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theorist-fox · 9 months ago

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Hesitate

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

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Word count: 6k

Summary: Simon loses sight of you for far too long. In that time, he realizes he can't go a day without having you within reach. When you return, he tells you in the only way he knows.

18+

CW: smut (fingering, PinV), but with plot. Tiny angst, fluff. Protective and possessive Simon Riley. Mentions of stabbing and blood. Minor injuries.

Masterlist 🦊 | In The Walls Masterlist 🦊

“Quiet.”

He barges in. Because of course he does. There isn’t a piece of flooring in this godforsaken base that hasn’t been violently reclaimed by Ghost’s boots.

Not even in your goddamn room.

Thankfully, you have the reflexes of a trained operative and have moved out of the way in time, otherwise you'd be sporting a wonderful, purple knob in the middle of your forehead. And while there is a certain distaste surging in your chest – the kind that makes your lips pucker and your stomach knot –, you know there is very little you can do to move the mountain that is Ghost.

So, you close the door behind you with an exhausted sigh, as he ventures further into your room.

“Good eve-“

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “Where the fuck ‘ave you been, uh?”

The balaclava on his face does absolutely nothing to hide the hatred sizzling in his eyes. Funny, because you’ve always thought that it was the whole point of the thing – to hide his face. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows just how expressive his eyes are.

Does he know he tells so much more with those than he ever does with words?

Nevertheless, yours are as telling as his own, as they bulge out of your sockets. The odd look you give him is comical, compared to the ire that's practically singeing his clothes.

“Uh,” you stutter. “Deployment?”

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits. So tiny you have to squint your eyes yourself to catch a glimpse of his irises.

“Alone?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

To match the distrust in his tone, you tilt your head toward his, brows furrowing in confusion.

“…Yeah?” You reply, and the more you go on the more sarcastic you sound. “We do that, sometimes. Lone ops, recon. Y’know, we’re in the UKSF, in case you, uh – forgot.”

He hums gravelly. A sound that causes his body to straighten up as if the cogs have finally started whirring and working seamlessly once again.

“Don’t get smart, now.” He warns, freezing you with a look.

You pucker your lips and instinctively show him your palms, cheekily replying with an “I would never.”

Wrong move, unfortunately.

You are your worst enemy.

If this conversation goes downhill, you are the one to blame. Schedule a punishing whipping for yourself, later – you better fetch the goddamn cat o’ nine tails.

The movement causes the long sleeve of your loungewear to slip further down your forearm, pooling at your elbow, and exposing a large bruise. A galaxy of greens and mauves in the shape of five fingers and a large palm.

Ghost’s eyes zero on your arm with the rapidity of a hawk. Price has always said it, after all: he only knows one sniper who’s better than Ghost, and she’s a thousand klicks away now. You miss her – Farah would’ve been a lot nicer about this than him.

When his focus returns to you, he doesn’t even have to ask. As you’ve already stated time and time again, he conveys a lot more with his eyes.

And they are absolutely fuming.

You suck in a sharp breath, nodding your head slowly while returning your sleeve where it’s supposed to be. Fucking traitorous piece of cotton that should stick around your wrist.

“Y’know,” you start, your chest all puffed because – well, you ain’t breathing right. Not with Ghost staring you down like you’ve gone and killed the King of England. “I had to sneak in, grab the USB key our contact set up for us, and then – bang, vanish. And I did it, yeah? I was brilliant at it.”

The smile on your face is as fake as the cheerful tone you’re using to dispense this information. It cracks as soon as you see the fabric of the balaclava shift on his jaw.

He’s grinding his molars into dust.

“And?”

You gesture vaguely. Shift your eyes to the ceiling. Tongue your cheek. Try to downplay it. “Well, ‘s nothing really.”

“Sergeant.” He barks. If he had hackles, they’d be dusting the ceiling.

You sigh.

God, how long have you been holding onto that breath? You’re positive it was the air you’ve inhaled, like, ten thousand years ago.

“Someone thought I was acting a bit dodgy and had me pinned to the floor.” You made grabby hands with a cheeky smile, “I have meaty forearms. Plenty to grip.”

Humor is usually the key to lessen the tension that would strangle your and his lungs. Normally, he’d let it go. He’d listlessly smack the back of your head or pinch the flesh of your biceps and call it a day.

Now, sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight. The night lamp on your bedside table sheds light against his back, making him look like he's the wolf ready to pounce what it's going to be his dinner.

It makes your blood curdle.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff, digging your fingertips in the back of your neck to release some tension. “Nothing happened. I jabbed him in the throat before he could shout for help and shoved him under a desk. Got myself a proper blood shower.”

Ghost’s eye twitches.

And then he goes silent.

Not the news of the year, of course. He’s always silent. You know he doesn’t get his callsign from that, but you can’t help but find his personality incredibly fitting with the military nickname.

However, this isn’t the usual Simon shut-up-and-sod-off Riley. He’s so still you wonder if he’s breathing. You have half a mind to wave your hand in front of his eyes to check if he’s gone catatonic.

You don’t, of course. Dogs bite.

You sneer, more in concern than anything, and gingerly take a step forward. Initially, your question comes out simply as a sideway tilt of your head paired with a puzzled look – a question mark would be floating above you, if physically possible.

But when that doesn’t seem enough to coax an answer out of him, you blurt out an “Oi.”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel to your face. Always with the heavy-lidded gaze that makes him look like he’d love to be anywhere but where he currently is.

He seems… calmer. You're not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. You prefer it when he's fuming because, as the saying goes, better the devil you know.

“Off.” He states.

Of course, he prefers syllables to full, clear sentences. Expressions you (or anyone else, really) don’t seem to catch, unfortunately. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him that if he wants to have a conversation, he should start stringing words one after the other instead of settling for just one.

“What?” You deadpan. “Off with the bullshit? Off with my head? Words, L.T.”

You don’t seem to have learned from your past mistake of using humor to sneak out of a predicament when Ghost appears to have all hell ready to unleash.

He roughly points at your chest, “The shirt,” and then aims his finger to the floor. “Off.”

Look at you: dumbfounded.

Sure, you two have fucked, occasionally – ever since he’d come to terms with the idea that he could do it without getting into trouble. It’s not like he gives two shits about someone finding out, he just doesn’t want to deal with commanding officers explaining to him why he shouldn’t stick it anywhere he finds fitting. God forbid someone puts him through one of those seminars about relationship policies and how they can disrupt the chain of command.

You splutter, “Wha – Excuse me?”

“Ya heard.” He reiterates. “The shirt. Off.”

You scoff. “You wanna fuck now?”

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He says flatly.

“Oh, sorry!” You snark. “Didn’t think there were other reasons why you’d want me to flash my tits.”

“Didn’t say tha’ either.” He deadpans and swipes his index finger in the air again. “Off with the shirt.”

You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose while, stubbornly, still wearing the t-shirt.

“Not in the mood to have sex, honestly,” you explain, trying to stay calm in the face of the implications of the request. “I came back this morning, I’m beat. I need a cuppa and some sleep –“

He switches, then. “Take off that fucking shirt, sergeant.”

You bristle. Anyone would, at that tone.

Suddenly, you’re back to basic training in Pirbright with your wench of a drill instructor calling you a fucking idiot.

Needless to say, you follow through with his order and rip the shirt off with more spite than cooperation. With a big frown on your face, you turn on your heel and start stomping angrily towards the bed.

“Make it quick.” You snap, getting on your knees on the edge of the mattress, ready to get pounded into oblivion.

You’ll like it, eventually, even if you’re not really in the mood.

Ghost fucks you good. It’s undeniable.

You’ve soaked his sheets, his clothes, his mask – he’s that type of good. You won’t tell him though; his ego is already too big. If it grows more, HQ won’t be able to contain it and the whole base will blow up into smithereens.

You’re saving lives, here, by keeping your mouth shut about it.

But he has other plans, it seems.

“The fuck are you doin’.”

It is not, in fact, a question.

You look over your shoulder and find him still standing where you left him, a few paces back.

You quirk a brow, and shoot it back at him, “The fuck are you doing.”

“Why are you bendin’ over.” He states.

"To fuck?" You say, an unsaid obviously lingering in the air.

Something shifts under his mask, as if he’s scowling. “Who said I wanted to fuck?”

You splutter, yet again caught by surprise. “You made me get naked.”

He sighs, sounding exasperated, and approaches you, who is – by the way – still shamefully on all fours on the tiny bed of your quarters.

Suddenly, all that spite sublimates under the heavy, hot weight of embarrassment.

What are you doing, on your knees on the bed, half naked, if he doesn’t want to fuck?

In your defense, while the two of you often spent time chatting about everything and nothing, that happened in public places. Not once has he knocked on your door for a spot of tea and decent conversation.

Regardless, as soon as you manage to stand on your knees, you can feel him right behind you. Scorching fingers of shame crawl up to your neck. You feel your chest warm up, all the way to the apples of your cheeks. Awkwardly, you bring your arms up to cover your breasts.

“Off,” he orders, again.

You swallow dryly, offering an insecure smile. “…With the pants?”

He gives you a glacial look. Your blood freezes in your vessels. You think you might have turned cyanotic.

“Fuckin’ hell – Off the bed.”

Obviously, your feet touch the ground with impeccable speed, because after that display, the least you can do is follow through with his orders before you make a fool of yourself twice in under a minute.

You feel his fingers curl around the top of your head, only allowing the pads to tangle through your hair and touch your scalp. It’s as if he doesn’t really want to touch you, but feels compelled to do so.

He flicks his wrist to give you a sense of the direction he wants you to turn to, and you do, waddling a little on your feet as you slowly twirl.

Your hands are tucked under your biceps, which are currently strangling your ribcage in an attempt to cover as much of your chest as you can with your forearms.

When you’re finally facing him again, you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes, however, are not on your tits as you expect. He’s not even ogling, to be honest – which would be a blow to your ego, if the situation weren’t so… odd.

Your brows are pinched. Your mouth parts only so you can suck in some air and then worry your lip between your teeth.

This is much too intimate than what you’re used to.

You realize, as he��studies your body, with that weirdly placed hand on your head, that Ghost has never… seen it.

Or – well, he’s seen it all right, but he’s never looked at it. Your encounters are usually very quick and to the point.

He fucks you.

You come – once or twice. Thrice, if he’s feeling particularly generous.

He comes.

Get yourself a glass o’ water and jog on. ‘M knackered.

Yeah, okay. G’night, prick.

Right back at ya.

That’s it.

Sometimes, you don’t even take off each other’s clothes. Sometimes, he doesn’t even turn on the lights.

Now, his gaze is heavy as he looks at the dip of your waist, then at the fuzz below your belly button and where it leads, until the hem of your slouchy sweatpants that have seen better days. It’s like having lasers pointed at every nook and cranny of you, leaving scorching lines along your profile.

He taps his finger on your forearm, the one without the bruise – a silent request to take your arms off your chest. Your hands are shaking as you comply, but you’re too preoccupied with him to notice.

Ghost seems utterly uninterested at the sight of your tits bouncing down in response to gravity, instead setting his focus on the edges of your ribcage.

He flicks his wrist again, and you slowly turn the other way, giving him your back.

You feel his fingers twitch against your scalp, before a cold fingertip brushes against your right side.

"Here." He states, barely tracing the lines of your ribs.

It's been so long since he's last spoken that you feel goosebumps rise along your neck. God, his voice will never not make your insides churn.

Regardless, you spread your elbows out, lifting your right arm so you can look at where he's pointing. You can't see much, but you definitely feel how the slight movement of your shoulder causes your right side to ache as if the skin were ready to burst at the seams.

“Ow.”

You frown and curiously try again to take a peek at the cause of the pain. After some squirming, you spot the darkening patch of flesh, speckled with purples and yellows.

“Mh,” you muse. “Didn’t know that was there.”

The hand on your head finally abandons it, allowing the muscles on your neck to relax.

You continue, somewhat feeling the need to explain why there is yet another bruise. “When that man saw me, he knocked me onto the floor. Must’ve hit it harder than I thought.”

He hums noncommittally. You could’ve told him the most absurd tale, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, much too focused on the expanse of your back.

You shrug, then. “’S alright. It’ll pass. It’s just a bruise.”

It’s then that he meets your eyes.

There’s always a sort of veil over his, whenever the air around you both thickens. You wish you had scissors to rip it, sometimes. Or walk to the curtain and take a peek inside.

“What is this?” You gesture at the two of you, looking back at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He deflects your questions with the same reflexes he uses to dodge bullets, answering instead with a question of his own. “You went to medical?”

Your lips twitch and you have to school your face into more muted frustration.

Your response is a little petty, but you can’t help but give it to him. “No, just a couple of bumps, nothing that needs a trip to the doctor."

He is a looming shadow behind you, encompassing you with dark tendrils that threaten to swallow you whole. He sucks the warmth of the room with the ice embedded in his eyes – it forces you to look away, finding comfort in your own hands cupping your biceps.

You don’t even manage to reach for your t-shirt again, feeling the need to cover yourself up, that he curls an uncharacteristically gentle hand around your jaw.

You stiffen.

He seizes that moment to turn your head, his other fingers already hooked at the hem of his balaclava around the neck. He slides it up and off naturally.

There’s always some sort of solemnity when his face comes into view.

Each groove and bump tell a story of their own, not a single one coming from the same tale, nor the same blade.

He has crow's feet, but he rarely smiles – if ever. There are lines originating from the sides of his nose tipping at each corner of his mouth. They should symbolize happiness carved, but you fear it’s the opposite.

Thick, convoluted scars paint him like rough brush strokes given by an angry hand – bristles of steel, paint of blood.

Teeth peek out from a particularly gruesome injury that has torn the flesh off his upper lip. He constantly looks like he’s scowling at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was. Would fit the character, and all.

Truth is, Simon rarely cares enough to scowl at anyone. You can either get a cold side glance or a disinterested one – if it’s the former, then you might be in his good graces.

Right now, though, you don’t think he’s giving you either. His eyes are murky; a mud of anger, annoyance, and disappointment. He looks like he hates you with all his might, staring at you as if he could, by sheer force of thought, scoop out the eyes from your sockets.

“You wanna kill me?” You mumble, finding it hard to speak as he holds your jaw between his fingers. “Get in line, mate. There are at least a bunch a’ Russian men and their mothers before you, ever since I shanked their colleague.”

Then, his eyes leave yours to glance at your lips. He must think you haven’t noticed, because he doesn’t bother to hide it. However – and you’ve always found this incredibly interesting – Ghost tends to forget when he’s wearing the mask and when he isn’t.

Each time, it’s like watching a child learning how to rein it in. Or, you know, like that sibling you have to surreptitiously elbow under the table at Christmas dinner when your pissed uncle is going off a tangent regarding the most idiotic, misplaced subject ever known to man.

That’s Ghost right now.

The sibling elbowing him? Simon.

He blinks out of his headspace and then frowns, returning his eyes to yours.

“Don’t need to.” He grunts. “You’re doin’ a fine job by yourself.”

You scoff. “It’s just a bruise.”

His jaw ticks.

“Yeah, but it’s on you.”

It’s said low and bitter, as if he’s had to fight tooth and nail to yank it out of his chest.

You, on the other hand, are stock still in place – not only because of his hand holding you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder to where he stands, but also because what was that?

You swallow but it's futile because your tongue is stuck to your palate. The air surrounding you crackles. The oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it.

You blink. That’s all it takes, and he lands his mouth on you.

Ghost’s kisses are always rough, determined to take your breath away and leave you wondering if you’ll ever say any other name but his own. This one is not much different, but you have to recognize that it is somewhat angrier.

His lips part as if he could swallow you whole, working his tongue against yours and hindering your movements with his fingers holding your face, and a hand over your belly.

You can work with this. This, you know how to behave around. This is charted territory – the hunger, the stress, the need to decompress and find solace in the oasis you offer so generously between your legs.

You know the dance, and so you press your bum against his groin. You weren’t in the mood, like – ten minutes ago. You were a different person back then.

