eyeing Simon. "She's a special one," he breathes out, his eyes wandering to you pacing outside, the warm sun setting, hitting you at just the right angle to highlight your skin.

Simon notices the glint in Johnny's eyes when he looks at you.

He doesn't ask; he doesn't want to know.

"I will, Johnny," Simon mutters, grabbing his beer.

A part of Simon might have once thought he would always hold you close, but the reality is Johnny can preach to Simon like a priest holding a sermon, to hold onto you, keep you close.

But some things are bound to slip through his fingers.

No matter how hard he tries.

Especially when the weight of his own darkness becomes too much to bear.

Simon can hear your laughter transcending through his house, clouding his eardrums, sending a shiver up his spine.

He stepped into the living room, his grin widening as he watched you make yourself at home on his couch, a soft blanket enveloping you and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on your lap.

"What a prick," you shout, tossing some popcorn into your mouth. You're engrossed in the same trashy British reality show, a guilty pleasure you've come to enjoy.

"Some harsh words, sweetheart," Simon jests, moving to sit next to you, throwing his arm over the back of the couch, his hand sneaking into your popcorn bowl.

"He called his girlfriend mediocre," you explain, eyes glancing at Simon to gauge his reaction.

He quips a brow, eye looking at the television. "Hell, he is a prick."

"Told you so," you laugh, tossing more popcorn in your mouth and snuggling into Simon's side.

He finds himself smiling, but not because of the two women now arguing over something egregious on the television screen before him, but because he can see you smiling beneath him.

He isn't smiling because he can hear his neighbor next door yelling at her cat to get off the fridge but because you've moved yourself closer to him, pulling the blanket to cover his legs, even though it is far too small.

And he certainly isn't smiling because Johnny just sent him a picture of his dog with a slice of cheese on his head, but because he finally believes you when you say you love him.

It's the most strange feeling in the world.

To have someone who truly loves you without transaction or expectation.

He is free to be whomever he wants to be, not who you expect.

You don't expect anything from him.

Well, maybe he should throw the trash out; it's too heavy and smelly.

But, regardless, you see him.

And you still love him.

"Marry me," his fingers move to massage your scalp.

You laugh in his lap. "Just had to share my wee little blanket for you to want to spend the rest of your life with me. Your standards are tremendously low, Simon," you mumble, eyes softly closing.

"I'm serious," he says, his fingers still moving.

Your eyes open softly, eyes shifting around the room to make sure you heard him correctly.

"You want to marry me?" you mutter with disbelief and curiosity.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Don't sound so surprised, sweetheart," his tone carries humor.

You turn to look at him, a soft look in your eyes. "You want to marry me?"

He tilts his head back. "Am I not supposed to want to?"

You shake your head, chewing on your lip. "No. I just… why?"

His eyes widened a little at the question, contemplating for a second. "You're easy," he says.

Now your eyes widen in offense, mouth hanging open. "That's a dick thing to say."

He quickly grabs your shoulder, shaking his head fast. "No. Fuck, no. I meant that life with you is easy. Never had anyone who made anything easier for me but you… you do that for me," he says earnestly, with pure love.

You can already feel your eyes brimming with tears as you grab his hand to squeeze. "I'm glad I do that for you, Simon," you murmur, massaging his hand with your fingers. "You… you do that for me too." The confession almost makes Simon drop to his knees and sob at your feet.

"I… I make things easier? For you?" He asks skeptically, eyes tinging red from impending tears.

You sniffle, feeling the warm tears move down your cheeks. "Loving you is easy, Simon. You make it so damn easy. I would love to marry you," you lean your forehead against his for comfort.

His hands shake as he pulls you against him, embracing you with a deep, passionate love.

After a moment, you pull back, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. "Simon. You're still active," you say, tilting your head. "You'll leave me."

He exhales, his skin glistening. "It won't be for long, bug."

"Can't you just… leave," you try to reason with pleading eyes.

He shakes his head, brushing his fingers against your hand. "I can't, sweetheart. Those guys… I need them just as much as they need me," his voice is clogged with emotion.

"I need you," you say desperately so he'll understand.

He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. "Just one more mission, sweetheart. It'll be in and out."

You looked at him for a moment; he wasn't going to budge. "I don't want to be a widow, Simon. You come back to me," you warn, squeezing his hand.

"I'll come back. There's nowhere else I'd want to be," he smiles.

You lick a salty tear from your lip. "Promise me, Simon."

He pauses for a moment before he murmurs, "I promise."

Foolish kids.

Man doesn't simply go to war without leaving a part of himself out on the field.

The question is, what's left when he returns?

