#like if you came face to face with someone like them in the same situation they would 100% count as murderers

[writersdrug]

omg! I read your goth reader x Simon and I’m not sure if you’ve already made a post but I’d love to see how Simon met reader or how he did pull her 😂😂 love it btw

Augh I've wanted to write more for Simon x Goth!Reader

He drops the 3-pack of men's black t-shirts on the counter, digging into his sweatshirt pocket for his wallet. He takes out his card and looks up.

You're sitting with your back to him, hunched over on a small stool with your face stuck in a mirror. He can see your one eye magnified in the reflection as you held your cheek taught, slowly dragging an eyeliner pen across your lid.

He stands there another moment, wondering if you even know he's behind you. He politely clears his throat.

"One sec." You say, concentrating hard on making the line perfect. You have your mouth hanging open, your one eye closed and the other wide as a dinner plate. Simon huffs quietly. You remind him of a zombie, dressed in a typical retail uniform.

You eventually put the eyeliner pen down and stand, grabbing the shirts from the counter. He watches you as you scan the item - only one of your eyes are done, beautifully enhanced with an artistic flourish of eyeliner, mascara, and eye shadow; your other eye is untouched.

"Is that all?" You ask, looking up at him, and he has to stifle a laugh. Thank goodness for his balaclava.

"Yea." He responds, sticking his card into the reader. You bag his shirts and hand them to him - he accepts the bag and puts his card back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Receipt?"

"No thanks."

You nod - he stays there, staring at you with a rather blank expression. You purse your lips and tap the counter, adverting your gaze to anything but him. You were used to getting stares because of your makeup, but this guy in particular wasn't even subtle about it.

"Is that all?" He says, jutting his chin towards you.

You blink, staring back at him. Does he mean my makeup? "Oh- heh, no. Still gotta do my other eye."

He nods. "Looks good."

"Thanks..." You say. You're not sure if he's being honest or sarcastic. But before you have the chance to question it, he turns on his heel and walks out the door, the bell clanging behind him.

You shrug to yourself and sit back down, digging inside your makeup bag for a brow pencil.

You're uncapping your lipstick when someone slaps something on the counter - not aggressively, but it still makes you jump. You turn around to find that same guy from last week, the one with the balaclava and the moody eyes.

You head to the register and look down. There's another pack of black shirts on the counter. You scoff and look up at him. "More? What, are you eating these?" You say as you scan them.

"See you finished your other eye." Simon grumbles, pulling his card from his wallet. "Did it take ya the whole week?"

You glare at him, shoving his shirts into a bag. "It did." You say sarcastically, and he grunts, taking the bag as you hand it to him.

Simon watches as you turn to the side, assuming he was already on his way out the door. You popped the cap off your lipstick and parted your lips in front of the tiny mirror on the counter - he felt something akin to surprise when your lips were smeared in black, rather than the red he was expecting.

You feel a pair of eyes on your back. You turn around - that guy is still there, and you fight back a frown.

"Can I help you with anything else?" You say, trying to stress the weirdness of the situation in your tone.

"I like this." He says, using his free hand to circle his face. "Looks good on you. Unique."

You smile, genuinely pleased with the compliment. Most of the time, if people (other than your friends) weren't ogling at you, they were saying how strange and "ugly" your makeup looked (this was a common comment among the older ladies that came to the store).

"Thanks." You reply. "You want a makeover?"

Simon chuckles quietly. "Nah, not really." And then, as quick as he came, he's gone again - out the door before you can even try to carry a conversation with him.

Simon comes back the next week - this time, for a pack of smokes and some new gloves. Uncharacteristically, he finds himself a little excited to see you again, despite never saying more than fifty words to you in total. He gets to the counter and places his items down - his heart sinks a bit when he isn't greeted by you and your half-finished goth makeup.

An older lady steps forward and scans his items. "Do you have a rewards card with us?"

"No."

Would you like to sigh up for one?"

"No."

She doesn't even look at him as she slides the cigs and glives back to him. "Fifteen twenty-seven."

He slides his card in. He can't help but wonder where you might be; not that he misses you or anything, he's just a curious man. He doesn't like not knowing things, and you're a rather difficult, raven-haired puzzle to decipher.

"S'cuse me, but-" he shifts his weight as he pockets his wallet. "Where's the other girl? Y'know, the one with all the-" he waves his hand in front of his face. "She usually works Thursdays."

The woman looks at him with a tight-lipped, glazed-over expression. "I'm not allowed to share any employee's schedule information, sir." She drones in a monotone, customer service voice.

He blinks for a moment, wracking his brain for a response. "I'm 'er uncle."

"Oh - she quit."

"Really?" Simon says - he's rather upset that you, an artistically-talented cashier he's met twice, is no longer employed at the lackluster retail store. "What happened?"

"Manager told her all that shit had to go." She leans her hip against the counter. "All that ugly face paint - it was freaking the customers out. She threw a hissy fit and stormed out."

He hummed, thiugh he took what she said with a grain of salt. "Right. Thanks." He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The woman sighs. "I mean, people paint themselves to look like the devil and expect to be treated like a normal human. Is that crazy, or am I just old?"

Just an old hag. "Dunno." He shrugs.

"Oh-" she holds up a finger, signaling for him to wait as she meanders to the end of the counter. She grabs an envelope and comes back to the cash register, handing it to Simon. "Give this to your niece. She never came back for her last paycheck."

He hesitates, wondering if he should make up some excuse like "Oh I'll tell her to pick it up." But, he said he was her uncle - now he has to deal with the responsibilities of it. He takes the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Nodding towards the lady. "I'll make sure she gets it."

Simon hasn't tracked you down yet. Truthfully, he hasn't realy tried to; he wants to respect your privacy and chose not to look for you on social media - but he does frequent the restaraunt across the street from your old workplace, hoping to catch you if you ever decided to come back for your check. He's getting worried at this point - what if you show up and he doesn't see you, and then you start freaking out about getting your paycheck stolen by some random guy? That would be the highlight of his vacation leave. He isn't sure if Price would bail him out of jail for that one.

He's inside the restaraunt today, sitting in a booth and sipping on a mug of tea. Rain pelts against the windows, providing a background of white noise to his ever-active mind. He scrolls through his email on his phone, but as always, he's focused on work. The briefing doming up within the next week, that sergeant that failed the sniper placement, having to listen to Soap talk about how he spent his leave with his girl... it muddled around in his head, nothing staying in the forefront of his mind, but never dissipating, either.

He hears the door open, just as a peal of lighning crashes through the sky. Someone stomps their boots on the entry mat a ways behind Simon, and he hears the jingle of metal with each step towards the bar.

"I'm here for an interview."

Simon nearly snaps his neck with ho hard he turns his head. There you are - you've got your hair down, definitely not as teased as the last time he had seen you. Your makeup is less goth, although you've outlined your lips with a black liner that fades inwards to a crimson red, and your eyes are still sharp and smokey. You're wearing black jeans and a deep, red top, and an interesting pair of boots, decorated with small chains and studs.

Professional, but still incorporating your style. He can appreciate that.

Someone comes out from the back and walks over to you - you shake his extended hand with a smile, and he leads you to a booth farther away from Simon. He thinks he must look like a creep, staring at you in broad (rainy) daylight, but he can't help himself. He doesn't even know why, but you've got his attention like the moon pulls the waves of the ocean.

He stays there for a while - he can't hear every word you say, but he eats the comments and laughs that do filter through with a hungry mind. You sometimes model for any Goth-forward magazines; you're relieved that the owner of the restaurant doesn't care about toning down your style; you're honest - your roommate hadn't paid rent for a month and a half so you let them go, and now you need a little bit more cash than what a measly retail job can provide.

He can hear it in the man's tone: you're hired. He likes your forwardness and unique charm, and frankly, so does Simon. He's addicted to it. The last time anything had his attention like this was when he found out Gaz could do the splits - the shock factor had him surprised with how easily it truly wis to distract him when he comes across something so unusual. But this time, there was less of a ridiculousness, and more of an admiration.

He hears a lilt in the conversation; he turns to see you standing with an excited smile. Of course you would get the job, just look at you. You shake the owner's hand and grab your bag, a black canvas ine with all sorts of studs and spikes, and start heading towards the front door.

Simon can't let you slip away that easily.

"Movin' on from retail?" He says as you pass his booth.

You turn, looking confused, staring at him for a moment. It takes a few seconds before you recognize him, though your smile still holds some wariness to it. "Hey, weirdo...!" You say, standing next to his table. "You stalking me or something?"

He decides to be honest. "Was tryin'."

You furrow your brow an bit, your hands curling around the strap of your bag. "You were?"

"The clerk from the store gave me your check." He clarifies, pulling the envelope from his pocket. "Figured you weren't comin' 'round anytime to get it, so I tried lookin' for ya."

You wonder how this man was somehow able to get your paycheck, but you were a little less put-off. He seemed nice enough. You dropped your bag on the table and took the envelope, shoving it somewhere in your disorganized pockets. "You waiting on someone?" You ask.

"Was you." He comments, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Now, no one." God, he must look pathetic.

"Nice." You slide into the opposite side of the booth, your boots clacking against the legs of the tables. "Want another round? Some fries?" You look at him with those shadowed, big eyes, and he wants to keep you in this booth with him forever.

He chuckles. "You really don't-"

"Don't tell me what to do." You snap with a smirk. "Just choose. Drink, or fries? Or whatever you want, really. I haven't eaten lunch, and you look like interesting company."

He feels himself melting at your cocky, triumphant smirk as you dig around in your bag for your wallet. What did he do for life to deposit such a pretty thing right in his lap (we'll, a few feet away from it)? "Could go for a burger.

You smile, relaxing into the polyester seat. This big, quiet, lumbering thing has you intrigued, and apparently, the feeling is mutual. "What's your name?"

He smirks. He's not wearing his balaclava, but he doesn't really care about that at the moment. He takes a sip of his whiskey. "Simon. Yours?"

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Are You Sure?! - Episode 8 Observations

10/10 ☆

"If you just watch my trip with Jungkook here, you'll know exactly what I do every day at home."

Jimin - Are You Sure?!, episode 8

Something had shifted that last night in Sapporo. The tongues were looser, the flirting was back in full force, the laughter out of nothing and everything could be heard throughout the house. After two days of activities and always on the move from one place to another, this was now a time to just be. Like they usually are when they hang out together. And it was a peek into how easy it would be for things to escalate. It was like I could finally see how Jungkook could spin Jimin around and then receive a bite/hickey because of it.

A lack of actual objective and purpose cracked the facade that somehow they both tried to maintain and succeded more or less. Especially Jimin. But even in that context, this trip was Jimin and Jungkook stripping away the filters. Add some alcohol in the mix, together with tiredness and soreness and it almost strips them bare. So much so that it leaves enough room to blatantly check the other one up from head to toe while being almost naked. It leaves room to use words like "baby" and "honey" without the other one finding any of it remotely weird.

Going back to that quote from the beginning, despite Jimin referring to how he simply does nothing and lays around the house when he's not out working or on trips around the world, I think it also applies to the cooking session/impromptu show they had that evening. It also takes me back to their second night in Connecticut when Jungkook made pasta and both of them were in sync and knew exactly what to do and how to do it because it was a habit. The difference in Sapporo was that it had the humor twist on top. But even then, it all fell into place immediately. They laugh at the same things and they probably must have put on similar acts in similar situations before. Jungkook is good at making Jimin laugh and how can he not try his best at succeeding that when Jimin is almost falling over because of it?

Which is why the next morning is such a blatant contrast to their good spirits the night before. Reality came crashing down. Impossible to hide. The mood was down, some tears and snifling even before they left the place. Not even shared jokes about puppy Jimin could work anymore. Not even the feast they have each time they go to a resturant. Not even Jungkook opening up all the windows in the car to distract Jimin. And how could it possibly work?

The lack of filter was there that next day, but in very different circumstances. There was no point to put on a brave face and end it with a classic "it was fun, hope we'll do it again, bye". These were the last three days of spending significant time together before 18 months in which most of the closeness probably had to be contained in just being in each other's presence. They didn't hide the sadness. It was not only palpable, but vocalized. Wanting to go back to the first day, feeling down because it's the last one. And ultimately, for someone in his position that has travelled countless times for business and pleasure, the time he spent with Jimin filming this show remains as the most significant for Jungkook. That's a big statetement, but no words were minced.

The memories made during AYS?! will hopefully make their lives easier during their military service. And even though another winter is getting closer and snow is something to be shoveled there, I hope they'll remember running around the streets of Sapporo and only feeling pain in their knees from skiing.

[r6eduss]

Girllll what if an imagine where S3! Daryl and y/n are a thing and when Daryl left with his brother, rick and the others were the one who told y/n that he just left and she was so devastated that when daryl eventually came back she treated him coldly then eventually breaking down in front of him because they think it's easy for daryl to leave them

Idk maybe angsty in the beginning then fluffy at the end?? This scenario is stuck in my head for D A Y S 😩

Anws thanks!!

Listen before I go.

•Summary: Daryl leaves with Merle without thinking how it would affect you. (Fem Reader)

•Warnings: 18+, Twd violence, angst, fluff

•Word count: 2.6k

•Setting: The Prison

•A/N: thank you for the request! I’m really sorry if this isn’t what you wanted and you aren’t happy with it 😭 I rewatched a couple episodes to try and make it as accurate as possible to the actual series. also I’m a very strong believer that Daryl would call his partner sweetheart 🤞🏼(I promise I’ve seen all the other requests I’ve gotten!)

Rick, Daryl, and Oscar had set out to rescue Glenn and Maggie, who were being held prisoner in Woodbury. Michonne had accompanied them, serving as their guide through the hostile territory. The operation, however, hadn't gone as smoothly as planned. They had lost Oscar in the chaos, and the Governor had captured Daryl, forcing him into a brutal situation—pitting him against his own brother, Merle.

As the dust settled and the group reconvened, Glenn and Michonne stayed behind to watch over the car while Rick and Maggie went back for Daryl, determined not to leave him behind. Against their better judgment, they returned with more than just Daryl—Merle had tagged along, at Daryl’s insistence. Now, back at the car, an intense discussion was brewing over whether Merle and Michonne should be brought back to the prison.

“The Governor is probably headin’ to the prison righ’ now. Merle knows how he thinks and we could use the muscle,” Daryl’s eyes locking on Rick, his tone resolute. One way or another, he was bringing his brother back.

Tension radiated from Glenn and Maggie. Glenn, still nursing wounds from Merle’s brutal interrogation, was barely containing his anger. Maggie stood close, her face tight with the memory of her own trauma at the hands of the Governor. “He had a gun to our heads! You really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol or Beth?” Glenn's voice shook, both with fury and concern for his family’s safety.

Daryl shot back quickly, defensive. “He ain’t a rapist.” But Glenn was faster. His words were sharp, cutting through Daryl’s protest like a knife. “Well his buddy is.”

Daryl’s face tightened. “They ain’t buddies no more. Not after last night,” he said, growing more frustrated. To him, this was simple—Merle was family. Family was non-negotiable. Why was this even up for debate?

Rick, observing the growing argument, finally stepped in, his voice measured but firm. “There’s no way Merle’s gonna live there without putting everyone at each other’s throats.”

Daryl’s patience was fraying. “So ya gon’ cut Merle loose and bring the last samurai home with us?” His irritation was clear. They were even considering taking Michonne—someone they barely knew—while debating his own brother?

The group paused as Maggie spoke up, her voice softer but filled with conviction while gesturing towards Michonne. “She’s in no state to be on her own,” The trauma they'd all just endured weighed heavily on her, and she couldn't understand why Daryl seemed blind to it.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a look. They had their doubts about Michonne, and Rick had voiced that, telling the group that she’s not going back with them. “That’s righ’, we don’t know who she is. But Merle? Merle’s blood.” Daryl threw the statement out like it should end the conversation, as if everyone would automatically agree.

But Glenn’s response was immediate and cold. “No, Merle is your blood. My family is right here. And they’re waiting for us back at the prison.” His words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Maggie nodded in agreement, she wasn’t about to let Merle, of all people, endanger what little they had left.

Rick stepped closer to Daryl, his voice steady, attempting to bridge the growing divide. “And you're part of that family, Daryl. Not him.”

The statement struck Daryl hard. He looked baffled, wounded even. If they considered him family, why wouldn’t they accept his brother? “Man, y’all don’t know.” He shook his head, anger and confusion swirling inside him.

The silence that followed was tense. Everyone stared at Daryl, unsure of what more they could say. In their eyes, the decision was obvious—but for Daryl, it was far from simple. Finally, Daryl exhaled sharply. “Fine. We’ll fend for ourselves.”

The words hung in the air like a threat, and instantly the group erupted in protests. There was panic now, a desperation to keep Daryl from making a stupid decision out of anger. “No him, no me,” Daryl snapped, his voice thick with frustration. He felt cornered, like there was no room for him to protect both his blood and his new family.

Maggie stepped forward, “Daryl, you don’t have to do this.” He looked at her, and for a moment, his hardened expression faltered. “It was always Merle and me before this,” he said quietly, the pain in his voice clear. He was torn, and it was written all over his face.

Glenn, still reeling from everything, asked a question that Daryl forgot to consider in the heat of the moment. “What do you want us to tell Y/N?” It was a simple question, but one that carried so much weight. They both knew it would devastate you.

Daryl hesitated, his gaze dropping. “She’ll understand.” But there was a crack in his voice, a hint of uncertainty, deep down he knew that you in fact wouldn’t understand. The group fell silent, letting the gravity of the moment sink in.

For a long moment, Daryl stood there, chewing on the inside of his lip, torn between his past and his present. Finally, he began moving, heading toward the car. “Say goodbye to your pop for me.” Directing his comment towards Maggie. Rick quickly followed, refusing to let this situation go. “Hey, hey. There’s got to be another way,” he pleaded, knowing how hard this would hit not just Carol but you too.

Daryl paused, his back still to Rick. “Don’t ask me to leave him,” he said, accent thick as ever. “I already did that once.” Arriving at the trunk he begins stuffing supplies into his bag, while telling Rick and them to take care of themselves. He hoists it over his shoulder, glancing one last time at the group, and walking away with Merle.

You stood quietly, arranging your belongings. Your cell had become somewhat of a sanctuary for you, a space to shape, however fragile, into a semblance of back home. You carefully sat down on your bed, deciding that you were going to nap, until you heard a knock, and saw Rick standing just outside. His hands rested against the cracked walls, not wanting to intrude too much. “How are you doing?” he asked, his voice very careful.

You offered a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m okay.” It was silent for a moment, you could tell he had more to say. “Is everything okay?” Rick slowly brought his gaze from your face to the ground, wondering how he could bring the news to you. “Listen.. Daryl’s gone. Left with Merle.”

Your heart lurched violently in your chest, but outwardly, you kept still, trying to keep your breath steady while each inhale felt like swallowing glass. “Is he coming back?” He was coming back right? You two had something special did you not?

Rick’s expression was one of apology, his shoulders heavy with the weight of what he had broke to you. “I don’t know. He told me you’d understand.” Understand? Understand that Daryl had chosen to abandon the love you thought you both had? Without even saying goodbye?

“Okay.” You replied softly, your voice refusing to betray the devastation roaring inside you. You couldn’t fall apart, and especially not in front of Rick.

He lingered for a moment longer, “if you need anything..—“

“I’ll be fine, Rick. Thank you.”

He gave you a solemn nod before stepping back into the hallway, the silence in your cell feeling almost suffocating. You sat frozen for a very long moment, staring at ceiling. Then, like a dam breaking, the tears came, hot and unbidden, blurring your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You sank onto your bed, your body shaking with silent sobs and your heart aching in ways you hadn’t expected. You’ve always known that Daryl was complicated, guarded.. but why did he leave? Were you not important enough to him? Did you really mean that little? A hundred questions burned in your mind, and none of them had answers.

It felt like an eternity before the next day finally arrived. The night had been restless, your mind circling endlessly around one thing, and that one thing was Daryl. The way he had just stood up and left you behind, it left a pit in your stomach that only deepened with each passing hour. But today, you had bigger problems, problems that made personal heartache seem almost insignificant.

Glenn was gone, in attempts to clear his mind. With Daryl gone and Rick wandering crazy town, he was the next in charge, and right now he had a lot of pent up anger on what the governor did to Maggie. But of course, while he was gone, the Governor had made his move, and it was brutal. His forces stormed the prison with a cold, ruthless efficiency, and everything erupted before you had time to prepare. Axel was the first to fall, a sharp crack of gunfire cutting through the air as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Carol, who had been standing just beside him, let out a sharp cry of shock. In a heartbeat she ducked behind Axel’s now motionless body, using him as a shield.