If Ghost now wants to split you in half, you’d hand him the butcher knife.

You’re already turning feverish, lifting your right arm to tangle with his hair, ready to grab and pull and bite and –

He stops you. Palm to your knuckles, guiding it down once more. He doesn’t hold your hand, instead removing his own as though your skin were burning coal.

Not as carefully, though, he snakes under your sweatpants and unceremoniously dips his middle finger inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

You weren’t that wet, and while you're not one to say no to a bit of pain, this has caught you so off guard that you decide to chastise him by nipping at his lower lip.

It’s not much of a punishment, you guess, because his hips jerk to rub himself against you.

You wish to move and take this to the bed, where you can lie down and be his pillow princess. Let him fuck you until his heart's content, because you're tired and you'd love to get used for his pleasure and yours.

But he’s an unmoving statue, boots glued to the floor and hand shackled to your pussy, dipping in relentlessly until your knees buckle under the sheer pressure of his finger buried to the knuckle.

When your hips start undulating to increase the friction – specifically of his palm against your neglected bundle of nerves where your pussy tips – he inserts a second finger, and you positively melt against his chest. It’s then that he releases your lips, allowing you to moan under your breath.

He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can find, leaving love bites on the length of your shoulders all the way to your neck. Teeth and tongue and words that escape his lips, while he curls his fingers inside you, drowning your thoughts in frayed growls from his mouth, and raunchy squelches from between your legs. His offhand gets busy and starts toying and pulling at your nipples.

You're being absolutely ravaged; his nails are talons and he wants to rip you apart and eat you inside out after he's prepped you alright. It's juxtaposing - the pleasure, and the crudeness. It's new, but not unwelcome.

“You should’ve told me.” He grunts. You don’t pay it much mind, he usually murmurs a lot during sex, and less than half of the time you catch what he says – the other times, you’re already too stupid to use your senses.

“Should’ve.”

He snaps his finger upward, burying them to the knuckle.

“Told me."

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"You were being posted."

Finally, he curls his fingers inside, making your legs quiver.

You whimper and your eyes roll back. Is this your punishment? Hell fucking yes, then. You’ll keep your secrets more often.

But alas, you do feel compelled to at least explain and apologize.

“M’sorry,” you breathe, “It was a last-minute thing. Got called the day before.”

Surely, he’ll understand. That’s how deployments work: they give you a timeframe, and you might or might not get the dreaded call. If you do, then you’re off – one day you’re lounging at the beach, the next you’re buried in gore.

No in-between.

You don't want to distract him though. You're so close. If he just – moved a little, maybe? Or allowed you to rest your legs somewhere.

You shift imperceptibly so that you can rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm. The callouses on the heel of his hand make it somehow even better.

He allows you, meaning that even if you’ve kept the deployment from him, he’s feeling magnanimous.

You roll your head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck, the tip of your nose tucked behind his lobe. You pant as he fucks you with his fingers, and murmur sweet things about how good he is to you, because he’s being kind and for that he deserves a generous stroke to his ego. You leave open kisses on his neck, his jaw, lapping the sweat off his skin with your tongue – to try and give back some of the pleasure he’s offering you.

When you come, it is with a loud groan muffled in his neck, and he holds you by the waist before you keel over. The orgasm almost stings, since he’s ripped it out of you so quickly and forcefully. It tingles from the tips of your toes, curling against the linoleum, all the way to the knot that finally snaps in your gut.

Only then, when your vision clears and your skin still prickles in goosebumps, do you hear him through the ringing of your ears.

“You don’t understand.” He’s saying, like a prayer repeated gruffly to the skin of your neck.

He doesn’t say it once, he doesn’t say it twice. He repeats it with fervor, and the more it escapes his mouth, the angrier it gets.

You feel the back of your knee being pushed by his own, and you stumble forward on the mattress. You’re confused, still descending from the high of your orgasm, feeling your limbs move under his command and notyours. Trying to find sense in his words.

You don’t understand.

Your ears are cottoned – the orgasm has been that blissful – but you still catch the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Your front is plastered against the mattress, cheek buried in linen of freshly washed sheets.

You don’t have the strength to stand, nor to look behind, so you can solely rely on your hearing, on your touch.

Shallow breaths.

Shuffle of fabric – he’s taking off his shirt.

His hand skims over your back, purposefully avoiding the bruise on your side.

A finger pulls down the sweatpants to your ankles – the air feels cold against your skin, flushed and burning.

Wet fingertips trail down your legs with uncommon reverence, until they reach down and yank the pants off your feet.

The denim of his jeans shifts. A thud – he’s on his knees.

He forces your leg to bend and kisses your ankle. Then the arch of your foot. Your toes, and it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The actions are paired with a wet, rhythmic sound – he’s touching himself the way you’d touch him.

He has fingered you with such voracity you thought you’d rip in half on his hand, and now he’s on his knees, kissing your feet. He’s switching rapidly – angry, then devoted.

The former you know, but the latter is different. It’s new.

You feel the mattress dip and protest under the additional weight, each of his thighs on either side of yours, keeping your legs flush together.

A hand appears in your vision, gripping the sheets.

You kiss the knuckle on his thumb, and he flicks it gently over your nose.

His chest exudes warmth even if he isn’t properly touching your back. He simply hovers above it, putting his weight on his palm, while his other hand is busy stroking his cock.

You're wet and prepped just how he likes, in fact he slides in easily.

You already came, which means you're hypersensitive – it feels like he's inserting something long and scorching hot inside. Your breath hitches in your throat at the intrusion, and he dips his forehead to your shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss.

He fucks you slow and deep, dragging backward without ever pulling out. He wants to stay sheathed inside. He wants to bury himself in there, with your velvet walls squeezing him dry. You won’t complain. You’ll keep him snug until he’s sated. Until you are, too.

This dance you know as well, and so you fold your arms behind you, bending your elbows so that he can grip both your forearms with one hand and use them as leverage to rail you until you’re only babbling nonsense.

But he… doesn’t?

He still fucks you, sure, but his hand doesn’t reach for your arms, preferring the sheets instead, and it makes you feel a little neglected, wondering if you're doing something wrong. Sure – you just came, he’s treated you to your nice little post-operation orgasm, and then proceeded to fuck you. So, he must still be into this – into you.

Right?

You thought this could’ve been a nice way to reciprocate, since you know how much he likes to get you to bend as he pleases.

A thank you of sorts.

You reach up with your fingers, tickling his abdomen to make him notice that you’ve prepared yourself for him, arms knotted behind your back like a bow on a present – just in case he’s missed it, you know?

But he reaches down only to guide your arms back to the bed, distending them ahead. He goes to hold one hand but stops, instead digging his palm back into the mattress.

Just when you’re about to protest, lifting your head from the bed, he drags his tongue around the shell of your ear.

You shudder.

"I- I'm not good at this." He grunts as he fucks you slowly, dragging breathy moans out of your lips. "So jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s then that his pace picks up, punching a ragged groan out of your lips at the first abrupt thrust.

He’s either doing it to shut you up, or to make you focus on something else while he speaks. So, maybe, if you’re busy molding your pussy around his cock and rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you won’t hear what he’s saying.

“Lieut –“

“Simon.” He chides loudly. “Fuck – Told you it’s Simon, ‘ere.”

You grip the sheets as your head bobs to the pace he takes. Your breathing is more akin to a wheeze, and your belly flutters each time he hits you just right.

“Simon,” you whimper.

“Yeah,” he croons. “Simon. Good.”

Simon is as breathless as you are, but much more contained.

“Need to know where you are,” he murmurs under his breath. “You got no idea wha’ I –“

He releases a shuddering breath that tickles your ear.

You’re keening and shivering, trying to focus on his words but it seems like he’s trying his best to prevent you from listening, even if he’s the one who’s asked you to.

There’s something rabid in his motions. He bullies his cock as deep as it can reach, his hips brutally slap against your ass. You can feel the fat recoiling, the vibration tipping at the base of your skull. He’s feral and yet it’s so different.

He groans, but it's frustrated more than satisfied.

“You got no fuckin’ idea, do ya?” He mutters the sentence like a curse. “No fuckin’ idea. You – “

You reach for his hand with your own, but he swats it away.

You try again and he nibbles at your ear.

“Don’t." He warns lowly, stilling his motions until he’s hilted all the way inside.

You suck in a breath as he shoves himself until there’s not an inch of space for him to move.

He’s ramrod stiff above you, struggling to keep his chest off your back – denying you of his skin. Of intimacy. Of contact.

You twist your head that much to look at his face and find him staring blankly ahead.

To say it worries you would be an understatement, especially if paired with the puzzling behavior he’s had all evening.

You follow the trajectory of his gaze with your eyes and heartbreakingly discover that he's burning holes in your bruised flesh – the hand of that now-dead man still darkly imprinted on your skin.

Skin still untouched by him.

You feel yourself falter. “Si-“

“You’re hurt.” he croaks. “I’ll hurt you more.”

You don’t know what staggers you the most: his cock up your cervix making you dizzy, or the hesitance in his voice.

Hesitance.

Simon doesn’t hesitate. He’s not tentative.

He takes.

If he can’t take, he delegates, and whatever he needs eventually will fall into his hand.

You fell into his hand without too much of a fuss. He gave you the impression that you were the one demanding and obtaining, but the truth obviously lies elsewhere.

Simon wanted you, too. He wants you, too.

He gave you the chance to sneak into his office and request an immediate closure to the cat-and-mouse chase. He delegated it to you.

And then he took.

Hesitance, clearly, isn’t in his daily vocabulary.

This dance, you don’t know. You’re out of your zone. You don’t know which steps to take without tripping over his toes and disrupting the music.

He’s unmoving inside of you, catching his breath with his lips on your ear.

“Can’t hurt you.” He breathes, and you have to focus to even catch it.

“You won’t,” you whisper, trying a first step. “I’ll tell you if – “

And it’s the wrong one.

He starts again, pulling out and fiercely slamming back in. Your breathing snaps, palm coming down to slap against the mattress, “Fuck!”

It would feel oh, so good, if you were in the right headspace.

He won’t allow you to talk. He’s begging you, in his contorted ways, to let him speak without judgment. Without the fear of knowing he has dropped the mask too low.

This is his time.

You should’ve shut your mouth, for once, and allowed him to speak. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He asked for one thing.

Jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.

You purse your lips in a line and nudge your head against his own, a silent way to prompt him to go on.

I’m sorry. I’m listening.

“You got no idea.” He repeats again, but this time his voice cracks – overwhelmed.

He starts his voracious pace that always steals your breath and fucks your brain into a mush.

“I’ve looked for ya, asked ‘round – no one fucking knew. Got told you were off on deployment, and that’s it.”

Each word is as accusatory and irate as the cock he’s drilling inside of you.

“You weren’t comin’ back. One. Two. Three weeks. No fuckin’ sign of ya.” He thrusts in for each week you’ve gone missing, “I was – “

He stops. Inhales sharply. Hesitates, once again.

“Don’t wanna feel tha’ again – don’t put me through that again.”

Suddenly, you can feel everything at once.

Your body perks up.

Vision, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all filled of him.

And it’s not about sex anymore.

It never has been, but how obvious it is now.

You want to hold his hand, but you decide to leave him space.

The hand-shaped bruise on your arm glares at him like a promise he silently made with himself and failed to keep. You won’t make him feel like he broke a thing, because he hasn’t.

If anything, you’ve never felt more whole in your life.

You and Simon have never gone further than physical. You don't know how to soothe a heart so afraid if it belongs to him. So, you do the only thing you’ve learned that manages to get through to him.

You keen and moan and breathe, allowing tiny praises and sinful curses to leave your lips.

Like that – yeah. Shit.

Yes, yes, yes.

Deeper. Please.

His name – not his callsign, not his rank.

Simon, you croon. Simon, Simon, Simon.

You feel the pressure of his come spurting out, flooding your walls like a dam has broken and crushed. His mouth on your ear won’t allow a single sound to pass, but he’s clearly overly affected – you know, by the way his breath comes. As if he’s clinging to life and has found purchase for survival right on your skin.

You want to kiss him, but you leave the choice up to him. You won’t squirm under the press of his forehead against your temple, but your lips are there for him to taste – moist and plump and ready.

Simon’s lashes flutter against your cheekbone as he regains his bearings. Looks at you. His eyes hint at regret – it’s a fraction of a second that has your stomach knot. But then he squashes it down, when he realizes that you saw nothing wrong in his words.

He kisses your cheek, and then your lips. Thankfulness seeps through.

"Don't hide from me again," he murmurs and gingerly hooks his thumb around your pinky. Not touching you yet, not so close to where you’re already aching.

You curl your finger around his own. “I won’t.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ghost x reader #smut #cod smut #x reader #foxy

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solxamber · 8 months ago

Text

Dragon's Favourite Sacrifice – Trey Clover x reader

Trey finds himself volunteering to be the human sacrifice to you in place of his siblings. What he didn't expect was to become your housekeeper instead of being eaten.

Crossposted from my ao3!

The village doesn’t know how to react when Trey volunteers as a sacrifice. He’s fully prepared for the worst, thinking back on all the horror stories the elders tell about the dragon god—the terrifying, ancient being that can destroy their village with one swipe of a claw. At least, that’s what everyone says.

But it had to be done. The village is on the brink of disaster and their last hope was the dragon god that lived in the mountains. The villagers began to proclaim that this was happening because they forgot to send a sacrifice in recent years. And when the current sacrifice chosen turned out to be one of his younger siblings, Trey had no choice but to volunteer himself.

As he approaches the temple, though, Trey wonders why the place looks like it hasn't been touched in years. Not exactly what you’d expect from a wrathful deity.

Maybe they just don't care about keeping things tidy before eating their next victim?

The inside of the temple is surprisingly cozy, but he doesn't have time to think about it. You, the ancient dragon, make your entrance—or rather, you wander in, yawning, and blink at him like you've just woken up from a really long nap.

“Hey… uh, are you the dragon god?” Trey asks, clutching the bundle of supplies he'd brought along.

You stretch, wings fluttering lazily behind you, before giving him a confused look. "Who else would I be? The village’s lost pet?"

Trey blinks. This is not what he was expecting. He was ready for a quick, brutal end. Maybe some fire and brimstone. Not... this.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “I’m Trey, from the village. They sent me as the sacrifice.”

You squint at him like he's just told you the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. "Sacrifice? They still do that? I haven’t asked for a sacrifice in… decades. I was actually happy to not have my nap interrupted by scared humans. I was going to help with the crisis anyway."

Now it’s Trey's turn to stare. “You… don’t want the sacrifice?”

"Nope." You shrug, completely nonchalant. "You can go back to the village if you want. Or, if you're looking for a change of scenery, the village on the other side of the mountain is kinda nice."

Trey lets out a small sigh, but it’s not exactly relief. “I… can’t. If I go back, they'll think the offering was rejected. My siblings could suffer for it."

You pause, then nod thoughtfully. "Ah, yeah, human politics." You click your tongue. "I hate when that happens. Well, just so you know, the past sacrifices? Yeah, they all ended up in the village on the other side of the mountain."

Trey’s jaw drops. "Wait… what?"

"Yeah." You nod sagely. "They all thought the same thing—'Oh no, the dragon’s gonna eat me'—but I just sent them over there.”

He blinks at you again, trying to absorb all of this information. "So… you don’t actually…?"

"Eat people?" you finish for him, giving him a strange look. "No. That’s gross. Why would I do that?"

Trey's lips twitch upward. A beat of silence passes before Trey clears his throat again. "Mind if I stay, then? I can cook, clean, and—"

You give him a sideways glance, and your eyes light up. "Wait. You cook?"

"Yeah," Trey says, still trying to grasp that he’s negotiating his survival with a dragon.

A slow grin spreads across your face. "Well then, you’re hired. Welcome to dragon duty."

Trey’s not sure whether to laugh or cry at how anticlimactic this has all turned out. He’d prepared himself for noble sacrifice, but instead, he’s somehow signed up for dragon housekeeping duty. With a deep breath, he puts on a smile. "So, uh, what do you want for dinner?"

