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whiskeynwriting · 2 years

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Eyes On Me

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

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Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Flirting, pining, size difference, mentions and descriptions of injury, mentions of battle, dirty talk, praise, dry humping, unprotected vaginal sex

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Summary: Ghost gets a life-threatening injury, and it’s your job to make sure he returns to full-health.

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A/N: I rarely do summaries on one-shots, but since I’m introducing a character I figured I would (: I loooove this character, and I’m really hoping to write more one-shots with her and Ghost in the future!

Part Two: Lucky

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Working on them was easy, they took everything you gave them like champs. Splints, stitches, cleanings, anything they had, you took care of. They’d bite their tongues, ball up their fists if they had to, but for the most part, that was it. Vargas wouldn’t whine, but Gaz would. Price was nearly silent and in all honesty, Soap whimpered like a baby. But Ghost, he didn’t ever make a sound.

It wasn’t always like this, you weren’t always 141’s go-to medic. Before, you were here for everyone. Whoever needed you, that’s who you tended to. You got so good at it that at one point, you’d been promoted to a rescue mission position. Daily helicopter rides became your usual. Freezing temperatures and smoke-filled air met your exterior shell on a weekly basis. You’ve even been dropped into open fields full of bullets and bloody cries. The training you received was minimal, but enough for you to take it and run. You had talent, that talent growing into expertise. You knew how to defend yourself, your reflexes were good. You could shoot a gun and if need be, hold your own. That’s what got you to 141.

They impressed you, they still do. The team worked like a well oiled machine. And when you first saw them, you immediately questioned him.

“What’s with the mask?” You’d asked him, straight to his face. He tilted his head. “Is it still Halloween?”

The boys laughed, but Ghost didn’t. His fingers curled, and he sucked in a breath. You were brand new; not a good way to start off with him. Hey, it’s not your fault he took it the wrong way. You love Halloween. Sometimes you even find the scary things sexy.

Eventually you learned the real reasoning behind his mask, behind the skeleton head that hid his face. Honestly, you were intrigued by it, his anonymity. But sometimes, it got in the way.

“Blood type?” You’d asked, going through each soldier’s file as you became acquainted, some months ago now.

“Unknown.” Your colleague responded.

“What? What do you mean?”

“We have little to no information on Ghost’s background.”

“What if he starts to bleed out? Or needs a blood transfusion?”

“Guess I’ll die.” Came his gruff response.

Spinning around in your small and circular wheeled chair, you saw his bulky body taking up the majority on the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest while leaning against the frame.

Why is she so interested in me? He’d wondered, suspicious of you. What he should’ve been asking himself is, why am I so interested in her?

He’d seen you work on his team, you were efficient and clean. He’d even go so far as to call you fearless. And surprisingly, he finds himself liking that. You were a bit of a brat, but at the heart of your teasing jokes, there was a sense of playful familiarity. And overall, having you around was good for his men. He didn’t know how vital you were to his team, though, until you had to be flown in to rescue him.

Pressing into his wound, you didn’t even feel him flinch. The gauze was soaked in the red stain seeping from the cut in his skin, and you were running out of supplies - you were running out of time. And apparently, your frantic nature showed.

“Hey,” You direct your sternest voice at him. “Ghost - Simon, eyes on me.”

He’s spiraling; body feeling light and his consciousness leaving you quickly. His eyelids are fluttering.

“You worried about me, love?” He was out of it, losing blood and flirting while in his hazy state. It was the first time he’d ever been nice to you.

But really, he wasn’t just being nice because his body was going into shock and losing his grip on reality. He was talking to you this way because he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to after this.

Giggling, you shook your head, happy that he was now responding to you. “Nah, big boy like you?” Patting his shoulder, you said, “You’ll be just fine.”

Even if he didn’t show it, Simon was worried, too.

“But I bet you wish you’d told me your blood type now.”

He wasn’t happy. Simon didn’t ever seem that happy, but right now, he definitely wasn’t happy. All he’s ever known is a military lifestyle, training and being out in the field. Having his team’s back, contributing to the work effort, that’s what he was best at. And now, he can’t do any of that. At least, not for the next couple weeks.

“I’m not a child.”

“Never said you were.” Rolling your eyes, you openly sass him. “It’s just a blanket.”

It was the first day of him being in your mini infirmary, just the two took up the room. Each of the boys came in to give him a pat on the shoulder, make sure he was doing alright. But in all honesty, Ghost hated this kind of attention. Being coddled and cared for. He could take care of himself.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” He grunts, looking away almost childishly.

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna go get some pizza.”

At this, he perks up a bit, groaning. “Can you bring me back a box?” Mumbling, he’s still looking away.

Before you leave, you turn back around with a grin. “Sure thing, big boy.”

Once you’re finally gone, he sighs, his emotions contradicting each other inside. Frustration doesn’t even come close to what he’s feeling. He never gets injured in the field. Is he losing his touch? Surely not, he’s still in his glory years. For him, it’s embarrassing to be seen like this, not just in front of the boys but in front of you, though he’d never admit it. You make him feel nervous inside, like he has to heighten the man he already knows himself to be. He has to be tougher around you; he can’t show any weakness. The only problem with that, was that he did have a weakness, a major one. That gaping hole in his chest.

“Alright,” Coming back with two boxes of pizza, you set them on your desk, moving them to the side. “Let’s clean you up.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Okay, look.” Wiping your hands off of your pants, you turn to face him. “This is my job. Would you get angry at Soap for clearing a room before you? Or Price for conducting an infiltration route?”

This makes him stop, closing his mouth for a moment, although you can’t see it.

“I’m part of your team, you have to acknowledge that. Your job is to kill bad guys, and my job,” Taking a few steps toward him, you point to his chest. “Is to fix the mess the bad guys make.”

Ghost shifts his shoulders, looking away from you for just a second. And after a moment, his eyes return to yours, and he nods.

Reaching down, he cracks the knuckles on his hands, and it takes everything in you not to break his eye contact. Every movement of his muscles makes you sweat, the ripples of them more than a beautiful sight. He’s impressive. All he has on right now are a pair of shorts and a bandage wrapped around his upper chest. Other than that, he’s bare. You can see the muscles in his abdomen, the impressive form and firmness of them, the bulges of his biceps and the chorded muscle in his forearms. His legs are thick, huge, sturdy enough to hold his entire weight along with two other men, if need be. Again, impressive.

Satisfied with his nonverbal response, you turn to grab the essentials. Pulling over a small, wheeled tray, you begin your work. Ghost sits up off the back of the bed for you, allowing you to remove the bandages around his chest. He maneuvers himself to sit cross-legged while you do it, his head tilted down to watch you work.

Truthfully, Simon thought you were attractive the moment he saw you. And then you made fun of him. But when he balled up his fists, when he inhaled that sharp breath as a reaction, it wasn’t because he was mad at you. It was because right then and there, he was attracted to you.

“You ever been stabbed like this before?”

He doesn’t answer for a minute, not really wanting to admit it. But then he shakes his head. “No.”

This tells you something, it tells you that you’re tending to the worst injury he’s ever had. And you’re shocked by his answer, you would’ve assumed he’s had worse. But a stab to the chest that just barely misses the heart? Yeah, that’s pretty bad.

He doesn’t budge when you apply the antiseptic, allowing you to work in peace. Once you’ve cleaned the wound, he’s surprised to feel your hands. His eyes widen while keeping his gaze on you, watching as your fingertips explore him. They move across his chest, just barely gliding over his skin.

“Doesn’t look too bad.” You murmur to him, eyes trained on his chest.

Ghost is undeniably the fittest out of the entire team. He’s huge, and not just in height. You haven’t seen his naked torso since the day he was stabbed, and when you were tending to him then, you definitely weren’t thinking about how attracted you were to him. You were working to save his life. But now, you have time to let your thoughts wander, to let yourself experience what he feels like.

Trailing down a bit, your fingers graze over his abdominal muscles, your tongue briefly sliding across your lower lip. His muscles are firm, smooth, and warm. Your touch makes him feel uncertain; he doesn’t know what you’re doing, but it’s making him nervous. Well, not nervous, necessarily but… excited.

“What happened to you being nice to me, huh?” You ask, tilting your head up to look at him. And the smile you offer is pretty. “Thought you’d be my best friend after I saved your life.”

This makes him laugh, a small grunt coming out toward the end from his injury. You’re right, he should be nicer to you considering the circumstance. He should also be nicer to you because, well… he fancies you.

“I’m sorry.” He finally acknowledges, albeit quietly. “I know I’ve been acting… standoffish.”

“It’s okay,” Shrugging, you reach for the clean bandages. “I get it, you’re embarrassed.”

Sighing, he looks down at your nimble hands again. “Yeah.”

“Let’s get your blood pressure before you eat.” You then tell him, changing the topic while retrieving your tools. “Then I’ll leave you alone,” Glancing up at him, you grin. “I promise.”

Right now, he doesn’t want you to leave him alone. You’re nice company.

Attaching the cuff over his bicep is a feat in and of itself. His muscles stretch the fabric, but it ends up securing around him adequately. You then take your stethoscope, applying it to his inner elbow while you begin pumping the meter. Glancing up at the machine, you focus on the readings, and absentmindedly, your hand wanders. While continuing to record his data, your free hand slides down his arm and into his palm as you steady yourself beside him.

Widening those pretty brown eyes, he releases a breath, now looking further down. He’s surprised, but honestly, it feels nice. Makes him relax. And while staring at your smaller hand now resting in his, he inhales deeply, curling his fingers slightly around your hand. This makes your head snap to the side, having not fully realized what you’d done. But Ghost doesn’t move when you look at him; he does stare at you though, right into your eyes. And while keeping your gaze, he lightly squeezes your hand. He really is sorry. He’s grateful.

The days following the first are actually pretty nice. With your main focus on Ghost, the rest of the crew seem to leave you alone for the time being.

“You’ve been a big help lately.”

“What?” Comes that thick, English accent. “I’ve done nothing but sit on my ass.”

“Yeah, but it keeps them,” Pointing out into the training yard, you finish, “Off my ass.”

Turning, he stretches, watching his team run around and lift weights on the field behind him, only a window separating them.

“It’s like I told you, sweetheart.” His head then moves, returning his gaze to you. “You’re the finest thing they’ve seen in months.”

“Oh, yeah?” You tease. “What about you?”