Bullets ripped through the air, the deafening sound of gunfire filling the space as you scrambled for cover. You crouched behind the crumbling remains of the prison walls that were near the gate, heart hammering in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. You clutched your rifle tightly, hands shaking slightly as you peeked out from behind the wall, eyes scanning for targets.

There. One of the Governor's men was in your line of sight, crouched low, his rifle trained on the courtyard. Without hesitating, you aimed and pulled the trigger. The recoil jolted your body, but you didn't wait to see if you hit your mark. You ducked back behind the wall, the echo of gunfire ringing in your ears. Around you, The group fought just as hard, each of them locked in their own battles.

As you leaned out again, carefully scanning for your target who you hadn’t known already retreated, your eyes fell on Herschel, who was still exposed in the courtyard. Rick, positioned just outside the fences, was also in a precarious situation. At that moment, the Governor and his men launched an assault, sending a car to smash through the courtyard fence. Herschel, crouched in the field with his rifle, began to feel the weight on him as walkers started to flood in from every direction.

The fear was palpable among you, Rick, and especially Maggie as you all dreaded the possibility of losing Herschel. Just as the Governor began to leave, Glenn had returned, driving into the courtyard while Michonne followed the truck, cutting through the walkers that stood in her way. Their intervention was a lifesaver; they quickly rescued Herschel, escorting him into the truck and out of the courtyard, into the safety of the prison gates.

Outside, Rick was struggling to fend off the relentless walkers closing in on him. Just when things seemed dire, a bolt flew through the air, striking the head of the walker attacking Rick. Daryl and Merle had returned, joining forces with Rick to clear the remaining walkers. Daryl and the rest of your family were okay.. and that’s all you needed to know before bolting back toward your cell, trying your best to avoid the archer in the process.

A couple hours later you found yourself sat on your bed, running your fingers absentmindedly over the pages of an old journal you started keeping. Without looking up, you could heard the familiar sound of boots shuffling just outside your cell. Daryl stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hand brushing against the frame of the cell, his shoulders hunched slightly as though the weight of the world rested on them. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, the air between them thick with tension.

"Hey," he muttered finally, his voice gravelly and hesitant.

You looked up at him then, your expression unreadable. Daryl shifted his weight, uncomfortable under your gaze. Without a word, you stood and brushed past him, your shoulder grazing his as you walked out of the cell. Daryl flinched at the contact, his jaw tightening. The cold shoulder hit him harder than any words could have, and as he watched you walk away, he felt the guilt gnawing at his insides.

The distance between you two only grew more unbearable. As the days flew by, you continued to ignore him, feeling as if he didn’t deserve your attention, while Daryl found himself missing the soft touch of your hand, the warmth you brought into his life that no one else ever could. He couldn’t stay away any longer. He needed to fix this.

He found you sitting on the edge of your bed again, scribbling quietly in your journal like yesterday, not looking up when he entered, just blatantly ignoring him.

"Damn it, why’re ya avoidin’ me?" His frustration finally boiled over, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. You paused, setting the journal down slowly before looking up at him with steely eyes, the walls around you finally beginning to crack. "Why did you leave, Daryl?" Your was voice trembling but controlled, laced with anger. "Was it that easy?"

Daryl froze, his usual tough exterior faltering. He wasn’t used to being confronted like this, especially by you. He fidgeted, biting the inside of his lip. "It ain’t like that… Merle— he’s my blood."

"And what am I, Daryl?" You instantly snapped, voice rising higher as your emotions spilled over. "Why was it so easy for you to leave me? You didn’t even say goodbye. Did you not care?" Daryl’s gaze fell to the ground, avoiding yours at all costs. “I wasn’t thinkin’ straight”

Your eyes instantly widened in disbelief and hurt. “You left me here, alone, when I thought we had something! You weren’t even clear headed enough to think about how it would affect me!” Daryl flinched at edge of your voice. “I didn’t know what to do! I was tryin’ to do what I thought was right.”

You stood up abruptly, your anger radiating off you. “What was right?! You think abandoning me without a word is doing what’s right? Why’d you even come back if clearly all you needed was Merle.”

Your words cut deeper than any wound he’d ever taken. He stood there, staring at you, the silence stretching painfully between you both. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I came back 'cause I realized I love ya."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the anger in your eyes softening, though the hurt was still there. For a very long pause you just stared at him, scanning his eyes for any possible doubt for what he just admitted to you. “..Actually?” You really couldn’t believe it, you never thought he’d be the one to say those words first, but he did. All You wanted to do was stay mad, to push him away for making you feel like you didn’t matter, but the vulnerability in his voice stopped you. He again chewed the inside of his lips and nodded slowly to answer your question. "I’m sorry." he mumbled, looking down. He looked like he was about to cry, and in that very moment you just wanted to nurture him.

So without thinking, you closed the distance and wrapped your arms around him. Daryl tensed at first, his back stiffening at the unexpected embrace, but after a moment, he slowly relaxed, his arms wrapping around you in return and leaning down into your neck, feeling comfortable and safe.

"I love you too.. but don’t ever leave me again."

Daryl leaned back and pressed a gentle kiss onto your forehead, lingering just for a moment. “I won’t, sweetheart.”

And that was a promise he’d never break. Not for anybody.

@vampiresluv

[vanesycho]

Watched Jaemin and Mark live the other day and they played Jealous Tendencys 😲 Jaemin was so hot 🤭 can you please write a fic where fwb Jaemin is jealous of yn and Mark (when Mark tries to get to know yn)🫣 thank you in advance luv!!

warning:smut, p in v

a/n:pls...I really surrendered my soul when I watched the live, JAEMIN WAS SO F HOT, anyway, thank you for your request I hope you like it🤍🤍

wc:1,9k

"It's really nice to meet you Y/n. Why hasn't Jaemin ever mentioned you?" You laughed when Jaemin rolled his eyes at Mark's question. He regretted accidentally mentioning you to him a few days ago. Sure, you agreed that nothing romantic would happen between you two, but was Jaemin going to watch you flirt with him after he fucked you half an hour before Mark got home?

You came onto his cock with a loud moan as Jaemin pounded your pussy once more. He tiredly laid down next to you and kissed your forehead. "Are you okay?" You turned to him, trying to catch your breath. "God...You were harder than usual." He laughed at your words and sat up straight and smoothed his hair that was sticking to his forehead. "Mark will be here in a few hours." You sat up as well. "Yeah? We still have time for the shower."

Jaemin turned his head to you, staring at your face for a moment. "Are you really okay with meeting him?" You laughed, frowning in disbelief. “I mean...Of course? I’ve only been having sex with you for a long time, it might be good to try someone new. Mark... I’m already curious about what kind of person he is.” he watched your excitement, jaw clenched, and grabbed your wrist, quickly leading you to the bathroom. “Don’t get your hopes up.” you entered the bathroom, Jaemin spoke again as he adjusted the water. “Before you flirt with him, remember who fucked you a few hours ago.”

Even though what you had just experienced with Jaemin didn’t leave your mind, there was something else that didn’t leave your mind, and that was why he was so angry about this situation. You had already set your rules for this fwb relationship, but it seemed like someone was completely disregarding them. Whenever you tried to bring someone else into your life, it only ended in failure because of Jaemin, and it seemed like this would happen too.

You turned your attention away from him and looked at Mark with a smile, and when you were about to answer his question, Jaemin quickly intervened. “I didn’t mention it because I don’t have to tell you everything.” Noticing his anger, Mark laughed nervously. “Dude, calm down. It’s just that Y/n is really beautiful, I can’t believe you hid her from me.” Mark leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, examining you, a smile appearing on your face when you saw him looking at you up and down, you didn’t take your eyes off him. "I think it’s good that we met, I’d like to get to know you better.”

Jaemin laughed hysterically, licking his dry lips and brushing his hair back with a deep breath. His angry expression amused you even more, you really liked pushing his boundaries and Jaemin knew it all too well. “Yeah, Y/n is beautiful but don’t you think you’re overdoing it? Take it slow dude this is your first time seeing each other.” Mark tore his eyes away from you and looked at Jaemin, you looked at him the same way, what he said sounded funny because when you first saw each other all you did was spend a lot of time naked in bed and now he was trying to protect you.

Mark frowned and glanced at the two of you, slowly pointing his index finger at the two of you "Dude wait- are you two..." You looked at Jaemin, and when you saw the slight smirk on his face you immediately jumped in "Friends? Yes we are, it hasn't been that long actually so it's normal that you don't know me." You turned back to him, when you saw the smirk on his face turn into irritation you let out a small chuckle. Mark took the opportunity to quickly reply "Oh that's great, so can we get some alone time one day?" You looked at the phone he held out to you, you reached for it but another hand snatched it away as you were about to grab it, both of you looked at Jaemin with a questioning look, Jaemin handed the phone back to Mark "Do you really need the number? Just come to my house when you want to see her, because I'm sure she'll be here."

Mark took the phone without a word and looked at you again, you bit your lower lip to keep from laughing and cleared your throat "Alright then. I better go." Mark stood up and you heard a calming sigh from Jaemin, Mark turned to you one last time before walking out the door. "I'll see you later?" You gave him a smile, leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "I'll see you later." Mark swallowed hard, holding his breath for a moment as your voice echoed in his ears, Jaemin's throat clearing interrupted you. Mark returned to reality and soon left the house. Jaemin was looking at you with his arms crossed, you tried to walk past him but were forced to stand still when his hand grabbed your wrist harder than it should have been, you looked at him. "Yeah?" He leaned closer to your face, his voice wasn't loud but you didn't need it to tell that he was definitely angry. "What's with all this attitude? Are you going to flirt with every guy you meet like that?" The relaxed attitude you displayed in response to his anger made him even angrier, you grinned and pulled your arm. "Do I need to reiterate the rules we talked about? Because you don't seem to follow any of them."

He just studied you with a serious expression on his face, "Fuck the rules, it's funny how you think anyone else can get close to you when I'm around, Y/n." You tilted your head slightly to the side. "This is the purpose of our relationship, Jaemin. Just sex and no feelings. I thought we agreed on that." He grabbed your arms and pulled you towards him, you had to lift your head slightly to look at him because of the closeness. "We may not have feelings between us, but that still doesn't mean I'll let anyone else touch you." You lowered your eyes to his lips, a slight smirk appearing on your face. "Oh, is that jealousy I feel?"

The satisfied expression on your face made him swallow. "You know damn well. And you like it, don't you?" He grabbed your shoulders and pushed you against the wall, a small pained groan coming out of your mouth. "Fuck-" Jaemin didn't wait long before he moved to your neck, you shivered when he breathed into your neck. “If you like driving me crazy, then go ahead. But know that all this effort is for nothing because I will never let anyone else know about this body that I know every single detail of, you understand?” He sucked on your earlobe and started kissing you from behind your ear, moving his kisses down, bringing his knee between your legs and pressing it against your pussy over your dress, you let out a breath.

He slowly moved his hand down your body, the kisses started to wet your neck, he reached his hand inside your dress and caressed your clit “J-jaem..” your body started to burn, every place he kissed left a mark of fire. Jaemin had no intention of stopping, he had no intention of sharing you with anyone else and you had to learn that, one way or another. “Being alone with Mark, hm? Maybe if I leave marks all over your body he’ll figure out who you belong to, what do you think?” You moaned slightly in pain when he bit your neck hard, your voice reaching his ears and he couldn’t suppress the urge to do more.

Soon your panties were on the floor and you were in Jaemin’s lap, you were tired of moving, Jaemin smirked as he listened to your whimpering and examined you. “Are you tired? That soon?” He grabbed your hips and squeezed them lightly. “You want me to help?” You nodded quickly, the fact that you were so needy stirred something inside him. One hand went to your nipple and he stroked your erect nipple with his thumb. “Then stay with me. Just tell me that you’ll be mine and I’ll give you what you want. Will you be alone with Mark, baby?” His big veiny cock inside you was driving you crazy, the pain and sensitivity of not being able to move inside you was making your eyes fill with tears, you muttered a curse. “Fuck- n-no I won’t, only you will fuck me.. only me- fuck Jaemin please..”

The look in his eyes changed instantly, his mocking look turning into a hunger for you and it didn’t take long for you to find yourself lying on your back. He lifted one of your leg up and wrapped it around his waist, and without waiting, he started to enter your pussy with a certain tempo, the pleasure you were finally getting made you moan, Jaemin leaned in and sucked on your lower lip "That's right baby, I'll be the only one fucking this beautiful pussy of yours. What a shame that fucking Mark won't be able to enjoy it." You laughed when you saw him smirk at the last sentence "You're crazy." He smiled in the same way "For this beautiful pussy? Damn I am." Your juices mixed with his, your breathing sounds bounced between the four walls, Jaemin moaned deeply and his movements became rougher. His cock hitting your pleasure point made you let out a loud moan, without you even having to speak, he knew he had found the right spot from the tightening of your pussy "Yeah? You like it? Good, every time you think about going to someone else, make sure that other dicks won't feel like this and think again." his cock that was constantly hitting your pleasure spot was making you moan and whine with each hit, after a few movements your stomach tightened, "I'm close.. Please.." Jaemin spread your legs and watched with his own eyes how he was destroying your pussy, he let out a deep groan at the sight, "Fuck." He cursed between his breaths.

He listened to all of your pleas from time to time with pleasure, you were only his and you would continue to be his, there was no other way. He should be the only one who had this beautiful body and you, the only one who could hear this beautiful voice, only he should know how your pussy felt, the beauty of your touches. "Are you going to cum? Hm? You were flirting with my best friend earlier and now you're going to do this? Fuck- I should have let Mark stay and watch this." he laughed hysterically, laughing at the fact that you were too busy moaning to respond, he slid his hand from your cheek and grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. "Don't even try to take your eyes off of me, do you hear me?" You nodded, he continued his movements without breaking eye contact, watched how you moaned with your mouth slightly open.

He hit your pleasure spot hard a few more times and finally felt the semen flowing from your pussy slide off his cock, then he pulled his cock out of you and pulled it a few times with his hand and cummed between your legs with a deep moan. He put his hand next to you to support himself, leaned over and kissed your lips, you looked at him, Jaemin reached his other hand up to your face and started caressing your cheek. "Let's end this stupid complicated relationship, just be mine."

[slayfics]

Katsuki breaks up with you.

1k words

Katsuki hands shook, as he let out a shaken breath. Running his hands over his face, before returning them to resting on his knees. His eyes fixated on the floor never once looking up at you.

“Katsuki, what is it?” You asked softly.

Katsuki leg shook at your question. Elbow moving to his knee as he placed his chin in his palm. Never moving his gaze.

It wasn’t a secret to you that a rift had come between you and Katsuki. The past few months he seemed to be drifting further and further away. Still, you kept your wits about you. Maintaining your same routine, loving affection, and undying patience for him.

It’s a phase, you told yourself. Even the best relationships have their ups and downs. You’d come back stronger than ever in no time, you were sure of it... But then an ominous text came.

[Katsuki] Can we talk tonight?

Now he sat on your couch in a state you’d never seen before. His eyes started to gloss over as his mouth slightly parted, still finding the right words.

“I don’t know how to say this shit,” he grumbled, and you heard the crack in his voice.

“Just tell me Kats, whatever it is we can work through it,” you said quietly.

At that, the gloss in his eyes formed into full tears. The room is so quiet the soft drops of tears seem to echo.

“You know I love you right?” he asked, glancing over slightly at you before looking at the wall. He couldn’t handle the expression on your face. You had to know it was coming. Your body looked like it was braced for a shock. Hands gripping at your seat so tight your knuckles were white.

“Of course, I love you too Katsuki…” you whispered, the lump in your throat forming. This wasn’t what you thought this was- was it?

“That’s why… I can’t lie to you anymore,” he said, wiping the tears from his face.

You had so many questions but felt paralyzed in your spot. Lie to you? What could that mean?

“It’s… not fucking fair to you and…,” Katsuki threw his head back on the couch, both hands covering his face.

“Katsuki please just tell me…”

“I’m trying,” he grumbled more tears forming, voice unrecognizable.

“Did you… find someone else?” You finally managed to ask, mouth drying out, ear ringing from the intensity in the room.

“No. I mean… not in the way you’re thinking,” Katsuki said, sitting back up.

“I don’t understand Katsuki.” You said, heart squeezing. What could he mean?

“I… fuck. Look I’ve come to some realizations recently. It’s been hard… and I…,” Katsuki broke off, legging shaking faster than before. No matter how hard he tried there just weren’t the right words for this situation.

“Please… tell me so I can be there for you,” you urged.

A final sigh left his chest deflating, “I’m not straight.”

“Oh.”

The room froze.

Your eyes darted from side to side as you processed. Katsuki stayed silent and no longer moved. 'Oh' isn’t what someone wants to hear when they come out, but he knew couldn’t expect you to be supportive when he’d just shattered your heart, the vision of your future with him. All gone.

Tears left and he didn’t care if you felt you needed space, he needed to comfort you.

“Come here,” he pulled you to him wrapping his arms around you he cradled you in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he whispered forehead pressed to you. Both of you wept.

He squeezed you and you tried to gather the thoughts racing through you. Trying to catch one and make sense of it. He’d been going through this alone for how long?

“You’ve been struggling with this alone?” you asked, hiccupping back tears.

“Don’t- don’t worry about me,” he demanded. “I just- betrayed you. Be mad at me.”

“Katsuki,” you cooed, placing a gentle hand on his face. Thumb brushing away tears. “You could never betray me by living authenticity.”

Tears flowed freely, how could you be so kind and understanding to him? He pressed a caring kiss to the top of your head. “I don’t deserve that,” he muttered.

“Of course you do.” You said silencing his self-hatred.

“You know I’d still do anything for you right? I’m not disappearing. I’m going to look out for you, the rest of my life.”

“And I’ll always be your biggest fan,” you replied resting your head on his chest.

He rocked you both, moments passed, and tears subsided.

The lingering question becomes too strong to hold back. “Is it Eijiro?” You asked.

How were you so perspective, Katsuki wondered. He didn’t answer but squeezed you tighter, “I didn’t cheat on you, I promise. I’m sorry I just… need to figure this out.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” you said relaxing more into him, “and please stop apologizing Kats.”

He mumbled into your hair, chin resting on your head. “I hate myself for hurting you, I- never wanted to do that.”

“You could never hurt me by being happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you.” You replied.

“Don’t lie. I fucked this all up. You’ve- got to be hurting don’t hold back,” he pressed. His stomach twisted. The masochist parts of himself wanted you to hate him. It’s what he deserved for throwing away all the hard work you put into him.

“Of course, I’m hurting, and I will for a while. But- I’ll be ok. And anyway, what’s the alternative? Keeping you in a relationship you’re not satisfied with? I love you far too much to wish that for you,” you said picking up his hand to press a kiss to the back of it.

“You’re still the best thing that’s happened to me,” he whispered. “I… don’t think I could have been this honest with myself if it wasn’t for your unconditional affection. So… let me at least take care of you tonight. Make your favorite meal. Whether else you want. I owe you that much.”

“You aren’t in my debt Katsuki but, I’ll never say no to your cooking.” You answered a small smile tugging your lips.

sinners: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialsapphire @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif @reneinii @peachsukii @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @pinkpurpledreams @that-one-fangirl69 @dreamcastgirl99 @jays-adventure3 @bythevay @my-beloved-fandoms

[witchofsparkles]

Medusa Ghost & Siren Soap. This was the first Ghoap fic i wrote... It has mcd, so be warned. I still like this one, if you love a little sadness too. I'm posting the full fic, putting the ao3 link for you if you like to leave kudos or comments.

Ghost was walking down a hill with a blindfold, blood dripping from a cut on his temple and wetting the black cloth on his eyes. He was trained for situations like this, but the blunt force trauma he got on his head was taking the ground off under his feet. With a stagger, his leg buckled after his last step and he found himself lying on his back on the grass. His breathing was uneven and he most likely had other injuries he couldn't feel because of the adrenaline.

Ghost closed his eyes for a moment, as if his vision wasn't dark before. The next time he opened them, Ghost realized he wasn't on the ground anymore and he had a nice blanket on him. When he noticed he could see properly, Ghost slammed his eyes shut and covered his face with his hand, just to be sure.

Ghost's eyes could literally kill a human. Turn them into stone, into statues. Ghost took the blanket off with his one hand and found his way out touching the walls. He was in a cave, Ghost was sure. The sound of his footsteps were echoing inside and the walls were curvy. And he was alone in there, but knowing there was someone strong enough to carry him, Ghost couldn't take a chance to lie motionless. And he didn't want to turn whoever the helping hand was into stone before at least nod a thank you in their way.