Simon had kept his promise to you.

He did come home some weeks later, but not entirely, not truly.

Once Price had shown up at the house, with Simon right behind him, in a wheelchair, you knew a part of Simon's soul had turned to ash that reeked of gunpowder and blood.

He moved past you and Price without a word into the house. Price explained that Simon had made a split decision to return to the warehouse they had just escaped from because he knew they had information on you.

They had yelled and shouted for him to come back to the chopper and escape while they had the means to do so, and they could deal with the fallout when they were safely out of active fire.

He didn't listen.

Guns blazing, he sprinted back in, trekked up numerous flights of stairs, and blasted through doors until he found the group of men who knew of his sweet wife back home.

He shot them dead where they stood.

Shot at their bodies, round after round, before he tossed a hand grenade to deal with the equipment and files they had.

He trekked back out, sore but satisfied.

He didn't even see the pipe bomb being thrown in his direction; he was too focused on the chopper that still hovered near the ground, waiting for him.

Everything happened so fast after that.

Hauling him into the chopper, not sure if they should call you and tell you he was KIA or if there was a chance he could live. Carrying him to the hospital, where the doctors performed CPR before they shocked him awake.

They all felt a rush of relief when he opened his eyes.

The doctor said he had nerve damage that caused temporary paralysis in his legs that would subject him to a wheelchair, and, eventually, he could make a full physical recovery.

You couldn't even believe him when he told you, your mouth agape as your eyes shifted towards Simon, who wheeled his way into the living room to gaze out the window.

"Just… call if you need anything, okay?" Price says, calm and reassuring.

You give a nod as you walk him to the door, brain spinning from the information.

Sure, Simon had gone in on the pretense of something potentially happening to you, but he could have died in that very spot.

That was all you could think about.

"Why would you do that?" you mumble as you make your way into the living room.

Simon doesn't answer; he just keeps looking out the window.

You run your fingers through your hair anxiously, tears brimming your waterline. "You could have died, Simon. You do realize that. Don't you?" Your concern was evident in your trembling voice.

"You want to chastise me some more, or am I free to roam?" His voice is rougher than you remember, and you feel your stomach drop.

"I… I'm not even going to answer that," anger slips off your tongue. "Do you not care that you could have died? I… I could have lost you," you choke out, flailing your arms around.

Yet, he still doesn't turn to face you.

"Will you at least look at me, Goddamn it!" you almost shout, voice strained.

He huffs a deep breath before he slowly turns around to face you.

His beard had grown in, lightly gray and messy.

His hair is slightly longer, and his eyes are darker than you remember.

You almost had to ask yourself who the man was before you; he was surely not the man you had married not too long ago.

"You look different," you mumble absentmindedly.

"Tends to happen," he mutters, fingers gripping his wheels.

You release a shaky breath, unsure of what to say. "I wish you didn't do it, Simon," is all you can muster.

He closes his eyes gently, shaking his head before he starts to spin his wheel. He eases himself towards your shared room, leaving you alone in the living room, nervousness and defeat now bubbling in your stomach.

You had both managed to avoid each other for hours.

You stayed in the living room, even going to the bathroom and taking a bath, while he kept himself locked away in the bedroom, or so you thought.

Once you start cooking dinner, you look out of the window to see heavy rain hitting the ground. Among the coverage of heavy rainfall, you see Simon.

His wheelchair was deep in mud, and he just sat there, the rain soaking through his clothes, the chill seeping into his bones.

You gaped at the sight, tossing your kitchen rag onto the kitchen island. Quickly grabbing a raincoat off the hook, you moved out the door and onto the porch.

The rain smacks against the porch's wood, and you can see Simon leaning his head back against the back of his chair. "What the hell are you doing out here?" you shout loud enough so he can hear you over the rain.

He doesn't look back at you, just nods his head along.

"Simon. Look at me!" you yell, your voice filled with frustration and concern.

He spun his chair around slowly, his eyes blinking fervently from the rain splashing on his face.

"Are you insane? You need to get inside. You'll catch a cold," you say, your voice tinged with worry. You raise your hand to block the heavy rain droplets from hitting your eyes.

He eased his fingers on his wheels to inch closer, but before he reached the yard's edge, his wheels wouldn't budge, wedged in the thick mud. He looked at you at the doorway, his eyes pleading for help.

As you clutched your jacket, a wave of confusion washed over you, your pride standing firm in the face of uncertainty.

He noticed how your shoulders tensed, and he couldn't bear the distance between you two. His heart ached with the weight of unspoken words.

He wouldn't let some damn mud stop him.