Since he’s been nicer, you’ve been spending more time at his side. You didn’t need to sleep here, he was fine by himself, but after that first night, you did. You couldn’t help yourself. Thinking about him all alone in the infirmary while you lay cozied up in bed made you sad. You didn’t want him to get lonely. So, you slept on the small loveseat in the corner, the one the boys usually sit on to smoke. And your sleepovers were starting to make you close, that sweet little nickname being evidence of that.

“What about me?” Under his mask, his face heats up. He knows what you’re asking.

“Am I the finest thing you’ve seen in months?”

Under that skull-painted cover, he grins, giving you a single nod. “You’re pretty.”

“Oh, Ghost,” Walking over to him, you lean into his bicep, clutching it. “I knew you’d eventually fall in love with me.”

Rolling his eyes, he grumbles with an amused tone, “A pretty big pain in my ass.”

After he says this, you laugh, pushing yourself off of him.

“Bones?” Your comm link buzzes slightly, a bit of static coming through.

Pressing your button, you tilt your head to the side. “What’s up?”

“Searg. is calling a meeting.”

“Time?”

“Eighteen hundred.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then.”

“Bones?”

Once your conversation has ended, another one promptly begins. Lifting your head to face him, you raise a brow. “Yeah?”

Ghost tilts his head to the side slightly, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Never heard anyone call you that.”

“Yeah, well you’re not on my med. team.”

“Well, you’re on my team, aren’t you?”

Giving him a thoughtful pout, you eventually answer with, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Then we should know your cover.” His voice is stern and gritty, deep and rumbling. It’s like how he talks out in the field.

“Well, now you do.” Giving him a quick wink, you turn away, intent on doing some paperwork before your meeting.

“What’s the meaning of it?” When you don’t immediately answer, he calls for you. “Bones?”

Something about him using your code name makes you grin.

“I’m known for breaking them.” Turning, you face him once again, a smile plastered across your smooth lips.

“Known for breaking bones?” He clarifies, sounding skeptical.

“Yep.”

“Huh,” He scoffs, “That’s not exactly something to boast about, is it?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be if they were mine.”

Oh, now he gets it.

“I did a lot more than sew up wounds before I came here.” With a heavy sigh, you reminisce on your time in the field. But you made a choice to be here. “I used to break them, now I heal them.”

He never knew. And honestly, this new information only makes him more attracted to you. A badass soldier with a gentle touch? Sounds like his kind of woman.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” You emphasize, “I’ve got some paperwork to do.”

“Fine.” He returns flatly, and you giggle. He really sounds upset about that abrupt ending.

“Think you’re gonna be okay by yourself while I’m gone?”

“Won’t be a problem.” He grunts, shimmying to lay back down. “I’ll just sleep.”

Throughout your hours spent together, you’ve discovered that he’s quite the fan of naps. He takes one every day around three in the afternoon, and you wonder if he’s finally enjoying his rest. It doesn’t help that you often have to leave him while he’s sleeping, though. You’ve liked being by his side lately, it’s comforting. His presence has begun to grow quite kind, and even in the quiet times, it’s nice. But you still have meetings and other duties to tend to. Which include the one you’d been called to.

Ghost’s gentle snore is what prompts you to look up, your eyes searching for his own. But they’re closed, one arm propped behind his head with his other hand laying over his stomach. He’s fully laying on the bed, the blanket only covering up to his waist. He’s still shirtless, and right now, he looks practically naked. Aside from the mask. Eyes trailing up his form, you take in the steady rise and fall of his chest, the light-colored hairs scattering his pectorals, and even further down, leading from his belly button to the hem of his pants. It makes you sigh, he looks peaceful. You’ve never seen him so relaxed.

You don’t like the thought of him waking up to a room empty of you, so to make up for it, you head to the cafeteria. As quietly as you can, you return with a large pizza, one with his favorite toppings on it. Steak, mushrooms, onions, and two kinds of cheese, specifically provolone and American - strange and lengthy details, but ones you memorized, nonetheless. And after you set the box down, taking in another look of him, you turn to leave.

Eventually, the smell wakes him up. How could it not? It’s his absolute favorite thing to eat. But he has to be careful, he needs to keep himself in shape over these couple of weeks, or he’ll need more training than originally planned. Sighing, he props himself up, the realization now setting in.

She did this for me.

He knows it was you and not the boys because of the little note on top of the box.

Ghost,

I’m at a meeting until six tonight, I’m sorry I probably won’t be around when you wake up. Here’s some pizza to make up for it. Hopefully you still love me <3

Bones

He rolls his eyes at that last part, a smile pulling on the edges of his lips. You can be so sarcastic sometimes. But he likes it. You make him laugh.

While you’re gone, Simon thinks about the way you take care of him. You’re so gentle with him when changing his bandages and cleaning his wound. Your smaller hands touch him so softly that it makes him feel things for you. He wonders, is he just interested in you because you’re the only woman around? Or is he interested in you because you’re funny? Because you’re nice? It’s because you’re such a tender caretaker and you remind him of all the love he never got in life.

Looking back at the note, he reads it again. It sounds like you’d regretted leaving him, even for something as important as a medical staff meeting. Maybe you’ve been enjoying his company, too.

When night rolls around, you snuggle up on the couch, pulling the blanket you’d grabbed from your cot over your shoulders. Ghost just stares at you, one leg laying flat on his bed with the other up, the sole of his foot planted on the mattress.

“How the hell do you fit on that?”

Shrugging, you answer with, “It’s easy to fit in places when you’re not an enormous tank.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Smirking, you can just barely see his eyes in the darkness. Those nearly black orbs find your own, and it makes your chest tighten. “I like the way you’re built.”

He chuckles, amused. “Yeah?” And then he reaches for a pack of cigarettes next to his bed, lifting the edge of his mask. “Why’s that, love?” That word makes the skin on your face burn.

You get a small flash of his face when he lights the end of his cig with a match, and you notice something you’ve never seen before.

“What’s that scar from?” It just comes out on its own. He knows you’re talking about the one on his jaw.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He points out, taking a puff. And for some reason, you find that so hot.

“I’ll answer it if you answer mine.”

Sometimes, you aggravate him. Sighing, he speaks through the darkness, telling you, “Fine.”

A sly grin crosses your face on the other side of the room, and you wonder if he can see it. He can.

“I like men with muscles.” And he likes that answer. “Makes me feel like they can take care of me.”

He exhales calmly into the nighttime air between the two of you, pressing his lips to the cigarette and then inhaling once again. Ghost knows he could take care of you.

And then he thinks about his own response, settling with, “It came from a knife.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “You gotta tell me more than that.”

Flicking the ashes of his cigarette into a tray, he lays back a little on the bed. “It was a mission in the Middle East. Bloody heat was killing me, I had to lift my mask up.”

Oh, wow. Honestly, you were just kidding. You never thought he’d actually tell you anything more. But you take this chance and run with it, listening intently so you don’t miss a single piece of his story.

“We were ambushed,” He continues, shaking his head. “Price never saw it coming.”

Truly, you can’t even imagine. Sure, you had your time in the field, but it was nothing compared to what he’s gone through.

“We took them out, but not before one of them got to me with a knife. Sliced up my jaw.” Ghost exhales a puff of smoke, watching it billow into the air. Then he gently shakes his head. “Didn’t let him get any further ‘n that.”

By the end of the story, his voice has grown flat. Maybe he doesn’t like thinking about his scars. Maybe it’s why he keeps the mask on.

“Could I… could I see?”

“My scar?” Comes his instant response. “What for?”

“I dunno,” Shrugging in the dimly lit light, you glance down at the floor. A timid gesture that he again sees.

After a moment of silence, he figures, what the hell? Having you be close to his face didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. Besides, he likes getting a good look at you. Finishing off his cigarette and rubbing the butt of it down into the tray beside him, he says, “Why not?”

Looking up, you shake your head. “It’s okay, I don't have to. I don’t even know why I asked.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Come over here, doll.”

Almost giddily, you do, shoving your blanket to the side and popping up onto your feet. He chuckles deeply upon seeing your reaction, watching you scamper over to him.

“You’re excited about this, huh?”

Shrugging, you grin, standing right next to his bed. “Maybe.”

You don’t give a single shit about his scar. You want to see him. Being close to Ghost gives you a good feeling.

Leaning over, you turn on your desk lamp, illuminating this corner of the room. And when you come back to him, you’re met with the incredible sight of his eyes. They’re dark brown in shade, but in the dim light, they're a dazzling pool of honey. But what really catches your eye is the lower half of his face. His mask is still pulled up, revealing his mouth, chin, and jaw.

“Can I touch?” You then ask, keeping your voice quiet.

He eyes you up and down while your gaze is fixated on his mouth. His lips curl, and he nods. “Sure.”

Lifting your hands, they fall to either side of his face. When you make contact with him, he closes his eyes, exhaling a slow breath, accepting your touch. He can’t remember the last time he let someone do this.

“Hm…” You don’t mean to, but you hum, fingers trailing along his jawline and chin. He has stubble here, just barely. It seems like when he’s crept away to the showers at night, he’s shaved.

Ghost’s eyes trail across your face, feeling your breath on his skin. You’re closer than you ever have been before, and it makes the muscles in his chest tighten, makes his pulse quicken. Licking his lower lip, he whispers, “How’s that feel?”

“Good.” You respond, nodding, your eyes not once leaving his mouth. “I like it.”

“Why’d you want to feel it?” He then wonders aloud, and he wishes you would look up at him. He wants to look into your sweet eyes. “Haven’t you seen enough scars in your lifetime?”

“I don’t really care about scars.”

What the hell?

Scrunching his brow, he then asks, “Then why the hell did you want to see mine?”

Now, you do look up into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you work up the nerve to say what’s floating through your mind. “Because it’s on you.”

Immediately, he swallows. His gaze falls to your mouth for the first time since you’ve been this close, flickering back and forth from your eyes to your now slightly parted lips. And all at once, he sits up a bit straighter, wrapping an arm around your back to pull you in.

As if you’re expecting it, you melt into him, letting him press you to his body. The fingertips on his jaw slide along his cheeks as you move to fully hold his face in your hands, Ghost’s lips easily meeting your own. One large arm slides around your back, hand securing to your waist as he pulls you further into him.

Heartbeat pounding in your veins, you gasp quietly against him, molding your mouth to his as you return his enthusiasm. Your hands hold onto him tightly, sliding down to the back of his neck. But then he stops, releasing a rough sigh and opening his eyes to look at you.