It took Ghost some time to adjust his eyes to the sun but the gentle breeze made him feel better. Then he heard a hum. A song. Ghost felt his muscles tense. The tiny voice in his head that told him to stop was silenced in a second, and Ghost found himself walking towards the source of the humming. He wasn't exactly aware of anything happening, like his logic was prisoned behind bars made of emotions. Sadness. Lust. Submission.

When Ghost came to it again and his mind was let free, he was sitting across someone with forest green wings and the same color, shimmering fish-tail. A siren.

Ghost's eyes were wide open, he knew creatures were real, myths were true and he was a walking proof of it being a Medusa. But it was his first time seeing one. The rumors has it that the sirens would lure the poor men into the sea to drown and eat them, and not one of it told that the sirens were actually beautiful. Ghost was so taken aback that he didn't realize his eyes were uncovered.

"You might wanna close them quick cause I can't sit here like a statue so long with my eyes closed. No pun intended."

Ghost squeezed his eyes shut without thinking. The siren's voice was powerful even though he was only talking. It made Ghost do what he wanted, Ghost knew it was a dangerous thing.

"Stop talking. Answer briefly." Ghost spoke with poison. And the siren answered back just as sweetly. "Yes, sir."

"Why did you take me?"

"Injured."

"Name?"

"Soap."

Ghost scoffed. "Seriously?"

Ghost couldn't see it but he felt Soap rolling his eyes. "What's yours?"

"Ghost." Ghost cuss at himself for answering. He heard Soap returning the mock. "Seriously?"

Ghost didn't back down."Your real name."

"Would you tell your real name to some stranger?"

Ghost talked with certainty. "Simon Riley." Shit. Shit. Shit.

"I didn't expect that. John MacTavish."

Ghost didn't expect that either. His whole life, he answered back to his superiors. No second thoughts. Even if he did have them, he did the questioning part to himself in silence. And now it was ruining his life. "Tell this to anyone and I'm slitting your throat."

Ghost waited for a minute to hear something back from Soap but it was all silence. He peeked behind his fingers to see if he was still there. Soap's head was turned to the sun and his eyes were closed as if he was there to sunbathe. "Still here. No talking."

Ghost was stunned. "Why? Shortly."

He heard Soap sigh. "I don't want to give orders unknowingly. It makes people uncomfortable."

Ghost checked in his brain and found no pressing feeling to give an answer. It made him feel sympathetic towards the siren. He was the one who turned people into stones without warning. He was the one who had to put a blindfold and learn to fight in darkness just so he could use his powers to kill his enemies and not his fellow soldiers when he wasn't paying attention. Ghost understood him. And to his surprise, Ghost didn't gut Soap out for manipulating him and instead he just thanked the man. He heard Soap sighed. "You have a nasty stab wound on your right side. Be careful sleeping." And Ghost knew that he was gonna be. And he knew he was gonna actually sleep, against his will. "Stop this. You're manipulating me."

"I don't want to." Soap's voice was sad and Ghost hated to be that person but Soap was making him do things he didn't want to. "I don't care. Stop talking."

𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.

Ghost went back to the cave and left Soap sitting on a rock and looking like he was out from an old painting of sirens. It was an unreal sight. The setting sun reflecting from the scales of his tail and broad wings casting shadows down the ground.

Dangerous. Ethereal.

He lied down on his left side and closed his eyes again. The stab wound was throbbing with pain but he was a soldier, it wasn't his first time getting injured on a mission. But against this, he slept through the night for the first time in his life.

Soap stayed at the top of the rock the whole night. He would be making a mess with his voice again if he had any anger or fright in him. A curse he got from his father, a curse he didn't deserve. He was born like this, and Soap was sure he didn't ask God to make him this way before his soul was sent down to the earth.

Bound to water. Bound to die alone.

Bound to be killed by someone with an earplug, whose relative he drowned when he was younger. Maybe with a knife to his heart or a gun to his head. Because he was aware of his sins, against his late mother's "it's not a sin if you didn't know you committed" sayings. Soap carried deaths on his shoulders when he didn't leave shore which no one came. His voice carried the bullet to the wast oceans.

A sniper.

Soap didn't talk again. And Ghost didn't open his eyes but neither of them leave. It would be easier if Ghost left. Ghost knew it. But he didn't. He couldn't, for some unknown reason. And Soap knew he could enchant Ghost to go away. To go back. But with an unspoken joint decision, they stayed. Soap would tap on Ghost's shoulder to indicate something, instead of using his voice. And with a blindfold, Ghost would touch to feel. Mostly the objects, sometimes Soap's fingers when he was handing the object. They went like that for some time. Ghost wasn't talking too much too, he wasnt a man of many words to start with but sometimes he felt the need to fill the silence. He told stories of his battles. The war he was fighting. He fought. His family. His dad and even a hint of what he done. The Roba, very briefly, just with a name. His wounds. His eyes.

Soap was always listening. Even though Ghost never saw it. But when Ghost was sleeping and nightmares came to haunt him, Soap would ease his worries with a whisper. And when Soap was sleeping, Ghost would watch him silently. He saw a face with half open lips to snore lightly, and closed eyes. But he assumed Soap's eyes were blue. He was a sea creature, of course his eyes were blue. And he wanted to see them up close. Ghost didn't really consider his own eyes as curse, never really hated them because it was how he managed to escape his dad. His old house was like a Britih museum when he left. But now, not be able to look at Soap's eyes was eating him alive.

"What color are your eyes?" Ghost heard his voice as a whisper but knew Soap heard and was looking at him. He didn't have an answer. Or rather, didn't answer.

"You can talk." Soap took a sharp breath. He wasn't talking for so long, his voice was hoarse and his throat hurt when spoke. "Blue."

Ghost knew it. He couldn't hold himself back from a tiny smile. A little tug of the corner of his lip. Soap saw it but didn't comment on it.

"What's yours?"

"Guess."

Soap didn't make a sound. Ghost found it odd first but then relaxed instantly. Happily, to his surprise. "I didn’t reply right away."

Ghost heard Soap's footsteps approaching. "Put some authority in your voice. Order me something."

Ghost didn't see it but Soap was biting on his lip. "Give me that knife on your west."

"In your dreams."

"Shit."

"Is that possible?"

Soap's voice was still hoarse but Ghost suspected it was because he was holding back tears. There was something broken behind it. "Mom always told me if I spend enough time with someone, my voice would lose its effect. I never stayed with someone. I didn't know."

Ghost didn't know whether to cry or laugh.

"Two fish in a tank..." Soap cut him with a frown. "What?"

"Well, if you tell me to shut up after this and I won't, we can be sure."

Soap burst in laugh at that and Ghost swore he was enchanted. It was Ghost's first time to make someone laugh. Soap saw the change on Ghost's face. "What?"

"I usually make people scream in fright and make them sob. This is new."

"And this is dark. I'm happy that I can finally talk and laugh without worrying if someone dropped dead."

"This is not dark?"

"Let's say we're colorblind."

Ghost smiled at that. He loved to hear Soap's laugh. Maybe it was the final stage of siren-manipulation before death and he woke up on the otherside after Soap gnawed him to his bones but he didn't care. Ghost was happy there. With or without talking or seeing. He was actually happy.

But it didn't take long. It never took long.

The relationship between them was different now. Ghost loved to hear Soap's laugh so he was making jokes sometimes. And he didn't know, but Soap was watching his face's every move to catch every little detail. Tugging of his lip because of an old and healed cut, nose scrunch.

Soap adored the nose scrunch.

But it all shattered down when heavy footsteps fall on the ground, yellings coming from the top of the hills. The hills Ghost came from.

His past caught up to him once again. Ghost screamed at Soap to get into water. It was the safest for him. And for Ghost. He knew he couldn't fight when his mind was on Soap and if he was dead or alive. Soap obeyed and disappeared under water. Ghost squatted behind the entry of the cave with his old weapon. A voice he didn't recognize called to him.

"Ghost! I know you're here. Come with us if you want to live." They didn't threaten him with Soap. Most likely they didn't know about him. Good. "Identify yourself!" Ghost's gun was ready, the safety was off.

"You don't know your owner? You don't know who made you?" It made Ghost froze on the spot. His last mission was against Roba's remnants. But he made sure every one of them was dead before leaving there.

"There's always someone left of us, Ghost. You're one of us." Ghost turned his head to the water. He didn't see but he could feel Soap's presence. Ghost turned back and unfold the fabric from his eyes. That shore was gonna turn into a garden gnome store soon.

After that it was all about blood and stone. If his knife and gun couldn't reach, his eyes could. Ghost left a bloody mess behind, but the owners of the blood on the ground were nowhere to be seen. If you didn't count the statues that can't bleed. Who was gonna say otherwise?

Ghost walked to the sea with closed eyes. He heard a splatter. Soap's head was above water and he could see the ground. He took a look at the mess and turned to Ghost. "You okay?" Ghost nodded. He was fine. It wasn't a different day. If anything, his time with Soap was different from the usual. The calm was not for him. He got used to it in his time at there. But now, when everything was unusually calm, panic squeezed his heart. Everything went silent for a second and Ghost instantly knew something was wrong.

"Soap?" Then he heard wings and felt the wind coming from them. Before he could say anything, he heard Soap's scream.

The next thing Ghost knew, he was on his back like the first day Soap found him but half of his body was under water now. Ghost got up and ran back to the ground with his eyes closed. Soap's scream was cut in half after a shooting sound with a grunt. Ghost knew what he was gonna see.

"Soap!" Ghost's hands found the one Roba that hadn't die yet and snapped his neck like a stick. His hands found Soap next. He knew blood. He was born in it. Bathe in it. Ghost knew what blood felt like under his hands, tip of his fingers, on his palms.

"Soap?" Nothing. Soap's heart was beating like a bird's wings under his hand.

"Johnny!"

"What a lovely way to wake up." Ghost heard him whisper. He found the wound. Soap was shot on the chest. Ghost's hands were shaking so much that he couldn't press on the wound.

"Just breath. Breath and I will wake you up like that for the rest of your life."

Ghost lifted his head and looked around frantically. He had to find a way to stop the bleeding. He could feel Soap's heart slowing down. He wanted to rip the world open with his bare hands. To punch a hole on the ground and strangle The Demon. To shot down The Angels. To kill God.

Ghost shut his eyes again. "Johnny..."

Soap didn't let him finish. He put his hand on Ghost's. They both knew it wasn't going to happen.

"Ghost. Look at me."

Ghost refused to do so. He wasn't going to.

"Simon."

Simon fought against it with everything.

"Si. Open your eyes. I want them to be the last thing I saw."

A gut wrenching sound escaped Simon's lips. He fought back. God knew he fought back. But Johnny used his last strength to made Simon do what he wanted.

Simon obeyed.

With tears streaming down his face, Simon opened his eyes and Johnny welcomed him with ocean blue eyes. His body started to turn into stone but there was a smile on Johnny's lips. He cupped Simon's face with his hand.

"Oh, I wouldn't guess. Two colors. Pretty. I will never forget them for the rest of my life."

With a last, sad giggle, Johnny turned into stone with a smile. Simon sat on the ground with a smiling and crying statue on his legs. He held the hands of it and touched the face. Tried to wipe the tears away, tried to kiss the lips. Wanted to cover the wound on its chest.

Couldn't do any.

He cried. He wept. He wailed. He bargained with God. Told him to take him instead. Wasn't he the one that was the sinner? The murderer? The killer? Didn't he take the lifes of innocents because his superiors wanted him to? Wasn't he the one that didn't deserve to live?

Then he got up. He took Johnny off the ground. Carried him to the rock Johnny would sit normally. When he was still breathing. A siren who would lure people with his voice.

He put him under the sun and over the ocean. Johnny loved these two, and Simon made sure he could watch them. Then went back to the cave. It was theirs. There wasn't anything to deny. It was his, and their, home. He didn't think about leaving. Simon made it a routine to wake up and sit with Johnny like always.

He knew he didn't deserve to live with all the blood on his hands. Not after Johnny died trying to save him.

He was eager to be punished. If his punishment was to left behind, to be left abandoned with a wish he couldn't dare to make.

He was eager to be punished.

So every morning, Simon sat next to Johnny and he protected Simon from the sun and wind under his wings. He spoke to him, talked about anything and everything he couldn't.

Simon didn't need him to answer.

Just listen.

[princess-geek]

White Peonies (Part II)

Book: Desire & Decorum  

Series: Unspoken Desires (Modern Desire & Decorum AU)  

Summary: Another peek into the past, this time to lift the veil on Mary’s life and three generations of fascinating women of the Howard family. (Parte I here)

Main Pairing: Vincent Foredale x Mary Howard.  

Word Count: +/- 7572 words

Rating: General (but with light mentions to adult/violent situations, sickness and death).  

Notes: 💖English is not my first language. Please, excuse me for any typos /or grammatical errors. 💖Special thanks to @rosesnink for proofreading. 

💖 This is my submission for @choicesficwriterscreations ‘Fics of the week’  

On the previous chapter...

Hurting her finger, Mary snatched the ring and threw it at him. Her hand was bleeding, but what were a few scratches on a finger compared with the abyss that he had opened in her heart? 

Vincent took the ring from the floor. “Mary, my love, please, don’t do this.” 

“Don’t dare to call me that ever again! Get out of my house! Now!”

Vincent did as she had told him. Tears ran down his face as he collected his belongings. She couldn't look at him. 

As soon as he closed the door, Mary collapsed, crying her pain and screaming her fury. 

The young woman lost count of the hours she spent in that dark hole. When Mary came to her senses, she looked out the window and saw that it was a starry night. 

Her whole body hurt. As for her heart, Mary wasn't sure if it was there or not. She felt frozen. With great effort, she dragged herself from the floor to the sofa, covering herself with a blanket forgotten on the floor. It was impossible to return to the same bed where hours before they had worshipped each other and pledged their love. 

Mary didn't know if she had slept or not, but in the morning, she felt desperately hungry, despite not feeling like eating.  She tried to eat a couple of biscuits; however, her stomach didn’t hold them for long. 

At some point in the day, she heard Vincent at her door. He stayed there for hours, begging her to listen to him. Fortunately, a neighbour threatened to call the police if he didn't leave, and Vincent eventually did. This happened repeatedly all week. 

For days, Mary barely moved from the couch. When her tears dried up until the next round, lethargy took over her. 

Around the weekend, Mrs.  Lemay could persuade Mary to open the door. Although she had not read the article on Sunday, articles about the upcoming wedding multiplied in the newspapers over the week. 

She found her friend a wreck. Mrs.  Lemay was not going to allow the young girl to sink into heartbreak. She made Mary have a bath, changed the bedsheets, and cooked her a proper dinner. 

 

“Luckily, there is not a word about you. At least, you will not be publicly persecuted by this shadow forever.” Mrs.  Lemay tried to console her. 

“Screw my reputation.” Mary mumbled between spoons of soup. 

“Vincent was in my office looking for you, desperate for any information about your whereabouts.” 

“Screw him too! He was at my door several times. I am not interested in anything he has to say.” 

Thinking that it might bring Mary some peace, Mrs.  Lemay told her that there were rumours going around that the Foredale were broke and the marriage was purely a business deal, despite the excitement about the engagement in the magazines. 

“She’s a fat cat widow. It’s the tale as old as time: She gives the money, and he gives the title.” Mrs.  Lemay concluded.  

“It's always nice to know I am worth less than a couple of thousand pounds.” 

“If the rumours are true, he is being sold as a horse. It’s a pity.” Mary mumbled something unintelligible. “I know you are hurt and furious, I’d be too.” Mrs.  Lemay continued. “Nevertheless, this is all very odd, Mary. Vincent is in love with you in a way I've seen few people in love with someone. Since that night at St. James's, I have seen nothing in him but devotion to you. He'd rather lose an arm than make a scratch on you. I can't stop thinking there has to be a reasonable explanation for this.” 

“Of course there is. In that case, there are thousands of reasons… in her bank account.” Mary sulked. 

“He was not convinced when I claimed I couldn't help him. I’m sure he will keep trying to reach you, and I think you should give him a chance to explain himself. You might regret it if you don't,” Mrs.  Lemay insisted. 

“He betrayed my trust in him. I think I would rather have caught him in bed with her than this circus. He has been playing with me for months, like I was a doll. I won't be his or anyone else's doll.” Mary was adamant. 

“Anger and pain are not good advisors. You need to clear your head. Why don't you go spend a few days in your hometown? Some days away from London will help you organise your head and heart.” 

“I will not change my mind.” 

“You may not change your mind, but you need to think about what you're going to do from now on. Life doesn't stop just because your heart is broken.” 

Following her advice, Mary decided to spend a few weeks in Grovershire. 

Mrs.  Lemay was right. Leaving London didn't glue the pieces of her heart together. However, focusing on making repairs to her grandparents' cottage and garden made Mary find some serenity in the midst of the chaos. 

That house was full of so many good memories that even sadness gave her some respite. 

While she was cleaning up things in the kitchen, Mary found her grandmother's handmade 'Moka'. It was one of the few things that Elena had brought with her from Italy. 

“I only had three things in my suitcase: an old coat, the 'Moka' and the recipe book that I stole from my mother.” Elena told her granddaughter many times. 

When she was a little girl, Mary fascinatedly watched her grandmother prepare coffee there, as if it were a magical ritual. Her favourite part was sucking on the spoon after Elena added the sugar. 

It was the best coffee in the world, and Mary could still almost taste it. She ran to the grocery store to buy coffee beans. Replicating her grandmother's ritual made her feel really good for the rest of that day. 

Grovershire itself had little changed. Mary missed many familiar faces and came face-to-face with new ones in the neighbourhood. 

The new and old neighbours were curious about her extended stay, and, of course, theories about it soon emerged through the inhabitant’s small talk. To avoid uncomfortable questions, Mary said that her fiancé, Vincent Ford, had died in a car accident, and she was spending some time there to get herself together.  

Although it was a hoax, for her it was not entirely a lie. She really felt that the man she loved had died on that day. 

Right across the street, George Daly, her former classmate and neighbour, had married Pavarti, an Indian girl who had arrived there in their final year of high school. 

They weren't very close at that time, yet Pavarti was the first to go to the cottage to visit her. Although she was in the last trimester of her pregnancy, Pavarti helped in whatever way she could, especially in the garden. 

Between pulling weeds and planting flowers, there was time for long conversations. A deep friendship blossomed between the two young women. Pavarti was the only one who knew the truth about Vincent.  

George spent many days away because of his work, so it was common for them to cook together. One late afternoon, Pavarti was cooking dinner. Mary suddenly left the kitchen, without saying a word. Pavarti found her on the balcony. 

“If you don't feel like my fish curry and chips, just say so, you don’t need to run away from my kitchen. I have some roast lamb from the weekend in the fridge...” 

“I'm sorry, Pavarti, but I think I'll have dinner. I think the tea house's chocolate cake wasn't as fresh as it should have been.” 

“Are you sure it was just the chocolate cake? You barely touched it. In fact, you have barely eaten.” 

“Nerves are bad for my stomach. It has always happened to me since I was little.” 

“How long have you been feeling this way?” 

“I don’t know exactly, maybe for a few weeks now. Not just the stomach. Everything in me has been messed up since...that day.” Mary still had difficulties referring to the topic. 

“Have you considered the possibility of being pregnant?”  Mary looked at Pavarti as if she had uttered the most absurd of statements. Parvati went away for a while and came back with a small box in her hand. “Take it! You can do it here or at home, but the sooner you know, the better.” 

After spending most of the night looking at the little box, Mary did so. After the time stated in the instructions, the result appeared. She was so nervous that it took her some time to understand the meaning of the two lines. 

Becoming a mother was one of Mary’s dreams. They had planned a family. They joked about having a child born in that millennium and the next in the new one. They agreed on almost everything except where they would raise them. London was off the table. 

Now that dream was real, and Vincent wasn't there. And for the first time, she didn't want him there either. 

This was no longer just about her and her broken heart. On the one hand, she was terrified. It was impossible not to think about her mother's case. More than raising a baby alone, Mary was afraid that something would happen and prevent her from taking care of him or her. Unfortunately, the child would not be as lucky as she was. There were no loving grandparents to watch over her. On the other hand, finding out that a child was on the way was an unexpected comfort to her. No matter what twists and turns life had on its sleeve for her, Mary wouldn't be alone anymore. 

The blood tests confirmed her calculations. The baby would be born around November. 

“When will you tell the father the good news?” Pavarti asked her some days later. 

“I will not tell him.” 

“You should, and, deep down, you know you should. Who knows, maybe this is an opportunity for the two of you to find a way...” 

“If our love was not important enough for him to care and come to me and give a decent explanation for what happened, then I don't consider him important enough to be part of the baby's life.” 

“You are the one who didn't want to give him that opportunity!” Pavarti tried to reason with Mary. 