Determined, he climbs out of the chair, the large water puddle splashing as he lands in it. His hands grip the ground, mud slipping and caking between his fingers as he crawls through it.

Your eyes widen. "Simon… don't, don't do that, baby," your voice is slightly shaky. “You, you're going to get all muddy," you say, feeling useless to the wave of emotion that washes over you.

Despite the sound of his labored breath and the squelch of mud under his hands, you remained resolute, your feet firmly planted on the old wooden porch.

He crawled halfway through the grit of the Earth's surface and then stopped, looking at you with a mixture of exhaustion and longing.

Something inside you finally snapped when you saw him, mud on his face, soaked clothes, and pleading eyes. You took a step forward, then another, until your foot sunk into the mud, and the rain pellets hit you with force, no longer blocked by the house.

You find yourself kneeling beside him in the mud when you reach him. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as the rain pours.

"I did it for you," Simon finally murmurs, emotion clogging his voice. “I had to keep you safe, bug." He looks up at you, eyes red, water pouring down his lips. “Couldn’t live with myself if they… hurt you,” he mutters, voice going soft.

"Simon… " The words caught in your throat as you gazed at him through your wet lashes, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Got my legs all fucked up, and everyone's actin' like I'm some kind of fuckin’ hero," he says with slight irritation.

"You are a hero, Simon," you say without a second thought, eyes searching his.

"No," he lightly shakes his head. "I'm yours," his fingers softly brush against your bottom lip. "I'm all yours, sweetheart."

Tears started pouring down your cheeks, and you leaned your forehead against Simon's.

He was now holding you up so you didn't collapse.

His voice lulled against your skin, offering you comfort.

Though his own mind swarmed with visions of what he had done, all the blood on his hands that were now wrapped around your innocent face.

The man faced enemy fire with courage, tied his own soul to blood in the name of protection, and yet no matter what tough front he put on, inside, he would always be a weak man.

Some months had passed since Simon had come home to you, battered and bruised.

You had adjusted to being his caretaker, which you really didn’t mind.

He, on the other hand, did.

His worst fear was being rendered useless, a fear that now tormented him in the depths of the night, seeped into his soul and rattled his skin.

He was grateful for your help, but he felt like a burden.

You had repeatedly reassured him that he could never be burdensome, but he struggled to accept that truth.

“Do you need another blanket?” you ask as you walk into the bedroom with three blankets in hand. The moon casts a glow over the room from behind the window.

Simon shakes his thoughts away as he sits up in the bed at your entrance. “Eh, sleep hot. You know that,” he lets out a gruff laugh, tugging his shirt off and tossing it in the laundry bin in the corner of the room.

“Good aim, soldier,” you tease, setting the blanket near him anyways and flicking off the light before throwing yourself onto the bed beside him.

As soon as you hit the mattress, his hands wrap around your waist, and he tugs you close to him so you rest on his chest. “Love you, bug,” he says softly, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you, Simon,” you whispered, feeling the warmth and comfort he provided.

You could feel the lull of sleep lick your brain, and you closed your eyes gently, quickly drifting off to sleep with the fan's hum and the faint glow of the lamp of the street lights outside to keep you company.

In the depths of the night, you dream.

Carelessly innocent to start, but somewhere between the walking fridge and laughing animals segment, you're laying in a bed similar to one you are now, but slightly different, more rugged, less domesticated.

You lay bare, in nothing but your wedding wing dawning your finger.

You begin touching yourself, your finger moving smoothly down your body, savoring the touch that sends a warm sensation to your lower stomach.

Before you know it, a man is kneeling before you, his tongue lapping at your clit, eliciting an outpour of moans that fall off your tongue.

When he looks up, there's a glint in his eyes.

You realize he is not your Simon, your devoted husband and nurturer.

It's Johnny.

"Simon's a lucky bastard," he mutters into your thigh. "Gets ye' all to himself," he presses a deep kiss into your inner thighs, making you arch your back off the mattress. "Gets this pretty pussy to himself every night, eh?" He brings his mouth back to your cunt, sucking and licking you until you shudder on his face, your arousal coating his tongue.

You spring awake, panting and sweaty.

Turning to your side, you see Simon peacefully sleeping despite your rapid movements.

You pull the blanket back to see your arousal seep through your panties and drip onto the cover sheet of the bed.

You let out a quiet curse, grabbing your phone before slipping off the bed to go towards your drawers, making a mental effort not to wash the sheets tomorrow.

You grab a fresh pair of panties, feeling the fresh feeling of shame as you trudge into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly.

You quickly change your panties, turning on the facet to gather some water to splash onto your face, mind riddled with guilt.