“Come here,” He whispers hurriedly, his other hand reaching out and tugging on you.

“Ghost, I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” His lips are moving over your jaw, his hands still pulling on you.

“You’re healing.”

Scoffing, he leans over the side of the bed, hands securing themselves to your lower back and upper thigh. He then hauls you forward, leaning down so he can hoist you up onto his lap.

“Oh!”

“I go back into the field next week.” He grunts out, now looking up at you. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

“Ghost, I -”

“You know my name?” He asks, his rough, baritone voice demanding your attention.

And suddenly, you feel extremely fucking small. Your legs slide forward and down, straddling him. Quietly, you squeak out, “Yes.”

“Say it.”

Leaning forward, you embrace the excitement of being on top of him. Your hands return to hold his face, and he lets you. Bringing yourself in close, you look into his eyes.

“Simon.”

“That’s right.” Comes his breathy exhale, leaning in to close the small gap between the two of you.

And then Simon’s hand is on the back of your head, pushing you further into him. His other lands on your hip, fingers curling around your flesh. He smells like cigarettes and cologne, tastes like mint and tobacco. And you overtly, eagerly, wholeheartedly, welcome him.

“Closer to me,” Simon grumbles, the hand on your hip curling around your lower back. He pulls you until you’re flush against his chest, your breasts pushing up against his clean bandages.

“Simon,”

He groans into your mouth when you use his name, repeatedly moving his lips over your own. Your legs press tightly to the outsides of his thighs, holding him close to your body. And when he feels your hips shift against him, when he hears your soft, delicate moan, he decides to slide his tongue into your mouth. He licks inside, rubbing the wet muscle over your own. Moaning wantonly, it echoes into his throat, the hand on your head sliding down to hold your jaw open. The way he moves against your mouth is almost overwhelming, full of passion and lust and a particular sense of need.

“You wanna take this off for me?” His accent is making you melt. “Can you do that for me, love?”

Tugging impatiently on your shirt, those frosty eyes look into your own with a look of utter desperation. But also control. Ghost was always in control.

Nodding, you reach down, finding the edges of your longsleeve shirt and slipping it up and over your head.

“Oh…” He moans - Ghost fucking moans. His head immediately dips down to the luscious space between your breasts, mouth finding your skin.

“Oh,” It comes as a complete surprise, him surging down to kiss you here. “Simon…”

Fuck, you’ve wanted to do this since you met him. You both have.

His mouth drags along the curves of your chest, and you’re surprised when they’re followed by tender kisses. And then his hands drop, groping your ass.

“I want you.” He growls against your breasts, nipping at the soft slopes of them. “What do you want, love?”

“I want you, Simon.” Nodding quickly, your hands slide back up to his face. In your hurried state you accidentally move the fabric of his mask just a bit, and his hands come flying up to your forearms as soon as it happens.

“Don’t take it off.” It’s a firm boundary, a stern warning. His head lifts, too, eyes staring menacingly into you.

“I wouldn’t, I won’t.” He looks at you almost skeptically. “I respect your privacy.”

When he doesn’t budge, you wiggle on top of him. “Please. Simon, I wouldn’t ever do that to you.”

Slowly, his hands leave your forearms, loosening their grasp. He’s deciding to trust you.

One of those meaty hands falls to your chest, still holding your gaze while he cups you. The other rises to your neck, fingers curling around the back to pull you in again. This time, though, he doesn’t return to your lips. This time, he goes to your neck. Rolling your head to the side, you let him, feeling Simon’s teeth scrape along your skin. He’s feeling every inch of you that he can, hands falling to your ass when he feels you move over him. With a firm grasp, he urges you forward and back, grinding your covered crotch over his own. And while he’s busy exploring you, you take this opportunity to explore him.

Delicately, your fingertips slide down his face, down the chorded muscles along his neck, landing on his sculpted shoulders and then moving to his biceps. When you squeeze the thick meat of his arms, he groans, smirking mischievously against you. With your nails scraping lightly over his taut skin, they quickly find his back, gently scratching him. His muscles are flexing, damn near all of them. He’s so worked up with you like this on top of him. And he’s still moving you, shoving your hips over his crotch and manhandling you in the softest way he knows how. He’s strong, but he’s gentle with you.

The length of him is palpable beneath his thin shorts, settling right into your covered folds. And it makes you moan, makes your breaths pick up and your center pulse. The air is thick with arousal, the room lit dimly in the soft, yellow hue of your small lamp. His breaths are hot, fanning across your face in humid and heavy wafts. But then he stops, taking a breath. And for some reason, your sass decides to fill this brief, empty space.

“So,” Sighing, you’re also working to catch your breath. “Does this mean you think I’m pretty?”

He chuckles, that beautiful smile making itself known. “Does this mean you like my muscles?”

“I love your muscles.” Wiggling even closer to him, you grin, sucking in a tight and excited breath. Your one hand then slides down his chest, his abs, curling around to hold his hip, your thumb just barely brushing his pelvis.

“Yeah? Even when you’re sewing ‘em up?” He asks, that deliciously rich accent making you flutter inside.

“You can’t do that again.” Shaking your head, your hands move to hold his face. It’s a tender act. “You can’t scare us like that again.”

That night, you swear you started to see the light fade out of his eyes, and that, well… that was a first for you. You saved Simon’s life.

“You care about me, eh?” He replies in the cockiest voice.

“Your team cares about you.” Eyes flickering down to the bandages on his chest, you then say, “And yeah, maybe I do, too.”

Simon’s body flexes beneath you, hips rutting up into your own. And now, it’s his turn to hold your face in his hands. He lifts your jaw, making you look at him.

“Hey, don’t worry about that now.”

“Are you okay?” Eyes darting back up to his, they’re filled with concern from the memories of that day. “With me sitting like this on you?”

He gives you a cocky grin. “I’m just fine, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about me. I’m a big boy, remember?”

This makes you smirk, one hand finding its way to his pelvis with much more confidence than before. “Is that right?”

“That’s right.” He nods, keeping that gorgeous grin. “Think you wanna take it?”

Breathing out a small laugh, you give your head a single shake. “I never knew you wanted to fuck me so bad.”

“You never noticed the things I’ve said to you?”

“No, I noticed. I just thought… maybe it was harmless flirting.”

At this, his head tilts, eyes boring into your kind orbs. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me harmless in my entire life.”

“Yeah, you’re one scary motherfucker.” Leaning in to kiss him, he accepts it with a heated moan. “And I find that sexy as hell.”

“Well, you said you like fixing bones.” He’s feeling desperate for you at this point; it’s like you won’t stop teasing him “Hop on this one, then.”

“Oh my god, you really are like every other fucking guy.” But you’re already reaching for the bottom of your sports bra, slipping it off your torso in one go.

“God damn.” Large hands instantly return to your breasts, cupping and weighing your tits in his palms. His chest dips dramatically from releasing such a heavy breath, leaning in to kiss one of your delicate peaks. It’s firm and wet, the repeated press of his lips. And it wouldn’t be so overwhelming if he wasn’t practically making out with your tits.

Seeing your naked form for the first time sets his own alight. He always knew you were a sexy little thing, and now, he’s got first hand proof. Your curves look delicious, and if he weren’t in a tiny medical bed, he’d lay you down to lick them.

“You want me?” He doesn’t expect this sort of response, his surprise going tenfold when he feels you reach down between your bodies.

“Oh,” He releases a tight breath, feeling you run a finger over his erection.

Staring into your eyes, he gives you an almost predatory gaze. “You know I do.”

Easily, you slide your shorts and panties to the side, revealing your delicate sex to him, though he can only barely see it. And then you’re reaching down, fingers curling over the band of his shorts to pull him out. When you do, he releases a sound you’ve never heard from him before, his jaw hanging low. He’s long and firm, crimson at the head and already leaking. The pulsations rocking through his cock are, at this point, an almost painful sensation; and when you look down, you grin. Letting the length of him rest on his lower abdomen, you move yourself so you can slide your glistening lips over him.

Simon hisses at the contact, strong hands cementing themselves to your hips. But he doesn’t stop you from moving. If anything, he only encourages you to.

“You get off on this?” He suddenly asks, the feeling of your slippery center sliding against him making his head spin and his insides tense. “Fucking your superior?”

“Baby,” You laugh, shaking your head while continuing to move over him. “I’m on the med. team, you’re not my superior.” Taking a breath, you reach out, grabbing his jaw and lowering your voice to speak. “But you did get one thing right. I do want to fuck you.”

Before he can say anything, you’re lifting yourself, his throbbing tip prodding at your entrance. You hold his gaze, an unexpected moan drifting from your lips when you finally begin to feel him.

“Fuck,” He grits out, fingers digging into your sides and urging you down. “Come on, precious. You can take it.”

Sliding down only a few mere inches, you wince. Holding onto his shoulders, your fingernails dig into his skin, scratching harshly at the firm muscles all along him. He’s bigger than you’d imagined him to be. His girth is wider than you’ve ever had, and when you reach down to feel him you quickly discover he also isn’t lacking in length.

His military voice then comes out, that stern, commanding tone. “Focus - hey, eyes on me.” Irises snapping up to his, you do as you’re told. “That’s a good girl.” Jesus Christ, you didn’t expect a single ounce of praise to come from him.

Simon’s dominant hand then slides down, the pad of his thumb finding the reddened nub at the peak of your sex. Your hips jolt when he presses the thick digit against you, but with his free hand on your back, he brings you in. He applies pressure, prompting you to lean on him, his mouth seeking out your nipples once again. Slipping his tongue out and over your skin, it forces you to whine, feeling your hips rock involuntarily against him. With the stimulation coming from his thumb and tongue, you find yourself relaxing, resting on the weight of him.

“Feels good, yeah?”

Your fingers find the back of his head, your own dropping back. “Yes…”

It’s overwhelming and sexy as all fucking hell. Simon can see the marks he’s left on your neck, shoulder and chest, and he grins, knowing they’ll be there in the morning even if he won’t be able to see them. He doesn’t stop the movement of his thumb, keeping the same amount of pressure as he swirls little circles over your sensitive clit. His mouth is sucking on you, too, his tongue running over your nipples in wet and passionate swipes. And altogether, it works like a charm, lubing you up enough for him to slide entirely inside.