Mary knew she was contradicting herself, but the young woman was irreducible. Her wounded heart and pride only fuelled her stubbornness. “The wedding will be on May 2nd, do you think there is any point in doing or saying anything, Pavarti?” 

Mary told Mrs.  Lemay about her new situation. Although Mary's absence caused her inconvenience and money loss, she was the first to advise the singer to take a break to take care of the baby and herself.  

The music producers were not very happy with the news. Even though without stating it clearly, they implied that if the baby was her priority at the moment, she would lose the 'privileged place she had on their artists’ list'. 

Mary imagined that would happen. A woman with a baby was the eighth plague of Egypt. Now that she was so close, she was going back to square one. 

Baby Briar came into the world on Easter Sunday, keeping her busy while Pavarti recovered from the tough labour. Around that time, the symptoms of the first few weeks gave her a truce, and Mary began to feel better. 

The most difficult thing was the ban on coffee. When she felt like drinking coffee, Mary opened the ground coffee pot and smelled it until it satisfied her craving. 

Days later, when trying to put on her jeans, Mary became aware of her belly for the first time. It wasn't very prominent yet, but it was already noticeable that things were changing. 

By the end of the month, Mary went to London for a few days. With the wedding so close, it would be very unlikely that Vincent would be there. 

She had her first ultrasound. Hearing her baby's heartbeat for the first time made her worries disappear for a few minutes. She would never forget that beat. 

The midwife noticed that Mary was looking worriedly at the white spots that were appearing on the screen. “Don't worry, my dear, the baby is fine. With a little luck, within a few days, we'll be able to find out the baby's gender. Let me guess: You want a boy, and the father wants a girl.” She smiled. 

Mary pretended she didn't hear the question. The midwife took her hand and placed it on her belly. “You two are already a wonderful family.” 

Her savings wouldn't last forever, so Mary took the opportunity to give some concerts that Mrs.  Lemay had arranged for her. 

Returning to her flat after a concert, Mary found a man in a suit at her door. He was tall, had grey hair and a beard, and had a stern face. She recognised the same shade of blue as Vincent's eyes, but instead of his sweetness, Mary only saw coldness. 

She instinctively covered her belly with her handbag and took a few steps back. Two men grabbed her. 

“Good evening, Mary Howard. I've been looking for you everywhere. I would like to say it's a pleasure to finally meet you, but I hope this is the first and last time we meet.” 

“What do you want from me?” Mary tried to free herself from their arms. 

“Put her inside.” The Earl commanded. 

While one grabbed Mary tightly, the other found the key and opened the door. They dragged her inside and locked the door. She tried to shout, but a hand covered her mouth. 

“I thought that if I saw you with my own eyes, I would understand my son's fascination, but you are not even that pretty.” He mocked, as his eyes roamed her body. Mary noticed that he saw the bump. She felt a shiver run down her spine. “Are you with a child?” He asked. Mary didn't answer him. She could see his fury rising. “It cannot be my son’s!” Mary remained in silence. The Earl slapped her face with such force that if it weren't for the two men holding her, she would have fallen to the ground. “You damned whore, how dare you get pregnant? Wasn't it enough to be a bastard yourself? I can guess what your plan was, but this ends here!” 

For few seconds, Mary could barely hear the insults he spewed from his mouth. Her mouth was still numb from the slap. She felt the taste of blood on her tongue. “My baby will never be a bastard. I will be a mother, a father, and everything my child needs!” She cried. 

“I don't care what you or that creature you are carrying will be. You will disappear from my son’s life forever!”  

“Breaking news, Rupert Foredale: I'm the one who wants my baby to have nothing to do with your family. Unfortunately, I couldn't prevent this child from having your blood. No baby deserves to have a father who is a coward, a cheater, and liar, and much less such a despicable being like you as a grandfather.” 

The Earl was going to slap her again. Luckily, or out of charity, the bodyguards moved her out of the way of his hand. 

“I never trusted people like you. With some luck, the baby isn't even Vincent's. I warned my son several times that he could have fun, but not to be foolish. I should be used to his weaknesses by now. When I was young, I also had a lover who was an artist, a sculptress. She was very skilled with her hands...for everything.” A wicked smile appeared on his lips for a moment. “She was my lover and, I later learned, the lover of every young man in London with any money in his pocket.”  After saying it, Rupert took some papers from inside his coat. “Listen very carefully to what I will say to you, whore: you will sign the papers and disappear from my son's life forever. As I am a good Christian, in return, you will get 10,000 pounds. If you dare to open that mouth of yours about my son or what happened between you, you will rot in jail!” 

Mary spat at the contract. “My dignity is not for sale. And, unlike you, I would never sell a child to pay for my mistakes.” 

She was pushing him to the limit. The Earl was blind with rage. He wasn't used to being defied like that. Rupert tore up the agreement. He took a pistol from his pocket and placed it against Mary's forehead. 

“This was your last chance. If you or your bastard ever try to get close to us, I won't be so benevolent. I will make you botg disappear from the face of the earth even if I have to do it with my own hands.” 

In a matter of seconds, the lights went out, and they dropped Mary on the floor. As quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared into the night. 

Mary couldn't believe what just happened. From what Vincent told her, Mary knew that Earl was not a model of kindness, not even towards his own blood. She didn't expect him to rejoice over the baby; However, not even her greatest fears could imagine such brutality. 

After the shock of the first few minutes, the adrenaline subsided. She was feeling a very intense pain, but she couldn't pinpoint where it was. Her baby. The panic set in. If something had happened to the baby, she would kill the Earl with her own hands. 

Supporting herself against the wall, Mary managed to get up and call Mrs.  Lemay. She didn't care about her bruises. Mary just wanted to hear her baby's heartbeat.  

Mrs. Lemay called for a favour and rushed Mary to a private clinic. She refused to be examined without knowing if the baby was okay first. The doctor assured Mary that the baby was fine, but she only calmed down when he showed her the baby on the monitor. 

He was silent for a few minutes, looking at the small screen. Mary was about to panic again. “What’s wrong, doctor?” 

“Don’t worry, Miss. It's nothing bad. Do you know your baby’s gender?” Mary waved no. “I wasn't going to mention it because I am not absolutely sure. I think you are having a girl.” 

Upon learning that the baby was fine, Mary went into autopilot mode. Besides the bruises, the doctor found out she had a broken rib. After taking care of her, Mrs.  Lemay took the singer to her home. Exhausted, Mary slept for hours. When she awoke, Mrs.  Lemay was waiting for her with a light meal. 

“What happened was a crime, Mary. You should go to the police.” 

“I have no proofs besides my bruises. Who do you think they would believe? An Earl or a pub singer? 

“He is dangerous, Mary, and you confronted him!” Mrs. Lemay insisted. “If he was capable of doing this now, there's no guarantee that he won't do it again... or do something worse.” 

“He's afraid I will look for his son and ruin his marriage with the widow. I believe that as soon as they get married and the Earl sees I didn’t lift a finger, he will forget about me and my daughter.” 

“So, what are you going to do now? London is not safe.” 

“I'm going back to Grovershire and staying there for a while. The Earl doesn't know about my grandparents' house, or he would have gone there. It is far enough from London and from them. I need calm and security for my daughter. Then I will see what my next step will be.” 

“Have you thought about names for the baby?” Mrs.  Lemay asked to change to a happier subject. 

“Beatrice.” Mary smiled, caressing her bump. “Vincent would have liked it too.” She couldn't stop herself from thinking about it. 

“Why don't you ask him in person?” 

“Even if I wanted...which I don’t want...I can’t take that risk now. Even if we survive Rupert Foredale's wrath, you know the fate of the bastard children. My child will not be exiled to a boarding school.” 

Mary did as she said. With the help of Mrs.  Lemay and other friends from work, all of Mary's (few) belongings were loaded into a van the following night. As Vincent's forgotten objects appeared, Mrs.  Lemay discreetly saved them from the trash. She was thinking that perhaps the child would later look for a connection with the father. 

Back in Grovershire, Mary kept as low a profile as possible. Trying to camouflage, she began to introduce herself as ‘Helen’. Those who knew her found it strange. Mary justified her choice, saying she was known in London by that name. She had chosen it as a stage name in honour of her grandmother. 

People thought it was eccentric, but they eventually got used to it. 

Her belly was becoming less and less discreet. Comments on her obvious situation were inevitable, as well as comparisons with her mother's case. The most charitable hearts felt sorry for her situation. Losing her fiancé in a tragic accident and now having a child to take care of... It was a very hard blow from fate. 

The poisonous ones were not so compassionate. Their tongues distilled all kinds of gossip about her: that she was a luxury escort in London (the nastiest said directly prostitute), others that she was the rejected lover of a married man, that the child's father was in prison... Mary knew her truth, yet some days weren't easy with that background buzz. Fortunately, she had the Daly’s on her side. 

She didn't like perpetuating a lie, but it was the best truth she could tell. It would be better for both the child and her. Like her, Beatrice would not suffer for someone she had never met. Following her grandparents' example, Mary would make sure her daughter received so much love that she wouldn't miss a thing. It would protect her from Rupert and more heartbreak. 

The following ultrasounds confirmed that it was a girl and that she was growing strong and healthy. 

Meanwhile, Parvati returned to her work as a seamstress. Mary took care of Briar and in return, Pavarti was sewing her a layette fit for a princess. 

During the day, between helping out at the Dalys' house and preparing her own for the baby's arrival, neither Mary's head nor her heart had time to worry about the past or the future. However, many of the nights were full of nightmares about Rupert; others were sleepless, planning all possible future scenarios. 

On Halloween evening, Mary felt the first contractions. While Pavarti was finishing the hem of a dress, she was playing on the floor with Briar and felt an intense pain that paralysed her. Recognising the signs, Pavarti helped her get up and set her down on the sofa. 

That night was just a warning, but on Tuesday early morning, the contractions came back in force. Mary was terrified of what was happening. What the doctor and the midwife had explained, the books she had read, Pavarti's advice...all of her preparation and plans were gone. 

George and Pavarti drove her to the hospital. 

As the hours passed, the pain increased, becoming intense and almost constant. Despite telling her that she was doing great and that the baby would soon be in her arms, Mary was losing her strength. 

During one of the strongest contractions, for the first time in months, she wished Vincent was there beside her. For a few moments, she was filled with a whirlwind of memories with him. She could almost hear his voice smoothing her. Another strong contraction brought her back to reality. There was no use dwelling on the past. Her daughter was all that mattered now. 

After hours of pain and fear, at nightfall on November 2, 1994, her daughter was born. Hearing the sweet shrill sound of her daughter's cries was a relief. Having Beatrice in her arms for the first time was a new kind of happiness she never thought possible. 

Even though she was ruddy and grumpy like all newborns, in Mary's eyes, Beatrice was the pinnacle of cuteness, with her full cheeks, thick brown hair, and big eyes. 

Around midnight, Beatrice fell asleep in her mother's arms. Exhausted, Mary also fell into a deep sleep.  

A couple of hours later, she woke up with a start, thinking she heard the baby crying. Everything was quiet in the ward, including her daughter. However, the door was ajar. Mary saw a pair of eyes watching them through the crack. “Who is there?” She asked instinctively, placing herself in front of the crib. The pair of eyes disappeared.  

The next morning, after making sure that everything was fine with both of them, the issue of the father inevitably arose. Again, Mary told the best truth she could:  she had met the father at a party, they had spent the night together, and they had never seen each other again. She claimed she didn't know any information about him other than his first name. 

While she was trying to breastfeed Beatrice, a social worker with dubious intentions came to talk to her, asking some questions, pointing out the challenges of being a young single mother and the possibility of giving her baby up for adoption.  

Mary was about to lose patience with her when the Dalys came in to visit them. The couple promptly shooed the nosy woman away. Pavarti helped Mary dress Beatrice and put a small pink bow on her head. Then, George took the first portrait of Beatrice.  

Briar was very curious about the new baby, whimpering if they moved her away from the crib. 

Rocking her daughter by the window, the light illuminated every detail of her features. Mary noticed that Beatrice had a lot of Vincent in her. How she wished she could make Rupert eat his words. 

A couple of days later, mother and daughter were back home. “Welcome home, my love.” Mary kissed her daughter's head. “It may not be Buckingham Palace, but we're going to make it our realm.” 

 As long as she was well fed, Beatrice was (most days) an easy baby. Despite some sleepless nights, the many health scares typical of newborns, and hormone shenanigans, Mary felt like she was in a bubble of happiness. Her daughter's birth had not miraculously healed her heart, but she was the glue that was holding the pieces together. 

As the weeks went by, Beatrice was growing healthy and becoming more active and playful.  

Mary's savings were dwindling at the same rate. 

There weren't many job opportunities there, so Mary had to take a job at a local pub. Since Pavarti worked from home, she took care of the two babies during the day. At the end of the day, Mary helped her friend taking home some simpler pieces of clothing and making small sewing arrangements. She had never felt so grateful for the hours her grandmother forced her to learn how to sew. Despite it, she felt like she could never repay the kindness they showed her. 

The young mother felt exhausted every night, but holding her daughter in her arms, playing with her, smelling her sweet scent, seeing how much she was growing day by day gave Mary the strength to carry one each morning. 

Beatrice never lacked anything necessary, even if that sometimes meant just soup for Mary’s dinner. There were many things she wanted to give her daughter, but she couldn't afford them, even if it might be lacking, Mary made up for it with love. 

-----

The year 1999 began full of hope. Although it wasn't technically the turn of the millennium, there was in the air the excitement of the end of an era, with a world of possibilities knocking on the door. 

Now that the girls were a little older, the Dalys were planning to have another child. Mary was considering changing careers. Her idea was to return to the music world by giving private lessons. 

Unfortunately, in April, a series of attacks shocked the United Kingdom and destroyed the dreams of the young family. George Daly was passing through Brick Lane on his way to meet his last client for the month when a nail bomb exploded. He did not survive his injuries and passed away a couple of days later. 

Parvati was devastated. She cried for the loss of the love of her life and the loss of everything that Briar would not have with her father, even though she was too young to fully understand what had happened. 

Mary knew what a broken heart felt like. However, what Pavarti was suffering was beyond her understanding. Despite the troubled separation, the hurt, the anger, she knew that the love of her life was alive and well. There was always a faint light in her heart, even if her mind denied it.  

Part of her friend had died with him that day. Mary knew it would not be possible to heal that wound. For months, every day, Mary fought the darkness that threatened to swallow Pavarti. She was determined to take care of the parts of her friend that remained, just as Pavarti had done with her. 

----------------------- 

All children grow up too quickly in their parent's eyes, and Mary felt that it was in the blink of an eye that Beatrice went from a baby to a primary school girl. 

Apart from the struggle to get her up from bed in the mornings, some occasional tantrums, and some shenanigans here and there, Mary felt blessed. Beatrice was very curious, eager to learn, always exploring the small world around her and asking many questions, some trivial, some more philosophical.  

Even though she was little more than a child, Mary realised that her daughter had inherited her wit and passion. It gave her some peace of mind. Having a sharp spirit would protect her and help her succeed in whatever path she chose. 

Mary wanted to teach her how to play the piano, but her daughter didn't seem to have the muse of music awake inside her, although Beatrice's voice was naturally in tune. 

Nonetheless, as she grew up, the Vincent features stood out more and more in her, and not just physically. Like her father, Beatrice loved books, always asking to read stories. When an adult couldn’t read to her, she made up her own stories with what she saw in the illustrations and told them to Briar or to her dolls. 

One night, Mary was sitting on her daughter's bed, dog-tired, praying for Beatrice to choose a small book. What was her surprise when her daughter appeared in the bedroom with her copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' in her hands. 

“It's too long for a bedtime story.” 

“I didn't ask you to read me everything at once. I was thinking about one chapter per night.” 

“It's a story for older girls. You're going to find it boring.” 

“How older?” Her inquisitive mode had just turned on.  

That was a good question. Mary used her own example to answer, “Girls who are fourteen or fifteen.” 

“I am five, it’s not that different! Plus, you always choose good stories, so I'm sure it won't be boring. I have seen you read it more than once.” 

“You're going to regret asking me for this. It would be much more fun when you read it by yourself.” In vain, Mary tried to change her mind. She started reading the famous first lines. 

“IT IS A TRUTH universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. 

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. 

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?” 

Night after night, chapter after chapter, Beatrice paid close attention to each line. Sometimes the sleep overcame the girl: however, there was use in trying to trick her. She always knew which page they were on before falling asleep. The reading took weeks, which ended up making story time easier for Mary. 

With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them. 

“The end.” She dramatically closed the book. “So, what do you think?” Mary asked. 

“It's a little like fairy tales, but without fairies? Mr Darcy is a little grumpy for Prince Charming. Her aunt fits the evil witch role, though. But I loved it!” As she tucked her in, Beatrice asked, “Do you think there are many Mr Darcys out there?” 

“If you look for yours, you will find him.” 

“How will I know?” 

“You will know it. You will feel it. Your heart will scream it.” 

“Papa was yours?” 

Mary still had difficulty dealing with questions about Vincent. For Beatrice, she had chosen to keep the narrative of the father who died in a car accident days before their wedding day. Despite her inquisitive nature, Beatrice rarely questioned Mary about it. Probably because the girl saw the pain in her eyes when the subject was mentioned. 

She had only asked her once to see a photograph of him. Mary made up the excuse that all his photos had been lost when they moved to Grovershire. She was sad but didn't ask again. 

“All love stories are different. Like Darcy and Lizzie, there were some differences between us, but, unlike her, I think I loved your dad from day one.” 

Mary had only seen him again in person once. They were visiting Mrs.  Lemay in London for a weekend. Walking through Hyde Park, Mrs.  Lemay was further ahead with Beatrice by the hand. Mary had stayed behind, enjoying the rare moment of peace that a mother of a toddler can have. There was a street stall selling ice cream, and she decided to go over to buy some. As she got closer, she saw him. She saw them: Vincent, his wife, an older boy, and a boy a little younger than Beatrice, buying ice cream as well. 

That sight left her breathless and with a piercing pain in her stomach. It was a difficult feeling to explain. It had been a little more than a couple of years, however, while it seemed like the same Vincent, it was as if their past was just a dream or the delirium of a feverish night. 

The youngest son was throwing a tantrum, and Vincent patiently tried to calm him down. He seemed to have become the fantastic father she knew he could be and that she had dreamed of for her and their children. 

Mary turned away and walked forward, quickening her pace. There was no reason for her to torture herself with the past, suffer the present, and tempt fate. Such an encounter would only make things worse. 

----------------------- 

As soon as Beatrice learned to read, Mary got her a library card. If on the one hand this freed her from the daily bedtime story, but on the other, it stirred even more her daughter's eagerness. Mary often had to go to the library to return books that Beatrice stubbornly brought home, despite not being appropriate for her age. 

Every night, Mary had to go back to her room to make her turn off the light and go to sleep. On Friday nights, she knew that her daughter, after being caught in the act, would read another chapter under the blankets by flashlight, however, she decided to pretend that she didn't know about it. 

----------------------- 

February, 2004 

Sitting in the doctor's waiting room, Mary tried to focus on the gossip magazine. Her limbs were heavy and sore from trying to control her nerves. 

It wouldn't be anything serious, Mary repeated to herself. She had always been a healthy lass. She was just an exhausted mother, like many others. Like Pavarti, who had insisted on accompanying her to the appointment. There was a wedding dress to urgently finish, yet there she was. The years did not expunge the loss, but they brought back the light of her best friend. 

Daughters full of energy in Year 5, long hours of work, little sleep, months without a moment for themselves, bills hard to pay alone, the need to start preparing the girls' future... No wonder they were both in shambles. 

At Pavarti's insistence, there she was, fearing the worst, hoping for the best. 

“Helen Howard!” the nurse called. Mary wanted to get up, but her legs didn't allow her to do so for a few seconds. 

After some small talk, the doctor delivered the news in the politest and least dramatic way possible. “The cancer is aggressive, and it’s in an advanced stage. However, you are a woman in the prime.  The sick cells have used your strength to multiply, but that same strength can be used in your favour...” He proceeded to explain the options available in her case. 

Mary feared the suffering caused by the treatments, she feared the doctor's lack of certainty, she feared death... but, above all, she was terrified by the idea of her little girl being alone in the world. 

Leaving the doctor's office, Mary didn't know what to feel or what to think. It was as if she were possessed by a sharp pain, a paralysing numbness, while at the same time she was diving into a bottomless, icy lake. 

Then the anger and frustration came. ‘Why her? Hadn't she suffered enough already?’ 

As the days went by, Mary wasn’t still conformed to the diagnosis, but took control of what was in her hands. 

For Beatrice and a future with her, Mary made her mind up to religiously follow the treatments. Even if she couldn’t escape, any chance of spending more time with her daughter would be worth every discomfort. 