From that moment on, life with you is… surprisingly comfortable. Trey, ever practical, makes himself useful.

He handles things with the same calm practicality he’d use back in the village, except now, there’s a giant, sometimes snarky dragon looming over him as he goes about his tasks.

He spends his days cooking, tending to the temple’s neglected gardens, and even baking pastries—though you still don’t believe him when he says there’s no oyster sauce in his sweets.

“You’re pulling my tail,” you mutter, eyeing the perfectly innocent-looking cake Trey’s set out in front of you. “I can taste something weird in it.”

Trey just smiles. “Oyster sauce. Definitely.”

You huff, giving up on trying to figure him out, and focus on enjoying your meals and new company instead.

One evening, after a particularly good dinner (with no discernible oyster flavor, much to your disappointment), you glance at Trey lounging by the fireplace. He's been here for a while now, and you find that you're quite enjoying his company. In fact, you're enjoying it a little too much.

"So, you’re not as terrifying as the stories make you out to be," Trey comments one day, setting down a plate of food.

You snort, flipping lazily on your side. "Thanks, I guess. Humans are always so dramatic."

"And the drought?" Trey asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Taken care of," you reply with a smug smile. "Already brought in the rains.”

He nods and settles down next to you, holding a book from the library that you never bothered to visit.

Well, it's now or never. “So,” you begin, almost casually, “I’ve decided.”

“Decided what?” Trey looks up from the book he’s reading.

“That you’ll be my mate.”

He nearly drops the book. “Your... what?”

“My mate.” You stretch your wings, trying to look as imposing as possible—though you’re pretty sure Trey isn’t intimidated by you anymore. “You’re the first human who actually stuck around. And you can cook. That’s mate material.”

Trey is, understandably, at a loss for words. “…You’re serious?”

“Completely.” You flash him that grin again, all teeth and playful confidence. “Unless you’ve got a better offer somewhere else?”

Trey pinches the bridge of his nose, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “No, I think I’ll stick around.”

And just like that, Trey Clover—the supposed human sacrifice—finds himself the mate of a centuries-old dragon. Maybe this wasn’t the fate he expected, but all things considered… it could be worse.

At least the dragon likes his cooking.

Masterlist

#Trey clover x reader #trey x reader #trey clover #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #trey x you #trey clover x you

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levis-poison-is-my-medicine · 4 months ago

Text

Forget Me Not

A Reiner Braun x Reader fanfic

Crossposted from AO3

Reiner accidentally delivers flowers to the wrong person on Valentine's Day... and that person just so happens to be you.

tags: modern AU, flower delivery guy!Reiner, fluff and humor, silly and a bit thirsty, AruAni make an appearance (word count: 3.5k)

(Moodboard) / (AOT Fanfic Masterlist)

The doorbell rang while you were in the shower. You were just going to ignore it, but then it rang again. And again. Clearly, they weren’t gonna give up. You quickly rinsed out the shampoo and jumped out of the shower.

"Coming!" you yelled as you threw on a towel, then sprinted to the door.

You didn’t know what you’d expected. A postman, perhaps, who wanted you to accept a parcel for a neighbor. Maybe a salesperson of some kind. Definitely not this.

A solid wall of fragrant red. Red roses, hundreds of them, taking up the entire space of your doorframe. You stared at the sight, completely and utterly confused.

"Flower delivery!" said the wall of red in a deep, rich voice. Then it moved towards you, the sweet scent enveloping your befuddled senses. "What the—"

"I know, it’s quite big. Would you prefer me to put it somewhere for you?"

A head poked out from behind the roses, and you realized that there was, in fact, a person behind the humongous bouquet of roses thrust out toward you. Quite a good-looking one at that, with warm, golden-brown eyes that were currently fixed at you with a questioning look.

"Um," you said. "Sure. That would be great."

You stepped aside to make room, and watched in baffled silence as the man carried the rosy monstrosity inside, only then realizing the true scale of the thing. Which didn’t help one bit with your confusion.

"Is that table okay?" the man asked.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Just put it wherever."

"Got it," he said, setting the bouquet down with a low grunt. Without the bouquet covering him, you could see that he didn’t just have a handsome face, his frame was attractive too — broad-shouldered and tall. And here you were with your wet, unkempt hair, probably looking like a drowned rat in a towel. This was just your luck. Thankfully, he hadn’t mentioned your rather unconventional outfit. You weren’t sure he’d even noticed it, as he hadn’t looked up once, still busy arranging the bouquet on the table.

"500 red roses," the man said with a grin. "That’s our most expensive order today. And it’s Valentine’s Day, so we get a lot. Someone must love you very much." He finally looked up at you then, his eyes dropping to your towel for a split second before flicking away again, suddenly very preoccupied with picking up the rose petals which had scattered on the table. Great. So much for making a good first impression. You shook your head, trying to cure yourself from the case of hot-guy-itis which had clearly befallen you and threatened to cloud your rational judgment.

Right. Time to look at the facts. It was Valentine’s Day. Hence the flowers. But it still didn’t explain where this abomination was coming from. Or rather, from whom.

"Does it say anywhere who sent it?" you asked.

The man straightened up from where he had crouched on the floor to pick up some more rose petals. He still avoided looking at you.

"I’m not sure. Think I saw a card in there somewhere. Probably says on there." The man scratched his head. "Maybe you have a secret admirer. Or something."

"Maybe," you said, voice filled with doubt.

His eyes darted to your face, and he cleared his throat as if he wanted to say something, but then didn’t, swallowing thickly instead. You could see his Adam‘s apple move in his throat, your eyes suddenly drawn to the neckline of his green uniform shirt. The first button was undone. You couldn’t stop staring. The hollow of his neck, the surrounding muscles working as he looked down to took out his phone…

"Oh. I almost forgot. Still need a signature for the delivery." Your gaze snapped back up at his words, and you could feel your face flush with heat, like you‘d just been caught doing something forbidden.

He took a step closer, then stopped, awkwardly extending the phone to you from a distance. You took it and quickly scribbled your signature with your finger. God, this was embarrassing.

"Thanks," he said, taking the phone back. When he looked back at the screen, his eyes widened.

"Shit, I’m late for the next delivery. I should go. Sorry about the mess." He sheepishly gestured at the rose petals still scattered on the apartment floor.

"Oh, that’s okay. I’ll clean it up later. After I finish my shower." You smiled, still embarrassed.

"Yeah. Have fun," he muttered, his voice a little hoarse, before practically bolting out of the apartment.

You blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you'd been holding.

"What the hell," you murmured, pressing a hand to your heart. It was beating fast against your fingertips, skipping like a broken record. What were you, a teenager? It had been a while since you’d had such a strong, visceral reaction to a guy. And, of course, the one time you did, you were half naked, and he was delivering you flowers from another guy. Great, just great. And you still had no idea who they could be from.

"Please, anyone but Floch," you mumbled, shuddering at the thought of your pushy coworker.

He’d asked you out as many times as you’d turned him down, but for some reason, he still didn’t get the message, forcing you to repeat it time and time again — a Sisyphean task with no end in sight.

You made your way over to the bouquet to check for the card, finding it hidden at the bottom of the arrangement, tied to the binding paper with a silky red ribbon.

It was made from thick, marbled paper, and the front simply read: you are my sun — beautiful and bright. I revolve around you.

You snorted. So corny. But as you flipped it over to read the rest, your grin faded, giving way to a frown.

Dear Annie, Please accept this bouquet as a symbol of my love for you — 512 roses, one for each wonderful day we’ve been together. Each petal represents a moment of joy, love and tenderness you’ve brought into my life. Someday, I hope, these precious moments will add up to be so many, these days with you become so countless that it’ll be impossible to represent them with roses or gestures or anything else. Even words might not be enough then. But I’ll never stop trying. Forever yours (if you’ll have me), Armin

This bouquet wasn’t for you at all.

You stared in horror at the moments of joy, love and tenderness scattered all over your floor, when it should have been Annie’s. Whoever this Annie was, she likely wouldn’t be happy to know that this heartfelt message had been passed on to somebody else. And Armin, well… You could just tell that he would be completely and utterly devastated by this turn of events. Clearly, he had put a lot of thought into this. And money. If you didn’t do something about this, his hopelessly enamored heart would probably break into tiny little pieces — 512 pieces to be exact, one for every rose paid for but not delivered.

You cursed under your breath, pulled your towel tight, and dashed out onto the street, frantically checking left and right for any signs of the flower delivery guy. But he was nowhere to be seen. No vans, either. You went so far as to check the parked cars at the side of the road, a final act of desperation. But to no avail. He was already gone.

"Shit," you muttered. An old lady walking her dog wrinkled her nose at you. She pulled at the poodle’s leash, making it clear that she deemed you bad company for the dog who had happily run up to you, oblivious to her judgment. You crouched down to pet him out of spite.

What now? As you got up and walked back to your apartment, you contemplated your options. You could call the flower shop and tell them it had been delivered to the wrong address. Only, that might get the cute delivery guy into a lot of trouble. After all, it was the most expensive order of the day, as he'd told you himself, though you didn't know exactly how much that amounted to.

A quick Google search make you gasp. 500 red roses – that was over 2000 bucks. He would lose his job, for sure.

But if you didn't call them, an inconsolable Armin certainly would. Either way, Cute Delivery Guy would be screwed. You couldn't let that happen. You'd just have to lie and make up some excuse.

As you dialed the number of Liberio flower shop, the name of which had been tastefully emblazoned on the card, your phone almost slipped out of your sweaty palms. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should stay out of this and leave this up to fate. It had nothing to do with you after all – so what if Armin's and Annie's Valentine's Day was about to be ruined, derailing Armin from his joyous orbit around his bright sun and potentially ending their 512 days of blissful unity. So what if Cute Delivery Guy lost his job, turning him simply into a Cute Guy. He might not be able to pay his bills anymore, but at least he wouldn't have to wear that awful green uniform shirt. (Though on him, it had looked awfully good. Illegally so.)

Who were you to go up against fate? But before you could get yourself into a philosophical debate about determinism and the existence of free will, a woman's voice spoke on the other side of the line.

"This is Liberio flower shop, Pieck Finger speaking. How can I help you?"

You froze, your mouth completely dry.

"Hello?" Pieck repeated.

"Hello. I'm, um... Annie. And I have a question. A bouquet of roses has just been delivered to me, and I was wondering…" You swallowed. "I was wondering whether there was a way of contacting the deliveryman?"

There was a pause on the other side of the line. "May I ask why you'd like to contact the delivery driver? Was there a problem with the order?"

"No!" you exclaimed, your voice high. You cleared your throat. "I mean… No. Everything was fine with the order. More than fine actually. It was perfect. It's just…" You tapped your chin, trying to think of an excuse. You should've thought this through beforehand.

There was a sigh on the other end. "If you're trying to get Reiner's number, I'll have to disappoint you. We don't divulge the personal information of our employ–"

"That's not what this is!" you interrupted, mortified. "It's just that he forgot something here. If you could get in touch with him, he could stop by and get it. While he's still in the area, you know? " You held your breath as you waited for an answer.

Another sigh. "Now that, I can believe. If his head weren't screwed on... Well. You get the idea. Was it his cap again?"

"His cap? Yes. The cap. He left it here." You weren't even sure he'd been wearing a cap at all, but you were grateful for the suggestion.

"A true classic. I always tell him to just keep it on, but he insists it's rude to wear hats inside." You could almost hear the eye-roll. "Anyway, I'll give him a call. He should be there soon to pick it up. I'm sorry for all the trouble."

"It's nothing. Thank you!"

You hung up quickly and tossed your phone onto the table, a huge grin spreading over your face. Fate had been fought successfully. Jobs would be kept and orbits would be maintained. You'd even found out Cute Delivery Guy's name. Reiner. Reiner, who was well-meaning but scatterbrained, forgetting caps and wrongly delivering orders. Reiner, who was probably the cutest flower delivery guy to have ever graced this earth. Giggling, you broke into a little victory dance. Your towel fell to the floor with a soft thud. Oops. Better finish that shower before he came back.

– –

When the doorbell rang this time, you were prepared. For one, you were actually sporting more than just a towel, having opted for a cute outfit that suited you well without seeming too dressed up. You'd also dried your hair and put on some light makeup, keeping it casual. No need for coming on too strong. After that rather dismal first impression, you were determined to at least make the second one good.

You got the door with a smile. And there he was – still cute, even in that grass-green uniform, the shirt hugging his chest in a way that brought out his toned form underneath. You forced your eyes upwards to his face again, where you were met by his golden-warm gaze.

"Hi," you greeted him, already feeling your heartbeat speed up.

"Hi," he said, a little hesitant. "The flower shop gave me a call. Said something about me forgetting something here?" He twisted something in his hands, something green. A cap.

"Yeah… about that." You rubbed your temple. "Sorry about the confusion. You didn't actually leave anything here. I just needed a pretense to get you back here."

"To get me back here?" Reiner raised an eyebrow at you.

You flushed a bit. Could have phrased that differently. "Um, yeah. I didn't want you to get into trouble but… you got the order wrong. That bouquet isn't for me."

His eyes widened. "Shit. Are you sure?"

"Yep. That card was by a certain Armin, thanking me for our 512 wonderful days days together. Think I would've noticed if I had a boyfriend, let alone for that long."

"Oh." Reiner huffed out a laugh. "Guess I got the address wrong. Let me check." He took out his phone, eyebrows drawn together in confusion as he looked at the screen.

"Shit. You're right. Mix-up with the numbers." He scrubbed a hand up through the back of his hair, shooting you a sheepish grin. "Man, I'm such an idiot. Thanks for covering for me, you really saved my ass here. And sorry for the trouble."

"It's fine. Besides, I couldn't let Armin's efforts be in vain. His beloved Annie deserves to witness this grand gesture of romantic sentiment while the roses are still red on this fine Valentine's Day." You gave him a wink.

His grin widened. "Quite the lovebirds, huh. I see you've already grown attached to them."

"Yeah. It's strange, but after reading Armin's heartfelt message to his sweetheart, I couldn't help but become invested. The flowers may be a bit over the top, but the sentiment behind it feels genuine. It was kind of adorable, actually." You smiled at the memory of the cheesy card.

"And I almost ruined it for them," he groaned. "Maybe I should start working as a reverse Cupid. Reiner Braun – destroyer of love and happiness."

You stifled a laugh. "I wouldn't go quite so far. You're here, aren't you? Just in time to save the day."

Reiner nodded. "Yeah, and I should probably get to it. Better late than never, right?" He took a step forward, then hesitated.

You motioned for him to enter. "Come in. I'm y/n, by the way."

"Thanks. I'm Reiner." He brushed past you through the narrow doorway, his arm touching yours for just a split second, but the warmth of it was enough to make your heart flutter. You really were down bad for him.

"I know," you said, trying to shrug off the butterflies swishing around in your stomach. "Already heard of you. Reiner Braun – almost-destroyer of love and forgetter of caps. Quite the reputation you've got there."

He chuckled – a low, rumbly sound at the back of his throat. "You don't have to rub it in, you know."

You pursed your lips. "But it's so much fun."

"Glad to know at least someone's having fun today." But his eyes betrayed his words, shining with amusement.

He walked over to the table where the rosy display of affection was already waiting for him, the card neatly tucked away again at the bottom. You'd tried to move it back to the door earlier, but the thing had hardly budged at all.

Reiner, on the other hand, lifted it effortlessly, the biceps of his arms flexing noticeably underneath his shirt as he carried the massive bouquet towards the door. You swallowed, finding it hard not to stare.

He stopped in the doorway, his face hidden behind the roses. But you could hear the smile in his voice as he said, "Thanks again. I owe you."

Then he was gone.

You looked after him, a little wistful. Should've asked for his number. But as you made to close the door, something green caught your eye – a cap, hanging from the door handle. You smiled. It was the same color as his uniform, with Liberio flower shop embroidered in yellow thread on the front.