“Simon.”

“You’ve got it, yeah… there we go…” The only hand that moves is the one that was touching your clit, fingers now attaching themselves to your hip once you’re entirely seated on him.

“Fuck me,” You’re clinging to his shoulders, both arms wrapping around his neck. He’s removed himself from your tits, resting his face in the slope of your shoulder, just beside your throat.

He’s searing hot and filling you completely, his tip seated deep in your guts as you pulse around him violently. And Simon’s aware of his size, so he waits for you to make the first move. And he snuggles into you while he does, resting in this brief lull.

Feeling another person surrounding his body like this brings out a sensation from the depths of his heart, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in genuine years, decades, even. He feels like he can relax in your embrace, like he can let go with you.

“Oh, god.” Head dropping back, you shift slightly, beginning to move.

“Yes,” He encourages you, reaching up to hold your neck. “That’s it.” And then he pulls, bringing you down to him. Your lips meet in a small clash, tongues colliding as soon as you make contact.

This entire event awakens something inside of you. It’s like he’s consuming you, taking over your body and every part of your mind. And you’ve felt like this for weeks, months; you’ve ached for him. At night you’ve touched yourself to the thought of him, and during the day, you’ve dreamt about him. It was so hard to be in his presence, knowing you couldn’t have him, that he probably didn’t even want you in the first place. But he does; he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Simon sways his body with you, leaning back against the head of the bed. He uses this slight change in position as leverage to shove his hips up into you, giving you small and shallow thrusts. But he lets you do most of the work, grinning while admiring the way in which you find your pace.

“You’re a tight thing, aren’t you?” His voice is gruff, eyes lowering to stare at the space where you’re repeatedly connecting. And then they furrow, mouth dropping open when he finally witnesses you lifting and lowering your hips. “And look how well you’re taking me…”

“You’re… so fucking big.” Lowering your head, you then offer a half smirk, shaking your head at him. “Guess you really do have reason to be cocky, huh?”

“Damn right, and I’m glad you know it.”

“Jesus - fuck!” The first word is said through a scoff, the second through a high yelp.

“You feel like makin’ fun of me again?” Simon then challenges, having lifted his feet and planted them directly on the edge of the bed. He uses this leverage to punch himself up into you, huffing out a sharp breath when he feels you fall onto his chest.

“Fuck, baby - I’m sorry.” You immediately lift yourself up, looking down at his bandages. “Are you alright?”

The fact that you’ve so easily been able to call him baby makes Simon smile, his teeth even showing for the first time that you’ve ever seen.

“You need to stop asking me that.” He says in that deeply, gritty tone. And then he shoves you forward again, knees high in the air as he lets you rest over his chest.

Your arms slide around his neck, clinging to him as he begins to shove himself up into you. Sucking in a deep breath, he grunts out beside your face, his arms wrapping around your naked torso. He’s starting to feel sweaty, sticky, his skin warm and glistening. And at this point he’s bouncing you on his cock, your ass slapping down onto his pelvis with every move. He let you have your fun; now, he’s fucking you.

“Oh my fucking god,” You’re trying desperately to keep up to move yourself back against him, but he doesn’t allow it. He’s punching the breath from your lungs, one hand sliding up your back to hold your head.

He lets out a breathless laugh. “Are you alright?”

“S-Shut up, Ghost.” Comes your stuttered response, now gasping from how deep he’s hitting.

“Uh-uh,” He tuts, “Say my name, sweetheart. Sounds so good comin’ outta that pretty little mouth.”

This makes you laugh, a small hiccup of a sound due to his intense movements beneath you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, wanna hear you say it when we fuck.”

“Oh, so this is going to happen again?” You tease, feeling his groans vibrate through his chest. Jesus, he’s so sturdy.

Leaning forward, he grabs a fistful of your ass, growling into your ear, “I damn sure want it to.”

You take advantage of his closeness, turning your head to capture his lips. “You’re so fucking deep.”

“Yeah? You want me to stop?” He whispers in return against your lips.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

At this point, he’s panting beneath you, sliding down a little further on the bed. You move with him, still holding onto his firm body with a wild desperation. And he keeps your lips on him, shoving his tongue inside your mouth while keeping his brutal pace.

If you were dripping before it’s nothing compared to now. You’re leaking down his shaft, the creaminess of your arousal coating him entirely. And he can feel it; it’s making his eyes roll back into his head.

“You’re gonna make me cum, squeezin’ around me like that.”

One of your hands lowers, moving down to hold onto his bicep, and then his forearm. Turning your head to the side, you smile, ignoring his comment while you breathe out lightly, “I love your tattoos, baby.”

“You just love praisin’ me, don’t you?” In two seconds, that tattooed forearm rises, hand grabbing your face. “Bring those pretty eyes back to me.” And when you look into those endlessly deep eyes of his, he grits out sternly, “Eyes. On. Me.”

“Simon,” It’s a small whine, one uttered when you feel him strike gold inside. “Please make me cum.” Your head drops to his shoulder, and what he does neck surprises you. He kisses your fucking cheek.

“I can do that for you.”

As if things couldn’t become more intense, he takes it up a notch, ramming into you and forcing your face into the crook of his neck. His hand on the back of your head holds you there, and when you bite into his neck, he groans into the nighttime air.

“Yesss, baby, don’t stop. Oh my god, please don’t stop.” He’s so big beneath you, his muscles bulging against your naked chest. And he revels in the feeling of your soft tits pressing against him, your beautiful body bouncing as it gets fucked by him.

“Fuck me,” Comes his gasped out curse, muttering, “Such a good pussy.”

“Fu-uck,”

He’s pounding against that delicate spot that’s making you go dumb, your arms and thighs beginning to shake around him.

“G-Ghost, I’m…”

“Say my name, say it again.” His voice is deep and thick, stuttering a bit. “One more time for me.” His thighs are flexing beneath your ass, one arm wrapped around your back and the other gripping the flesh on your hip.

It’s overwhelming, the feeling shoving its way through your body, coursing through your veins. The excitement of it all is something you haven’t felt in too long of a time, if ever before. Swallowing, you gather yourself enough to do as he says, once again, uttering his name.

Immediately after, he’s cumming, hips breaking their pace and length throbbing inside you. His forceful shoves against your g-spot make you crumble above him, onto him, your body shaking. The way you’re holding onto him makes him feel like he can do anything, makes him think you feel safe with him. And you do. The world could be crumbling and still, you’d cling to him, knowing he’d hold you in his arms.

Quivering limbs press against him, your body going a bit numb from the intensity of it all. Your center pulses around his girth, squeezing him tightly while you wash him in your arousal. You can feel his, too, the milky ropes shooting into you, and you revel in the fact that your body has made his feel this good. He’s breathing harshly beside you, pectorals flexing against your naked chest. You’ve never heard him groan so forcefully, not even when he’s out working. And that makes you smile, knowing you bring those noises out of him. A blissful smile crosses your face, body rolling in waves as you experience your own high above him.

“Fuck me,” His accent is thick, coating the shell of your ear. He’s petting at your hair, body beginning to slump down on the mattress beneath him. “You okay there, princess?”

You’re quiet, still trying desperately to find your breath. Swallowing, you nod, turning your head to kiss his throat, breathing heavily against him. And while his body relaxes, he holds yours above him, urging you to do the same.

“Maybe I should get hurt a little more often,” He looks over, pointer finger curling under your chin, gently lifting you to look at him. “If it means seein’ you.”

Part Two

#Jesus Christ #I need him #Simon baby I love you #I really do #you're my big beefy man #Simon Riley #Simon Riley x you #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Ghost Riley #Simon Ghost Riley x you #Simon Ghost Riley x reader #Simon Riley smut #Simon Ghost Riley smut #Ghost cod #Ghost Call of Duty

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suuuupernovaaa · 2 years

Text

tìyo’

tìyo’ [tɪ.ˈjoʔ̚] n. perfection

Anonymous Request: Could you write a neteyam x reader as she fell first, he fell harder trope and by harder I mean him literally being obsessed with her (in a good way ofc)?

3.2k words

Though our clan was large, it was not so large that I did not grow up knowing all the other children my age, and those my older brother's age, as well.

Neteyam wasn't my brother's friend, per se, but he did run in similar circles; after all, they were small circles. My brother was unimpressed with the chief's son, but he was unimpressed with most people, so it wasn't surprising.

I paid Neteyam little to no mind until we were older. Lo'ak was my age, but we scarcely interacted, though I thought he was a nice boy, if not a little reckless.

In our pre-teen years, Lo'ak and I had come together by happenstance; going on the same hunts, choosing our ikrans on the same day, finding out we had common interests and overbearingly perfect older siblings.

In our growing, still casual friendship, it was then that I really noticed Neteyam.

At first, I was just impressed and somewhat intimidated by him. Even though he was barely 17, he was the best hunter in our clan, by far. He was also an impressive fisherman, skilled at weaving nets and tossing his spear, and on top of it all, he seemed, from our limited interaction, kind and caring.

Lo'ak complained about him, but I knew they were close, and he admired his brother, the way I did mine. It was almost a resentful admiration; our brothers possessed qualities that were admired by all, that we didn't possess.

Neteyam was a model eldest son, admired by all and rarely admonished by his parents - Lo'ak was a little wild, erring on the side of breaking the rules.

No'vu and I had a different dynamic. He was the wild one, with a free spirit and very little care towards what others thought of him. I had always been more reserved and buttoned up, cautious and a little anxious, and I envied his relaxed demeanor.

It brought Lo'ak and I closer, as friends, and afforded me more opportunities to be around Neteyam. And every time I was near him, my crush deepened, until I was nearly 21, and the crush was turning into something more; something I was almost growing worried about.

Because I didn't think he had really noticed me, and wasn't sure he ever would.

All of the responsibilities that come with being the oldest son of the Olo'eyktan had nearly taken over Neteyam's life, and by the time he was approaching 23 years old, he realized how all-consuming they had become.

His father was still young, very healthy, and would be their leader for years to come.

Neteyam felt now that he was ready to step back from training, to live a life and find a mate, and enjoy himself before true responsibility sat on his shoulders.

It wasn't easy to approach his father and tell him this, but surprisingly, Jake understood. Maybe years of focused training had paid off, plus, Jake did mention this would afford him more time to focus on Lo'ak, who he sometimes worried felt overlooked.