In the following days, Mary's biggest concern was how to tell her about it. Unfortunately, or fortunately, children are very perceptive. So, it didn't take long for Beatrice to ask her mother directly what was happening. 

Mary stopped chopping the vegetables for the soup and took a deep breath. She couldn't break down in front of her daughter. To buy some time, Mary poured two glasses of juice for both of them. After a couple of sips, the first shaky words left his lips.  

“As you know, I had some medical exams. I went to the doctor last week to get the results. I am very ill, my love.” She tried to find gracious words in the English language, but emotions rushed things. “I have ovarian cancer. I am starting treatments next week.” 

Beatrice was silent for a while. Mary could see in her daughter's expressions that she was processing what she had just heard. “But, after it, you're going to be okay, right?” She looked up at Mary with her big, sweet hazel eyes. 

Mary didn't want to lie to her, but she didn't want to be overly optimistic. "I will do my best. The doctors will do their best, and with a little faith everything, will be okay.” 

+++++++ 

Her grandmother got a similar surgery years ago as a preventative measure; therefore, the operation didn't scare her. Mary knew the secret was to get plenty of rest, so as she did, at least, as much as mother can do. 

On the other hand, chemotherapy treatments were knocking her down. Pregnancy nausea was a child's play compared to what she was feeling. After the sessions, Mary felt so weak that she could barely get out of bed for days. When she finally started to feel better, it was time to do another one. 

If it weren't for Beatrice, Mary was sure she couldn’t bear it. 

As soon as her hair began to fall like leaves in autumn, she decided to cut it very short. Mary had always loved and pampered her hair, and her grandmother was to blame. She loved her granddaughter's hair and spent hours doing elaborate hairstyles. Elena Howard used to say, 'Tira più un capello di donna che cento paia di buoi'' (‘one hair of woman pulls more than a hundred pairs of oxen’). Mary only many years later understood the full meaning of these words. 

However, more than her hurt vanity, seeing Beatrice cry when she faced her like that for the first time was much more painful. 

Since Mary couldn’t afford a decent wig, she chose to wear headscarves. Parvati, using all the scraps of beautiful fabrics, sewed her headscarves in all patterns and colours. 

+++++++ 

Despite all the ups and downs, Mary was enjoying that summer. 

One more time in her life, she has a lot to be thankful for Parvati. Her friend was being tireless with her, spending the most critical nights close to her, preparing meals, taking care of Beatrice, driving her to and from the hospital... Mary knew she could never repay her, so she prayed that life would reward her with the same kindness. 

Thanks to Pavarti's generosity, Mary was able to dedicate what little energy she had to her little girl, keeping these precious moments in her heart.  

Beatrice spoiled her as best she could, with little gifts and affection. She was always ready to help, no matter the task. It filled Mary's heart with pride. Her daughter's love was what kept her standing. 

The fear of the future often made her think about Vincent. She was sure that Pavarti would look out for her daughter, however, if the worst happened, at least Beatrice would have someone else to turn to. 

Rupert had died a few years earlier, so he was no longer a threat. The years and the paths taken changed both of them, but Mary believed that his heart had not changed. 

She was convinced that when he found out about Beatrice, Vincent would not excuse himself from his obligations. She also didn't doubt that, as time went by, they would love each other very much. 

So, Mary started making arrangements. Since she didn't want there to be any doubt about her daughter's paternity, she took a sample of Beatrice's hair for them to analyse. 

Along with the samples and some photographs, Mary enclosed a letter from her to Vincent in an envelope. It took days, crumpled papers, and many tears to write that letter. Later, she would just need to instruct Pavarti on how to get that to Vincent. 

At the end of September, hope fell away with the leaves. Despite the treatments, the new exams showed that it had spread to other parts of the body. The doctor was almost as dejected as she was. 

“Just tell me how long I have.” Mary asked through tears. 

“I can't give guarantees about anyone's life, Miss Howard. Sometimes there are real miracles in the human body.” The doctor tried to comfort her. 

“I prefer the truth, doctor. Please.” 

“A couple of months, no more than Christmas.” 

“Will it be painful?” 

“There are several ways to make that period smoother, if that's your wish.” 

“Having to go is bad enough, don’t you think?” 

Back home, Mary didn't have the courage to face her daughter. Parvati took Beatrice home for an impromptu sleepover party. 

When the girls fell asleep, Pavarti sneaked over to the Howards' house. It would be a very difficult night for Mary. 

After many cups of tea and many more tears, Mary resolved, “This will take me to my grave, but I won't let it take away the shreds of happiness. My daughter and I deserve better than spending our final weeks in misery.” 

From that moment on, Mary focused on enjoying every minute with her girl, the epitome of her happiness. 

“When are you going to tell her?” Pavarti asked. 

“I do not know how, but not for now. When I feel it's closer. I don't want her to cry before the time.” 

*November 2004*

Giggles were filling the air. Two little girls were playing tag, running around carefree. 

Mary was sitting in her small garden, feeling severe pains, in spite of the medications. She held a mug of strong coffee in her hands, one of the few things that gave her energy. 

The autumn sun in her bones was her only comfort. That and seeing her daughter happy. 

Taking small, warm sips, Mary reflected on the past thirty years. So much had happened! In her short life there were adventures that would fill a lifetime. Losses along the way, setbacks, broken dreams...but also good friends, many happy days...and, best of all, Beatrice. Mary would go all the way again for the opportunity to share her life with Beatrice. 

She was already missing what wasn't going to live with her. Beatrice looks at her and smiles. She is missing two teeth that fell out the other day. Mary knows she won't see her new teeth, yet she smiles back. 

‘How do we prepare a child for our death, Pavarti?' Mary asked her friend, who was sitting next to her.  

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[gatun-gatunesco]

...

[ann1-wr1tes]

Save a Horse, ride a Cowboy

Synopsis: You make the mistake of placing Leon's cowboy hat on your head and you have no idea what the "Cowboy rule" is...

Warnings: Smut, Adult themes, filth

Word Count: 2,692

A/N: Cowboy. Leon. Two of my most favorite things.

-----

Your eyes dart around the entire space around you as your ears are drowned out by cheers and screams for the person who was currently riding a bull. Your friends thought it would be fun to go see a rodeo and so far it had been fun.

You got to see tons of people getting hurled off bulls which was entertaining in itself but you also couldn't help but agree with your friends when they all started to gush over how "hot" some of the cowboys were. Everywhere you looked you saw bandannas, flannels, cowboy hats, and flared jeans. You felt a little bit underdressed wearing your usual jeans and t-shirt but it was still fun getting to see all the hot cowboys and Southern charm.

As your friends ranted about this one man they saw who was about to ride a bull, you found your eyes stuck on someone else. Your eyes were glued to this one cowboy who was busy trying to calm the bull down enough to get the rider on top.

You couldn't see fully from where you were sitting but you could see the man's pretty blonde locks sticking out from underneath his cowboy hot and his crystal blue eyes that narrowed in concentration as he coaxed the bull into temporary peace. You didn't want to admit that you were drooling over him but you knew your friends would tease you if they saw how much you were staring at this guy.

Soon the rider is situated on the bull and a gunshot rings through the air. The gate that leads to the field is kicked open and within a second the bull is running out and thrashing wildly with the rider on top. You can audibly hear all the "ooohs" and "ahhs" as the rider holds on. Your friends are all squealing and cheering themselves as the man almost gets thrown off.

Then with another flail, the rider is thrown off the bull and ends up painfully tumbling onto the ground. As soon as that happens there are people going onto the field to scrape up the rider from the floor as others go to subdue the bull.

You can't help but cheer and holler as well as a smile comes to your face. What a show.

---

After the rodeo was over you wanted to conclude the evening by venturing to a nearby bar. It seemed like a lot of the people from the rodeo came as well as you noticed that once again you were surrounded by Southern accents and cowboy hats.

Your little group made their way to the bar and started to hover around it as the bartender asked everyone what they were getting. As soon as the orders are taken you are about to pay but as soon as you are about to give some cash to the bartender you are interrupted by a thick southern drawl.

"Drinks are on me, darlin'."

Your head turns and you are met with the same face you were admiring earlier. The fluffy blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and oh…you could see him much better now and god did the man look heavenly in the candlelight that emitted from the bar.

You could now make out the stunning facial features of the man and you could feel your heart speed up tenfold when your eyes grazed over his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. The way the cowboy hat sat on his head made something buzz inside you.

You are broken out of your thoughts when you hear your friends snicker from behind you. The man even seems to notice your sudden shock as a subtle smirk comes to his face.

"You don't need to do that." you smile nervously as the man's eyes rake over you. You think you might have gotten lost in those eyes. "But thank you anyway."

"No need to thank me, sweetheart. Something as pretty as you should have all the men 'round here buyin' your drinks." He winked at you making your cheeks heat up. Your friends snickered again but you ignore them with a small roll of your eyes.

"The name is Leon by the way, Leon Kennedy." he introduces while holding out his hand. You take it and introduce yourself in return and you're immediately caught off guard when Leon goes to press a kiss against your knuckle.

You were so relieved when you finally got your drinks. You thought you were about to combust just by being around Leon. Leon on the other hand was relishing in your flustered looks and shy behavior, in fact, he thought you were the cutest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Though soon your shy, flustered behavior was pushed back by liquid courage. It was sped up by how quickly you were drinking your beers but soon you didn't even notice how you were practically leaning into Leon, muttering things about the rodeo and how hard it seems to ride bulls.

"I mean…I thought the guy was gonna be dead…how he got flung off that thing.." you murmured to yourself with a silly grin as you looked up at Leon.

"Well ridin' is all in the hips sugar~" Leon hummed while leaning back on his elbows. Your stomach fluttered at the suggestive tone and you took another sip of your beer to try and quell your nerves. In an attempt to change the subject, your eyes dart to his hat and a smirk starts to pull at your lips.

"Y'know you look great in that hat…" you compliment as you eye it. Leon chuckles and gives you a smile that has you wondering why it makes your heartbeat pick up.

"Is that so?" he asks. You nod but there's a glint of playfulness in your eyes as you look at the cowboy hat.

"I think it'd look better on me though~" your hands reach out and pluck the hat right off of Leon's head and you place it on yours. You adjust it and tilt it just right on your head like it was on Leon's and then you look at him with a wide grin.

"Well, how does it look?" You ask. Leon seems frozen for a moment as his mind starts to comprehend what you just did. You notice the sudden hesitance for a moment and you almost think that you did something wrong but a smirk soon returns to Leon's face and there's an amused look as he flicks the brim of the hat up.

"It suits you well sugar, but do you know what happens when you put on another cowboy hat?" he asks.

Suddenly you're hit with confusion and it reads all over your face as Leon chuckles. Even the bartender seems to laugh a little and he quickly turns around and starts to clean out glasses when you look at him.

"No…?"

"Well, we have a rule called the Cowboy Rule. If you wear the cowboys hat, then you have to ride the cowboy." Leon explains calmly before taking a swig of his drink. You blink in surprise and you can feel the blush start to creep onto your face. You look down at your drink to hide it.

"Oh," is all you manage to croak out. Your throat suddenly feels incredibly dry. You feel a hand hook under your chin you meet Leon's piercing gaze. His eyes are filled with amusement and it sends shivers down your spine.

"If I do then can I keep the hat?" you cheekily ask. The corners of Leon's mouth tug up and it causes your insides to flip. Your heart begins to beat quicker.

"Wanna find out?" Leon says as he leans forward until his lips are barely inches away from yours. It takes everything in you to not close the space between you two. Instead, you nod your head frantically hoping that he understands your silent request for more.

---

Hungry hands rake across your body as your own hands run down Leons. The feeling of his skin against yours makes every single nerve in your body burn as you slowly unbutton his shirt and he reaches for yours as well. Your bodies collide together like magnets practically, there's such a strange pull that seems to be between you two as your mouths clash together.

Leon's teeth nip at your lower lip and you moan softly as he slides his tongue past your lips and deepens the kiss. In return you rake your hands through his blonde strands, tugging lightly when Leon's hand trails along your sides, going down to rest on your hips.

The cowboy hat still sits on your head as you lean back, breaking the kiss to sit back on your haunches. The sight in front of you was heavenly. Leon was laid back, his legs slightly parted, his shirt halfway unbuttoned and exposing his chest, then of course there was the glassy, lustful look in his blue eyes as his swollen lips were slightly parted.

The entire image made your cunt flutter with need.

You take off the hat for a moment and place it back on Leon's as you yank your shirt up and off your body and then your hands work to unbutton the rest of his buttons on his shirt. As soon you are done, Leon slips his shirt off and yanks you back on top of him by your hips.

In that action, your hips accidentally roll against his causing you both to have a moment of pleasure from the friction.

"Fuck darlin'…need to feel more of you.." Leon huskily utters as his hands tighten around your hips a little more.

With a hum of agreement your rest your hands on his chest and go to straddle his lap a bit better so that your heated core is pressed right up against his erection that is straining through his jeans. Teasingly, you roll your hips again and you both let out a long moan.

"Shit…stop teasin' me," Leon mumbles, his voice rasping and rough as it sends shivers down your spine. You giggle breathlessly, pressing your hips harder against the bulge in his jeans, grinding a little more.

"Why would I stop? I wanna see how many pretty noises I can get out of you cowboy." you coo.

Leon growls in response as he roughly pulls you back towards him, slamming a searing kiss to your mouth. This time he moves his free hand down and it slips down your jeans, finding your clothed clit and he rubs small circles against it. Your hips buck in response and you let out loud moans against Leon's lips.

"That's it baby…let me hear you." He grunts.

It's practically music to your ears as you rock your hips against his fingers as he continues to rub your clit and you feel the knot in your stomach tightening. Leon suddenly pulls his fingers away and you whine. You're left with nothing but the ache between your legs.

In desperation, your hands fly down to Leon's belt buckle and you start to undo his belt as quickly as you could.

"Easy there honey, I'm not goin' anywhere." Leon chuckles. He replaces your hands with his and soon he's tugging his pants down along with his black boxers to reveal his hardened cock. Its springs to life and slaps against his stomach.

You groan at the sight of it. It's big and thick and you almost want to take him in your mouth until his hands are already working on your own jeans.

He unbuttons your jeans and pushes them down your thighs. You kick them the rest of the way off and reposition yourself on top of Leon. Right as you are about to sink down onto Leon's length he interrupts you.

"I think you're forgettin' something.." Leon takes his cowboy hat off and puts it back on top of your head, tilting it just right.

"Beautiful." Leon breathes in a low tone.

"I think it looks better on you." You smile as Leon's hand grazes over your cheek and tucks a stray hair away from your face.

"That's nonsense, it looks stunnin' on you." He smirks and his thumb drags up and down your jawline, gently rubbing your cheek. The butterflies in your stomach flutter even more as he leans in closer to you, your noses brushing against one another.

You rub your slick folds back and forth on Leon's tip and slowly sink down onto his length, letting out moans at the stretch.

"L-Leon… it..so much" You pant between clenched teeth, gripping onto his broad shoulders.

"It's okay sweetheart, let me help.." he coos. The hands on your hips slowly start to help you roll into his, making sure to go slow and his grasp was decently gentle as he helps you build up a good pace.

"It's all in the hips sugar…." Leon whispers in your ear, sending tingles down your spine.

Soon on your own accord, you start to ride him faster. It catches Leon off guard as waves of hot, blinding pleasure course through his veins. He throws his head back with an audible moan as you bounce up and down on his cock.

"Good girl, keep rollin' your hips like that.." Leon praises, his voice rumbling low in his chest.

You nod and do as you are told, your body starting to twitch against Leon, your hands clenching onto his forearms tighter as he starts thrusting upwards, trying his best to push himself inside of you and meet your steady rhythm.

A whimper escapes your mouth as Leon sits up, connecting his lips to your neck. One of his hands trails up your back and plants itself on the nape of your neck as his lips suck and kiss your sensitive skin.

Your mind is spinning, your heart beats furiously. There are no words that can describe how amazing it all feels. Especially as the euphoria grows and the knot in your belly tightens. Leon, in his own desperation to chase his oncoming high, continues to buck his hips up into yours wildly from below.

His head has fallen back against the pillow as he feels your cunt tighten around him.

"Jesus…you feel so good darlin'." Leon groans in appreciation. You don't say anything, only moaning loudly and moving your hips with more vigor. The sounds from your mouth cause Leon to shudder as he watches you move against him. The sound of his name falling out of your mouth is driving him crazy and you look so damn pretty in his cowboy hat.

After a few more moments of bliss, you finally come undone releasing all of the fluids onto Leon's cock as your eyes roll back into your head and you slump down on top of Leon. Leon helps you along by moving his hand down to toy with your clit as you shudder from the waves of your orgasm.

"Look at you, you pretty little thing. So beautiful.." he grunts.

His hand comes up to the back of your neck as he holds you to his chest while burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

Your breathing is heavy and you wrap your arms tightly around his torso, feeling warm all over your body after your climax. Leon sighs as he starts to rub small circles into your back.

"Damn sweetheart, you may just be the death of me." he coos. A soft smile forms on your lips. Your head rests firmly on his chest, and you peer up at him.

"Does that mean I can keep the hat?" You ask with a sheepish smile.

Leon chuckles and rests a hand on your hat-covered head.

"Yeah, I 'spose so. It suits you."

[rileyslibrary]

It’s lunchtime at the military base, and you can’t decide what to eat. Ghost is getting hangry.

———————————————————————

“It’s a simple question,” he says. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

“Are you hungry?” He asks and lifts his hands.

“Yes, sir.”

“What exactly are you hungry for?”

“I-I don’t know.”

He drops his arms to his sides and sits at the corner of his desk. He touches the back of his neck with one hand while supporting himself with the other.

“Every fucking day, you do this to me,” he murmurs. “If you don’t decide this time, I’ll go eat alone.”

“Oh! Is that so?” You squint and hunch forward at your desk.

“Yes!” He yells as he stands up and walks towards you. “Yes, I will. In fact, I would love to.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and your jaw drops. How dare he? You’d been teammates for years, sticking with him through thick and thin, never betraying him once. But now he...

“...Would love to?!”

“That’s right!” He snaps and slams his hands against your desk. “So, for the last time: What. Will. It. Be?”

You lean back in your chair and bite your pen while considering your options. Ghost’s gaze darts from you to the pen, then back. He groans and grabs the pen from your hand, tossing it to the side.

“Pens are off the menu today,” he declares, snapping his fingers, “I need an answer. Now.”

Dumfounded, you stare at the pen on the floor. If someone else had done this to you, you would have slapped them in the face. Worse, if he had watched anyone else treat you that way, he would have ripped their limbs off their body.

But he’s hangry. As insignificant as this conversation appears, he doesn’t handle his hunger with the same poise he handles other, more complex situations. Not only that, but your indecisiveness doesn’t help, either. You need to make a decision quickly, so you sit up straight and place your hands on the table.

“What are my options again?” you ask.

“Pizza or burger.” He replies sternly.

“I don’t want piz—”

“Burger it is, then,” he says with a nod. He knocks his knuckles twice on the desk and strides towards the office door.

“W-wait, Ghost, wait!”

He sighs and leans against the door, his hand on the handle.

“I don’t like the base’s burgers.” You mumble.

“Nobody likes the base’s burgers!” he yells. “But we still eat them!”

“I was wondering,” you say and lower your voice, “if there is another choice?”

He’s softly bashing his head against the door, and you try to persuade him that there should be a third option—a vegetarian meal, perhaps. In response, he begins making whimpering noises. He’s the one getting on your nerves now.

“You know what?” you snap, “I’ll go check by myself.”

He extends a hand in your direction and shows you his palm.

“No, no, no, no!” he cries. “You join the others in the queue, and the entire base will starve until you decide!”

You scoff at his sarcasm, and he opens the door.

“Listen,” he says, “I’ll go check and call you, okay?”

“LIEUTENANT!” you shout, but he slams the door behind him. You peek over at his desk. “You forgot your phone...” you murmur to yourself.

The lieutenant was a very cold man when you first met him. His responses were limited to yeses and nos with the occasional shrug, and he never joined you in everyday job activities, especially at lunchtime. You’d always eat alone in the mess hall, and if your breaks coincided with that of Gaz or Soap’s, you’d sit with them and eat lunch together. Ghost would normally sit in the office or hide in a corner around the base and eat since he didn’t want anyone to see him without his mask. But slowly, he came to trust you all with his face, and you’d eat together, locked in your office.

You look at the time. Given his hunger when he left, he should have returned five minutes ago. What if he gave up on you and is already eating with the rest? Sure, your indecisiveness annoys him, especially since he has to deal with it daily, but he’d never let you eat alone, right? On the other hand... he may be trying to teach you a lesson.