That dream was no wild fantasy, a simple wet dream.

It was the truth.

That one regretful night, all of two weeks ago, a drunk you had succumbed to Johnny's drunk antics and pursuits while out by yourself, unbeknownst to Simon.

Johnny had fucked you in the same very outfit that Simon had relished in before you had stepped out of the house.

Simon's favorite lipstick of yours had now covered his best friend's lips and chin.

You grind your teeth at the reminder, the weight of guilt pressing down on you, your mind a whirlwind of regret and ache.

You're pacing around the bathroom, the walls echoing your inner turmoil, unsure of what to do.

You know you should tell Simon, and you will, but only when he gets a little better.

You decide you can't deal with this mind warfare, so you open your phone, swiping to open your text thread to Johnny.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard anxiously before you type out a short sentence to which he responds almost immediately.

Me: We need to talk.

Me: Can we meet at that bar with the weird name tomorrow?

Johnny: Bang Bang Bar?

Johnny: Everything okay?

Me: Can you just meet me there tomorrow at six?

Johnny: I'll be there.

You release a shallow breath, the thought of seeing Johnny again sending a shiver down your spine.

But you know you need to talk to him.

You leave your phone in the bathroom and head back to the bed, slipping beside Simon without disturbing him.

The amount of guilt you feel sleeping in the same bed where you just had a wet dream about his best friend, which wasn't even just a wet dream but a reminder of the night you had shared, is crippling.

You reach to grab a bottle of prescribed pills from your nightstand, popping two and letting them hit your system.

Once again, you find yourself drifting off to sleep, though this time, instead of a peaceful send-off, you can still feel the nerves on your skin even with the pills.

But for now, you could let sleep claim you, shushing away the feeling of inevitable doom yet to come.

The bar was crowded when you showed up, which was good.

They won't be focused on you talking to Johnny; they'll be more focused on the woman who has just stripped her top off and the booze floating around the room.

You step through the throng of people, stretching your neck to look for Johnny.

Seeing his signature mohawk and prominent figure perched up in a booth doesn't take long. The waitress next to him flicks her manicured nail across his strong bicep, and he gives her his signature boyish grin.

You roll your eyes, moving towards him. He sits up straight as you approach, his eyes locking with yours immediately.

"Aye, Birdie. Take a seat," he greets, leaning back, gesturing for you to sit as the waitress moves away quickly.

"I'll stand," you stand firm, pursing your lips.

He leans forward, the same boyish smirk on his lips. "Come on. Don't make me look like an asshole," he jokes, sipping his beer.

You shake your head, heart pounding. "I won't be long, Johnny."

He nods his head before he gestures for you to speak your peace.

You inhale a deep breath, tugging your purse tight. "Johnny…" you begin, your voice already tight. “What we did…" you continue, shaking your head in disbelief. “It can't happen again. It was a mistake.” You look at him with guilty eyes. “I love Simon."

He nods as you speak, tongue in his cheek. "Know you love Simon. He loves you."

"That's why I can't see you again. Ever," your tone is firm as you shuffle on your heels.

He narrows his eyes in contemplation, sipping his beer, but doesn't say anything.

"You're not going to say anything?" you ask, confusion in your tone.

He shrugs. "Think you already made up your mind, no?"

Your lips flatline; he was right.

You already said your peace, so what were you still doing there?

"Yes. I did," you nod.

"Then that's it," he takes another sip of the beer like he doesn’t care.

You're not entirely sure what you expected.

Maybe, selfishly, you wanted Johnny to put up a small fight.

Make it feel like what you did was even a little worth it.

But this is good.

This is right.

"Good. I'll… I'll see you around," you utter quickly before you spin on your heels as you push back through the hoard of people and head back through the door, the rush of wind hitting you and rushing to fill your lungs as you inhale deeply.

You feel slightly disappointed but overall satisfied with your meeting with Johnny.

It was the right thing to do.

The only thing you could think to do to ease your conscience before telling Simon.

Made you breathe easier.

Soothed your brain that was going into overdrive.

You're so consumed in your thoughts as you walk down the paved sidewalk that you don't even hear the voice calling your name behind you until you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You yelp at the touch, turning around to see a disheveled Johnny before you.

Your eyes widen. "Johnny?"

"I couldn't… couldn't just let ye walk away," his words are jumbled, half labored from running over as if he can't fully believe what he's doing.

"What do you mean?" Your eyes search his light eyes, full of confusion.

"I don't know. I just…" he trails off, hands wiping over his face. He eyes you for a moment, takes a step toward you, grabs your face between his hands, and kisses you deep enough to swap spit.