The next morning, Neteyam woke up feeling directionless. Without a rigorous schedule to follow, he wasn't sure what to do with his time. His father had woken Lo'ak up early for a hunt, and he knew Lo'ak would be equally pleased and pissed, so Neteyam simply rolled out of his hammock and grabbed something to eat.

"What will you do today?" Kiri asked, and Neteyam just shrugged in response. "Come help me then," Kiri said. "No'vu and Y/N's mother is ill, and I'm paying her a visit."

With nothing really better to do, Neteyam agreed. It would be interesting to watch Kiri work, and he hadn't spent much time with her lately. He knew No’vu, but hadn’t been aware the wild Omaticayan man a sibling. Y/N was an unfamiliar name to him. He wondered if she was as brash and fearless as her brother was known to be.

When they arrived to the family's home, Eik Te lay on the floor, covered by a blanket, with her daughter at her side. She appeared to be asleep at first, but Neteyam noticed then that her eyes were open, just barely. She looked beyond sick - she looked gravely ill.

Kiri knelt by her side, next to Y/N, who was holding her mother's hand. No'vu was pacing outside the hut, and their father, Onpxew, was nowhere to be seen - likely hunting or fishing for the family.

"How is she today?" Kiri asked, and Y/N tried to muster up a smile, glancing up at Neteyam.

"Better," she said. "She said a few words, drank a little water. Better than yesterday."

Kiri sighed. "Good, that's good."

She rummaged through the basket she had brought, pulling out different powders and liquids, mixing something together. She felt the woman's forehead, focusing. "Her fever seems to be going down. I think this will pass, but it may be a few days yet before we can be sure."

Y/N nodded, looking stoically down at her mother, who's eyes were open a little wider now.

"Thank you, Kiri," Eik Te said, her voice dry and slow, and Kiri shushed her.

"You just get better. Step outside with me, Y/N," Kiri said. "Oh, also, this is Neteyam. He's learning a little about healing today."

Y/N stood up, and nodded to Neteyam. "We've met," she said.

Neteyam was sure that was true, but he didn't remember this woman - which surprised him.

When she stood, she was taller than average - much taller than Kiri, likely taller than her mother, and most other women in the clan. Her eyes were wide, a beautiful amber, and the spots around them danced even in the day light. Her hair was long, nearly to her waist, braided in tiny braids that looked like they must've taken days to complete.

As they walked, she carried herself with assuredness and grace. As she and Kiri spoke outside about her mother's condition, he watched her round lips move over straight, white teeth.

He had never seen anyone so beautiful. He tried to remember her, but nothing was coming to mind. Had he truly met her, and overlooked her?

Before he knew it, Kiri was saying her goodbyes, and Neteyam felt obligated to say something. "Let us know if you need anything, Y/N. I'm happy to hunt for you, or bring you more blankets and rugs."

Y/N smiled, and it was stunning, practically stopping his heart. "Thank you, Neteyam."

Next to him, Kiri was rolling his eyes. "I just said that. Let's go." She pulled on her brother's arm, and reluctantly, he followed her.

After that day, Neteyam saw Y/N everywhere he went. She was at the fire pits when he brought in a kill, and she was ascending to ride her ikran at the same time as him; she was even at the same swimming hole. When he wasn't running into her, he was thinking about her, and asking Kiri for anything she knew about the girl - which wasn't much. Just that she was quiet, seemed very much unlike her rash older brother, close to her family, and a very talented ikran rider; one of the most impressive in the clan.

Neteyam obsessed over her, going over every detail of her again and again in his mind; her tall stature, her soft, light voice, the concern in her eyes when she spoke to Kiri about her mother; he even dreamed about her at night.

He wondered what he had thought about, before he met her, and he wondered how it was possible that he had never before noticed someone like her.

Four days later, they were finally able to speak, when Neteyam ran into her just outside of Home Tree.

"Y/N," he said, jogging over to her. "How is your mother?"

He could see the relief in her eyes as she smiled. "So much better, thank you! Kiri is a miracle worker. I am trying to think of a gift for her, actually. What would she like? I could make a necklace, or…”

Netyeam blurted out the first thing he could think of. "A friend."

Y/N's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Well that's certainly an easy gift to give. After all, Lo'ak is already a friend."

Lo'ak was friends with Y/N? Since when? Jealously sparked in Neteyam. "Sit with my family, at the feast tomorrow. You can... talk to Kiri," he said. But of course, that wasn't why Neteyam wanted her to join his family.

She reached out, touching his arm just momentarily, and he froze up at her gentle touch. "I'd be glad to! Come find me before, so I don't wander around looking for you."

Mom was still tired, so the rest of my family was staying behind and skipping the celebratory feast, but my father insisted I go - especially after he found out I had been asked to sit with Lo'ak's family.

Or should I be referring to them as Neteyam's family?

Our meeting earlier had been so strange. The nervous energy around Neteyam was catching, and I felt a little anxious as I dressed for the feast. Mom painted my face, down to my chest, and the moment she was done, No'vu was announcing Neteyam's approach.

Wanting to avoid an awkward encounter with my family and the eldest son of Taruk Makto, I charged out of our alcove to meet Neteyam, waving and calling goodbye over my shoulder.

Neteyam looked stunned to see me charging towards him and I stopped, a little embarrassed at my eagerness. "Sorry," I said when I reached him. "Mom is still feeling a little sick. I didn't want to disturb her."

"Oh, sure," Neteyam nodded, and an awkward pause surfaced between us that I was unsure how to get over.

When I was with Lo'ak, he did most of the talking. Neteyam was a little more quiet than his younger brother.

"You look beautiful," he said, and my jaw nearly fell open.

I had been trying to figure out all day why Neteyam would invite me to sit with his family, as the idea of him hoping I would become friends with Kiri seemed unlikely, but I couldn't sort out another motive.

It seemed impossible that it could be because he wanted to spend time with me. After all, I could tell the other day when he and Kiri had come to visit mom, that when I said we'd met before, he had no recollection.

It had stung a little bit, but ever since then, he'd been looking at me so funny every time we ran into each other. If I didn't know better, I would've thought he was staring, but I couldn't figure out why.

"Thank you," I replied, casting my eyes downward. "Let's go!"

He extended his hand, and eagerly, I took it.

As we walked, Neteyam asked me about my ikran, and even though he couldn't have known, it was the easiest way to get me to open up. I talked about her the entire way; our first meeting, our best rides, everything we'd accomplished together and how much I loved her.

"She's my best friend," I said with a shrug. "I know that's kind of silly but she's just, so wonderful. You'll have to meet her."

"I would love to," Neteyam replied with a smile.

The festival was well underway when we arrived at the Tree of Souls, the drums pounding, the smell of spices and fresh food in the air.

Pulling my hand, Neteyam wove his way through the crowd, to the Tree of Souls, where his family and those closest to them sat.

Neteyam nodded to his father, who nodded back. "Father, this is Y/N, daughter of Onpxew and Eik Te."

"How's your mother?" Jakesully asked.

"Thank you, Olo'eyektan," I replied, touching my hand to my forehead, then lowering it as I bowed out of respect. "Much better, thanks to Kiri." I turned to smile at his daughter, who smiled back. Lo'ak, standing just next to her, waved, a confused look on his face.

"That's good to hear. Join us."

We stepped up, and I took a seat just next to Neteyam, between him and Kiri.

"I'm so glad your mom is doing better," Kiri said. I reached out and touched her shoulder.

"It's thanks to you! You'll have to stop by, she'll want to see you again when she's feeling fully herself."

Kiri smiled. "I will!"

Lo'ak leaned forward. "Y/N, what are you doing here?"

I had to laugh, because it was so like Lo'ak to be blunt. Anyone else saying that would have made me feel awkward and out of place, sitting here with this prominent family, but Lo'ak was just genuinely wondering.

"Neteyam invited me. I haven't seen you much lately, so I had to make new friends."

Lo'ak rolled his eyes. "And of all people, you had to keep it in this family."

I shrugged. "I like this family."

Neteyam's father gave a long speech about the prosperity of The People, and Neytiri and Nina sang a beautiful song, and afterwards, the dancing begun.

Before Neteyam could ask Y/N himself, Lo'ak had swept her into the dance floor, leaving Neteyam to stand and watch, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

"What's wrong with you?" Kiri asked, trying to follow Neteyam's gaze, but the dance floor was moving too fast.

Then, she saw it. Lo'ak, spinning Y/N around, the both of them laughing and having fun. She'd always wondered if Lo'ak was secretly in love with Y/N, but the more she observed the two, the more she saw it was a poor fit, and neither of them was interested.

What she saw in Neteyam's eyes was very different. He was jealous of Lo'ak.

"You like Y/N," Kiri said.

"Of course I do. You've met her," Neteyam replied matter of factly, and Kiri laughed.

"I have. She's great. Lo'ak thinks so too, but he doesn't like her that way. He would have told her."

Neteyam narrowed his eyes. "It doesn't look that way to me. I didn't even know they were friends."

"How? She's one of his closest friends. You didn't notice?"

“I don’t know,” Neteyam said, reaching behind his head, shrugging at his sister. “It’s like I never saw her before.”

“Well, do you see her now?” Kiri asked, trying but failing to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

Neteyam’s arm fell to his side, and he sighed. “She’s all I see.”

"Well, just tell her," Kiri replied, and Neteyam snorted.

But... it wasn't a bad idea.

Lo'ak and I had been spinning around for far too long, and I was growing tired. We returned to his family, but Neteyam was no longer there.

Lo'ak and I sat down, and he handed me a drink.

"Neteyam invited you to join us?" Lo'ak asked.

"Yeah. He came with Kiri the other day, to visit mom, and he's been like... acting a little funny since."

Lo'ak narrowed his eyes. "Hm." That was the extend of the wisdom he had to offer me, and I wish he was Kiri instead.

"Do you want to dance?"

I whipped my head around to see Neteyam standing over me, extending a hand, and I clambered onto my feet as fast as my lanky limbs would allow, grabbing his hand in the process, allowing him to lead me back into the crowd.

This dance was slower, more traditional, and though Neteyam knew all the steps and fell in sync with everyone else, I was a little unsure, and a little behind, fumbling over my feet. With Lo'ak, I didn't care, because I knew he didn't take it seriously - but Neteyam was so precise and perfect, I didn't want to mess up.

Halfway through the song, we were brought together again, his arm around my waist and mine around his neck. "Let's take a walk," he whispered, and without hesitation, I nodded.