You take another glance at the time. This doesn’t feel right. You start cleaning up your desk to head for the kitchen, but someone knocks on the door.

“It’s open,” you announce, “come on in!”

“I’ve got my hands full.” You hear Ghost reply.

You walk up to the door and swing it open. Ghost stands there with a serving trolley full of dishes.

“Thanks,” he murmurs while he pushes the trolley inside the office.

“You forgot your phone!” you inform him.

“I didn’t forget it,” he says as he stops the trolley in front of your desk. “I’d rather put my bare hand in a fire and let it simmer than add a third option to your dilemma and let you decide while there’s a queue of starving soldiers behind me.”

He removes the plates from the trolley and arranges them on your desk. “Here’s the fucking pizza, the fucking shitburger, and the tofu version of the shitburger.”

He places another plate with five pizza slices on his desk. He removes his mask and immediately slaps a piece in his mouth.

“That’s a lot of food, Lt.,” you whisper, scanning the plates before you.

He turns his head towards you and keeps chewing. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing, “better have all the options in front of you than squeeze any reserve of patience I have left.”

You take a slice of pizza from your tray and bite into it.

He stares at you, raises his plate to the sky, and rambles about how “you didn’t want pizza before.” You clarify that, while you still don’t want pizza, it appears to be the best option among the three.

“However,” you continue, “I would murder for a good burger.”

He swallows and takes a second pizza slice from his plate.

“I know a place,” he explains. “We can go tonight.”

“Lieutenant, you smooth operator!” you tease, “like on a date?”

He nods and takes another mouthful. He doesn’t even bother looking at you. He’s too preoccupied with nourishing his massive body to worry about your mocking.

“What kind of a place is it?” You ask.

“It’s a shithole,” he says, “but it does the best burgers you’ve ever had.”

“So, what should I wear?”

He stops eating and aggressively shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. “I won’t get involved in your woes again—I’ll give you the address, and you’ll be there at 8 p.m.”

“Are you going to email me the menu so I can decide what to eat ahead of time?”

He swallows and looks at you. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, taking another bite.

“Why?”

“Because there’s no menu at my place.”

———————————————————————

[y2kuromi]

⭑ : 呪術廻戦 ❛ 𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗕𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗨𝗠𝗘 : satoru gojo x fem! reader

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 synopsis: yuuji sees a completely different side of gojo-sensei !

contents: tooth rotting fluff w a dash of angst! established relationship (married), second person & told from yuuji’s pov. extremely whipped satoru! petnames, suggestive dialogue

summer isn’t over yet! collection, can be read as a stand-alone

yuuji was initially ecstatic about the prospect of living with gojo-sensei. he’d imagined lazing around, gorging on sweets and watching cartoons on tv — maybe a few training sessions squeezed in with gojo-sensei — ideally it would’ve been just the two of them.

his fantasies came crashing down when realised gojo-sensei’s “house” was actually a “home”. the walls in the foyer were riddled with picture frames. he felt like he was intruding on gojo-sensei’s personal life, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures on the walls.

there was a woman beside gojo-sensei in most of the pictures. she had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair. a friend? or a girlfriend? — nah. according to fushiguro, gojo-sensei got zero play. though she had to mean something to him. it was evident in the way he looked at her.

his cerulean eyes entirely averted the camera lens, instead devoted to committing every inch of her to memory

“that’s my wife” gojo said softly,“she’s gorgeous isn’t she?” he laughed wryly as he stared lovingly at the smiling woman in the photo. yuuji nodded slowly, studying his teacher closely.

“is she okay with me hiding out here?” he asked tentatively, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“ahhh about that” gojo says sheepishly, “i haven’t had the time to mention it to her so you’ll have to wait here while i talk to her” he ran a hand through his hair, snowy white tendrils curling around his fingers.

classic gojo-sensei.

“oh” yuuji chuckled, the situation was amusing to him. he couldn’t wait to tell fushiguro — the sour reminder that he couldn’t had his laughter dying in his throat.

gojo-sensei shrugged off his shoes and patted yuuji’s shoulder, “don’t worry she’ll say yes , i’ve got her wrapped around my finger”

yuuji waited patiently in the foyer, amber eyes flickering over the expensive decor and woodsy frames of gojo-sensei’s family. he could faintly make out traces of your conversation

"oh? you're home early for once" you smiled, leaning into your husband as he placed a kiss on your forehead. "what's the special occasion 'toru?"

"do i need a reason to want to see my beautiful wife?”

“nope” you hummed, “‘m just surprised to see you” not that you were complaining. satoru was a busy man and you cherished the rare moments you spent alone together

“how was your day sweets?” he asked, taking your hand in his, his thumb stroked over knuckles, soft, loving.

“same old” you shrugged, “we’ve got some big case coming up next week, so i was pretty busy today. had a tonne of paperwork and meetings too"

"my busy bee" he smiles, "i missed you s'much, i hate going on these stupid business trips"

"you'd like them more if i came with you" you said teasingly, poking his rib with your free hand "i ran into kento the other day, you sure i shouldn't come back to jujutsu sorcery too?"

"nuh uh" he shook his head firmly, "stay at your law firm pretty, 'm gonna need someone to defend me when i kill all the higher ups"

"what have they done now?" you sigh exasperatedly, turning the knob on the gas cooker and reducing the heat. the faint clicking sound echoes in the kitchen as the orange-blue flames simmered quietly.

"what haven't they done" he grumbled, leaning against the counter. he gently tugged at his blindfold, lithe fingers unveiling the cerulean eyes that you loved so much. his snowy hair fell softly around his face, a curtain that failed to hide the anger he felt coursing through his veins.

"poor baby" you cooed, hands trailing up to his face and cupping his cheeks, your fingers smoothed over the frown etched on his face, pushing his lips together in a duck-lipped pout, "wanna tell me about it?"

"y'know yuuji? the new first year that's sukuna's vessel?"

you nod, allowing your hands to fall from his face and rest on the counter. his greedy hands make their way to your waist, rubbing circles on the soft flesh peeking out beneath your untucked dress shirt.

"well they sent the first years on a mission to rescue people from the detention center, after sending me on that stupid mission overseas mind you, and the kid had to fight a special grade curse"

"is he okay?" you ask, hands ghosting over satoru's bigger, veiny ones. he sighs, a look of mild irritation fleeting over his face at the memory. in retrospect, none of that mattered now. he was home.

"yeah he's fine" he shrugs, "sukuna ripped his heart out and he died, but he revived him eventually"

"your definition of fine is questionable satoru" you snicker, and he feels his heart melting at the sound of your laughter. "why'd they send them on that mission anyways?"

"they just want yuuji dead, he was supposed to be executed remember? and they're really scared of sukuna which is crazy 'cause he's kinda weak"

"someone needs to humble you" you say, amusement dripping from your words like honey, "pride comes before fall 'toru"

"you humble me all the time sweets" he grins, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

"i'm just doing the universe a favour" you tease, "what do you want for dinner? rice? noodles? or we could order food from that thai joint you like if you want”

"i'll eat anything you cook sweets,” he murmurs, “though i have something else i wouldn’t mind eating”

“satoru” you gasped, “you just got home and you’re already trying to get between my legs” you smack his shoulder playfully

“i’ve missed her too” he shrugs, “i’ve missed all of you”

you shook your head, “can’t believe i married such a feen” a languid smile tugs at the corners of your lips. you could try all you wanted to resist his charms, but he’d always win in the end

"so...about yuuji" satoru starts, testing the waters, "the higher ups really want him gone, i can't keep him at jujutsu tech right now"

"i can see why you wouldn't" you hum, leaning on the tips of your toes to reach for the salt. satoru had a habit of placing the things you needed in places you couldn't reach just so he could have the honour of retrieving them for you

“need help with that sweets?” he asks eagerly, pushing himself off the counter and sifting through the wooden shelves. he easily brings the jar of salt down and hands it to you

"you have to stop doing this, it’s such an inconvenience" you sighed, but you were grateful nonetheless.“you’re insufferable i swear”

“‘m still yours” he says suavely. satoru’s smile is unwavering though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

you can tell the thing with yuuji is weighing heavily on his mind. he’s more restless than usual. his lithe fingers run up and down the counter as he stares into space

“‘toru?” you prompt, nudging him with your elbow, “i can hear you thinking”

“i don’t know where to keep him” he exhales, “i would ask shoko, or kento but then i’d risk getting them in trouble with the higher ups”

“what about the secret room we found in our third year?” you asked, “you could keep him there, unless they found out about it”

“i would keep him there.. but i just...don't want him to feel alone," he says softly. you didn’t think it was possible to fall even deeper in love with satoru, but he never failed to surprise you. “he's just a kid, so i— i want to look out for him.”

he knows it’s a big ask. you can hear the gears turning in his head as he figures out how to possibly convince you to let sukuna’s vessel stay in your home.

"can he stay?" he pleads, "can yuuji stay with us please? it’s only until the kyoto goodwill event" he's clasping his hands together, imploring you with his infinitely blue eyes. you raise an eyebrow. knowing satoru, yuuji was probably waiting around in the foyer

"he's already here isn't he?" you ask, shaking your head fondly as a guilty look flickers across his face. classic satoru. although you would've loved for him to give you a heads up, you didn't mind a bit. it would be nice to have some company when satoru went on his missions

 “i didn’t really have time to plan all the details before bringing him with me” he says, sheepishly rubbing a hand behind his neck, his fingers brushed against the soft strands of his undercut, "are you mad? don't be mad baby"

"no" you laugh, "i'm not mad 'toru, he can stay"

it’s the little things like this that make you realise just how much power you have over him. within seconds your husband is whirling you around, hands gripping your waist tightly and pressing chaste kisses on your face as he sets you down

"yuuji she said you can stay" a wide grin blooms across his face as he bounds into the foyer excitedly. the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, reduced to the faint resemblance of a child getting their first sleepover approved

you set the jar of salt down on the marbled counter. trailing after your husband. true to your suspicions, yuuji itadori had been standing awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs together in his hoodie pockets and silently taking in the intricacies of your home.

he couldn’t help but feel out of place.

there were pairs of everything — shoes neatly arranged on the coat rack. umbrellas tucked in a corner in the foyer. coats hung up next to each other on the wall.

the pale blue wallpaper hung row after row of framed photographs. their wooden mahogany panels reflected the warm lights. yuuji’s light brown eyes flickered on the pictures in all their glory and glossy sheen.

the ones that caught his eye captured a young fushiguro’s trademark scowl, the irritated quirk of his brow and the curled spikes of his hair that defied gravity.

he was standing beside a girl who looked just like him, except she was slightly taller with long bone-straight brown hair. yuuji’s eyes lingered on her smile as your beanstalk of a husband shook him excitedly

he wondered what fushiguro would say if he knew he’d seen pictures of him as a little kid. ( he’d probably summon his shikigami on him )

“really?” he beamed, eyes momentarily drawn away from the plethora of frames. you feel your heart melt into a sickly sweet puddle of happiness and warmth, as you watch satoru drape his arm over yuuji’s shoulder

“yes really” you laugh, “it’s nice to finally meet you yuuji, you’re a friend of megumi’s right?”

yuuji nods frantically, his mop of pink curls bouncing enthusiastically . his mannerisms were nervous and eager. he wanted to fit in. he wanted you to like him. you could tell — he reminded you oddly of your husband ( they were practically the same person in different fonts )

“speaking of megumi, he doesn’t know yuuji’s alive so please don’t let it slip when he calls you” satoru murmurs, taking slow steps towards you.

he knows he’s asking for too much now. you practically raised megumi and it would be nearly impossible for you to keep something like this from him. satoru can see the cogs spinning in your head, the subtle anger in your heart and for the first time in years he’s afraid.

“we’ll talk about this later” you say through gritted teeth. he pleads silently with his eyes and you swallow your protests, you exhale loudly before turning towards yuuji again “c’mon yuuji, i’ve just started on dinner”

yuuji kicks off his shoes and nudges them neatly beneath the shoe rack before padding after you. satoru isn’t far behind

“it smells really good mrs. gojo” yuuji says politely, as he takes a seat by the kitchen island, legs dangling as he drums on the smooth marbled counter.

“thank you yuuji” you beamed, “do you prefer rice or noodles?”

“ahh i’m not really picky” he says, “i like all kinds of food really, but i suppose rice? if it isn’t too much of a hassle, i really don’t want to be a bother-”

“slow down yuuji” you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “i’m really glad to have you here, it gets kinda lonely when ‘toru’s away on business trips so make yourself at home okay?”

no wonder gojo-sensei was always happy, his wife was an angel. yuuji thought as he nodded fervently

“i can make the rice baby” satoru offers, his hands make their way around your waist, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen under his touch. you’re mad at him, and he knows you have every right to be

“thank you” you said, putting as much feeling into the words as you could muster, “come with me yuuji, i’ll show you around”

yuuji was positive he was intruding now, standing in the middle of megumi’s room while you stripped navy blue pinstripe sheets off his bed and replaced them with canary dressings.

“are you sure i can sleep here?” he asks, “ i don’t mind taking the couch..”

you seemed horrified at the idea of yuuji sleeping alone on the couch. he still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that you actually wanted him here. he was so used to being unwanted

growing up with his grandpa was something he wouldn’t trade for the world, yet he’d always craved the warmth of a mother. a mother’s love was the purest, and there was nothing more blameless than the softness in your (e/c) eyes when you looked at him

“i mind yuuji” you frowned” and i want you to stay in gumi’s room, his clothes should fit you since you’re around the same height”

“thank you again for letting me crash here” yuuji didn’t think he could say it enough. he didn’t deserve such kindness, not when the king of curses lived rent free in his head

“don’t mention it yuuji” you said, “i meant what i said downstairs, i could really use the company”

you ruffled his hair softly before resuming your ministrations of making the bed. you tucked crisp sheets beneath the mattress and fluffed up pillows with ease.

“you’re a really good mom, why don’t you and gojo-sensei have any kids of your own?” yuuji only realises the question is slightly insensitive after the words hang in the air and an unreadable look fleets across your face, “i’m so sorry that was really rude of me-”

“you’re good yuuji” you laugh, you sit down on the freshly laid duvet and pat the space beside you. yuuji hesitates but he sits down eventually

“it just never happened y’know? we adopted tsu and gumi a few years back, plus toru’s always seen his students as his kids, he cares about you guys a lot”

“even me?” it doesn’t seem plausible to him. all he’s seemed to do is cause problems for gojo-sensei ever since he ate that gross finger

“especially you yuuji” you smiled, ruffling his hair, “you remind me of him funny enough, even though i used to hate him back in our school days”

“really?” he gawked, he was practically falling over megumi’s bed with anticipation.

“really” you affirmed , “he was a real piece of work back then, i bet he’s the reason yaga has so many grey hairs”

“how’d you fall in love with him then?” yuuji enquires, brown eyes sparkling with immense curiosity “and how’d you meet?”

“are you guys gossiping about me?” satoru gasps, peeking around the doorway, “how mean of you yuuji, i thought we were friends”

“ahhh we weren’t gossiping per-say, mrs. gojo was about to tell me how you met”

“can i tell him?” satoru’s eyes sparkle, “the way i remember it i walked into the common room and cherry blossoms started falling, classical piano was playing softly in the background and-”

“that didn’t happen” you said, “he’s finally going senile” you tried and failed to push satoru out the doorway but he stood his ground.

he stood almost toe to toe with you, a pleased grin blooming on his face as he towered over you. yuuji’s eye’s flickered between you and your husband, cheeks dusted a rosy pink as he stifled giggles

“it did happen!” satoru insisted, “i’m sure shoko has a recording of it somewhere, now as i was saying.. she took one look at me and fell head over heels in love”

“you’re deluded” you muttered, “i didn’t love you until our second year, get your facts right”

“so you did fall head over heels in love with me” he grinned, “so early too? i knew you couldn’t resist my charms — owww!”

satoru feigns as you finally manage to shove him out the door after hitting his shoulder. by now, yuuji is a spluttering mess on the soft tatami mats lining megumi’s floor

“i’ll tell you what really happened one of these days” you said over your shoulder, “you can shower and settle in, take as long as you need, we’ll wait for you to come downstairs before we start eating”

your smile falls the moment the door clicks shut behind you. satoru feels his heart shattering. he’s so sure he’s going to die because his wife is mad at him. the universe might as well combust into nothing but ashes

“baby-” satoru starts, catching your wrist in his palm. he grips the bone loosely, careful not to hurt you “‘m sorry, you know that, but megumi can’t know”

you trudge down the stairs in silence, opting only to speak when you’re seated beside satoru in the living room. your cat natsu watches you wearily from her cat post, slanted eyes shooting satoru a well meaning glare.

“you can’t ask me to keep this from him” you said, shaking your head, eyes looking everywhere but your husband’s piercing blue gaze. “you’re taking things too far now”

“i know” his voice is a mere whisper, the words barely speak themself into existence, “i’m being selfish again, but you’ve gotta understand (y/n)”

“i can’t” you splutter, you feel tears treading your waterline “put yourself in his shoes, c’mon satoru we’ve seen him at his worst, why would we do something that could hurt him?”

“i’m not doing this to hurt megumi, i’m doing this to protect yuuji”

“just think about it please” you frowned, “if instead of executing suguru they kept him alive and let us think he was dead, you’d never forgive them”

he doesn’t miss the way your voice catches over the three syllables. he doesn’t miss the way your fingers tremble against his forearm. he hates this — arguing with you, he could think of infinite things he’d rather do than this.

“that’s different” his voice is wavering now, “suguru made his choice, yuuji didn’t ask for any of this” he winces as the words fall from his lips. to think he’d stooped to speaking ill of the dead. he doesn’t believe that, not really.

“you still wouldn’t forgive them” you prompted, “and i don’t want ‘gumi to go through any more, tsumiki being in a coma is hard enough as it is”

“i know baby, i know” satoru says softly, he cups your trembling face in his hands and places the sweetest of kisses on the tears that threaten to stream down your cheeks, “trust me on this okay? he’ll be fine i promise”

“okay” you nod, letting your husband, your one and only, wipe away the tears spilling over your lashes.

satoru could really kill the higher ups for putting him in this position. one where he nearly sacrificed his wife’s happiness for something as insignificant as jujutsu sorcery. with his lips still pressed to the corners of yours, he makes a silent vow with himself

it would be you before everything. it was you before everything

“you’re so beautiful” he whispers, his thumb grazing your bottom lip “you. are. everything. to. me” he punctuates each word with a kiss. his lips committing every inch of you to memory

they ghost over your cheek, your quivering lip, your shoulder, your wrist, and finally the silver wedding band encasing your ring finger. and they linger on the cool silver for what seems to be eternity before satoru speaks up again

“dance with me?” he prompts, although he’s not really asking. he’s already whisking you onto your feet and starting up the record player. the vinyl spins on its axis, as constant as his infinite love for you.

“what?” you sniffed slightly, “like we did in our first year?”

“like we did in our first year”

satoru’s hands were on your hip, drawing you closer, he felt your chest brush against his for a second as he leaned into you. you swayed gently side to side, keeping in time with the intricate melodies streaming from the gramophone

his six eyes tell him his student is watching, listening. curious doe eyes peeking from the stairwell. he doesn’t mind. satoru had never been one to hide his affection. you were his. and he was infinitely yours.

“can i tell you a secret?” satoru murmurs, as he twirls you back into his arms. he wishes he could stay like this forever. with you. he’d selfishly sacrifice the universe to keep having moments like this. he would kill for you. he’s positive he would. he’d do it without hesitation.

“i thought we didn’t have any of those” you quipped. satoru feels his heart melting. watching the sadness in your eyes fade into utter bliss was like watching the sun come out after a rainy day. maybe even better.

“it’s a good one i promise” he grins, you raise a brow sceptically but you’re listening “i was the one who fell head over heels in love with you. way back in our first year…and i didn’t even know what love was, i was so confused”

“when did you know?” you asked, “you always say you knew the moment you saw me, but you were an asshole then”

“it was the first time we snuck out together” he admits, “when we went to that night market. you were right, i was jealous of suguru but could you blame me? i wanted you all to myself”

“you’ve always been so greedy” you giggled. satoru doesn’t need the six eyes to see that you love him regardless. it’s evident in the tenderness of your tone and the way your (e/c) sparkle when you look at him

“cut me some slack baby” he groans “i’m trying to be romantic”

“you don’t need to try, i heard through the grapevine i can’t resist your charms” you hummed

satoru cracks a smile at the inside joke, a slow symphony of contentment.he kisses you again and it’s sweet and full of blind adoration. loving you is his religion. the only thing he’s wholly committed to. your hands looped around his neck, carefully avoiding the ever-so-sensitive scar that ran beneath his chin

your hands founds repose in the soft strands of his hair, carefully threading through the ivory curls. satoru could feel himself melting into you, he clung to you as if he was scared to let go and his calloused hands clutched at the warmth that radiated from your skin. he was so impossibly close you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

yuuji peered at the scene with stars in his eyes. he knew he should look away. that this moment was sacred, strictly for the two of you. but he’d never seen gojo like this before — completely vulnerable, completely himself in the confines of your embrace.

here he wasn’t the strongest, the richest, the one-man clan, the one whose mere existence shifted the balance of the world. here, he wasn't satoru gojo, he wasn't gojo-sensei, he was just 'toru.