You can't help the way your body slumps into him as his tongue moves in your mouth.

His lips move against your familiarity and a fiery passion you can't explain or deny.

You don't know if you want to cry from guilt or moan from pleasure.

Johnny pulls away before you can decide.

You wipe the saliva from your lips when he pulls away. "Johnny…"

"I know. I know," he agrees. "Just had to one last time… but I'll go. See ye around, Birdie."

You stand there, shoulders sagged, when he walks away with a bland goodbye.

It's for the best, but why did he have to kiss you?

It made it so much damn harder to let go.

You ponder the interaction as you take the five-minute walk home.

The feeling of shame washes over you when you step inside the house. The lights are dim and warm, and the air smells of coconut and mahogany.

You can hear the creak of the wood as you slowly take off your coat to hang it on the hook. Once you look up, you see Simon rolling in to greet you.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, beckoning you down for a kiss.

You want to die, but you think that would send Simon into an early grave faster than finding out you had slept with his best friend.

You bend down and kiss his lips.

His eyes close as he kisses you back with a more profound passion, his tongue sliding across your lips, which makes you audibly whimper.

He pulls his head back, head tilting back in thought. “You’ve been with Johnny,” he says more as a statement than a question.

Your eyes widen, your stomach churning at his words. You struggle to find the right words. “I… how did you know?” you manage to stutter.

“I know what he tastes like,” he says with a straight face, no ill will.

You tilt your head to the side in contemplation. “You… and Johnny have…” you trail off, hoping he can fill in the blanks.

“Did you fuck Johnny, bug?” he asks, once again with a straight face.

There it is.

The question of the hour.

You shake your head in shame, eyes still on his because he at least deserves that. “Simon… there’s no excuse at all, but I… we were both drunk,” you mumble out.

“He told me,” he gruffs out stoically.

Your eyes twitch. “What?”

“Called me right after,” he shrugs with ease.

“You… you knew?” you prompt. “This whole time?”

He nods. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Your mouth hangs open slightly.

The unexpected turn of the conversation leaves you in a state of disbelief.

“He’s temptin’, huh?” Simon raises an amused brow.

“He’s… well, he’s… kind of. I don’t know what to say,” you voice slowly.

Johnny told Simon.

He told your husband that he slept with his wife, and he was still alive to tell the tale.

That’s why Johnny didn’t seem nervous at the bar because he had already told the one person who mattered the most in the situation.

"Bet you had Johnny in near tears, huh?" You hear Simon roughly ask with an amused smile.

"Simon…" You can't help but feel a spark of heat on your skin as he speaks.

He tilts his head back, licking his lips before beckoning you closer. You step close enough so he can grab you by the waist. He bends his face so his lips press into your lower stomach through your shirt before he moves his lips lower to plant a kiss on your cunt through your jeans.

You let out a breathy moan, fingers threading through his hair.

"Felt too good squeezin’ around him, yeah. Bet he was prayin' in this pussy," he mutters into you, teeth skimming the fabric just enough to nick through it.

This is strange; you must have known that much.

But, God, you couldn't help the way your cunt ached with untamed greed.

His canine skimmed across the sensitive skin. "Go on, baby. Tell me. Was Johnny prayin' in you?" His voice felt rough on your skin. "In what's mine?"

"Fuck… Simon," you manage to choke out as he presses another deep kiss to your cunt.

"Sit in my lap," he urges, low and husky.

You oblige, hands coming to rest on his shoulders to position yourself to straddle his lap delicately. Once you sunk on his lap, you looked down at him, pressing a deep kiss to his lips that he reciprocated with equal passion.

"Too fuckin' perfect for Johnny, baby," he murmurs against your lips, fingers slipping to tug down your jeans. You chew on your lip as you sit up a little so he can tug them down to reveal your panties, complete with a growing spot of arousal in the cotton.

“You see that?” he tuts, pressing his finger against the wet spot, making your twitch against his fingers. “Johnny could never get you this wet. He didn’t get my wife this wet, did he, sweetheart?” he grits, pressing, dragging his finger lightly against your slit, nearing your puffy clit.

“He didn’t,” you moan out as you shamelessly rock against his fingers, desperate for more contact. “I… I need you, baby,” you whine, gripping his shoulder tight.

“I’m gonna fill you, babe. Keep you squirmin’ on my cock till you can’t walk,” he presses a sloppy kiss to your neck, sucking on the flesh with urgency. “Get me ready for you, baby,” he mumbles against your flesh, teeth running against your collarbone.

Your eager hands move to unzip his jeans, slipping them down to reach for his erect cock, the tip already flush and leaking pre-come. You stroke him once before he’s gripping your waist and, without warning, pushing you down onto him.