Away from the crowd, the night was cool, and the paint we were adorned with glowed in the darkness, along with the forest around us. We walked quietly, our hands still entwined, and finally, Neteyam spoke.

"I must apologize to you, Y/N," he said, stopping us in our tracks. I turned to face him.

"What for?"

"The other day, in your home, you said we had met before, but I... I didn't remember meeting you before."

Though the words weren't a surprise, they stung; it meant I had spent years having a crush on someone who hadn't even noticed me, even though we'd frequently been in close proximity.

"That's okay, Neteyam. I'm just your little brother's friend. I don't know all of No'vu's friends either."

He shook his head. "No, but I should have noticed you, Y/N. I was busy with training, and preparing to lead the clan, and just recently I told my father I want to take a step back from all that. To enjoy life, to form... relationships."

To find a mate, he was saying, without saying it.

"And I think, if I hadn't been so focused, I would have noticed you. I can't believe I didn't before. Something about you..." he trailed off, staring down at me, and I wondered if he could hear my heart wildly beating in my chest, or feel my hand growing cold and clammy inside of his.

"Well, I noticed you," I said finally, as he searched for his next words. "I mean, of course everyone knows who you are... but when I became friends with Lo'ak, I really noticed you."

Finally, Neteyam's nervous face relaxed, slowly replaced by a teasing smile. "Oh yeah? What did you notice?"

"Well, I was only like 14, so at first not much. But then I noticed how handsome you were becoming, how skilled you are with a bow and a spear, how kind you were towards your family and friends... I had a crush on you, when I was 17."

"And now?" he asked, the teasing smile growing even wider still.

"Oh, I still think you're handsome," I replied with a laugh, giving him a playful shove.

"I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever set eyes on, and the kindest as well, and I'd like to spend every spare moment from now forward getting to know you better," Neteyam said, and I could tell after, he was shocked that he had said it.

"Okay," I replied, unable to hide my smile.

"Okay?"

I nodded. "Let's do that. Spend time together. Get to know one another. I would like that." The joy I felt in that moment was undeniable, and overwhelming.

Neteyam's heart was going to leap out of his chest and onto the forest floor. He had blurted out exactly what he wanted - to spend every moment of every day obsessing over every small detail of her life that she was willing to share - and she had agreed to it.

She had eagerly agreed to it. He knew it was impractical to worship the ground she was walking on after only a few days, but he didn't care.

He was going to make this woman his mate, he knew it. He was going to fall in love with her - it was already happening.

"You are perfection," he said, reaching up to touch her face as he had been dreaming of doing. He ran his fingers along her jaw, over her cheek, down her nose and over her lips, and she closed her eyes, allowing him to. It sent a shiver up his spine.

No amount of time with her would be enough, but he would take anything she would give him.

TAG LIST: @purplepursepaint @lu-the-ghost-reader @loquatious-josephi-krakousky @fanboyluvr @moslaying @moony-artemis @halibanana

#neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #avatar 2 #avatar twow

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whatsnewalycat · 21 days

Text

No Strings Attached

Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella - Psychomanteum AU

[ psychomanteum masterlist ][ ao3 ]

WC: 2.7k+

Tags/Warnings: lua 2nd person pov, ghosts, psychomanteum au where they were together in spring, set after chapter 2, bickering, alcohol, drugs, addiction, ethan, anonymous sex mention, a boat load of sweeet sweet yearning folks

Notes: This is a doc I just found in my Psychomanteum folder. I think this is what I was originally writing for Chapter 3, but changed direction. Some of these conversations and prose proooobably got recycled into different chapters, but I can't remember. ANYWAY it's cute so I'm posting it as a Psychomanteum AU Snackie Poo (i'msosorryforsayingthatohmygod)

-----

Since Katie’s party, the two of you have hung out a handful of times, mostly with Parker, going out to a bar and having a few drinks. Between whatever actor things actors do while they’re in the city, he’ll sometimes text you to see what you’re doing, and what you’re usually doing is baking.

It surprises you a little every time he comes over. Why would an exciting guy like this want to hang out in your apartment while you work? Not that you mind. The company is nice. Most of the time he’ll chat with you while he sketches and happily disposes of any defective product. Sometimes it goes quiet while the two of you concentrate on your respective tasks, but it doesn’t feel awkward.

This is the modus operandi when Dieter slides his pencil it into the spine of his sketchbook and studies you, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Out of breath from rolling out puff pastry dough, you look at him and pant, “What?”

“Ghosts,” he leans against the counter, pressing his thumbnails to his lips as he waits for your answer.

You huff, setting your rolling pin down, and remember the picture frame on the spare bedroom floor. The face you imagined you saw in the mirror. Sometimes you hear noises in that room, but can’t bring yourself to investigate. The only time you enter the room is to get supplies, and even then, you speed run and don’t dare look up at the mirrors.

“No,” you avert your gaze from his and turn around to wash your hands in the sink.

“Wow, you’re a terrible liar.”

You turn around and gape at him as you dry your hands, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So you do believe in ghosts, got it,” he gives you a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. He leans forward onto his elbows again, “If I tell you something, will you think I’m crazy?”

“Dee, I texted you yesterday and asked if you think that Avril Lavigne is really herself or a body double. I don’t think I’m qualified to make any judgments on the sanity of other humans,” you toss the kitchen towel over your shoulder, then start folding the dough into layers.

He tilts his head and frowns, then points at you, “I think you might be onto something there,” then shakes his head, “Ok, well…”

His Adam’s apple bobs and his eyes flick to the spare bedroom door. You stop folding the pastry dough and stand up straight. A shiver runs down your spine. He gnashes his jaw back and forth, then takes a deep breath, “I see him sometimes.”

You shake your head and search his eyes. Not out of confusion. You just don’t want him to say it.

He slides his sketchbook across the counter, flipping it around so you can see what he drew. There, sketched in graphite on the creamy paper, is your husband. He’s standing in the open doorway of the spare room. The illustration is unruly, yet intricate. Your mouth falls open as you press your fingertips to his face, and you feel his sorrow. So much so, you flinch back and shake your head again, “Sorry, um, I–”

Dieter watches your eyes start to well with tears and his shoulders slump, “Fuck, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Is he still there now?” you whisper, meeting his big, sad, brown eyes.

They flick to the door and back to you, and he gives you a nod. Your stomach drops to the floor and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

“I need to leave,” you announce, throwing the kitchen towel off your shoulder onto the counter, then take off your apron and drop it on the towel, “Right now. I have to leave.”

He stands up off the stool, pushing it out behind him, pointing to the puff pastry, “Should–I, uh, should I wrap that up?”

“Um, y-yeah, put it in the fridge, thanks,” you walk around the counter and past him to grab your purse, shove your feet into your boots, then walk out the door and wait for him in the hall.

He emerges while putting on his jacket, then you lock the door and start toward the elevator. The hall is silent except for the rustling of their clothes and footfalls. You slap the down button on the elevator and cross your arms.

“He was trying to talk to you,” Dieter explains.

You shake your head, “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” he challenges.

“Mhmm,” you nod, hitting the button again, harder this time.

“Terrible liar,” he mutters to himself, then stares forward at the elevator doors. And he probably thinks he’s being funny. But it’s not funny. You don’t react.

Once the elevator dings, you’re inside, pressing the doors closed button before they even open all the way. He steps onboard. They accordion shut.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he tells you earnestly. In the foggy reflection of the stainless steel doors, you can tell that he’s looking at you.

“Well, you fucking did,” you snap, and wish you could take the words and shove them back into your mouth. He faces forward and his gaze drops to his feet.

The doors open and Dieter pushes out in front of you, storming out of the building. By the time you make it outside, he’s gone. A pang of guilt stabs through your chest. The cool, dewy air sticks to your skin and makes you shiver. You regret not grabbing a jacket, but start off towards your favorite hole-in-the-wall bar anyway.

O’Malley’s is a dingy dugout bar about a block away from your apartment. It’s so dimly lit in contrast to the bright afternoon sun, you have to squint and go off of muscle memory when you walk in the door. On a Tuesday, during daylight hours, when the temperature outside is finally warm enough to melt the gritty snowpiles that have been accumulating for months, the establishment is essentially empty. One sad sap sits at the bar, jacket hanging off the back of his stool, staring down at the lowball glass clutched in his fist. He’s leaning onto the bar with a ringed hand propping his head up.

You approach and pull out the barstool next to him, droning, “Hey there.”

Dieter casts a glance to you with a raised brow, then scoffs when he recognizes you. He lifts the glass to his lips and empties it into his mouth, then pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows.

Nick, the portly bartender you see here frequently during the week, approaches, “The usual?”

“Yeah,” you nod towards Dieter, “I’ll get his, too.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he sits back and pulls a wallet from his pocket, then throws some bills on the bar top, “I was just leaving.”

Fucking hell.

“Dee–” you reach out and touch his arm, and he turns towards you and stares expectantly. You chew on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze to the floor before sighing, “Please stay. I’m-“

Nick returns with a whiskey neat and vodka cranberry, sliding them in front of you and Dieter before asking you, “Tab?”

“Yes please,” you answer with a polite smile, then turn back to Dieter, whose scowl has softened, “C’mon.”

He sighs and his shoulders release, then he relaxes back into the barstool. Neither of you say anything as you take a sip of the drink, then you turn to him, “I know. Like, um. I know that he’s there sometimes. But I don’t—“ you shake your head, “I don’t want to know.”

He sits up and leans his elbows against the bar, turning to watch you. You chew on your bottom lip and watch the ice cubes clink together as you stir your drink.

“What was he trying to tell me?” you ask finally.

“I don’t know,” Dieter frowns, “I couldn’t tell.”

You saw Ethan cross into the threshold. Through some kind of an otherworldly osmosis, he was absorbed by the membrane that met the two of you at the end of the silent, iridescent wormhole.

“Why would he come back?” you whisper, mostly to yourself.

“Why do any spirits come back?” Dieter shrugs and takes a big sip of whiskey, “Unfinished business.”

All you can think is that it better be a fucking apology. He owes you that much. Ethan was so fucked up that night. Did he even know what he was doing? Or had he been planning it?

The man that woke you up in the middle of the night on Christmas and made you get into his car with the intention of totaling it… that wasn’t the man you married. You wonder how much coke he had really been doing in the weeks, maybe even months, leading up to the accident. Towards the end, it became commonplace for him to be out all night without explanation.