Had he left it on purpose? You shook your head, trying to shake off your delusions. He'd probably put it there earlier, when he needed his hands to check the address on his phone, and promptly forgot all about it. Oh well. You didn't mind, if it meant you'd see him again.

– –

The doorbell rang while you were taking a nap on the couch, ripping you from your peaceful slumber. For a moment, you were thoroughly disoriented. You squinted at your phone, trying to find the button to turn off the nonexistent alarm. Then the doorbell rang again. With a raspy groan, you rolled off the couch and stumbled over to the door.

"Flower delivery!" a familiar voice called out as you opened the door.

You blinked at the man in front of you, eyes still blurry with sleep. "Reiner?"

Your eyes fell to the flowers in his hands, a jumble of pink, white and yellow,

extended toward you with a lopsided grin.

"Very funny. You're probably here for your cap?" It had been almost a week since Valentine's Day, and you'd begun to think he'd never show up to collect it.

"My cap?" Reiner asked, a little perplexed. "Oh yeah. That, too, I guess. But it's not really why I came." He glanced down at the flowers still held out to you. "Actually…" He trailed off. "These are for you. To say thanks, and also sorry for the trouble. And for giving you flowers only to take them away again. That was pretty crummy of me, actually."

He shifted his weight, still not looking at you. Your heart melted.

"Oh, that's so thoughtful of you! They're so pretty, thank you!"

You gently took the bouquet from his fingers, holding them up to your nose to take in the smell. "Mm-hmm, they smell heavenly."

"I'm glad you like them," Reiner said, his face breaking into a wide grin. "To be honest, I kinda arranged them myself. Though I'm no florist or anything. But I asked which flowers meant what, and kinda went from there."

"Really?" you asked, taking in the eclectic selection of flowers in the bouquet. It looked a bit chaotic, but the fact he had arranged them himself made it so cute you could explode. "What do they mean?"

"Yellow tulips signify gratitude. Just like the peach roses." He pointed at the lighter shade of the two kinds of roses in the bouquet. "The pink carnations are for apologies. The white tulips too, and apparently they also symbolize new starts. Thought that was fitting. And the pink roses symbolize…" He cleared his throat. "Do you maybe wanna get coffee sometime?"

You bit back a smile. "That's… oddly specific. I had no idea pink roses could mean that. But I'd love to."

"Great, I know a good place." Reiner grinned. "And they definitely mean that. You should take my word for it. I'm fluent in flower language, you know?"

"Sure you are," you said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's true."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really. Tell me, then – what's the appropriate flower for when you want someone to remember to take their cap with them this time?"

Reiner smirked, eyes gleaming with a smug confidence. "Easy. Forget-me-nots."

You broke into laughter. "Oh, that's actually perfect. That should be your flower. I'll give you some next time, as a memory booster."

He shook his head, clicking his tongue in mock offense. "Now that's just rude. I'll have you know that I actually have a good memory. I'm just sometimes a bit… distracted."

"Distracted, huh? If that's what you want to call it."

But as you looked up at him, your teasing grin faded into a genuine smile. However much you might poke fun at him about it, you were secretly grateful that he was like that. After all, it had brought him to your doorstep. Now you just needed to invite him in.

A/n: And this ends my silly little fic for the Valentine's Day prompt of @fromriches-tosin's cute AOT bingo <3 It's the first story I did for Reiner, and I'm thinking about maybe doing more for him in the future (he's actually one of my favorite characters.) Let me know what you think!

Credit: The cute forget-me-not divider is by @saradika-graphics!

Tag list: @nironasaran, @shakysif

If you'd like to be tagged for future works, follow this link to join my tag list (or send me a DM). See you <3

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #aot #attack on titan #reiner braun fluff #snk #shingeki no kyojin #reiner #reiner aot #reiner x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun x y/n #reiner x you #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #aotbingo2025 #aruani

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concreteburialplot · 1 year ago

Text

Banana Spa

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x fem!reader

masterlist: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 9.6k

summary: you decide to treat your boyfriend to an at home spa day before he leaves for tour again :)

warnings/themes: established relationship, sugary sweet fluff ???¿ who am i??¿, briefly sad??, light sub/dom dynamics, soft dom nick, sub reader, massage, praise kink?, pet names sorry not sorry, bathtub sex, use of a shower head, v fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, orgasm delay, pnv (unprotected), riding, semi-realistic? aftercare, caregiver nick, MUSHY SORRY, again nick has a big fat one, don’t think too hard about the logistics ok, 18+ MDNI

a/n; this originally began as a nice short fluffy piece but... alas, the sad and horny demons took hostage 😅 it's just who i am okay 😭 only sad for a bit though! kinda

a/n: don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

You stamped a knee at each side of Nick’s sides, settling yourself in his lap. His hands instinctively found your hips to have something to anchor to.

“Alright babe you gotta cooperate with me, okay?” You giggled, taking his cheeks in your hands.

He blinked up at you with his aqua eyes gleaming, so enamored with you to even care what you were doing in his lap, simply happy that you were there.

You began brushing hair out of his face and gathering it into a low, untethered bun to expose the entirety of his features. He was beautiful, nothing new to you of course, but at times like then, you couldn’t help but be awe-struck of him. He was yours and you were his.

You reached over to the table beside you to pick up some toner and soaking a cotton round with the liquid. You took it to his face, starting at his cheekbones. He hissed at the coldness of it against his warm skin.

“This smells so… chemically, are you sure it’s safe?” He asked as a half-joke and with a slightly nervous chuckle.

“Very sure my love.” A reassuring grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “You think I would put harmful chemicals on your pretty face?” You swiped the cotton round down his nose and used it to boop the tip.

A barely visible peach coated his cheeks, if you hadn’t been so close to him, you would’ve missed it.

“I don’t know, maybe you wanna scorch my face off so the fans stop liking me.” A playful smirk draped over lips.

You rolled your eyes and squeezed his cheeks between your fingers, tilting his face upwards to meet your gaze. “Oh honey,” You cooed playfully. “The fans would simp over you even if your nose fell off.”

A true laugh rumbled through his chest and tumbled out of his lips. “Yeah, whatever.” He brushed off the statement as if you just told him the sky was green. “What’s next?” He inquired genuinely, letting his eyes drop back to your arsenal on the table.

“Hmm…” You peered over behind you and tapped your fingertips on your chin. “Oh! Yes, I forgot I got this for you!”

Your fingers plucked a small yellow glass vile. You twisted the lid and squeezed the rubber part between two fingers then released it to let the pipette fill completely.

“Let me know if this smell reminds you of anything.” You slowly and carefully slid the tip of the glass pipette across his cheek, disposing serum along the way.

His nostrils flared and restricted in short consecutive spurts trying to let the aroma fill his nose entirely. His brows knitted for just a second as he processed the smell before his eyes grew sparkly and excited. “Banana?” He asked with hesitancy still lining his words, regardless of the indistinguishable scent.

You giggled and love filled your entire chest at his adorable reaction. “I knew you’d love it.” You sighed happily and utterly love drunk.

“Hm, I love you.” He countered, admiring the pointed, concentrated face you wore as you focused on rubbing in the product. “That stuff’s made from bananas?”

“I love you too baby.” You smiled and leaned down to gently grab his face again, this time to bring your lips to his. A smile curled onto his lips against yours, sweetening the kiss. You couldn’t help but mirror the grin and savor the adoration. “Hm, I think banana enzymes or something? I don’t really know.”

You straightened back up in his lap again, using your curled index finger to tilt his chin up and swivel his face from one side to the other analyzing his skin.

“Admiring your work?” He laughed, feeling a little silly and a little insecure from being studied so closely.

“Just trying to see if you have any spots that need a little extra attention.” You hummed. “But surprise, surprise the man that only uses face wash has perfect skin.”

His chest puffed out a little involuntarily, as if you just invigorated him with newfound confidence after being so foolishly insecure. “Well, would you look at that.” He smirked.

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved him off jokingly before reaching to pick up a thin packet from the table. “Still gonna make you do a face mask though.”

He groaned, “No, no not the clay stuff again.” He winced at the memory of the chalky mud you had once put on him that somehow ended up all over his hair…and eyebrows, and ears, and fingernails, and ʘ necklace, and his favorite Paul Rudd Fanclub shirt.

The Great Face Mask Incident of 2023™️

You couldn’t help but laugh at the same memory. “No, no. I would never put you through that again.”

Nick let out a relieved sigh as if he had just gone through some war flashbacks. “Thank god.”

“No, I think you’ll quite like this one.” You pressed your lips together to not give away just excited you were to show him the mask you had in store for him.

You carefully pulled the folded sheet mask from the packet, letting any excess drip back into the pouch before setting it to the side. You then began delicately unfolding the thin fabric of the mask. Nick’s brows knitted together, and his head cocked to the side slightly like a confused puppy as he tried to gather what sort of potential torture device you were preparing for him. Finally, you unveiled the round sheet with the likeness of a cartoon tuxedo cat.

His silver eyes lit up the second he realized. “It’s Jerry!” It melted your heart at just how wide his smile got, all toothy and reaching his eyes.

You giggled and nodded, “It sure looks a lot like him, doesn’t it?”

Once you were able to keep him from wiggling around, you put the mask on, tugging it here and there to get it taut and symmetrical.

“There, now you look just like your son!” You chuckled behind your hand, looking at how adorably ridiculous your boyfriend looked.

He smirked as much as could beneath the mask, “Yeah where do you think he got his good looks from?”

You rolled your eyes and gently smacked his arm but there was no malice behind either action, “At least Jerry has humility.”

He gazed up at you with a small, sweet smile painted on his lips and love coating the soft curves of his features. “Yeah, that he got from you.” He said casually, like it rolled off his tongue without even thinking twice about it.

Your heart swelled so big in your chest that it was threatening to breach your ribcage. Nicholas had Jerry long before you entered the picture but since getting together a little over a year ago, Jerry had become your biggest fan. Since day 1 he followed you around everywhere and if you were resting on any surface, he was there to claim you as his temporary bed. In your time together Nick had never once even joked about you being Jerry’s other fur-parent. It was a small frivolous thing, but you knew the weight it held. You didn’t know if he had just said it without realizing or if he truly meant it, but in your heart, you were choosing to believe the latter. Either way you opted out of making a big deal about it.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” You gasped at your own brain urgently reminding you of a crucial step. You nearly leapt off him and bolted to the kitchen. Within seconds the project at hand was executed and ready for placement.

You scurried back over to him, this time standing behind his seat on the couch. “Alright, close your eyes and tilt your head back.”

“You got it boss.” He teased and did as you asked. It made you wonder just how much he’d cooperate with taking other orders – but that was a daydream for a much different day. “Cucumbers?”

“Somethin’ like that.” You held back a giggle and placed two banana slices over each closed eyelid. “Okay, all done!”

His nose scrunched up towards the objects on his eyes, “Bananas?!”

You finally let out the laugh you’d been holding back and placed a kiss atop his head. “Now you got all your favorite stuff, cats and bananas!” You circled around his seat and climbed into his lap again.

“And you.” He smiled softly while his callused hands instinctively found your hips again.

Your cheeks heated up and your stomach filled with butterflies. No matter how silly he looked, he could always get you to melt in his hands. “Oh, shut up.”

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” He asked.

Your grin faltered a bit at his question, and you paused to think about your answer. You let your hand fall gently just below his neck, sliding down slowly while your fingers softly laced beneath the silver chain of his necklace. You let the thorny pendant rest on your fingers as you admired it. As much as you hated the calm before the storm and selfishly despised the reason for it, you knew it’s what you signed up for and what brought him the most joy. Your thumb ran over the thorny crown, grateful for the amount of time you’d been able to spend with him during this break. This was maybe your 3rd or 4th run at him leaving for tour and while you could tell that it was getting easier, it was extremely slow progress. It seemed as though each time felt like the first time all over again. Your eyes fluttered closed in a feeble attempt to tame the burning in your eyes and the tears threatening to appear. You took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in your throat knowing that letting him see you like that would not only ruin the moment but make him feel guiltier than he already did, which was exactly the opposite of what the activity meant to accomplish.

“Baby?” He pressed after you’d gone silent for a bit.

You cleared your throat and blinked the tears away, forcing a smile onto your face so that it could be heard in your words. “Sorry love,” You wrapped your hand around the pendant just hard enough that the thorns stabbed into your palm, perhaps hoping that the pain could force the ache away, or maybe in hopes that if you stamped yourself hard enough with him, he could always stay with you. “Just got distracted. What did you ask?”

“I asked why we’re doing this? I feel really silly right now.” He laughed, though a little less bright than before. You hoped that he hadn’t picked up on your energy shift.

“Oh, um,” You looked down and released the hold on his necklace, letting your palms rest on his chest. “Just wanted to pamper you a little, before you have to go work so hard.” You tried your best to keep your voice light, but the sadness in your voice was unmistakable, at least to Nicholas.

His smile fell into a small frown, and it made you wish you had just lied, but you were never much of a good liar, especially not to him. He reached up pulling the banana slices off his eyes and placing them on a paper towel on the table. Somehow, he looked even goofier with the bananas off his eyes.

You suddenly felt flushed under his gaze – regardless of the cat mask still adorning his face. It was unclear whether it was the normal affect he had on you that was making you blush, or rather the vulnerability he’d caught you in.

“Baby,” He let out a sad sigh, “Is that what this is about?” His hands moved up to envelope your hips again, rubbing small comforting circles into the flesh beneath your shirt.

You shook your head vehemently, “No, no, I’m just tryin’ to spoil you honey, you deserve it.” You tried for a smile but couldn’t quite reach.

It was clear in his eyes that he wasn’t buying it. “Oh, let me get this cursed thing off of me.” He said, his hands already going to peel up the edges of the sheet mask but failing miserably.

A grin did pull at your lips watching him struggle and decided to take over. “Here, let me do it.” You laughed, gently swatting his hands away and pulling it off yourself and setting it on the table next to the forgotten bananas. “For someone who’s so good with his fingers, that sure was hard for you, huh?” You teased, attempting to deflect from the seriousness you’d just caused. All you wanted to do was go back to the soft, happy bubble you’d created before.

His inked hand trailed up your body to cup your cheek. “I’m gonna miss you so much, you know that right?”

You rolled your eyes trying your best to hold up your strong exterior, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to talk about it, okay?” It took every bit of energy you had to yank each edge of your lips into a smile.

“Hey, don’t do that.” He frowned. “Maybe I wanna talk about it?”

“But you dooon’t though.” You whined, pressing on his chest slightly. “We were having a good time and I ruined it.” You whispered. Your eyes fluttered down to where your hands met his abdomen, faintly crinkling his faded Slipknot shirt between your fingers.

“Hey.” His hand found your chin and tilted it back up to face him once more. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He reassured the obvious.

“I know.” You mumbled and found your eyes dropping once again, not bearing the strength to look at him for too long. “I know what I signed up for. I know that it’s part of loving you.” Your hand rediscovered his necklace, flipping it between your fingers for comfort.

“Just because it’s part of the deal, doesn’t mean it’s not hard, y/n.” His voice was more firm that time, trying to cement the severity of his words.

“I know.” You groaned, frustrated that he wouldn’t just drop it.

He sighed, “I’m just saying it’s okay to be upset about it. And it’s okay to talk to me about it.” His thumb grazed over your cheekbone, enticing you to look at him. “We’re a team, remember?”

You released a long exhale finally relaxing a bit under his touch. “I know, Nicky, I know. I just didn’t want you to feel guilty and,” Your hand went up to wrap around his wrist and your eyes darted somewhere far away from him. “I didn’t want you to think that I can’t handle it.” Before he could respond your fingers gripped his wrist harder and the burning in your eyes returned. “I can handle it, I can.”

The crack in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by the male and all he wanted to do was scoop you up in his arms, but he knew better than to smother you when you were that emotional. “I know you can baby.” He said gently, using his thumb to wipe away a tear that was on the verge of escape. “I never questioned that. And if I ever do, then we’ll work through it,” He gently tapped the side of his thumb on your cheek to bring your attention back to him. “Together. Okay?”