You both hiss at the contact. Simon grits his teeth as he rocks you against his cock, coaxing your sweet release bit by bit. He leans closer, soft lips gliding against your ear. “She fuckin’ missed me, sweetheart. Takin’ me so well. So deep,” he murmurs, brushing his tongue against your helix.

You let out a loud moan, eyes shutting closed with intense pleasure. “You always take…” you pant between moans. “...such good care of me, Simon,” you finish, fingernails digging into his shoulders through his thin cotton shirt.

He kisses your lips. “Always gonna take care of my girl,” he bites your bottom lip slightly as his cock pounds into you. You practically scream as he hits just the right places, not even noticing his fingers slipping past your lips and moving down your throat.

You choke a little before you fully welcome them down further, his eyes peering at your mouth as you coat his fingers with your saliva. He pulls them out after a moment, humming with satisfaction at the gleam of them before using his freshly wet fingers to ease against your clit, offering you even more pleasure.

“Feels so good,” you whine, rocking yourself against not only his cock, but his fingers too, the stimulation all-consuming.

“Come on, baby,” he urges, moving his fingers with urgency as he feels his orgasms start to wash over him. “Come all over my cock and fingers,” his eyes drift to watch his fingers moving in you, your fresh arousal coating them.

Your orgasm crashes over you right as he gets a third finger in, and he follows close behind. You heave in his lap, body shaking with gratification.

You feel yourself slump against him, cheek resting on his shoulder, but only for a moment, before he picks up his fingers covered in your arousal and nudges them against your pouting lips. You open your mouth widely, and he glides them across your tongue and slightly down your throat.

You wrap your hand around his wrist as you turn to face him, lips closing around his fingers, sucking them clean, even taking them out with a loud pop that has Simon giving you a lopsided grin.

He bends forward, tongue darting to collect the extra arousal on your lips before he gives you a deep kiss.

Your heart is still pounding at the turn of events, but not just Simon accepting, no welcoming the fact you had slept with Johnny, but the sex that ensued after.

You have had sex numerous times, but this time it felt more carnivorous, possessive.

And you loved every fucking second of it.

Made you realize it was Simon.

He was the one, the love of your life.

Poor girl, so naive.

So disgustingly pure.

Couldn’t have foreseen the darkness that lurked; the abyss that waited patiently to swallow her whole.

The months pass, one by one until a new year brings more rainfall and a vengeance that has single-handedly obliterated Simon’s entire world, his marriage, leaving him a shell of a man even a month later.

Johnny had died.

His best friend, no brother.

Taken from him with no forewarning, a sudden and brutal twist of fate that left Simon reeling in disdain.

Price told him it was painless, but Simon knew.

He knew as soon as you passed the phone to him, your hand shaking and face devoid of any emotion, Price whispered his words over the phone in the same voice he would use to belie brutal truths.

That Goddamn Johnny had got himself into something.

Simon didn’t know what exactly; maybe it was better that way.

He wouldn’t have to picture Johnny flailing around, bleeding himself dry before he didn’t so much as twitch anymore, his body and soul gone before his very eyes.

And yet, even with no inkling as to what occurred, he still did imagine the worst.

He was a soldier, after all, having seen the worst deaths imaginable and even facilitated many of them himself.

Perhaps it was naive, given his profession, but he never imagined Johnny being the one on the other side of the gun, the shot piercing through his skin, an ally, not an enemy.

The thoughts replayed in his mind every day since the news of his death had come his way.

Nothing could pacify the sheer ache he felt deep in his bones.

Not even the Bourbon he tossed back that is now burning a path down his throat.

Nothing could numb him, so he’ll at least try to get a slight buzz to ease his sorrows.

He’s perched over the wooden table of the bar, hunched over on the stool, as he signals the bartender to pour him another.

You were at the house doing something or another; he didn’t bother to ask before he left.

He really didn’t care.

Something he’s gotten exceptionally good at.

He’s been distant, sure, but even worse than that, he’s been colder.

He doesn’t even know himself anymore.

“You got a wife at home?” He hears the gruff voice of an older man as he moves to sit on the stool right next to him, even though the bar is nearly empty. So many spots are vacant, yet he chooses to sit directly next to him.

Simon doesn’t answer; he just takes a brisk sip of the whiskey.

The man gives him a chuckle, signaling the bartender, before he lazily points towards Simon. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

The bartender nods, fixing him a whiskey and setting it in front of the man. He takes a sip, a calm smile on his face. “This Kentucky? Got good taste, my boy,” he praises Simon as he takes another light sip.