© Y2KUROMI 2024. please do not plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

[thelostconsultant]

Instant dad - pilot

pairing: Oscar Piastri x ex!reader

summary: You have no choice but to tell Oscar he has a five years old son. Now he wants to be a part of his life to make things complicated...

note: A little warmup chapter. Oscar is in his early 30s, so yeah, there's a time jump.

[part 1]

“We would like to meet Oliver’s father. His biological father,” the principal clarified as he glanced over at your boyfriend. You’d been together for three years, he had been by your five-year-old’s side for over half his life, why wasn’t he enough?

But he insisted on meeting him, saying if he was dead and you could prove it, or if your boyfriend was your husband, they would move on with the enrollment, but you had confirmed that you weren’t married and the biological father was alive, so now they wanted to have a chat with him. He didn’t even care about the tiny little detail that said father had absolutely no idea he had a child. What a bunch of morons.

In the evening, while your son was reading a book about cars in his bed with your boyfriend, you sat by the dining table with your phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. This fancy private school was perfect, they knew how to handle intelligent kids like Oliver, and you wanted the best for him. You wanted to make sure he didn’t get bored, that he would get the kind of intellectual challenge in school that he needed.

At the age of five, he could read on his own just fine, he even learned some Spanish from your boyfriend, and he was a quick study in general. It was infuriating how he was a mini version of his father, from his intelligence to his looks, everything reminded you of him. And if you met F1 fans together, someone surely went, “He looks so much like Piastri at his age!” Sadly, that wasn’t a coincidence, and the poor kid picked up on the whole you-look-like-him thing and chose him as his favorite driver.

Sometimes you consider telling him. Oliver, not Oscar. God, there was no way you would ever tell him the truth. He had his own, certainly busy life and he probably didn’t need a child in it. Yes, you saw the photos, he was good with kids, but meeting one for a few minutes wasn’t the same as having your own. Your son on the other hand could find out when he got old enough to understand why you had left and went no contact with his father. That was over ten years away, of course, so you had time to figure out what to do. Until then, you made sure the few photos of you and Oscar were stored somewhere safe in case he wanted to see them when the time came.

Now you were cornered, your hand forced by that damn principal. You had no idea if he was still using that old social media profile of his, but you had to try. So, you took a deep breath and started a call, deep down hoping he wouldn’t answer. You weren’t ready to talk to him, not yet, but you had no choice. And then his face showed up on your screen, the sight bringing back memories you’d been trying to forget for years.

“Hey. Are you sure it’s me you wanted to call?” he asked, although there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

Nodding, you let out a sigh. “Hi. Yeah, um… I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Silence followed his words, your brain in overdrive as it tried to find the best way to start. But maybe being straightforward was the right answer. “I have a son. He’s five,” you added, hoping the meaningful look you were sending his way could be seen over the screen.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, you could see the wheels turning in his head as he did some math. “Wait, five? We… That was a bit over five years ago. Could he…?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “He’s your son.”

His face was emotionless for a while as he tried to process the news, but this was nothing new, he was the king of hiding emotions. But then, just as you thought he would end the call, he let out a sigh. “Why now? What do you want from me? Money?” he asked, although you could tell he was unsure about this whole situation.

The fact he assumed you wanted money only made you angry. “It’s not your money I need. Hell, I don’t even want you to meet him,” you snapped. “The thing is, there’s this private school I want to send him to, and they have this stupid rule to have both parents present at a parental interview. Since my boyfriend and I never got married, they want to see the biological father. That’s all I want. A meeting with the principal.”

Oscar put up a finger as he bit on his lower lip, his eyes focusing on something behind his phone’s camera. “Let me get this straight. After all these years, you say I have a son, but I’m not allowed to meet him?” he then asked, looking back at you.

“Yeah.”

“One meeting,” he then stated, his voice serious. “You let me meet him once and I’ll talk to that principal.”

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

You didn’t have a choice, you knew that. If he didn’t do it for Oliver, he would have to go to another school. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you nodded. “But we don’t tell him that you’re his father. He watches F1, and since he looks a lot like you, he decided that you’re his favorite driver. That’s all you’re gonna be, nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I,” Oscar began hesitantly, and you could see as he sat down on his couch and looked up at the ceiling. “You just told me I had a son. What do you want from me, to forget it? I want to meet him. I want him to know who I am.”

“He’s five. If he finds out, he’ll want to see you again. He will want you to be a part of his life. I don’t want that.”

You could see he was uncertain about this. He probably understood that becoming his father would mean he would have to regularly visit the two of you, and even if you all kept it a secret, there was still the risk of the truth slipping out and making it into the headlines. “Is he anything like me?” he suddenly asked, his eyes softening as he watched you. 

A smile crept on your lips as you thought about this, because it was so painfully obvious to you that you couldn’t deny it, no matter how badly you wanted to do that. “He’s a highly intelligent little smartass, just like you. And his looks… A mini you, no doubt.”

Oscar nodded. “Then I want to be a part of his life. Let me spend time with him,” he asked, seeming relaxed. 

“Two hours.”

“No, I’ll stay for a week, and I want to see him every day,” he was quick to clarify. “I can look out for him while you’re at work.”

Whatever happened to the idea of meeting Oliver once? That’s not what you had just discussed, and now he was changing his demands? “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” was all you said in the end.

“You said it yourself, I’m his favorite driver,” he pointed out with a smug smile. “We’ll be fine.”

You were doing this only because of the school. You remembered what Oscar could be like; if he made up his mind about something, he definitely wasn’t about to let his plan go. Now he wanted a week with his son, and you knew that was the only way he would do what you needed from him. “All right. Can I send you the school’s number so you can make an appointment? I told them you travel a lot, so they’ll need to be flexible.”

“Sure, I’ll call them as soon as I can.” You thanked him, and were just about to say goodbye when he spoke up again. “Wait, can you send me a photo or a video?”

“Yeah, I have a few hundred of those,” you replied with a smile.

Oscar remained silent, but he let out a sigh and you knew something was on his mind, something he wanted to tell you. “I still have a hard time believing it, you know.”

“You seemed pretty confident when it came to getting to know him.”

“I wanted to use my chance to corner you,” he admitted. “But this? That I have a son? Hard to believe.”

“Well, he’s yours. You’ll understand it when you meet him,” you told him kindly. 

After you said goodbye, you went up to check on Oliver and your boyfriend, but by the time you got there, they were sleeping soundly with the open book resting on your son’s chest. With a smile, you took the book and leaned down to give both of them a soft kiss. You couldn’t help but wonder how your little family’s dynamics would change with Oscar’s presence. 

Well, it wasn’t really your son you were worried about, the main issue was your boyfriend. Oscar was a famous F1 driver, someone your son idolized, of course he felt threatened. You told him it would be okay, that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe if they met and he saw you were indifferent, he would finally trust you a lot more. One can hope, right?

[uzurakis]

N★STYY OVER DA PHONEEE?!

featuring: gojo satoru. geto suguru. fushiguro megumi. yuuta okkotsu. itadori yuuji. (characters are all aged up)

NSFW MDNI. what kind of e-sex do they each prefer?

n. should be doing my other reqs but.. i gotta do what i gotta do (they say). have fun <3

GOJO SATORU

you found yourself staring at your phone screen, nerves fluttering as you tapped the icon to start the video call. you had been waiting for this moment, wanting to share something special with gojo, someone who meant a lot to you. as the call connected, you held your breath, hoping he would pick up.

suddenly, his face appeared on the screen. his expression changed from casual to surprised as he took in the view of you.

“how’s my darling doi—whoa,”

holding the phone up so he could see every inch of your cunt, hands already covered in some sticky substance, your fingers slipped down and down again. how embarrassing, he wasn't even with you there, merely over the cellphone, and you couldn't tell how many times you had hit your climax.

“oh my, all for me, you lil’ slut?”

“too slow for my liking, ya know that?”

that increased your arousal in some way, as your yearning fingers sank into your walls for the nth time. taking a quick breath and repeating the speed he had previously wanted you to do, as if it were his, curving them precisely.

“i’ll keep making ya do that ‘til i come home later, alright? then show me what you got, darling.”

GETO SUGURU

suguru: 1 missed call

you chose to call your boyfriend back right away after he called, not sure if it was a serious call. he answered the phone, but didn't say anything until you noticed what was going on. the rustle of fabric and the faint sound of his breath hitching didn’t quite cover the sound of his hand sliding up and down his length. your mind raced, trying to comprehend the situation unfolding through the phone, a mix of confusion and anticipation settling in your chest.

“fuck, missed ya so bad princess,”

“can’t help it.”

now your body was heated, the feelings arise, growing stronger with each groan that came out of his mouth. your fingers moved on its own, paving their way to your clit, those fingers of you played with your pussy. the constant spiraling inside made you aroused.

“suguru..”

“keep goin’ just like that, yeah.”

one of your digits quickened to match the pace he started moving at. though separated by distance, drew you closer, your own breaths and moans growing shallow as you felt the climax getting you.

“‘bouta cum, suguru..”

“let me hear you, princess.”

“s-suguru!”

“so fuckin’ good for me.”

ITADORI YUUJI

your phone buzzed beside you once again. with a sigh, you retrieved it, torn between ignoring the distraction and feeling compelled to check the message. glancing at the screen, annoyance flooded you, it was merely another mundane notification—or not. it was a message from your boyfriend.

baby yuuji <3: 2 attachments

sliding into your messages, there were two videos, with the bedroom linen as its cover. once you played it though, hands slowly going up and down his length, displaying his cock. seeing very carefully as he wax his length with the amount of cum he produced.

“ah–shit, look at what ya make me do, pretty.”

he was calling your name with a moan when you turned up the audio a little. he seemed, irritated? suggesting to you that he had likely been playing with himself all along, maybe waiting for you to be at his side.

“god, wanna feel ya cunt so baad.”

same with the other video, he was all over you while stroking his length and groaning out how you’d make him feel good. you felt like he was testing your patience, the sensation rushed to your every body and goes down to your stomach. maybe it’s time for payback.

you: 1 attachment

you: just as you like it <3

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

you found yourself sinking into the depths of boredom as the hours dragged on. searching for a distraction, your gaze fell upon your phone resting on the table. unlocking your device, you navigated to the camera app. with a playful smirk and a dirty mind, you started experimenting with different angles and poses, ones to send to your beloved boyfriend.

you: hey megs, guess what i’ve been up to ;)

you: 3 attachments

you sent three images of your tits; two with your hand groping them nude, and one with your bra on—in an attempt provoke the man. you were aware that you were playing a game against him when you teased him in this way, since he has a tendency to drop everything and come to screw you over.

when the "delivered" became "read," your brief bliss gave way to a null sense, and to your amazement, he didn't even bother to fucking respond?

what comes next, then? you opened your camera once more and took some pictures of your cunt with two fingers inside of them. you thought to yourself, this will definitely catch his attention.

you: 1 attachment

you: need you inside me, stupid ‘gumi

emo boyfriend: typing…

gnawing down your lips when he finally saw the texts. then a reply came up, didn’t imagine him to answer that fast this time.

emo boyfriend: fuck you.

emo boyfriend: stay there, i’m coming over.

YUUTA OKKOTSU

the familiarity of the day was broken by the sudden buzz of your device, signaling a notification unlike any other from your boyfriend. curiosity piqued, you tapped on the message, only to find a voice note waiting for you.

without any expectations, you pressed play and his voice saying your name filled the room. but as the seconds passed, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. it wasn't just a usual audio message; instead, noises of worked breathing that eventually turn into moans and groans.

“can’t stop thinkin’ bout ya, god,”

“can’t help myself.”

your heart raced as you listened, the voice note seemed to stretch on for an eternity, each moment amplifying your embarrassment. when you listened to the 30 second audio clip again, you noticed how he was pumping his cock, and the last thing you heard was a loud groan of your name as he released his climax.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—“

“please come over, baby.”

@uzurakis — reblogs are very appreciated sweeties xp

[lovifie]

Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

Masterlist - Taglist Form

All Chapters

Please don't look too much into the plot holes. Canon can suck my ass, I'm making my own, xoxo 💋

Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

Warnings: Poly relationship, mentions of death, mentions of guns, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), Spoilers → amnesia, smut, voyeurism

“THE TUNNEL IT'S COLLAPSING! FOLLOW MAKAROV! I'LL TAKE JOHNNY OUT!”

That was the last thing Ghost heard of you.

It's been months since Johnny and you were declared KIA on that mission. 

You weren't even meant to be inside, you were the medic, you were supposed to wait outside. 

But the moment Makarov shot Johnny he panicked.

Ghost panicked.

And Simon panicked.

You came in running, panting for the effort of carrying with you the medical bag half your size. 

You were the one who told them to run. To go after Makarov and kill him. 

You were trying to wake up Johnny, Ghost knew it was a lost cause. He couldn't find the pulse, he was gone.

His Johnny was gone.

The last thing he expected was that he was about to lose you too.

Once outside, he kept looking at the tunnel. Waiting for you to come out, whether it was dragging Johnny's body or alone; it didn't matter. You needed to get out.

But after the tunnel collapsed and you didn't get out, it was Price who finally pushed Ghost away.

He barely remembers getting back to base, doesn't remember what Price kept telling him on the helicopter, doesn't remember skipping meals for days, doesn't remember crying himself to sleep for weeks.

But he remembers your face, he remembers Johnny's face.

Oh, what a coward he was. 

Two people that he loved, that found their way under his skin right into his heart. Two people that Simon wanted to grow old next to, two people that made Simon want to wake up every morning. 

And he was still not brave enough to confess his feelings to neither of them.

He used to stay awake late at night dreaming about how he would do it. After a long time of debating with himself, figuring out what those feelings inside of him were.

Until he figured out it was love, only to them have to face the complex situation of loving two people at the same time.

But even how complicated of a man Simon Riley was, when it comes to his wants it all turns simpler. If on the menu there are two dishes that he likes? He is getting both, obviously. Why choose?

So if all his lonely and twisted life he had never loved anyone, now he suddenly fell in love with two people. He wasn't going to give up one of them and their love just for society's norms.

Murder is also against society’s norms, and he gets paid for it. 

But it was too late now.

Maybe it was for the better.

He could lie to himself, agree that he never confessed because it was not his destiny. 

Not because they would have not loved him back. 

Not because they would have been scared of him.

Not because they wouldn't have been able to see past his mask. 

Not because they would have rather dated each other than him.

It's easier like this.

Simon knows how to mourn a loved one. 

What he doesn't know is, how it's possible he got a message from you this morning when you died four months ago.

You are stepping out of the shower, skin warm from the water and baby hairs sticking to your forehead; when someone knocks on the bathroom door.

You furrow your eyebrows at how hard they knock, the whole door shaking with it.

“Calm down, I'm almost finished.” You grumble, pulling the towel around your body. 

You drag your feet over the towel on the floor to walk closer, and open the door annoyed by the insistent knocking.

“I told you I am almost finish-” Your words are cut off by the barrel of a gun right on your face.

You don't even have time to panic, because you immediately recognise the stupid skeleton gloves holding the gun.

“Simon?” You whisper,scared that if you talk any louder he will disappear. Price and Gaz are behind him, slowly lowering their gun when they see it's you.

There is a glistering layer over Ghost's eyes that if you didn't known any better you'd think are tears.

You push his gun down, the man still immobile as if you were the ghost; and you jump into his arms, circling his neck with your arms.

“It worked! It finally worked!” You exclaim, tears slowly running down your cheeks. “I have been trying to contact any of you for months, it finally fucking worked!”

Ghost struggles to tell whether you are laughing or crying, a mix of the two. But he can't focus on that, he can only focus on your skin under his gloves.

God, how he hated his gloves right now. 

He bites the tip of his finger, pulling the glove off spitting it somewhere. And he snakes his hand under your towel.

He knows is improper, perverted even; but he needs it. He needs to feel your warm skin under his palm, your heart beating loud and fast. 

He surrounds your waist, hands big enough to rest on your ribs, right under your chest. 

Boom, boom… boom, boom… boom, boom…

He sighs, melting onto you, his tears getting absorbed by the mask on his face. He hugs you tighter, daring you to slip from his fingers again.

He bites his lips, copper taste on his tongue, to prevent himself from sobbing.

But the sobs can be heard, and Ghost it's almost disappointed with himself until he notices your body shaking.

It's you who is crying.

And he panics again, pulling back to look at you and you cup your face, apologizing. 

“I'm sorry. I tried my best, I really did.” He can barely understand what you are trying to tell him between sobs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

He shushes you quickly, he understands; the survivor’s guilt is a special kind of poison. But he understands, he feels it too. 

“It's alright, love. You are alright, everything is going to be alright.” He hugs you again, resting your head on his chest. Mourning Johnny will be easier if you are together, he now hates himself for thinking you were dead; for accepting it.

For mourning you for months and now having you on his arms. 

Warm and breathing. 

He can only imagine what you went through. 

You entered the tunnel because he called for you, and then he left you inside with a corpse. 

How did you get out?

How did anyone see you get out?

How did you find a house?

How did you survive alone with the guilt?

Are the scars on your shoulder for getting out or were they always there?

Were you trapped under the debris?

For how long?

But that doesn't matter, he knew you were strong. That you were clever. That you were better than him. 

He already knew that. 

Gaz and Price remain silent, reading in the situation that there is something underlying that they don't know. Letting the two of you, have your moment. 

It's only when Gaz hears the almost unnoticeable steps get closer that he moves, turning his body and almost dropping his weapon in the process when he sees him.

“Johnny?” That's all he is able to see.

And that's all that is needed to hear.

Price and Ghost whip their head around like they have been smacked, coming face to face with the man.

There are still bandages on the side of his head, he looks thinner, less muscles, sunken eyes and dark bags. But it's Johnny. 

A scarred, angry Johnny. 

Holding the pistol on his hands pointing to Ghost's head.

Looking at him as if Simon was his greatest enemy.

“Johnny…” He tries to talk to him, keeping you behind his back by instincts.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Johnny shouts, his hands are shaking.

That explains it, why he look like a madman, why he looks so scared under the rage, why he keeps trying to look under him.

“Johnny, it's alright.” You finally say, moving from behind Ghost, softly pushing his arm back. You walk ahead, still only on the towel; and you walk up to Johnny. You rest your hand on the pistol, pushing it down with ease. 

You raise your other hand to the men, the signal of “wait”.

Johnny looks at you with utter confusion, eyes shaking moving around your face for any kind of explanation. His hand move around you, checking for any damage; the hand that doesn't have the gun clinging to the towel. 

You cup his face between your hands, the man bending down slightly to make it easier for you to reach; you whisper something to him making him relax almost immediately. 

And then you kiss him.

On the cheek, right beside the nose making him close his eyes for a second.

But it feels like a stab on Simon's heart. 

He tries to think rationally, you were just calming him down. He knows Johnny is always desperate for physical contact, that's all. Nothing else. 

He really tries to think logically, but logically the two of you are dead and buried under a tunnel. Not standing at the end of the hall, kissing and comforting each other. 

Something about it, about the possibility there is something more going on between Johnny and you; sends Simon's inner gears spinning. 

He sees the virtual space between the two of you, slowly getting in the shape of his body.

You whisper something to Johnny, he nods, touching your forehead with his for a second, before walking back. Looking at Simon with hate on his cerulean blue eyes. 

You sigh, watching Johnny move and turn to the three still shell-shocked. 

“As far as I can tell…” You whisper, once you are close to them. “He only remembers up to when he was 20, little more, little less.”

“So he doesn't remember anyone?” Price asks after a moment.

You shake your head. “Not that he hasn't asked me about, he asked about some people but I don't know them. He thought I was a nurse when he woke up.” You explain.

“What happened in the tunnel?” Gaz asks, looking behind you to check Johnny is not back. “How did you get out? And him? He was dead.”

You shake your head again. “Not yet. Almost… but not yet. I-”

“Bonnie! You want coffee or tea?!” Johnny's voice makes everyone jump.

“Coffee, please!” You answer without skipping a beat and turn to them. “I'll explain it later, alright? It's not the place nor the time.”

Price nods once. “Get dressed, I'll contact the pilot to let them know we are flying back tonight, right?”