You nodded against his palm, nuzzling into his touch. “Together.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiled and pulled you down into a sweet kiss.

You pressed your forehead against his gazing into his eyes, tonight they were particularly grey. “You’re too good to me.” You said so quietly that if he wasn’t nose-to-nose to you, he wouldn’t have heard it.

He shook his head as much as he could without disturbing the moment, “No, I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not tr-“ You began but were quickly interrupted by his lips on yours again.

“Ah, ah.” He hummed once he pulled away, “I won’t be taking any back talk.”

Your cheeks burned bright cherry red that time, no amount of makeup could conceal it. Even though his words were light, you knew he wasn’t joking. Nicholas was an expert at imbedding dominance in featherlight touches and sweet nothings.

“Yes sir.” You replied instinctively.

The energy spiraled between you two had shifted from silly to emotional, to something entirely different now. His hands trailed up your sides beneath your shirt to rest both on your lower back.

“C’mon, you took such good care of me, now it’s your turn.” Without giving you any warning he scooped you up. You squeaked at the sudden action but instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

“Where are you taking meeee.”

“Well, we’re having a spa day, aren’t we? What’s a spa day without a bubble bath?”

You melted into him, loving the idea of a warm bath accompanied by him.

Nick began drawing the bath making sure to add all your favorite additives as you stood patiently waiting instruction. Once he was satisfied with the way the tub was filling, he sat on the edge and beckoned you over. “Come here angel.”

Your cheeks flushed with warmth at the name, taking a couple steps to stand between his legs. He began tenderly undressing you until you were completely bare in front of him.

He wasn’t shy with the way his eyes wandered down your body. “God you’re beautiful.” His words riding an infatuated exhale.

The strawberry pink already present on your cheeks only worsened. “Shush.” You wave off his compliment and used your arm to cover your chest.

He stood and took your chin between his index and thumb tilting your gaze up at him. “I won’t ever stop reminding you of how stunning you are.”

You shook your head out of his grasp. “Shut up Nicholas.” You said shyly.

He took your cheek in his grasp instead this time, getting more control of you. “What’s wrong baby? Am I getting you all flustered?”

You were sure your face was beet red now. “C’mon Nicky, stop messin’ around, the bath is getting cold.”

A satisfied smirk tugged one edge of his lips, finding amusement and pride in your blatant embarrassment. “As you wish princess.” He began to undress himself until he was matching your nude attire.

Your eyes did the same as his did earlier and raked down his body, lean and inked on almost every bit of him. You’d been with him for over a year and you still managed to find new tattoos on him that you’d never seen before. His body was a spectacular and endlessly interesting museum only you had the key to.

He didn’t wait for you and stepped over the porcelain into the large oval tub, letting his body sink down into the steaming water. Almost instantly your exquisite museum was engulfed in mountains of bubbles. “Well, you comin’? You were the one complaining about water ‘getting cold’.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes and cautiously dipped your toe into the water. You hissed and recoiled at the scalding temperature. “Fuck that’s hot.”

Nicholas chuckled at your reaction, “Still think it’s getting cold?”

“Shut up.” You mutter.

“Just take it slow baby, let your body get acclimated to the water.” He sounded patient but his eyes didn’t match – the longer you were under his gaze, the more you felt like an animal of prey being stalked.

After a bit of time getting your lower body get used to the water you were finally able to sink down between his legs and rest your back against his chest. A small sigh of relief left your lips at the feeling of soothing comfort with him. No matter the problem or hindrance, Nick always made everything okay. He made you feel safe and taken care of in a way you’d never felt before. Getting that feeling from a rockstar who’s constantly touring wasn’t something you ever imagined possible, but somehow, it was with him. It took a while for him to earn your trust, especially at the very beginning, the first time he toured just a month or two after making things official. But he made sure to prove his faithfulness in a multitude of ways – from sharing his location to sending pictures and videos frequently to even sending you flowers or other small gifts to let you know he was thinking of you. Life with Nicholas wasn’t perfect, but it was a dream.

His fingers first found your shoulders, digging his thumbs into the wound-up tense muscles at the base of your neck.

“Mmm.” You hummed at the sensation and leaned further back against him. “That feels so good baby.”

“Yeah?” He asked, kissing the side of your head.

“Mhm.” Your eyes fluttered shut as you sank a little further into the water.

He spent some time working through the knots in your neck and shoulders. Wherever he pressed his fingertips felt like he was releasing a world of tension.

“That’s it, just relax.” His hands drifted down past your shoulders and onto your sides, using his thumb to rub circles into the muscles of your back - as best he could in your position anyway.

As his hands trailed lower you felt a flutter fill your tummy and settle in your core. You didn’t even realize you were squirming until his hands found and gripped your hips hard. “Stay still.” He ordered quietly just below your ear.

A shiver ran through you at his gravelly voice stealing the air in your throat. You did as he said, as much as you could, and hoped it’d be good enough for him. His fingertips lowered, beginning to run up and down the curves of your hip bones. The close proximity of his fingers to your core was starting to make you dizzy. You sucked in a harsh breath when his hands traveled further down to massage your thighs. His fingers were diligent and determined with their placement and tempo, using his thumb to rub tight circles into the flesh of your upper inner thigh. There’s no way he couldn’t feel you nearly vibrating under his touch, and you had to restrain yourself from grabbing his hand to put him where you needed him the most.

You felt his lips curl into a sinister smile against your neck. “What’s wrong princess?” He asked condescendingly. “Am I not helping you relax?”

“No, no. You are.” You almost stutter out, trying to sound as confident as possible.

“Hm.” He hummed, gliding his fingers up the inner side of your thigh. “I wonder… what you do when you get all wound up like this when I’m away?” There was an edge to his question that erased any indication of genuine curiosity.

Your eyes widened at the question and your mind went fuzzy blank. “Well…I…um.” Was all you could get out, pathetically.

“Oh, c’mon baby.” He lowered himself to just below your ear. “Use your words for me. Tell me what you do.”

Your heart felt like it was colliding against your ribcage incessantly while simultaneously pooling your rampant pulse in your clit. “I-I,” You took a breath in a feeble attempt to steady your breathing. “I touch myself.” You blurted out, knowing it was both the truth and what he wanted to hear.

You didn’t need to look at him to know how wide and proud his smirk was.

“Good girl.” He hummed. “Why don’t you show me where you do that?”

Your eyes widened once again, this time swallowing all the saliva available in your mouth. Hesitantly, you reached out beneath the water and took hold of his wrist, bringing it between your legs. “Here.”

He used his hand to slowly cover and cup your core before carefully running his fingers through you. You wanted to whine at the small sensation but knew how pathetic you’d sound. “Thank you for showing me baby.” He acknowledged your obedience. “But I want you to show me exactly what you do.”

You’d show him anything at that point to keep his fingers on you, so you nodded and covered his hand with your own. You guided him to your clit that was buzzing and begging for his attention. Your middle and ring fingers pressed into his and prompted them to start moving in circular motions.

“Mmm.” He pressed a kiss to your neck before nipping at the skin like a predator taste-tasting his meal. “That feels good doesn’t it?”

Your head lulled itself on his shoulder, already getting lost in the pleasure blooming at his fingertips. “Mhm.” You mumbled with drooping eyelids.

He took control of the movements almost instantly, starting a display of one of his many talents. He let you savor his actions for a bit, knowing that the further gone you were, the more pliable you’d be in his hands. “Is this all you do baby? Or is there somewhere else you touch?” He asked already knowing the answer, just wanting you to say it.

His plan worked, as it always did, and you were nothing but an obedient ragdoll for him now. Every cell in your body wanted to bend to him – he had magic in his touch, you were completely certain of it.

Without any verbal response you just guided his working hand down to your entrance. That’s all the convincing he needed and carefully slipped two fingers into you. He let out a small, low groan the feeling of how tight you were around his fingers. You could feel his already hardening cock throb against your lower back. The sensation of his member against your skin while he was using his fingers to fuck you was bittersweet because now all you wanted was his cock filling you up instead.

“God you’re so fucking tight.” He nearly growled against your throat. “I’m gonna miss burying myself in your pretty cunt.”

You felt like you could disintegrate into thin air from how good you felt – yeah, his fingers working magic was one thing, but his words melted you completely. Being complimented and wanted, no – needed – by him was a high that no orgasm could ever touch.

“I need your cock, Nicky please.” You whined without caring how desperate you sounded. “Please, I need you.”

“Oh bunny, you know better than to rush me.” He tsked before moving to do something you didn’t expect. He kept his one hand fucking his fingers in and out of you rhythmically while curling in ever so slightly but brought the other back down on your throbbing clit.

A gasp left your mouth as he effortlessly used both hands to fuck you in the most delicious way. You had already been close just from his fingers curling right into your sensitive spot but now with his fingers rolling against your nub you were seconds from oblivion.

“Fuck.” You spat out urgently. “Fuck, fuck, I’m close – s-so fucking close.” You whimpered out, squeezing your eyes closed trying to keep from coming undone before you were allowed. “Fuck baby, please let me cum. Please can I cum?”

All he did was hum an “mhm” against your neck before you were seeing stars. Tingles seared across your body and your walls pulsed around his fingers.

“That’s it, cum all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

The praise only intensified the orgasm, causing your back to arch from him. Your face lulled into the crevice of his neck letting him vividly hear all the noises you were making for him. Nick loved your noises as much as you loved his words – he made a mental note to record you next time so he could have something on the road. He could get off on the sound of you alone.

He gently pulled his fingers from you and slowly tapered his action on your clit, but not completely. He retained an agonizingly slow pace on your now overly sensitive nub. He kept the pace slow enough so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for long until you started to feel good again.

You felt him reaching beside you for something but were too fucked out to pay attention. “Tell me baby, have you ever used this to help relax?” His voice was buttery smooth like blue suede.

Your brows furrowed above your closed eyelids, wondering what he was referencing. When you blinked your eyes open, they rounded to see him holding the detachable showerhead and was suddenly grateful for the extra-long cord you’d opted for. You shook your head and answered honestly. “No.” You’d always been curious but never actually tried.

Nicholas was an expert at knowing when you were lying so he believed you. “Here.” He tenderly scooped up your hand, cupping it in his own like a spoon. With a flick of his other thumb on the showerhead, a crazed stream of patterned water jutted from it. He brought it to the hand he was holding and let the stream hit your palm. “Is that too strong?” He questioned genuinely wanting to know your comfort level.

As much as the strength of the water inspired some more flurries in your core, you nodded shyly. “Too strong.” It was typical for your responses to become minimal once you entered any level of subspace. Having that amount of trust to even fall into that headspace was a luxury you only ever found with Nick. Trusting him was easier than you’d like to admit, it came as naturally as breathing air into your lungs.

“Okay.” His thumb spun the filter onto another setting. “How about this one?” He questioned even though he figured it would be a no since it was thin streams of water lining an empty tunnel.

That one made you giggle and shake your head since it obviously wouldn’t provide much pressure. Nick smiled at your adorable giggle, filling his chest with so much warmth and love, he had no idea what to do with it all. He pressed a kiss to your head before flipping to another setting.

A perfectly tempered stream danced in your palm – not too strong, not too weak, and the jet pattern was an enticing rhythm. You bit down on your bottom lip and nodded. “Good.”

Nick’s free hand found your tummy, pressing it flat against your stomach and slid down painfully slow between your legs. Your breath caught in your throat at the anticipation of his touch. He tenderly spread your legs further apart before using his fingers to spread your lips apart, baring you open so that the jet stream of water could land precisely where it was needed.

“Now sweetheart,” He began. “You were so good for me. You did as I asked, you used your words, you asked for permission.” He lowered the shower head into the water, and you felt the jet stream hit your thigh. It was stronger than you expected and suddenly both fear and excitement pooled in your core. “I want you to know that this is a reward. This is what good girls get. Do you understand?”

Your cheeks grew warm, and your breath hitched in your throat at his words. Before you had time to properly prepare, the strong pressure of the stream pummeled into your sensitive nub. You let out a loud squeak as intense pleasure coarsed your body and down your limbs.

“Baby. I asked you a question. Do you understand that I’m allowing you to feel this good? That this is a privilege?”

Your hands gripped his thighs at each side of you and nodded your head enthusiastically, “Yes sir, I do.” You barely got your words out past your heavy breathing.

He smiled against your neck, “That’s my girl. My best girl. Now what do you say?”

Your heart flooded with lovey pride and your brain filled with nothing but him. He encompassed your very being, every cell of your composition belonged to him. “Thank you.” Your head fell back on his shoulder as he brought the shower head closer to your cunt, only intensifying the pressure. “Thank you, thank you.” You repeated like a prayer.

“God, I can’t wait to fill that pretty pussy up with my cock.” The end of his words resembled something like a growl.

His evident need for you went straight to your stomach, helping to weave a knot that was ready to snap. You were surprised you’d lasted this long since this was easily one of the best feeling you’d ever felt. Knowing that something as convenient as a shower head held so much power was dangerous, especially now that you associated it directly with him.

The jet propulsion on your clit was deliciously brutal, each wave hitting you harder than the last as your sensitivity increased. Your legs began to tremble from the sheer amount of pleasure building up in your body begging for release. “Nicky.” You heaved out while your fingers dug into his thighs. “I can’t hold it, please.” Your request drenched in utter desperation. “Please let me cum, I need to cum baby please.”

Nicholas hummed at the request, mulling it over in his head. If this were any other day, under any other circumstances, he’d string out your orgasm as far as he wanted, but it was a day of relaxation after all.

“Go ahead,” He whispered, bringing the shower head just a tiny bit closer to nudge you over the edge. “Cum for me, will you? And don’t fight it okay? I wanna hear you.”

And with that, another orgasm blinded you, this one ripping through you more violently than the last. Your entire body was in sparking, euphoric bliss. Curses, screams and moans poured from your throat, all laced with his name.

“Oh, that’s it princess, let it all out for me.”

And you did just that. He kept the stream on your bud through your high and somewhere between his grainy voice talking you through and your overstimulation, another wave of pleasure washed over you. Your throat grew sore from your incessant noises that now probably sounded like gibberish sprinkled with his name.

He slowly drew the metal shower head away from your core to carefully lull you from your high. You were nothing but a heaving, shakey, fucked out mess in his grasp.

“Good job baby.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “You did so good for me.”

A lazy smile spread across your lips and nodded slightly. His warmth was the only thing tethering you to reality.

He let you recover from your orgasms before moving on. His hands found your hips once more and pressed you against him. You felt his own arousal thick and hard against your lower back and it reminded you of the ache between your legs that only he could fill.

“You wanna turn around for me baby?”

While you felt like utter mush in his hands, his offer sparked the potential of having him inside you, and that was something you didn’t plan to pass up on. You nodded and shifted around in the water, letting the liquid slosh around tub even spilling out a bit unintentionally. “Oops.” You giggled.

“Hi angel.” He says softly with a crooked smile painted across his lips the second his eyes meet yours. Sure, he held the reigns in the bedroom and most other areas of your relationship, but it was no secret that you were the one with complete control over him. You made him weak in ways he never imagined being, he would give you anything you wanted if you just batted your lashes at him. He was putty in your hands, and he loved it.

He looked so beautiful, and you suddenly felt scammed knowing that you had your back to him looking like that the whole time. His raven hair had fallen from the makeshift bun from the couch and was now splayed over his shoulders, the ends now damp and pointy. You couldn’t wait one more second without his lips on yours, so you scooped up his face in both hands and met his lips with yours. You broke the kiss to press your forehead against his, wanting to engulf yourself fully in his stormy eyes. “I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you too.” He replied matching your whisper. His hands found your hips again, pulling you towards him – not out of desire to intensify the moment, but simply to have you closer. “God, I love you more than anything.”

Peachy pink dusted your cheeks and the smile that his words brought to your lips was embarrassingly wide. You shied away from him and shook your head, “You’re being silly.” Out of all the grand things in his life, you were sure that you were the least exciting or interesting part.