Once again, Simon doesn’t answer, turning his attention to the football match on the television in front of him: Manchester United vs West Ham.

"Can feel the sadness wafting off you," the man mutters to Simon, his voice carrying a hint of humor.

Simon glances at him. "You some kind of shrink or somethin'?" he gruffs, clearly irritated.

The man laughs, a deep belly laugh. "I'm no one," he says before he leans closer next to Simon. "I can give you what you want," he promises, tilting his head at Simon's narrowing eyes. "Bring back your friend, but… it'll come with a price," he assures, smiling at Simon's wide eyes full of anger.

Simon sets his whiskey down with a soft thud. "The fuck did you say to me?"

The man chuckles. "I know you hate semantics. Just like me. Thought I wouldn't beat around the bush." He sits up on the stool. "Your friend… Johnny. I've seen him. He's a good boy, and he misses you dearly, Simon."

"Who the fuck are you?" Simon erupts, drawing the bartender's attention.

The man smiles at the bartender, trying to ease his concern. "Someone who wants to help you," he simply says. "But it'll come with a price."

"Price?" Simon asks without much thought.

"The devil doesn't bargain for free, my boy," the man gruffly utters.

Simon has no reason to believe this man.

He could very well be a homeless man trying to take advantage of him, but he's desperate.

He misses Johnny.

"How much?" He fidgets for his wallet before the man extends his hand, halting his actions.

"You think the devil cares about your money?" He shakes his head with a deep laugh. "No, no. He wants something more… practical."

"Like what?" Simon tips his head back, eyes wide, giving the man a good look into his soul.

He was desperate, a hopeless soul.

The man takes a sip of his whiskey. "An essence or soul, if you will, must be promised… sealed in blood," he voices so low Simon almost doesn't hear him. "Doesn't have to be yours…" he supplies, sensing Simon's unease. "But it has to be someone you're close to. Say… a spouse."

Simon ponders for a moment, the weight of the decision heavy on his mind. A vision of you crosses his mind. “My… my wife?”

“Mhm,” the man tilts his head in thought. “That would work mighty fine.”

The man, with an air of mystery, pulls out a paper and a small Bible, complete with large, gold Cardo font and a cross hovering above the text from his large coat pocket and holds it down low for Simon to see.

“This has all you need. Do what you wish, but you must not wait too long,” he hands both the paper and Bible to Simon, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “For the Gods are hungry.”

He can hear the sound of the TV when he trudges in from the bar, his heavy boots revealing his presence.

The paper and small Bible burned a hole through his jacket pocket.

He reaches for a glass, carefully fills it with some tap water, takes a sip, and swishes around his mouth, not bothering to greet you, curled up on the couch. He can sense your anxiety, glancing at your foot, tapping steadily against the vinyl flooring.

He runs the water to clean the metal sink of his salvia before he takes a proper sip, clearing out the taste of Bourbon and betrayal coating his tongue.

"Sit. Our favorite show is on," you chime, a warm small growing on your lips.

He closes his eyes gently before he turns to you, shaking his head. "Not feelin' it tonight, sweetheart."

"Come on," you urge, pointing towards the television with your pointer finger. "We're about to find out if Henry is staying or leaving."

"I'm, I'm not in the mood," he mutters, only with slight annoyance.

But that doesn't stop you. "Come on. Would be nice to see you."

He can feel the irritation bubbling. "Stop asking," he cuts sharply, setting the full glass in the sink.

You narrow your eyes slightly. "Why are you being so mean?"

In the back of his mind, he can't believe what he's doing.

That doesn't stop the words from flowing out of his mouth.

"Christ, I already said I wasn't in the God-damned mood."

Ice and venom coat his words as his hand slams into the countertop.

His heart sinks when he looks up to see a frown etched into your beautiful skin.

"Well then," you murmur, eyes still on his. "Guess that settles it."

He releases a shallow breath, opening his mouth before shutting it promptly. He sees your eyes squint as you take a deep gulp.

He doesn't say anything else as he just moves to his office, shutting the door with a thud.

He knows he's a coward.

Hell, he's more than that.

He's a man caught in the web of his own fears, constantly evading his problems instead of confronting them.

A master at doing nothing, a virtuoso of avoidance.

And to think he was now walking without his chair, the very thing he claimed made him feel useless, but he doesn’t realize that uselessness doesn't just dissipate.

It lies dormant.

Waiting and willing for the next opportunity to crawl back under the skin and whisper in one’s ear.

His heart raced as he frantically wandered around his office, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

He chewed on the inside of his cheeks, the heavy thud of his boots the only sound accompanying the blood rushing and thumping in his ears.