He would stumble in at 7am, talking a million miles a minute, a sharp sniff interrupting his monologue every 10 seconds, hands trembling like your grandma’s when she started showing symptoms of Parkinson’s disease. When he finally crashed, he’d go to bed and sleep until the sun went down, where he would isolate himself for a day or two. Then he would go out to run orders to your clients and not come back until 7am. Rinse, wash, repeat.

One night, when big, fat snowflakes were fluttering to the ground outside in big, he was standing in front of all the order boxes ready to go, making sure he had everything. You came up behind him and wrapped your arms around to his chest, laying your cheek against the back of his winter coat, “Can you come home tonight? I miss you.”

“Baby, I’m with you all the time,” he chuckled, placing a hand over yours, rubbing his thumb against you affectionately.

“That’s not what I mean,” you told him quietly. His thumb stopped undulating and his body tensed. Your heart was pounding in your chest when you finally admitted out loud, “I’m worried about you, Ethan. I think it’s becoming a problem again.”

You let go as he stirred beneath your embrace, turning around to face you. His body only became more rigid, shoulders tensed up to his ears, jaw gnashing, as he assured you, “It’s not a problem. I promise. I’ll come home after dropping these off, ok?”

He pressed his lips your forehead, sealing his promise with a kiss, and you mumbled, “Ok.”

He didn’t come home until the next morning. You weren’t surprised.

“You ok?” Dieter nudges you.

A lie waits, ready to roll off the tip of your tongue. Instead, what comes out is the truth.

“No. I don’t think so,” you take a sip and look down at your drink, “But, what can ya do?”

“Mmm, I think I have something that could help,” Dieter mutters in a suggestive tone. Your heart skips, then you look at him and realize he’s pressing a joint up between his lips, “Wanna go for a walk?”

This brings a smile to your face, but you protest, “I didn’t bring a coat, it’s still chilly outside.”

The joint bobs as he frowns and grabs his jacket, “Use mine. I’m fucking sweating, anyway.”

—

The passersby barely pay the two of you any attention as you stroll at a leisurely pace through the park, passing the joint back and forth. His sepia fleece jacket hangs down to your knees and keeps you almost too insulated.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, tasting the vapors of melting snow clinging close to the earth. The sunshine seems to melt away the foul mood you were in earlier. In your euphoria, you trip on a crack in the pavement, stumbling a bit. You steady yourself and giggle in embarrassment.

“So glad you don’t have anyone following you with a camera right now,” you comment.

Dieter plucks the roach from his lips, holds the intoxicating smoke captive in his lungs, and offers it up to you, “How do you know we don’t?”

You scrunch your face up and make a full 360, scanning for any potential paparazzi, and shoo the roach away. He exhales and shrugs, then tosses it into a disintegrating snow pile, “I’m just kidding, I think I’m off their radar for the time being.”

“Yeah? Have you been a good boy, Dee?” you giggle. The way his whole body seems to perk up at the question is not lost on you.

“Not so much that as I’m not the biggest shitheel in the media at the moment,” he smirks, looking you up and down through his sunglasses.

You hum and nod, although you have no idea what he’s referring to, “Ah, yes. That one guy did that one thing.”

He laughs, “There’s always another guy doing another thing. It never fails.”

“Ol’ reliable,” you respond, then tilt your head in curiosity, “How is your divorce going, then?”

“Boring, next,” he groans.

“No no no, sir, you told me my dead husband is haunting my home today. Even the scales.”

“Are you sure you’re not the press?” he raises an eyebrow at you.

And, of course, it’s a joke. But that side glance gnaws at your gut the same way that Ethan’s narrowed eyes did. Looking at you like you’re an informant.

‘I didn’t tell anyone about the ink, Lou.’

“What?” your shoulders slump. You come to a standstill, and stammer, “I wouldn’t–no, what?”

He stops, too, and turns to you, “I’m just kidding, Lua.”

“Oh,” you breathe a sigh of relief, “Ok. I’m not, um, trying to be snoopy.”

“You are way prettier than a cartoon beagle,” he smiles, then starts walking again. You catch up to him and try not to let the way your stomach flutters show on your face. It does. He smiles wider, then it fades to a frown as he shrugs and scratches his neck, “The divorce is going. Annie is staying at the house until it’s finalized, so I’ve been living out of hotels, which gets old,” a sly smile creeps across his face, “It is a little easier on the dating front, though. Living in hotels, that is.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sex is just better in a bed. A little more room to work with than the bathroom of a club or the backseat of a car, you know? Plus, then they don’t feel like they have to leave right away.”

“That’s probably why I prefer those places. Don’t have to stick around afterwards.”

He grins at you, “Is that right?”

Something sparks at the middle of you when you look over at him and shrug, then he licks his lips and nods, looking ahead.

“So you’re dating people?”

“I don’t think dating is the right term,” you frown, “More just, um… casual sex, I guess.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Since when?”

“Does it matter?” you tuck your hair behind your ear and look down.

“No, not at all,” he nudges you, so you look at him and see the good will on his face. “I just… Well, I’ll really kick myself if I could have been begging you to sleep with me this whole time.”

Your mouth is all of a sudden very dry. You blush and chuckle, then shake your head, “I’m looking for no-strings-attached situations.”

“I am all about no-strings-attached,” he touches his fingertips to his chest and grins, peaking his bloodshot eyes over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Mmm, no, see, we have strings,” you sigh, then count each of the following points on your hands, “I don’t fuck clients. Or friends. Or celebrities going through very public divorces.”

Or people I have a big, giant, throbbing crush on.

“My heart,” he clutches the front of his shirt theatrically.

You giggle at his reaction. The conversation dies momentarily, and the sounds of the city fill the cool air between you. You feel compelled to elaborate, “I’m not ready. With the dead husband and all that. I don’t want a pity fuck, or a goddamn significant other. I just want to get off, then I want it to be over. No strings.”

He nods, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his pants, “No judgment here, m’dear.”

#psychomanteum #psychomanteum au #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic

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remotepixel · 8 months

Text

Platonic Yan!Tony Stark headcanons:

First post, very nervous </3.

(Request are open btw!!)

I've seen him called a mother hen multiple times but it's definitely amplified here.

-He's always wondering about the what-ifs and, as an important part of his life, most will be centred around you.

-Even small things like not wearing a coat when it’s cold will probably mess up his heart even further (please put one on, for his sake).

-Tech will be made in your honour because 'you never know'.

-And, as for giving it to you, I think it would go two ways:

-Straight-up giving it to you as a gift (pretty casually for him).

-Or leaving it really obviously somewhere and when you ask about it he acts all casual like he didn't spend the last week on it.

-In either of these scenarios he would be impatiently waiting for you to praise him.

-Like you're looking at it and he's making his usual quips while internally dying in suspense.

-He lives off your approval even if he'd never admit it.

-Any sort of positive reaction to him or his work would lift his mood for the rest of the day (though it may indirectly encourage him to work instead of living to get that same reaction).

This is probably obvious but mf would definitely stalk you online.

-Like, the tech isn't just for you, he isn't that selfless.

-Its a way to monitor you:)

-The Stark phone is tracking you 24/7 and reading/watching everything you're doing.

-There's a screen in his lab just for your activity and JARVIS is on alert in case he misses anything (which is kinda hard when he's glancing at it every 2 seconds but the lack of sleep catches up sometimes).

Just like his constant seek of approval, he wants to constantly be in your life and know everything about you (other reason why his inventions are handy).

-Knowing everything allows him to feel comfortable and increases the chances of you actually liking him (or at least, that’s his logic), and it’s the same for being around you 24/7 (though it also helps his paranoia, that he will be there to protect you if anything happens).

-He'd play nice with your parents (lowkey reluctantly) , teachers, background check all your friends, anything to keep himself involved and in the loop surrounding you.

(He definitely has a whole terabyte or more of information about you with a lot of security measures just in case anyone finds it).

I think due to his upbringing (yk, not having a good dad lol) he would compliment you often.

-He's not an overall affectionate guy so it would probably be the subtle 'good work' or pat on the shoulder but he'll try at least.

-That's why he normally goes with gifts- whether tech like mentioned before or anonymously paying for any subscriptions, bills, etc.

You not liking him for any reason would crush his soul.

-He overthinks everything, to the point where if you forget to say hello to him or something he'd convinced he's done something wrong.

-He knows self-loathing isn't good and he's reading too much into it, but it doesn't help when all he can think about is yet another person leaving.

-He'll play it off ofc but he'll be searching for ages trying to find any more clues for your behaviour.

-He isn't good at comforting so, if you’re in any sort of negative mood, he'll make more jokes, drop in a few not very subtle 'you can talk about anything to me', just anything to try and get you happy once again.

-If you're happy, you'll want to be near him and that makes him happy in return.

-In his mind, its a fair deal.

Although impulsive, he’s self aware.

-He knows his behaviour is strange to say the least, but he basically gaslights himself into believing it’s the best choice.

-Like, you fall over once? Well, that wouldn’t have happened if he was your guardian.

-I don’t think kidnapping would happen unless you get put into serious danger which he then believes warrants keeping you ‘safe’ in the tower, or he overreacts to a trivial thing (he’s in his mother henning mood), decides enough is enough, and then realises what he’s done an hour later and now has to live with the consequences.