“Roger that.” The three of you reply almost by muscle memory.

“I'll be fast, don't rile him up.” You say, before entering the bedroom closing it behind you.

Ghost feels Price's eyes on him. 

Wondering.

Asking.

What's between you and him?

What's between you and Soap?

What's inside his mind?

“Tea is ready.” It all gets interrupted by the amnesiac man calling them to the kitchen.

They walk together, sitting around the table. Gaz and Price find it almost easy to talk to Soap, about how happy they are to see him again, about how they are flying back later, easy chatter.

But Ghost can't. 

Not when Soap finally smiles at Price making fun of Gaz's cap and Ghost's breath is knocked out of his chest. 

That's his boy.

Breathing and warm.

Just like you.

He knows it's the universe talking, telling him not to fuck it up again.

Still, he feels his heart sink every time Soap looks at him with such a sour look. Offended even. His boy.

That would jump at any opportunity to impress him, to earn his respect, his affection. Now locked like he wanted to stab him on the chest, twisting the knife in the process.

He knows it's because of you, the way the man stared at his hand as you pushed it out of the towel didn't go unnoticed by Simon. 

Not the greatest first impression. 

Does it count as a first impression if he has known the man for years? 

You walk into the kitchen not much later, Johnny's eyes lightening at seeing you; his saviour. 

You walk past Ghost, your arm resting on his shoulder as you bend down to slightly knock your head against Soap's.

And that's it, that all Simon's needs. To be involved. He doesn't need to be in the middle of you two, he is fine with being in the sidelines, but he needs to be a part of it.

He knows you are on his side, you remember him unlike Johnny. You can be the bridge to get him to Johnny; to keep Johnny from running. Make a pack with him; keep the two of you close.

A turmoil of emotions keeps spinning inside Ghost's head, all the versions of himself wanting to be right.

The part of him he thinks is unable to love telling him to let the two of you alone, you are better of without him.

The part of him he thinks is unable to be loved telling him to not even try, save himself the rejection. 

The part of him that is still unsure of what even are his feelings telling him to not get involved, that it would only confuse the two of you.

But then there is also that part of him. The part called Simon Riley; that still holds onto the chance of loving and getting love.

And he looks at you and Soap, the way Soap looks up to you. The way he used to look at him. 

“Let's pack our things up, Johnny.” You say, patting Soap’s back. “The sooner we are back home, the better.”

And you smile at Soap so kindly, so wide, so warm.

He understands how you managed to calm Soap down. Waking up from what he assumed must be something close to a coma after getting shot on the head, not remembering anything, in pain, alone. And then you appeared, so soft and so kind.

He wouldn't blame Johnny if he was already in love with you, with you being literally the only thing he knows since waking up. 

Johnny stands up, walking out of the kitchen but looking back to make sure you are walking behind him. 

The two of you disappear down the hall, voices low as you move away.

“I can't believe they are alive…” Gaz comments, sipping his tea.

“Neither do I…” Price answers, sipping his. “Bloody necromancer…”

And you are, Simon was also dead before meeting you. 

“I'm gonna check on them.” He says, downing the beverage on a gulp that burns down his throat. 

He stands up, Price and Gaz look at him as he does. They are going to talk about him as soon as he gets out, but he doesn't care. 

He has made his choice.

He loves you.

He loves Johnny.

He walks down the hall, seeing the door ajar.

His hand reaches the knob when he hears it.

His blood running cold.

“Johnny…”

It's your sweet voice moaning the name. 

The unmistakable sounds of kisses inside the room.

“I don't like how he looks at you, bonnie.” The man whispers, his breathing unstable.

“He's your best friend, Joh-Ah!” You moan, interrupting yourself as you speak.

“I don't care! I don't know him. You are mine!” The man grunts, the sound of skin slapping slowly becoming more and more clear. 

“Johnny…” You moan again, and Simon is sure that he can hear your cunt squelch around Johnny's length. 

He opens the door the slightest bit, just enough for his eyes to see the way Johnny has you bent over on the bed. 

With you laying on your stomach on the bed, legs hanging from him without strength to push yourself up. Johnny behind you, a foot on the ground and the other on the mattress as leverage to keep sinking into your weeping cunt.

Neither of you bothered to take off the clothes, simply lowered the pants enough for Johnny to get inside of you. Your pants pooling on your ankles, legs limp with the rhythm Johnny has settled.

Simon wishes he could see your face, pleasure painted on your expressions with your face buried on the mattress. Johnny keeps your hands on your back, keeping you pressed against the bed. But the only thing he can see is Johnny's back.

So he sees perfectly fine when the man turns his torso around, still thrusting into you, and looks at Simon.

He looks straight into Simon's eyes, who panic just for a second for getting caught peeking into their room, into them together.

But the Johnny smiles, not the adoration-filled smile he used to gift Simon with. Instead, is the smile filled with pride that he only kept for after winning a match or catching an enemy.

Johnny raises his hand to show him his middle finger.

As he mouths “Fuck you.”

And Simon wants to laugh.

Johnny wants to play?

Then they'll play.

Game's on.

@waiting-so-long

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[amourane]

why can't we love freely?

pairing: theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader

genre: angsttttt, secret relationship

w/c: 2k

summary: you're tired of being a secret and it was time to let theo know.

warnings: HEARTBREAK

a/n: this was initially meant to be for a request and i started writing it and i got on a roll only to finish the piece and go back to check the request to realise i did it all wrong lmao, so i decided to just post this instead <3 enjoy!

The busy chatter that filled the Great Hall was one that you were familiar with, afterall it had been the same for the past few years that you had been a part of Hogwarts. There was a hint of the sunlight peeking through the windows as the early morning bustle reached its peak. Everyone was rushing to pile breakfast onto the porcelain plates but you couldn’t help but linger at the entrance, looking back ever so often to check if a certain someone had arrived yet. 

“Y/n hurry! Bloody Ernie is going to have devoured all the croissants before I even have a bite.” Hannah whined as she pulled you along towards the Hufflepuff table.

Her incessant nagging eventually made you move and you dragged yourself towards your fellow house members albeit a little sad you hadn’t seen the person that had been on your mind. You dig into your own meal, stabbing the fruits with your fork and shoving them into your mouth. There was the normal hubbub that surrounded you and you felt yourself melt into conversation with your friends once again.

A voice caught your attention and you immediately perked up at the deep chuckle that had your heart skipping a beat. There he was: Theodore Nott. Quite arguably the most handsome person in all of Hogwarts and, of course, your boyfriend. His tousled hair framed his angled face perfectly with single strands that fall into his eyes. You watched as a smirk danced on his lips as he sauntered over to his side of the hall. Theodore Nott had always possessed an aura that drew you into him. Even when you both weren’t dating you often found yourself staring at the handsome boy from your table, wondering what he was really like.

As Theodore's gaze met yours in that fleeting moment, a silent exchange passed between you, laden with unspoken emotions. In the depths of his eyes, you saw the words he couldn't voice.

“I love you.”

It’s silent but it’s there.

The both of you had agreed to keep the relationship under the wraps, not wanting anyone to know about the two of you. It would cause an uproar and neither of you were sure if you wanted to handle the aftermath of the situation. So this was what it came to. Secret glances and whispered love confessions. You couldn’t walk up to him, you couldn’t kiss him in front of everyone, you couldn’t even talk to your friends about him.

Although you had said it would be fine for it to be a secret you didn’t think that he would still want to keep it a secret after so long. You didn’t want to hide your affection for Theo. You truly loved him more than anything and it had already been a year since you officially started dating. Surely it didn’t matter that much that it was a secret.

"Hello? Y/n? You there?" Hannah's voice pulled you from the depths of your thoughts, and you blinked, feeling as though you were emerging from a distant haze. Her concerned expression hovered before you as she waved a hand in front of your face, urging you back to the present moment.

You glanced down to find a forgotten cup of pumpkin juice in your hand, its contents untouched. How long had you been lost in your own thoughts?

"I'm... I'm sorry, Hannah." You murmured, offering her a weak smile as you tried to shake off the lingering tendrils of distraction. "I guess I just...drifted off for a moment there."

“You alright? You don’t look well.” She reached her hand to bring it to your forehead, trying to feel if you had a fever. “You were properly zoned out there.”

“Yeah yeah I’m fine.” You tried to brush off her concern and you offered her a meek smile. “Just didn’t have a good night’s sleep, that's all.”

Your friend looked at you, her lips pursed, a sign she didn’t actually believe what you said. You forced another smile in Hannah's direction, you silently hoped that she wouldn't press any further

Truth be told, you weren’t fine. The past couple of weeks had consisted of your thoughts rampaging in your mind. The continuous stream of worries that clouded your view as you tried desperately to reason with yourself. It wasn’t a huge issue that your relationship with the Slytherin was a secret but gradually what were stupid thoughts now turned into ones that plagued you everywhere you went. You’d be lying if you said you were okay with not even being acknowledged as his girlfriend as he ignored you in class and everywhere public.

Your eyes locked with Theo’s once again and you saw the way there was concern etched into his face. Your boyfriend knew when you were upset and he definitely knew that you were far from okay right now. He mumbled something to Blaise who was beside him before getting up to leave - a signal for you to do the same.

“I think I’m going to go take a nap before class starts, can you come wake me up later?” 

Hannah nodded and you thank her quickly before whisking yourself away in the direction the Slytherin had set off to. The chatter faded as you walked down the hallway and you were now left alone with your thoughts once again. It was bad you knew but you couldn’t help but feel as though you were something to be ashamed of. Was that why Theo was so desperate to cling on to the secrecy?

“Principessa?” Your boyfriend gently grabbed your wrist, twirling you around to face him and you realised you had been too caught up in your mind to even notice he was there. “You okay? You seem a bit off my love.”

His eyes twinkled with concern and you saw the love and affection you were familiar with and it warmed your heart. You loved Theodore Nott more than anything but the questions had plagued your mind for too long now and you needed to voice your thoughts. Otherwise, you thought you would go insane.

“Why are we a secret?”

It was barely above a whisper but Theo heard it. He knew that you weren’t one for loud environments, preferring the quiet of the library and the solitude of your dorm. You were always shy and introverted, rarely speaking to others. You liked to keep to yourself. Even with Theo you were shy and meek but that didn’t mean you weren’t happy. There was always a smile on your face, a loving beam that would make his own heart stutter. Yet your lips weren’t drawn into the bright grin he knew, instead they were in a frown and he recognised your nervousness as you wringed your hands.

Theo would have never considered himself to notice little details. He had always ignored everyone else around him and he never paid enough attention nor did he care enough about others to recognise the little tell-tale signs that everyone did. Until he met you. Then he noticed every little detail, from the way your nose would scrunch when you tried to bite back a laugh to the way you would tangle your fingers in your hair when you were trying to solve a problem.

So it was only natural he realised that you weren’t okay.

“Y/n we talked about this-”

“Yes I know it’s just that.” You paused. The words were bubbling up your throat, you felt them rising and rising and rising and you were unable to stop. You took a sharp inhale. “I don’t understand why, not anymore.”

“Y/n, mia cara, we’ve been through this. No one will accept us. People won’t understand the love between us and they’ll try to tear us apart. My friends, they won’t understand.”

“Then make them understand.”

You didn’t get it. You couldn’t get it. Was he ashamed? Was he embarrassed? Why couldn’t he fight for you, for both of you? 

You felt the tears welling in your eyes, threatening to roll down your face. It was all too much, the constant doubt, the dread, the shame. You had thought you would have been free of these thoughts for a day but who knew that today was when you would finally break. 

Your boyfriend wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He felt warm and your arms loop around his body. You cling onto him, unwilling to let go. It was too late to stop the tears now and you felt them fall as you sniffled in his arms.

“Theo, Merlin knows we've been together for more than a year now, and it's been like living in a shadow. I've kept us a secret from everyone - my friends, my family - and I don’t even know anymore. I want to be able to love you openly, without fear or hesitation. I want to hold your hand, kiss your cheek, wake up beside you without worrying about who might see. And I know that there’s issues but we can work through them together can’t we? I want to love you freely…don’t you?”

You pulled away from his chest as you searched his eyes, pleading with him to agree with you. Theo stared at your figure. He watched as the tears he promised not to make fell from your eyes. He felt his heart twist at your words, unable to find the words he wanted to say. Silence. You waited. And then you saw it. The sliver of doubt. That was all you needed before you were recoiling from his touch, pushing his hands off you.

Theo was quick, he tried to pull you back, tried to keep you near him but it didn't stop you from trying to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Y/n, please, stay please.” 

His voice was a desperate plea, each syllable heavy with the weight of his love. But as you backed away, tears streaming down your cheeks, Theodore's heart shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. He watched helplessly as you retreated from him, the distance between you growing with each shaky step you took.

You shook your head as you backed away from the boy you loved. You tried to steady your breathing but all you could manage were shaky breaths as the tears kept falling. It was all too much. It was overwhelming, the feeling that engulfed you whole when you first met Theodore Nott had spit you back out and now you were left not knowing what to do.

“I-I…I can’t.” You stuttered, refusing to look him in the eye. “I can’t do this, not when you don’t feel the same. I can’t, not anymore.”

“No.” Theo reached forward but it only made you step further away as if his touch would burn you like acid. His outstretched hand fell limply to his side, his heart breaking with each word you uttered. “No, don't do this. Y/n please don’t do this. Mia cara, I love you so much you know that. I love you to the moon and back and I will never stop loving you so please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

“Not enough.” Your voice wavered as the words left your mouth. “You don’t love me enough and you’ve made that clear Theo. I can’t do this, I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

And then you were gone, disappearing into the depths of the corridor, leaving Theodore standing alone. Each word you said replayed in his mind. His emotions toss and turn in the turmoil he had been thrust into. You were gone. You left. He felt his heart burn and ache, pounding at his ribcage. There was a numbing pain that overtook his senses as a wave of anguish washed over him. He reached a trembling hand to his cheek, only to find it damp with tears

It was then that Theodore Nott realised it was the first time he had cried since his mother’s death.

[inbabylontheywept]

Soviet Birds.

The secret facility that I work in has holes in the ceiling. We don't know how to get them fixed.

We tried asking the government to fix it, once. We told them that the holes in the older parts of the facility had gotten large enough to fit birds through, and that birds were getting through, and that, perhaps, a Soviet Spy could fit through as well.

After all, it is well known that Soviet Spies and pigeons are approximately the same diameter.

Our hope was that that this vague and nonsensical threat would put a little fire under Uncle Sam's feet. If the fed couldn't be bothered to give a shit about the giant gaping holes in the roof of our facility, perhaps they could be persuaded to give a shit about... Soviet Spies.

This attempt at manipulation 100% blew up in our faces.

See, the government does not need to be persuaded to give a shit about Soviet Spies. It still wakes up most nights, drenched in cold sweat, terrified and confident that a Soviet Spy is hiding in their nightstand. If it sees a rock on the ground, it flips it over, pistol drawn, ready to shoot the Soviet Spy it fully expects to slither out from underneath. Which is to say: The government is crazy. So when we dropped those two words - inflitration risk - in the repair request, they came in guns-a-blazin'.

Does that mean that they fixed the roof? Of course not. Don't be stupid. No, instead of performing basic maintenance, they installed a state of the art alarm system throughout the facility - lasers, sonar, the works - and told us to always be on the guard. Because of the roof holes.

Then they left.

So now we had an extremely good alarm system... and birds. Which have combined in incredibly obvious and predictable ways to produce an unending fountain of problems.

For Example: About once a month, someone gets called in by the local airforce dispatch because AAAAAAAAAAA a Spy is in the Rad Lab! We're all gonna die! Except every time, it's a bird. And I get why we have to check, but every time, the dispatcher is panicked and the person going out has to be like listen, listen: It's a bird. It's always a bird. It's been a bird every month for the last fifteen years. It will be a bird next month. All this stress? Bad for your heart.

Second Example: Sometimes, birds get in while we're actually working. And when it's in the morning, you know, it's a nuisance, and it stops testing (we are not going to risk irradiating a bird) but it's not an all-hands-on-deck situation because it doesn't take ten hours to get a bird out. But surprisingly often, the bird gets in riiiiight at closing time, and in that situation, everyone goes feral because nobody can leave until the alarm is set, and we cannot set the alarm while the bird is there, because the bird would immediately trigger it and then we'd have to stay another 4 hours to confirm that it was not a Soviet Bird.

So in order to go home, everyone's top priority is Get That Bird. And we have a system for it.

Step 1: The test stands tend to be located in rooms with 30+ foot ceilings. We can't catch birds in places like that - so we have to lure the bird into the relatively low ceilinged (8 feet only) upper offices.

We do this by turning all the lights off in the test rooms, then putting floodlights by the exits. I don't know why this works - some kind of evolutionary brain fragment shared by both Bugs and Birds - but work it does. The birds almost always follow after the lights. From there, it’s just two guys moving the floodlight and a third guy to turn off the lights.

Step 2: Everyone else has been waiting for this step. There is this long stairway up from the basement level into the offices, and in the final stage, the floodlights are brought to the base of the stairwell to bring the bird up. At the top of the steps there will be a group of tennish people, waiting for the signal. The light guys will set up the final transfer, everyone will tense, and then, swish...a bird will flit up the stairs and into the offices.

It's like watching werewolves on a full moon. Before the bird cometh, we are engineers. Nerds. Pale and skinny things, trembling under the fluorescent lights. After the bird, we are beasts. Feral, gnawing things, glowing under the orange sunrise of the 70's halogen floodlights.

And like all beasts, we cannot help but give chase.

Step 3: The were-engineers begin the hunt. The goal at the start is not really to catch the bird - just exhaust it. So the pack simply does not relent. Because the stakes are going home on time, the group is basically given free reign to go anywhere in the building. If someone's door is open, and the bird goes inside, they're going to have to deal with ten sweaty panting maniacs leaping around their office. They don't get to say that they're busy, or remark on how all this movement is a terrible distraction. They are allowed to sit in silence during the chaos, and perhaps thank the war party for chasing the bird while they sat comfortably on their ass. This has been explained several times, and it will continue to be explained until cooperation is achieved.

Anyway.

The chase can go on for quite some time. Sometimes, the bird will get tired and find a crevice to hide in, where it can then be reached through standard cornered-bird catching techniques.

Other times, it will slow down enough that someone can actually yoink it out of the air. But this will go on until someone catches the bird and triggers Step 4.

Step 4: The Finale. This is the get-the-bird-out-of-the-building stage, and it requires someone to adopt a specific role: To Become the Sacrificial Vessel of Bird Removal.

This job is both coveted and feared. It's coveted, because holding a wild bird in one's hands is a precious thing. To feel how small, and fragile, and scared it is, only to free it from the building? That is what it's like to be a benevolent God. But the cost! Oh, the cost. The entire time the Vessel is in motion, the bird will be biting the hell out of their fingers. And I cannot emphasize enough just how painful bird bites are. Their entire face is a set of needle posed pliers, and they know tricks the even the cartels haven't figured out yet. So there's always a little hubbub about who shall be The Vessel while onlookers, stranded outside The Office of Bird Capture, can only look on. Quiet arguments and pleas are heard, little fragments of fear and pride and glory trickling out of room like the silver dust left behind in a bag of well shook quarters. The sound of concensus is silence, and the argument will go on until that's all that's left. And then, from the darkness of the final office, the chosen sacrifice will step forward: Hands gently cupped, tears streaming down their face, fingers trembling from the pain of the ongoing bird chomps.

And this scene is what organizes people. Not leadership, not truly. No one can think and coordinate a crowd while their fingers are being attacked with a combination nutcracker/ear piercer. But the crowd sees the suffering of their annointed, and it is driven to do everything poossible to make the process flow. People instinctively flair out, finding the fastest path outside. Doors are held open. Paths are cleared. Someone, somehow, always knows the way forward and can describe it to the sufferer. Left, left, forward. Corner closet. Yep, there's a hall in there. Forward. Two-hundred more feet man, you're doing great. Just hold it together a little longer. You're killing it.

Then the final door swings open, and the bird flees out into what remains of daylight. And yet, even here, the deed is not yet done. I cannot explain it in words, but the crowd that helped is never content until they can see and speak on the Bird Vessel's wounds. They all have to pull the fingers back and see what was given. Estimate the price: One day to get better - No, three - No, a week! Are you blind? Do you see that blood blister? -Yeah, that's not going away anytime soon - Damn, can you believe how feisty those things are? Like wolves without teeth.

(They cannot help but touch as they go. It has always been this way. Even Thomas was not content until he felt the wounds in Christ's hands.)

Only when the last of the helpers has seen, and commented, and commended, will the engineers scatter. It is their return from the underworld that announces to the sun living surface dwellers that they too can go home. (@somerunner tolja it needed to be a post.)