With a quiet curse and the churn of his stomach, he reached deep into his jacket pockets, grasping onto the loose paper and Bible the man had given him.

The instructions etched into the paper ominously read clear.

“Beg for what you seek.”

He shuts his eyes softly, hand holding the paper shaking.

Tears stream down his cheek, dropping into his full beard.

He shakes his head, defeated. “I… I want him back,” his words are cracked. “Please… I need him,” he licks his lips, tasting the salty tears of defeat on his tongue.

Sniffling, he reaches for the knife he wears tucked into a holster on his jeans, pulling out his knife and hovering the blade just above his thumb. With a deep groan and slice of his flesh, fresh blood gathers on his fingertip as he squeezes the skin.

He presses his thumb, covered in his fresh blood, into the crinkled paper, turning the white a deep red.

Ironic really.

Because this time, instead of sealing his own fate, tying his own soul with his blood in the name of protection, he was damning your soul, in his blood, in the name of selfishness, so the darkness can hereby claim you, and he can find solace in this wretched bargain.

The sky was a deep, foreboding grey, with clouds that seemed to swirl and twist in every direction. A torrential downpour drenched the streets, with rain coming down in rigid sheets that threatened to wash away everything in its path.

And even though the storm is fiery, thunder growling and primal occurring outside.

It didn't stop the storm from brewing inside Simon's home.

His mind was a tempest, churning and devouring itself at the news of your passing.

It was a heavy burden, a weight that crushed his soul. The hospice nurse's words, 'died of natural causes related to your heart disease,' were like a verdict, but he knew the truth.

It was his doing.

He had stolen your life, snatched up your bright potential, and set it ablaze for a self-serving wish that would swap your current life for Johnny's past one.

He had sold you out.

And so he was reaping what he sowed.

The house had been torn apart.

No longer the picture of warmth and comfort, it looked like a tornado, or in this case, a madman had run through, obliterating all that was. The furniture was overturned, the walls were marred with angry gashes, and the once serene atmosphere was now a chaotic mess.

Glass shards from the vases lay on the now scratched and wrecked vinyl flooring, while picture frames hang crooked and cracked from his fists that are bleeding and bruised.

As his rampage ensues, he hears a loud knock on his door. His eyes flick to the door, eyes red and full of unpacified rage; his boots make loud thuds as he wanders over.

His sagged shoulders tighten for a moment.

Despite the palpable anger over your passing, he finds himself considering the deal, and his spirits unexpectedly rise at the thought of seeing a familiar face.

The only face he has left to see.

His hand reaches for the door handle, pulling it open promptly, only for his eyes to widen at the sight.

It wasn’t Johnny at the door, reaching out to him.

It was his own uncaring father, caked in a thick coat of mud and reeking of brimstone.

Simon’s heart raced, and his hand trembled as he struggled to process the sight.

"I told ya you'd be seeing me again, son," his father's mud-caked face twisted in a grin. "Aren't you gonna greet your dear ole' dad?" he asks, holding his arms out.

Simon's voice trembled with shock. "I... I don't understand. How are you..."

"How am I here?" His father finishes with a crude laugh, dropping his arms to his sides. "I fulfilled your wish as spoken, boy."

Simon's eyes widened in sheer terror, his brain struggling to comprehend what was happening. "No. I... I wished for Johnny back," he tried to rationalize. "Not you."

"You wished for him, boy," he informs, watching Simon's face drop even further with the revelation. "If Johnny was who you desired, you should have been more specific. The devil does not guess," he purses his lips. "Been watching you a long time, boy," his father gruffs, shaking his head. "Longer than you think."

Simon's eyes snap to him, his mouth open in disbelief. "You've been… watching me?"

"Didn't even realize it was your own father at the bar. Shame on you, son," his father shakes his head in disappointment.

"You… you were the one who… who gave me the paper and… Bible?" Simon asks though he's scared to know the answer.

"Crawled out of the pits of Hell just to be there and here… and now… you'll never be rid of me."

The darkness that lurks beneath this world is truly insidious. Humans will never know the true terrors awaiting them, possibly having crawled up from the fiery pits of Hell to coexist with them on Earth.

I’ve seen it firsthand.

And so I urge you to heed my warnings.

Be careful who you pray to, dear readers, for the Gods are not always benevolent.

At least… I know I am not.

mini author’s note: please let me know all your thoughts in the comments, or if you have more specific questions, my ask box is always open. thanks so much for reading! also, shout out to my queenie @lavenderdaisychain for helping me get through the serious burn out i got writing this & reading over some parts i was hesitant about! love you!

46 notes · View notes