His hand trailed warm water up your arm to pick up your chin, “I’d never joke about that.” His thumb grazed over your cheekbone, cupping your cheek. “I’m so grateful for the patience you’ve given me, given us. You might be the best thing to ever stumble into my life.”

Every atom in your body begged to mesh with him. It only took one exchanged look between you two for your bodies to rearrange so you could sit on his lap. Your lips collided, followed by a messy display of clashing teeth and hungry tongues. Your passion was fueled only by the blind love you had for him and your desire to prove that his love for you was warranted. Your fingers tangled into the base of his dark hair, tugging at it slightly needing every bit of him entwined with your very molecules. He kept one hand on your hip while the other held tangled in your own wet hair.

As much as you wanted to keep telling him how much you loved him, you couldn’t bear to break away from him even for a second. If you couldn’t tell him, you’d show him.

You rutted your hips up his thighs until you felt the base of his member rest against your bare cunt. He let a groan out into the kiss at the feeling of you against him. One of your hands fell from his hair to his length, your fingers instinctually molded around the silky soft flesh. It never ceased to impress you at just how big he was and no matter how many times you’d had him it never eased the ache of taking him.

His sizeable cock was decorated with bulging veins from the blood that coursed through him. Even though your fingers had grown to be expertly familiar with his anatomy, you still loved exploring him, tracing each vein with your fingertips. This earned you another grunt from somewhere deep in his chest and you pridefully smiled against the kiss.

You finally gave him what you knew he wanted, wrapping a hand around this girth and began palming him slowly. His member had a delicious upward curve to it that helped to reach the deepest and most sensitive part of you. Your mouth was watering at just the feeling of him in your hand – in that moment you could’ve sworn that you would do absolutely anything to have it inside you. It was not a want, but a carnal need.

He finally had enough and pulled from the kiss, “Baby, please.” He breathed out against your lips, his love drunk eyes heavy with lust as he looked up at you. “I need your pussy.” His chest rose and fell in time with yours, needing you just as badly as you needed him.

You nodded quickly against him before lifting yourself up enough to hover over him. Regardless of how much you wanted it, you still had to mentally prepare yourself for the initial pain. Nick helped align himself with your entrance while keeping a supportive hand on your hip bone. You exhaled a deep breath.

Sensing your hesitation, he gave your hip a small squeeze, “You can take it baby, just go nice and slow. We have all the time in the world.” He reassured you, letting you set the pace.

You nodded and carefully began to sink down on him. A hiss escaped your mouth at the way his width stretched you open. Your hand fell to his shoulder for support as you struggled to pull yourself further down.

Nicholas’ eyes couldn’t soak you up enough, he was mesmerized at the sight of you. He wished he could burn it into his brain. “God, you look so fucking pretty taking my cock.”

His compliment only made you more determined to push past the pain and discomfort. When you felt your cervix land on his tip you knew that was as far as you could take him. While you couldn’t reach his base fully, you were still surprised and proud of yourself for being able to take so much of him in that position.

He let out a low groan at the feeling of your cunt tightly enveloping his cock. “You feel so fucking good.”

You expelled a breath then swirled your hips with him still deep inside you. The goal was to adjust to his size before riding him. The stretch burned but you knew it’d sweeten once you started moving.

The way he gazed up at you made you weak and your body gave into him, falling into the crook of his neck. You began placing open mouth kisses on his tattooed throat while your hips started swiveling on him. Light, airy moans tumbled from you lips and onto his neck. His hands gripped your hips tighter, letting out a grunt from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” He groaned, letting his head fall back into the ledge of the tub. “I need you to move baby, I need more.”

You nodded quickly, needing it just as badly. Your hands slipped off him to stabilize yourself on the porcelain ledge. It gave you enough balance to raise your hips up almost fully, before dropping them where he filled you the fullest.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good.” He groaned out, his eyes droopy and drunken by only his love for you.

The praise helped motivate you to keep going even though the stretch burned. But you got to control the pace and the depth you could handle – although part of you wished he did have control so that he would forego any hindrances and use you up fully.

You gained momentum on him, bouncing up and down on his cock. Water splashed everywhere, over the ledge and all over the floor but that was the furthest thing on your mind. The room was filled with moans, grunts and cursed from both of you. You felt the knot beginning to form in your tummy as did he. But his surprises weren’t done yet.

He reached over to where he’d placed the shower head, easily flipping it on to the previous setting. Your eyes rounded as he began to lower it towards the water and you shook your head vigorously. “No, no, no.” You cried. “I won’t last, please, no.”

His other hand drifted down your spine with a feather light touch. “Well, that’s the point sweetheart.” He hummed. “Don’t you wanna cum again for me baby?” He questioned patronizingly. You knew that tone and you knew it meant it wouldn’t be as easy as he was eluding.

He continued his actions and aimed the powerful stream of water directly at your clit. A jolt of pure electricity zipped up your spine and down your thighs. Your entire body shuddered at the sudden and intense sensation. Your fingertips curled into his skin, surely branding claw marks into his flesh. “God, fuck.” You exclaimed loudly, barely able to move.

“Now, baby, remember that cumming is a privilege remember? I could very well leave you all worked up with your pretty pussy clenching around nothing if you misbehave.” He warned. “Do you understand?”

You nodded quickly, slipping your tongue between your lips. But that of course wasn’t enough for him.

His hand tightened on your hip and brought the shower head a bit closer to heighten the sensation. “I believe I asked you a question darling.” His voice deep and raspier than normal. “Do you understand? You know I need to hear it.”

“Yes,” You shuddered out. “Yes, sir. I understand.” You couldn’t seem to catch your breath, the air in your lungs completely vacant. Your heart thumped so hard against your ribcage you thought it might shatter and burst in front of him and splinter his own chest.

“Good girl.” He praised. “Now, I don’t remember telling you that you could stop moving.”

You whined in near agony, squeezing your eyes shut and slowly beginning your movements again. “Fuck.” You lulled your head back, buzzing pleasure spreading through every bit of you.

“Faster.” He commanded. “Or I’m gonna make this very unpleasant for you.”

His sweetness was long gone and replaced by the Nick you had grown very familiar with. You’d never guess by his normal relaxed and reserved demeanor that he’d have this overwhelming dominance in bed, but you loved it. It was as though something in him would take over, like he’d try to fight it to stay sweet and romantic, but it rarely lost the fight. It was thrilling to watch his internal battle; you’d seen it so often that you had memorized the shift in his eyes and subtle change in his cadence.

You rarely chose to challenge his threats and today was no different, So, you began lifting and dropping your hips against his lap, taking in fully – or as much as you could anyway. His free hand slithered up your side to cup your breast, kneading the plump flesh in his grasp. His stare couldn’t seem to stay on any solid one part of you, darting from your tits bouncing as you moved, to your face contorting with the overwhelming pleasures you were experiencing, to down where you were connecting with him. He looked at you the way people look at monuments or ancient architecture. He didn’t care about a single other wonder in the world because he was convinced you were the only one in existence. You were an art museum to him, every single installation he could study for hours and never grow bored of your beauty and the delicate nature of your soul. He was utterly infatuated with and devoted to you.

It became difficult to continue riding him without getting sloppy from another orgasm building quickly in your stomach. Your clit was buzzing and threatening to tip you over the edge at any moment. The way he filled you up only made it worse – being full of him made the time without him even more empty. You’d never had someone fill you up so much, he made it hard to even clench around him. It was an incredible experience and one that would make having anyone else subpar. He had set the bar so high that it made it impossible for anyone else to measure up to him. If he ever decided he’d had enough of you, you’d spend the rest of your days seeking bits of him in anyone you ever let touch you. He’d certainly haunt you worse than phantom ever could.

Thankfully, from the way his cock throbbed and bounced inside you, told you that he was getting close too. Your heart thumped so hard in your throat that you questioned if you’d even be able to speak.

“I-I’m close.” You whimpered out. “Can I cum?”

He tsked at the request. “Now baby, I taught you better that. You’re forgetting my favorite word. Try again.”

Your palms dug into his chest at his rebuttal. “Fuck.” You closed your eyes attempting to stave off your orgasm. “Fuck, please.” You begged. “God, fuck, please, I need to cum. Please can I cum?”

“Hm.” He feigned a thought. “No, not yet. Hold it.”

You shook your head vigorously, “No, no, no, please I can’t. I won’t make it, I’m so close. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop it.”

“You can and you will.” He said simply. “And if you don’t, you don’t wanna know how much you’ll regret it.”

His face was serious, but you could tell that the excitement was growing in his belly too. You swore that he thrived over your desperation, he loved seeing you squirm and bringing to the edge of your limits. It was sadistic the way he was fueled by your anguish. You don’t know if you’d ever admit it, but you enjoyed being commanded and used like a plaything. Being at his mercy was a thrill you loved chasing, especially knowing he’d always catch you.

You scrunched your eyes closed and bore down on your teeth holding on to the tattered thread left holding you on to your sanity. “Fuck.” You breathed out. It was almost painful how your sensitive nub throbbed beneath the powerful stream of water and how tight the knot in your tummy had grown. His tip assaulting your cervix intensified everything and overbearing pleasure was looming merely seconds way from shattering your resolve. “Fuck, fuck.” You whined. “Fuck, please, please let me cum, I need it so bad. Please I don’t want to disobey you but I’m so close, I need to cum, please – fuck, I can’t hold it, fuck fuck, please can I cum?” Your pathetic groveling was a pitiful display, but it was one that Nicholas could barely handle himself. He could get off from the hymns of your desperation alone.

“Fuck I love when you sound like that.” He groaned. “Fine baby, cum all over my fucking cock.” If he hadn’t been so close himself, he surely would’ve stretched out the torture.

As if you needed anymore help, he brought the shower head even closer. The heightened sensation instantly blinded you, causing your entire body shudder as sparking euphoria bloomed from your core. This orgasm was more powerful than the others due to the delayed pleasure and his length hitting your sensitive spot directly. The moans and curses that left your mouth were vulgar and smeared with the unholy devotion you had for him. Every cell in your body belonged to him just as he demanded it.

Your walls tightly clenching around him was his tipping point. “God, you look so fucking good with my cock so deep inside you.” He growled, gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises behind. “Fuck baby you’re gonna make me cum.”

You were too lost in your own bliss to really hear what he said until you felt his length twitch inside you followed by his warm seed filling your core. If you weren’t so overspent, the feeling alone could’ve sent you into another orgasm – but seeing as you were still working through your own, you weren’t that concerned about it.

As you both came floating down from your highs, he flipped off the shower head and set it to the side ledge. You had fallen on his chest while your heaving chests rose and fell in time with each other’s. His fingertips raked through the slightly damp hair of your scalp. You purred and smiled at the affection gesture.

He grinned at the reaction, “I love you.” His buttery words fell from his lips in a tone just above a whisper.

Nick would never admit it, but he was extremely talented at almost anything he ever picked up. If he gave it a good honest try, it wouldn’t take long for it to become second nature. He never imagined that there would be anything in the world that would come easier than a graphite pencil or tattoo gun or almost any instrument he picked up. He knew his tattoo gun and his favorite guitar like the back of his hand and while he’d never fully believe it, he already knew you that way too. As with everything else, just because he was a master-of-all didn’t mean there were never any bumps or challenges or hardships – pencils snap, tattoo guns malfunction, and sometimes strings don’t want to tune just how you want them - above all else, Nicholas knew that the most. He knew the best things in life were never easy, but that never stopped him before and it certainly wasn’t going to stop him now.

“I love you too.” You muttered sleepily into the crook of his neck.

The satisfaction of inking a particularly difficult design or mastering a challenging new riff could never compare to the feeling he got from hearing you say those words.

“C’mon, let’s get you dry and warm.” He gently patted your hip and you nodded, using every bit of strength in your body to sit yourself upright.

Nicholas was incredible in his element. It’s one thing to be able to take control sexually, but it’s a whole other thing to be able take gentle control outside of that – and he did, effortlessly. He carefully pulled you off him and got you standing on your feet. He only allowed the air conditioning to dance on your skin for a millisecond before he wrapped a big fluffy towel around you. You tugged the terrycloth fabric so tight against your skin that you were sure you’d have imprints of the threads embedding into your skin. When you lifted your leg over the porcelain, you felt the familiar ache between your thighs that always came from loving him. It wasn’t the worst you’d felt, since you had set the pace, but the water supplied no lubrication, and you were definitely feeling the repercussions.

Nick wrapped a towel around his waist and unplugged the bath drain. When he finally made his way back over to you. When you were both barefoot it really emphasized just how much he actually towered over you. The water droplets glistening across his tan, inked skin made him look like a work of art. Your eyes traced his collarbones and landed on the thorny pendent you were fidgeting with before.

“Oh yeah, before I forget.” You didn’t realize what he was doing until he pulled the necklace from neck and gently draped it over your head. It landed way longer on your chest but it didn’t matter. Your fingers found the pendent and immediately rubbed it for comfort.

“I can’t take this.” You claimed, but the smile that had already made home on your face said otherwise.

He smiled and took your jaw into one hand and placed his other hand over yours covering the necklace. “I’ll always be with you now. If you miss me or get anxious just squeeze it, and I’ll be right there with you. Okay?”

Tears burned your eyes, but you were determined to keep it together, the last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of him naked and shivering. You nodded quickly, “Thank you.” You whispered, hiding a sniffle.

“You’re welcome baby.” He said and placed a quick kiss to your forehead.

He gently grasped your shoulders giving them a little rub to warm you up before guiding you back into the bedroom. The edges of his lips dipped into a frown the second he noticed your limping.

“Oh baby, did I hurt you? I knew we should’ve gotten out of the bath-” He always began to panic ramble if he thought he might’ve hurt you or not taken care of you properly.

You giggled at his worrisome nature and placed a finger over his lips. “It’s okay, really.” You reassured and watched his anxiety disappear. “But it does hurt.” Your lips pulled together in a pout. “Fix it?”

A small smile pulled across his lips and he nodded knowing exactly what that meant.

The time after with Nicholas somehow always felt more intimate. He was driven to love you the best way he knew how, and you relished in the safety he wrapped you in. No matter how rough he got in bed, afterwards he always handled you like a freshly plucked gardenia. He was convinced that if he even grabbed you the wrong way you’d crumble. But he loved it, he was sure that if he was put on this earth to do one thing, it was to take care of you.

After applying some numbing cream where you ached the most and getting you into some fresh pajamas, you were finally exactly where you wanted to be. You were tucked right into Nick’s side, cozy under the covers, sharing a pint of pistachio ice cream while watching reruns of your favorite mutual comfort show.

You looked up at him when he laughed at something silly in the show and the glow from the tv illuminated his features beautifully through the darkness. In that moment, he gave you every bit of reassurance you needed to handle him being gone. You were his and he was yours, and as long as you loved him, he’s always come home to you if you let him.

He glanced down at you, catching you in your admiring stare. The edges of his lips pulled taut into a wide, toothy smile.

“Bob’s Burgers is over there you know.” He teased, tilting his head across the room.

You giggled and burrowed your face into his chest. “You’re much more entertaining.”

He chuckled in disbelief, “Am I?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, getting sleepy the second your head touched his chest.

He laughed softly and precariously plucking the empty pint of pistachio from your dozing grasp to put on the bedside table. He pulled you closer to him and tugged the fluffy duvet higher to cover you both.

Before you let sleep envelope you, you felt his fingers tenderly massaging your scalp. “I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you too, Nicholas.” You hummed back lovingly, nuzzling into his chest.

Taglist; @neverknoah @lma1986 @baddestomens @deathblacksmoke @philomenie @blacksoul-27 @thcfountain

A/N; Thank you so much for reading, i hope you liked it, lmk if you did<3

#nicholas ruffilo fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #nick ruffilo fic #nick ruffilo fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nick ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo smut #nicholas ruffilo fluff #concreteburialplot works #kind of repetitive my bad #just ignore it

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ghostmaggie · 6 months ago

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picture of your face in an invisible locket

The Scarecrow notices when Dorothy can’t sleep. He notices, and he talks to her. About little nothings, at first, gradually building into conversations and familiarity. Then one night, as if he's been building up to it, he says, very softly, “She's not as wicked as they say.“

READ ON AO3

During the day, when they’re moving, traveling, marveling at the wondrous sights of Oz, everything seems fine. Or as fine as things can be, when on the other hand her life is upside down and she’s trapped in a strange world and everything is just a little bit terrible.

Her companions are pleasant enough, if endlessly strange, and while their mission is odd and uncertain, something fuzzy around the edges of this place keeps it from feeling truly frightening.

But at night, when she can’t sleep, afraid of the way the bright colors still dance behind her closed eyes and the unfamiliar sounds creep into her ears, the Scarecrow notices.

continue reading on archive of our own

(i wrote this like two and a half years ago and forgot to ever crosspost it, but it's been getting a lot of hits again with the movie and i'm still proud of it, so here it is with a schmancy new cover :D

oh also, HUGE SPOILERS for act two of wicked, so if you're trolling tags or fics based on having seen the movie alone, read at your own risk. much love.)

#wicked #wicked musical #fiyeraba #wicked fanfiction #wicked fic #wicked spoilers #for act 2 #post #myfic #my writing #fiyero tigelaar #elphaba thropp

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kels-valley-blog · 9 months ago

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one tries to fly away: a cringefail farmer x harvey fic

first time posting fic on tumblr, so not sure what i'm supposed to be doing :D anyway i was possessed this afternoon and wrote this fic featuring @clarisinne's cringefail farmer and harvey. i liberally mixed metaphors in this fic, which i am not sorry for in the slightest.

crossposted on ao3--please enjoy!

---

Harvey divided his life in two, in much the same way a historian splits history. For the historian, the ages are separated by the death of a Galilean man. For Harvey, there was before and after her.

For both Harvey and historian, time was reckoned by the coming of a savior.

He didn’t recognize her as such right away, partly because he wasn’t entirely aware of his own misery. He knew he was sad, sure, and he distantly felt the years piling up on his shoulders. But these feelings were familiar, and he had long since stopped noticing them. He didn’t remember a time when loneliness hadn’t been his faithful companion.

(A bird born in a cage does not miss the sky.)

Harvey, for his part, had made quite the comfortable life for himself in his cage. He’d decorated it with the few joys and achievements he had. The iron wires that wrapped around his life were predictable and study. Most days, he forgot to miss his long-dead dream of flight.

She had entered his life like a fireball, a meteor burning bright against his sky. Out of control, she hurtled from the heavens, crashing against his comfortable imprisonment and crushing some of the cage bars quite badly. She disturbed him.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about being disturbed.

He had seen her, fluttering around the town, bumping into everything and always popping back up with a flushed smile. She drew his eye—a spot of color against the dark and drab world. When she burst into the clinic, braids flying and eyes bright, he had no choice but to let her in.

(Looking back, that had been the moment when his life shifted from one age to the next.)

And she was clumsy, and loud, and she seemed to slam doors more often than not, and she rattled Harvey’s world in a way that no one had before. She dragged herself into the clinic at all hours, nursing all manner of cuts and bruises and broken bones. She brought him jars of pickles and lukewarm coffee carried from the farm, and sometimes the crushed remains of a plant she’d foraged on the walk into town and shoved in her pocket. And she was kind, and earnest, and lord she was cute sometimes, and—

And oh.

That feeling was new.

(A breeze blew through the bars of the cage.)

But he didn’t get ahead of himself. He was nothing like her—he would never be. She was, quintessentially, free, and he would always be held down by something: his job, his eyesight, his own fear. What use did a skylark like her have for someone as leaden as him?

She did not seem to care about the weight on his shoulders—or perhaps she was just not aware of it. Maybe she hadn’t yet realized that this heaviness he carried was as much a part of him as his hands or his heart, and that he would never be able to join her in her carefree life.

Well. He would enjoy this for as long as he could, anyway. It was nice to have some fresh air, after all this time. For now, he would just be as good of a friend as he could manage—try to smile at her, try to keep her from dying in the mines, try to listen when she spoke. (These weren’t hard tasks at all—with the possible exception of keeping her from dying. That proved surprisingly difficult.)

And everything was nice, once again: a status quo, maintained. Harvey knew where he stood with her. He had been lonely for so long that this new type of heartache could blend in easily enough. He was fine. He just wanted to help her, wanted to double-check that she hadn’t hit her head in the mines, wanted to make sure she didn’t have any brain injuries—

She told him that she liked him. She ran away.

(The door to the cage cracked open, just a bit.)

And they didn’t fall in love right away, which didn’t surprise him—but she didn’t realize her mistake either, which did. She was just as awkward in courtship as she had been in every other aspect of her life, and she still carried with her that wild energy that always made his heart beat a little faster. What was a man supposed to expect from someone like her? How could he predict the way the wind would turn next?

They went on a date, and she fumbled over her words. She looked at him, sometimes, like he was worthwhile, and that made him feel all sorts of funny—like he was tumbling from a great height and wasn’t quite sure when he would land.

He quite deliberately didn’t let his mind wander to their future—the worst thing he could get right now was false hope. For all he knew, she would soon come to him, tell him that she was sorry, but he was just too boring and sad and cloistered, and she had a whole life ahead of her. She would fly away, and he would stay here.

Then she tackled him, and she crushed a bouquet into his arms. She choked out a half of a garbled question and then promptly hurled into the grass beside him.

Well. If Harvey hadn’t been in love before, he certainly was now.

And that was the feeling, wasn’t it? That creeping sensation of warmth that had plagued him for months now. It was love, plain and simple. He was so unused to it that it had been hard to identify. And yet, there it was, stubbornly spreading its wings.

(For the first time in a long time, he let himself look beyond the bars that surrounded him.)

She hovered there, nervously within reach and clearly fighting the urge to run away. And yet he dared to hope that she might truly feel the same—that she might love him, in her way. That perhaps, she was just as scared as he was. She didn’t know it, of course, but she had been the first one to truly reach out to him in so long—that freckled, calloused hand held out like a lifeline, to pull him up out of the fog that hung near the ground.

He was frightened, sometimes, by the sheer intensity of his feelings. It was a lot for a man to handle, especially one like him, unaccustomed to how happiness felt. The brightness blinded him sometimes.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

By this point, he had recognized her for what she was, and understood that nothing was going to be the same from this point out. Even if she did decide that it was all over, he would be better for having known her. He wouldn’t be able to go back to the cold metal of his containment, not knowing that there was a whole world just beyond.

And then, in the absurd twist that he should have come to expect from his life, she took it into her head that he was leaving her (as if he wasn’t head over heels for her, as if he hadn’t been for months.) She poured out a litany of fears and insecurities, a deluge of pent-up pain that didn’t give him a chance to speak against the onslaught. She stood toe to toe with him, and she challenged him to tell her exactly how he felt.

He answered with his lips against hers.

(The cage shattered around him when she kissed him back.)

Harvey soared.

fin

#stardew valley #stardew harvey #harvey sdv #harvey my beloved #sdv harvey #harvey #harvey stardew valley #cringefail farmer #fanfic #stardew valley fanfic #harvey fanfic

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amuseintime · 4 months ago

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A Stage of Healing

The Play is Over but the Script Remains/Scriptfrin Saga

For anyone who doesn't know, "Scriptfrin" is a Siffrin who sometimes goes semi-verbal after the loops, (mostly) only able to repeat the "script" from his time in there. I have a bit of it up here, but most of it is in this series on AO3 (though for the general concept, you can just read "Line, Please.")

Months after the loops, Siffrin and their family are walking around a town and Bonnie happens to notice samosas in the window… the thing that they had basically every blinding night in the loops. Siffrin is clearly bothered, but not in the way you'd expect. All this leads to a long talk, a one man performance, and a lot of laughs. Humor and Hurt/Comfort (heavier on the comfort).

Crossposted here on AO3.

(And always, if you like what I do, reblog, leave a comment, or maybe buy me a Kofi?)

“Oh oh oh! Guys! Look, this place has samosas!” Bonnie said, tugging them through the streets of Bagon. Even amongst Vaugaurde, the area was known for its cooking. The smells of food filled the streets, enough to make even the pickiest child consider trying something new, and the outdoor market was in full swing now that it was warming up again!

It was that perfect time of year where spring made it warm enough to travel, but still cold enough to enjoy some nice, hot food (and oh Change, being medicated again made her hungry!), or at least Mirabelle thought so! It was still too cold for Bonnie and Odile, and Siffrin kept pretty warm with his cloak, but she and Isabeau seemed to like it!

And speaking of Siffrin, he was staring at where Bonnie had seen samosas on the menu. While they were all getting better at reading Siffrin, sometimes it was still a little difficult. This was one of those times. His head was tilted, an odd look in his eye. Not necessarily upset, but not exactly happy either. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but only a breath came out.

It wasn’t just her that noticed. Isabeau put a gentle hand on their shoulder, not minding that Siffrin jumped before settling into the contact. “You alright, Sif?”

“Huh?” Siffrin blinked owlishly. “Ah, sorry. Was just remembering something.”

Odile’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Remembering what?”

“Remembering loop stuff…

Loop stuff? From samosas?

Bonnie jolted. “OH RIGHT!!! Crab, sorry Frin! I forgot that’s why I stopped making Samosas! ‘Cause you had ‘em every day in forever school.”

Oh that’s right! Mirabelle had forgotten that Bonnie made samosas that day, but makes sense Siffrin wouldn’t have…

Bonnie took Siffrin’s hand to start tugging him away. “We can go somewhere else-“

“No.” He said it a bit too seriously, which he must’ve noticed as he smiled and mussed up Bonnie’s hair. “I can’t deny my Bonbon TWO of their three favorite foods!” He looked back to the shop. “Besides, I’m pretty sure they sell more than JUST Samosas. Though they might not be as… as…” They scrunched up their eye, glaring at the sign for a moment. Then their eye widened and they puffed themselves up as they said, “DE~LI~CIOUS as yours would be.”

“Why’d you say it weird?” Bonnie asked.

“I was trying to sound like Isa? It’s, uh… been a while. Since I heard that.” He trailed off again, staring into space…

Odile went over to the door and said, “Would you like to have this talk on a chair with some hot food, or would you rather keep staring through the window like an incompetent stalker?”

“Madame!” Mirabelle squealed. You can’t just?! Say that?!

But say it she did, and everyone else was laughing, even as Siffrin also tried to sink into his cloak like a turtle.

“Yeah yeah, we should go in. But, um… I need time. To get thoughts together first? And not do this in public?”

“Reasonable enough. Now get in, I’m cold.”

They all filed inside. Only Bonnie ended up ordering the samosas, but none of them entirely missed the way that Siffrin eyed them.

————

They were all back at the nearest inn… which was fairly packed, given that spring was here. Mirabelle wasn’t the least bit surprised. After all, Spring was quite important in the Change religion! A time for new growth, a fresh start, and a reminder that while Change was destruction, it was creation too! A lot of people celebrated by picking up new hobbies, clearing out some space for those hobbies and just tidying in general (Spring Cleaning!), travel, and bonding ceremonies.

All of this to say, there was only one room available… but Madame Odile was pretty insistent on NOT having only one bed, and somehow they ended up with three. Mirabelle made sure to slip extra tips to the poor staff, that was mortifying! Though the space was nice…

“I call Mira!” Bonnie said, grabbing her hand. She could only yelp in shock as they were both catapulted to the nearest bed, making it thunk against the wall.

“Can I call Sif?” Isabeau said, chuckling at the not-actually-a-question. Even in the days before they saved Vaugaurde, it was rarer that they didn’t sleep together.

Siffrin stuck his tongue out and, “Nah. Isa…” they trailed, took a quick breath in, and smirked, “Isa has to sleep on the floor.” They looked over to Odile for a moment, then jumped a few inches when Bonnie laughed instead.

“FINALLY! No more being gross!” Bonnie cheered.

“I was just joking,” Siffrin said.

“BOOOOOO!”

“Yaaaaaay!” Isabeau said, even clapping his hands and looking all sparkle-eyed at Siffrin (how had she missed that they liked each other?!)

“Heh! Heh…” Siffrin trailed off again.

Oh Change. “Hey, Siffrin? Are you okay?” Mirabelle walked over and… wait, crab, what does she do with her hands now? Um… “Pat Pat!” Head pats, sure! Wait… Oh Change, he actually leaned in that’s??? So??? Cute?!?!

Siffrin smiled, eye shutting, and let out a sigh. “I’m alright, just…” He shuffled his feet, looking down, then up again, staring at the ceiling.

“Is this related to earlier in any way?” Odile asked.

Siffrin looked aside. “… maaaaaybe…”

“We aren’t doing anything too close to the loops, are we?” Isabeau said. “I’m willing to actually sleep on the floor if-“

“NO! I mean, kinda, but also no? You don’t have to sleep on the floor, Isa. And it’s, um… weird.”

“Yeah, well, you’re weird! And we like you that way,” Bonnie huffed. “So out with it!” They scampered over to the door and held their arms out. “No escape!”

Siffrin blinked dumbly. Once. Twice. “Snrk-“ He plopped down on bed and started laughing. “Oh come on! I’m not that bad at talking…” he looked around the room and added, “…anymore!”

Odile nodded, “I will concede, you’ve gotten better. But Boniface, stay there.”

“Sorry ‘Za! I’m the Defender now! Ehehe.”

“Oh nooooo!” Isabeau said, dramatically swooning onto the ground in exaggerated defeat. Everyone laughed. Some a little, some a lot, but they all laughed, even Isabeau!

Change, she loved these people.

“So then… Siffrin…” Mirabelle stepped closer with the utmost seriousness. Siffrin trembled before her! “You will…” Pause for dramatic effect, hand on her currently missing sword (she was in pajamas after all)… “Talk about your feelings!!!”

“NOOOOOOO!” Siffrin moaned, collapsing onto the bed and snickering. Though he sighed and rolled to look at all of them. “… but okay. Just… promise you won’t find it weird or wrong?”

“Of course, young one.”

“Sif, we aren’t going to judge you!”

“Never! Never ever!”

“I mean, you are weird, Stupidfrin, but tell! Us!”

Siffrin squeaked and rolled into a ball like a little hedgehog.

Mirabelle couldn’t help but giggle, “Oh no! We came on too strong!” She sat down in bed next to him.

“Scared like the stray animal he is,” Odile tutted.

Maybe it was a little mean to poke this much fun when he was having problems… but it seemed to relax him, actually? She could say from experience that treating it too seriously was anxiety inducing itself!!! A cornered animal bites!

Siffrin pushed himself up, shuffling close enough that their knees and elbows bumped together, but not much else. “Thanks guys.” In… out. “I dunno how you guys are so sweet when I’m so weird…”

“Like Boniface said, we already know that. It’s going to take more than a few new quirks to scare us off.”

Blushing, Siffrin tried to bury into their collar, but he was in night clothes. No cloak! So cute! Everyone was nice enough not to mention it.

They continued, “It’s just…” He looked around as though looking for a distraction, but no one was interrupting. “With the samosas, it, uh… Took me a moment. To remember. What you guys said.”

Odile raised an eyebrow. “And that’s… bad?”

“It shouldn’t be…?” Siffrin squirmed. One of his hands found one of Mirabelle’s. She gave it a little squeeze, and he gave one back. “I mean. I… Let’s talking about something. Stars-!”

Mirabelle squeezed his hand again. “There’s no rush.”

In… out. In. And out. “Thank you.” One more time. Big breath in… big breath out. “I guess it surprised me more than anything. Which is? Kinda dumb???”

Isabeau tried to cut in, “It’s not-“

But Siffrin kept talking, “I was careful! No wishes! No ‘Hi Isa, I need to do the Favor Tree thing!’ Even though I thought I wis- though I wanted to forget. But I didn’t mean those parts!” He held tighter to her hand, breath quickening. “I wanted to forget the King and the Sadnesses and the Head Housemaiden! Not you guys!”

Everyone tried to act at once, tried to protest, but Mirabelle was closest. She took his face in her hands—ignore the way he jumped, the moment of panic, the memory of a slap—and made him look her in the eyes. “Siffrin. You are NOT forgetting us! We’re right here, okay?”

Bonnie barreled into him, Isabeau showed a little more restraint and just opened his arms for the group hug, and Odile messed up his hair a bit from the side.

“Yeah! No way you can forget me!!!” Bonnie shouted.

“I would hug the memory back into you,” Isabeau said.

Siffrin snorted, relaxing into the group hug. “Thanks guys, heh. Sorry, like I said. It’s a little bit weird, but I guess…” he had to stop to breathe again. “I guess a lot of things. I don’t want to forget more. Some part of me’s scared I’ll somehow forget my scripts and just go entirely mute. And it’s- it’s the only proof I have that it happened, because it didn’t! It didn’t happen to anyone else. Not on the loop that stuck!” His grasp on them tightened. Not painfully so, not when spread out across three people, but it was noticeable. “And it’s kind of not blinding fair! I- I… ‘I’d rather you ask everyone else if they need help, first.’ And I did! And- and THANK YOU SNACK LEADER FOR THIS DELICIOUS MEAL! and Fromage and… and it… How can I help you on this wonderful new loop…”

He let out a bitter laugh. “… it didn’t happen.”

No one knew what to say. What even could they say? There was a heaviness in the air, an oppressive silence. It felt like if something broke it, everything might shatter…

But Change is destruction, and Mirabelle was a Housemaiden. “It happened to you.”

“But-“

“No, Mirabelle is right,” Odile said. “Even if it didn’t technically happen to anyone else, it happened to you for the equivalent of months. And if I recall correctly, you’ve mentioned before that that was your rock bottom, as it were.”

“I don’t think anyone blames you for feeling cheated, Sif,” Isabeau said. “Or for missing good memories, or, uh… wishing things went better.”

Siffrin sighed, resting his head on Isabeau’s shoulder. “I just, I just wish- wait! No. I want you guys to remember too. But I know that can’t happen without, um, actually wishing it. And no thank you. I think sharpening my dagger is the most wishcraft I want anymore.”

“Fair and valid,” Isabeau said.

“Yeah… though I feel like it’d get confusing, having two memories of the same day,” Mirabelle said.

Siffrin gave her the most deadpan look and-

“Oh Change, I guess you technically do have a lot of the same day huh,” Mirabelle said one quiet breath.

Siffrin chuckled, “Understatement. Though for better or worse, the fact that I, uh, didn’t change much made parts of it less confusing? Like…” He looked around and his eye widened. “Y’know, if you push that bed off the far wall to be more in the middle, it looks like the clock tower…” He trailed into mumbles as he just… apparently decided to do that! Without much issue! Sometimes Mirabelle forgot how strong they were now.

Isabeau, regardless, decided to pick up the other end and help. “Uh. I am going with this because you started it, but why are we doing a thing that seems kinda tailor made to trigger you, Sif?”

“I have, like, half an idea. Working on it,” Siffrin said as he set the bed down.

“Curious as I am, I’m with Isabeau on this one. This seems ill-advised,” Odile said.

“That took, like, five seconds. We can move it back!” Siffrin huffed, sitting on the newly moved bed. “Besides. They’re way closer.” The room was quite a bit smaller than the clock tower after all, not really meant to shove all five of them in there.

“Oh! Are we making one BIG bed?” Mirabelle said. “Ultimate bed!!!”

“Gross, Frin! I don’t wanna be next to you and Za KISSING!”

“I agree with the preteen,” Odile said. “Veto’d.”

“That’s not-!” Siffrin huffed and pulled his legs in to sulk.

Oh no! “C’mon, we should probably let Siffrin think! And then tell us, um, what he’s thinking,” Mirabelle said.

“Thank you!” Siffrin said, flopping onto his back with an overdramatic huff. There were a few chuckles, but then they let the poor guy think.

Siffrin took a deep breath. “So… I know I’ve been, uh, a little skittish. With play stuff.” They’d tried to see one once or twice, but he couldn’t step foot into a theatre without looking like he was just… empty. “But maybe I could act it out…?” His voice hoy quieter until it was a near whisper, eye averted…

And she couldn’t blame him. Isabeau and Odile both looked like he’d suggested going to swim with Sadnesses, and Bonnie looked to Odile and tried to mimic it.

“Sif, I don’t think-“

“Don’t be stupid, Frin-“

“Young one, this might not-“

“I THINK IT’S A GREAT IDEA!” Mirabelle shouted… and jumped, surprised at just how loud that came out. And oh Change, all eyes were on her now! But… oh, just pretend they’re in their underwear… hmm, that doesn’t work as well when you’ve had to wash clothes and bathe in rivers and have actually seen that.

Deep breath, like Siffrin! They’re her friends, and it’s her turn to help. She walks over to Siffrin, sitting beside him and pulling them up enough to take their hands in hers. “I know it might sound a little counter-intuitive, to do something relating to what scares you, or, um, trauma in your case, but sometimes it’s good to? In little ways where you have control!”

She rubbed the backs of his palms with her thumbs. “It’s kind of like reading horror books? Getting to be a little scared, but safely? Or, hmm… no. Not reading… writing fanfiction! All the control is in my hands! I can make it horrible if I want, or can make them live happily ever after, or can have them face my greatest fears in front of an audience and make out over the gorey remains! And yeah, maybe it’s scary, but it’s safe scary? My, um… some of the other Housemaidens who are good at medicine and therapy and stuff recommended it, actually.”

She smiled at Siffrin, putting a hand on his cheek. The rest are probably staring at her, but this is no grand stage. It’s… “It’s us, our family! Not a whole theatre, not Dormont, or a House or anything like that. You’re safe here with us, and you can stop or break the script whenever you want, okay?“

He was looking at her like she was the one who made the seasons change and sun move across the sky. “Okay.”

She stood up and clapped. “Good!” And then dared look around. Everyone was staring!

“So, did you take a class on psychology, then?” Odile asked.

“Three. One of which was actually theatre related!”

“Crab yeah Mira!” Isabeau pumped his fist for her.

“You guys are nerds,” Bonnie said.

They couldn’t refute that!

“Snrk- yeah, we can’t all be as cool as you, Bonbon,” Siffrin said. “So… if we’re good, do I just, like, do it…? I mean, the scene setting is already here.”

“What, by yourself?” Odile said.

“I’m not writing you a script and having you do it. If I see you guys say and do those things again, it might actually give me a panic attack,” Siffrin said. He stood up on the bed. “Sorry guys! One man show!”

“One! Man! Show!!!” Bonnie cheered. “Should I make popcorn?”

“I mean, yes, always,” Isabeau said. “But how long should this take?”

“Not long. Two minutes or so? Provided you don’t combust, Isa~”

“Wait, why would I combust???” Isabeau was already blushing some, holding his hands up defensively.

“EW! I don’t wanna hear you pretend to be Za being mushy! We get enough of that!”

Siffrin smirked. “Okay, but, then you can laugh at me being Isa being mushy. And you’re in this scene too!”

Bonnie’s eyes went wide, mouth open in childish awe. “Am I yelling at you?”

“Mmmmmmaybe~” Pause. “Yes.”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Oh I’m going to have to give the neighbors something to make up for this,” Mirabelle whispered to herself. It wasn’t too late though, so hopefully they weren’t in, or at least weren’t trying to sleep.

“Dile! Get the tea heater!” They pulled out a small pan and lid from their bag. “I’m making POPCORN!”

“Guess we’ve got a few minutes before the show. Everyone take your seats~”

“There is only one chair, and I claim it,” Odile said.

“Overbooked! A tragedy!” Isabeau said with an exaggerated gasp and hand over his heart.

Mirabelle, meanwhile, felt some of her theatre classes coming back. Just the rehearsals though! There was a play, but she panicked so hard that poor Junette had to just throw on the bonnet she was supposed to wear and, well, improving that that mother requesting help was the secretly the villain in disguise was sheer genius, actually!

Wait… “Oh!” She pulled an extra bow from her bag and gave it to Siffrin. “Here! To play me! Um, assuming I’m here?”

“You were!”

“Hmm, probably better than you attempting to do accents. Because, young one, if I didn’t know you, I’d think your attempt at mimicking me was offensive on purpose,” Odile said, smirking at Siffrin.

“Sorry Madame.”

“Here,” she passed him those weird, opaque glasses that they’d… wait… when did she get those???

“What about you, Bonbon. Should I steal your hat~?” Siffrin teased, inching to where it was piled atop their things.

“No. Borrow a spatula.”

“Bon yes bon!” They pulled a spatula. Brilliant!

“Wait! What can I give you…?” Isabeau said, making a sad puppy dog face. And that was fair! Siffrin’s ears weren’t pierced, and putting earrings on and off would be a chore anyways. And Isabeau’s gloves were just too big for Siffrin’s hands!

It apparently stumped everyone as they just stared…

Until Bonnie said, “Make your hair stand up like a bird’s.”

That alone got a chuckle out of some of them, and it turned to outright laughs when Isabeau fake cried, “So MEAN! I’m not a bird. I’m buff!”

“The buffest of birds,” Siffrin said, pressing again Isa and standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Bonnie threw some corn at them.

“Worth it!” Isabeau chirped.

The popcorn was ready shortly afterwards, salted and put in a little bowl in front of everyone. Siffrin was on the bed, stage right. He spit in his hand to spike up his hair, like a bird!

“Sif…” Siffrin deepened his voice, prompting snorts from all of them at his attempt to sound like Isabeau. “Hey… hey Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni.”

Siffrin then scooted over and tamped his hair down just to look behind him then quickly scoot back and fluff his hair again. If the ridiculousness of such an act weren’t silly enough, it was clear he was aware of this, trying not to laugh.

He took a deep breath and got back “in character,” looking at the empty space in front of him with the biggest, puppiest eye he could muster. “Um… Sorry? To wake you? I just have to tell you something. If that’s okay?”

“Oh crab, I didn’t!!!” Isabeau groaned, pressing his hands into his eyes.

“In front of my Belle?!” Bonnie said, gesturing to Mirabelle like she was an art piece.

Siffrin once more played “himself” and nodded before doing his silly little scoot back to being Isabeau. “Okay, okay, okay. Then I shall tell you the thing! The thing I woke you up to tell you!”

“Siiiiiif I take it back let’s end this!” Isabeau groaned.

“Quiet, I’m watching the show,” Pdile said, taking a handful of popcorn.

Bonnie seemed considerably more interested in laughing at Isabeau, but Siffrin didn’t seem to mind.

Siffrin continued, unmoved by the begging. “Haha! Um. So.”

“The thing I have to tell you. Is. That…” Siffrin looked off to the side, a snort escaping as he caught Isabeau’s clearly shaded face. Still, he delivered his line. “I don’t have anything to tell you right now. But I will, when, uh, we beat the King, okay?”

“Oh Change and I said this every night, didn’t I? Aaaaargh that must’ve gotten so crabbing annoying!” Isabeau moaned.

“Now you know how I feel!” Bonnie said.

Siffrin was back in his place, but… “Uh… hmm. Breaking character of, uh… myself? A sec? Eventually I just got quiet but that’s more sad than funny, so we’re doing the funny one. Okay back to it!” He cleared his throat. “That is still SO ominous, Isa.”

Back to Isa and oh Change he actually did a really good impression of Isabeau’s flustered face! “I, uh, just don’t wanna tell you right now when it might distract you! Wouldn’t want that! So, uh, I’ll tell you when we beat the, um, King, okay?”

Siffrin looked at them, opened his mouth to say something, then it split into a head manic grin as an idea hit. Oh Change here we go.

Siffrin bolted up, snapped, grabbed the spatula and a pillow, threw it, dropped the spatula, and lunged for the bed so it hit him in the face.

“SIF?!”

“Pfffft, hahaha!”

“PILLOW! THROW!”

“Hahahaha! Oh noooooo!”

They had to take a short intermission from everyone laughing too hard. Once, even twice it almost ended, but someone snickered and started it again! But third time’s the charm.

Siffrin picked the dropped spatula back up, “I’ll wash this after,” and then got on the middle bed and pointed accusingly at the empty bed, “SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!”

“HEY I DON’T SOUND LIKE THAT!” Bonnie huffed.

“Oh he’s trying,” Mira said. Though truthfully, the squeaky voice Siffrin had chosen was awful.

“You hit me with a pillow?!” Isabeau said.

“I would’ve used a book,” Odile said.

Siffrin hit the bed and set the bow on his hair. “YEAH ISABEAU! SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP! CLOSE YOUR MOUTH AND SLEEP!”

“PFFFT, Belle sounds like a mouse!” Bonnie said. “Belle’s on my side Belle’s on my side!”

Then Siffrin rushed over to stage right once more, slicking hair in the midst of a fit of giggles. “CLOSE YOUR MOUTH HOUSEMAIDEN! YOU’RE GONNA WAKE UP M’DAME ODILE!”

“How could I have slept through this?” Odile said.

Siffrin went to the far bed, stifling giggles behind his hand before putting on the dark glasses and somehow managing to be utterly serious as he said, “I’m already up.” He didn’t bother with a voice, but got the tone scarily serious.

“Oh, so I didn’t,” Odile remarked.

“And if the noise continues, I will stand up. You do not want to know what will happen if I stand up.”

Aaaand right back to the energy. He looked exaggeratedly spooked as he picked up the spatula and dove under the covers. “Sorry.” Then tried to roll over, presumably to be Mirabelle, and-

THUMP! “NYA!”

“Did you-?”

“Did he-?”

“Did Sif-?”

“Did they-?”

“Stars- YES I JUST SAID NYA!” Tangled in the sheets, Siffrin had hit the floor, and now was hiding in the covers, wiggling futilely for a few seconds before giving up. “… for the record. That did not happen. Uh… crew? A little help? Rather not cut these.”

Mirabelle giggled as she got up, helping get the sheets off without having to resort the scissors craft.

Siffrin brushed the dust off of him, held the bow up, and gave a quick little, “Sorry.”

Then went back to be Isabeau. “Sorry m’dame…” He looked appropriately abashed, but the look turned into one of a familiar, adoring smile. “Good night, Sif!”

“Aaaaaand scene!” Siffrin said, standing back up and giving a little bow.

They all clapped for him, even if Bonnie was breathless from laughing and Isabeau was still dark-cheeked.

“Good job, Siffrin!” Mirabelle said, going over and playfully spinning him… and forgetting their current lack of space, squawking as they both tumbled onto a bed, laughing and breathless.

Isabeau must’ve gotten jealous as he scooped Siffrin into his arms and started kissing his cheek! “Mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah!”

“GROOOOOOSSSS!” Bonnie whined.

Siffrin was laughing so much that both he and Isa had to sit down a minute, but eventually Siffrin got back up to put the bed back, then munch on some popcorn. “Mmmmm, good as always, Bonbon~” They mussed up Bonnie’s hair with a smile as more salty snacks disappeared into their mouth.

“I AM the best chef cooker after all!” Bonnie said, little chest puffed out.

“You are!” Siffrin said. He went a bit quiet for a moment before saying, “Speaking of that, we’re near a market anyways… wanna try making those fritters again? Maybe with a few spicy peppers?”

“YEAH!!!��

“We might wanna grab something for the neighbors too, if only to apologize…” Mirabelle said.

“And we haven’t been kicked out yet, so to bribe the inkeepers as well,” Odile said.

“MADAME!”

They went into another bout of giggles and finished up the popcorn before going to brush teeth and settle in…

And in the dark and quiet, as she was starting to drift off to sleep, she could hear Isabeau say, “And hey Sif, just gonna tell it this time… I love you!”

“I love you too!”

Mwah!

And that night, everyone slept well.

-----

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

#isat fanfic #scriptfrin #the play is over but the script remains #in stars and time #isat #fanfic #isat siffrin #humor #hurt/comfort

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