Overall, he’s a paranoid, approval-seeking, obsessive silly little guy :)

#yandere mcu #yandere #yandere tony stark #platonic yandere #platonic yandere tony stark #yandere marvel #RemotePixel

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chocolate-floof · 22 days

Text

So while I'm literally punching air over my menstrual pain I thought up a Vought reader scenario with a little real life inspo and would love to see other expand on this idea if they also find it interesting or funny. So, reader ofc works for Vought, they don't really ever work with supes in person as their still climbing the corporate ladder but they do their job well. The only time they've ever spoke to anybody even remotely close to the seven was when Ashley had come to them to ask for an update on homelanders points, as they work on the social media team at Vought, their job in the team was to basically scrub the internet for the publics opinion on vought. They've seen some SHIT from it, including the more... Vulgar displays of the publics opinion from homelander, but they have have to persevere to get that sweet paycheck every Thursday. Growing up in a area where people are normally on the more 'family friendly' with the way they speak had left them severely underprepared for the confidence that the anonymity of the Internet gave people, which allowed them to say basically anything, and they certainly did. Sometimes leading them to go to the bathroom to try and stave of the nausea. They themselves are more of a loner, staying to themselves often time felling awkward and scared of talking their everyday coworker. Sleep deprivation and overworking themselves to try and run from the imposter syndrome constantly eating at them. Your average corporate wage slave one might say. But one day, waking up with a rare dose of confidence that lasted through out the day, they decided they were going to go to a small office party they were going to be having later on that night. They decided to wear a very ~complimenting~ outfit/dress when they go. Homelander is there, he doesn't have anything better to do and he's bored so he sits in on the party, watching. No one comes to him, everybody knows how he can be to those he deems lesser than him. They don't really think about this as they look at him sitting alone in the corner with a far off look in his eyes, their sympathy genuinely clouding their better judgement. They walk up to him unannounced, nearly startling him as they said "hi." in a quiet tone with a small smile. He looks over, suddenly hearing them next to him, further away than he had thought, it sounded like you had spoken directly into his ear. "Hello?" He said, genuinely confused at why you had just walked up to him. "A-are you enjoying the party?" They ask, trying to start a small conversation. He almost immediately snaps into his 'work face' "oh yeah, it's nice that you guys have these... Little.. get-togethers. I, uh.. I like the work you guys do here, you guys do... alot for Vought, we'd be NOWHERE without.. you guys!" He gives a little chuckle afterwards. They, immediately felt like the entire sentence was nearly.. rehearsed? Fake? It just wasn't right but they tried not to let their anxiety and paranoia get the best of them and respond with a "thank you, that definitely means a lot coming from you." They were fighting their nerves suddenly feeling cold all over. "I'm glad that I can help Mister.homelander, sir" they imagine slamming their face against every surface possible as they they choke, suddenly feeling like a golf ball was in their throat, sweat collecting in their hair. Before they can manage to squeeze anything out another man walk up to them, tapping them on the shoulder. They turn to him and he asks them out. They immediately feel the ball in their throat get even bigger, thinking of a way to get out, to just go before they suddenly burst into tears. "N-No..." They say before just turning and walking out as fast as they could straight to the elevators and back home. homelander was very confused at what had just happened, how quick their emotions had just rose and fallen in quick succession suddenly feeling his curiosity peaked. The next day he comes to visit the office area, asking for you describing your appearance.

"Oh you mean y/n? Their fucking tweaking in the bathroom right now" answer one of them

"what?"

"Their freaking out." They supply

"Why?"

"read this."

"WHAT THE FUCK"

#homelander #yandere homelander x reader #homelander x reader the boys #homelander x reader #sleep deprived so sorry if this came out weird #social anxiety reader for the win #sorry if i described you😭😭#im so sleepy i can barely read.#lmao yes the “vulgar” and “confident” posts im referring to are thirst posts no kinkshame or anything but yall be DIABOLICAL sometimes😭😭

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silentglassbreak · 8 months

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Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

Here we are, folks. This is the final part to this piece of Noah & Leena’s story. I’ll write an epilogue, once I’ve made a final decision on if I want there to be a sequel or not. If you want one, let me know. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. This story brewed in my head one night, and I had to get it out. This one is fluffy, some smut, and how I wanted this story to end…for now?🖤

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery. **TW: light kink content (spanking & hair pulling, dirty talk, S&M to a degree)

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12

Part 11 - Just Pretend

The rain made the loveliest soft thumping sound on the ground all around the porch. My legs crossed under me, the heavy quilt covering me to keep warm against the fifty-five degree air. I held my steaming mug, the smell of the coffee’s comfortable aroma satisfying my senses. The world was so quiet here, and I couldn’t believe I had been missing this for so long.

“Leena?” I turned to glance at the front door, my dad hanging his head out. “Breakfast is ready.”

I swung my legs off of the swing, pulling the quilt off, and walked into the house. The smell of bacon and pancakes filled the air. My stomach grumbled in response. I sat down opposite my Dad at the table, grabbing the syrup bottle and pouring a healthy amount over my pancakes before tearing into them, ignoring the eggs and bacon on the side of my plate.

Dad munched his own breakfast, carving the slices from his grapefruit carefully with his spoon. "So what time is your guy supposed to get here?"

"Mm," I swallowed the bite in my mouth. "His flight gets in at 12:15. He'll probably be here about an hour later? He's got to get his rental."

"Still don't get why we don't just pick him up." Dad mumbled under his breath.

I shrugged. "Daddy, you're going to be nice to him, right?" I lowered my fork and pressed my hands together in a praying position. "Pleeeease!"

He huffed. "As long as he's nice to you."

I smiled, then. "He is."

"Better be." I narrowed my eyes at my Dad, opening my mouth to speak when my phone went off on the table next to me.

I swiped it and stood from the table.

"Hey!"

"Hey, beautiful." Noah's voice was smooth. "I just got through TSA and to my gate. I've got about an hour until my flight leaves."

"Okay! I can't wait for you to get here."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "Me either. Hey, uh, I meant to ask you," He paused. "Your Dad, is he going to like...kill me in my sleep?"

"Uhm," I glanced over my shoulder, watching Dad slip Angel a strip of bacon under the table, and rolled my eyes. "no, no, of course not."

"You hesitated."

I sighed. "Baby," I walked out of the doorway, the screen snapping shut behind me. "he's just protective, but he's harmless." I chewed my lip. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" His voice was clearly apprehensive.

"Just don't ask him to show you the gun room."

"He has a gun room?!"

"It's going to be fine, Noah." I snickered. "Besides, he leaves tomorrow for three days. He's going on a fishing trip. So we'll be alone."

"Who fishes in February?"

I laughed loudly. "That's what you were thinking about?"

"Well, thinking of screwing you in your father's house scares me, so..."

I lowered my voice, "Oh yeah? That's wild, cause all I can think about is you bending me over the balcony railing and fucking me in the pouring rain, but, I mean, if you have questions about fishing..."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Leena!" His voice was hushed, and I cracked a wicked grin. "Not a good place to get an erection! It's hard to hide here!"

I busted out in laughter. "Sorry, babe. It's too easy."

"You just wait until I get you alone, girl."

"Yeah? I don't know, I'm not too worried." I was playing a dangerous game.

"No?" I heard him snicker. "You fucking should be."

A chill ran up my spine, and I heard the door behind me open. Angel ran past me, headed for the lawn to use the bathroom. It startled me.

"Well, we'll just see how it goes when you get here." I brought my voice back up to it's normal decibel.

"Mhm, we sure will."

"I've got to go, babe. I'm having breakfast with Dad."

"Okay, love. I'll see you soon."

"Not soon enough."

I was twirling around the kitchen, getting Dad's lunch cooking. The soup boiled in the pot while I poured in the cream, stirring in parsley and thyme. The smell of the potatoes and cheddar cheese filled my nostrils, creating an absolutely heavenly aroma.

"You didn't have to make lunch, baby. I am capable of feeding myself." Dad stood on the other side of the kitchen counter.

"I know that, but I’m nervous, and need something to do. So you're getting soup."

He nodded. "Smells good."

I smiled, "It'll be ready soon. I'm just waiting for the potatoes to soften up a little more."

He turned his head, something catching his eye. "Hey Lee?"

"Hmm?" I hummed, looking into the pot.

"I think he's here."

My head snapped up, eyes darting out the dining room window, a dark blue sedan pulling up next to my Dad's Ford F150. I broke out in a thousand-watt smile, setting the spoon in my hand down on the counter.

"Angel, come!" He had already nearly beat me to the door. I opened the latch and stepped onto the porch as the driver's door opened.

He stood out of the car, being greeted by Angel, who had already ran down the wooden steps and across the lawn. Noah crouched down, letting him put his front paws on his chest, scratching up and down his sides.

"Hey buddy!" He let Angel lick his face, smiling widely. "How you been? Good? Taking care of your mom?"

He looked up then, eyes catching me. I couldn't hide the excitement on my face. I broke out in a full sprint, nearly tripping off of the porch.

He stood, arms open, and I launched myself upon him. He wrapped me up, picking my feet off the ground. He squeezed me, his fingers digging into my sides.

"Ugh, I missed you so much." My words were muffled in his neck.

He finally set me down, and I reached my lips up to press a quick, solid kiss to his lips.

I heard a throat clearing, and turned my head to see my Dad standing on the steps, looking absolutely unamused. I felt my cheeks tinge pink, but I grabbed Noah by the hand, noticing he was now looking a little green. He really was nervous.

"Daddy?" He hopped down onto the grass to meet me halfway. Noah trailed a step behind me. "This is Noah."

I moved to the side, and my Dad brought his hand forward, Noah slipping his own in easily. "Lorne Richards. Nice to meet you." His voice was stern, testing the waters.

Noah nodded, giving his hand a firm shake. "Noah Sebastian, sir." He gave one of his absolutely mouthwatering smiles. "Thank you so much for having me."

My Dad let his hand go, and put his own in his jeans pockets.

"Leena was just making lunch. Come on in." Turning around, he trotted up the steps, Angel following him.

I could see a visible relief in Noah's posture.

"See?" He glanced down at me. "No biggie."

He smirked. "Did he say you were making lunch?"

I nodded. "Cheddar potato soup."

He raised an eyebrow. "You can cook?"

I swatted at him, laughing. "Oh shut up."

I sat on the couch, side pressed against Noah’s, the movie playing on the screen ahead of us. I heard the footsteps sliding down the hallway, and I glanced up to see Dad looking at me and pointing a finger at Noah.

“Someone’s tired.”

I raised an eyebrow and turned my attention to my now sleeping, slightly drooling boyfriend. His head was leaned against the back of the couch, his eyes closed gently, mouth very slightly ajar. I smirked.

“Yeah, he sure is.” I stood off the couch gently, following Dad into the kitchen.

He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and took a long pull. He peeked at his watch, and snorted.

“It’s only eight-o’clock. Kinda early isn’t it?”

I leaned against the countertop, arms folded over my chest. “Yeah, he just got back from Europe a few days ago, so I would bet he’s still jet lagged.”

Dad nodded. “He was quiet at dinner.”

I snorted. “He’s terrified of you, Daddy.”

Dad raised his brows in surprise. “He is? I wonder why.”

I hung my mouth open, amused. “Are you kidding? You’re my Dad and my sponsor. He knows how important you are to me, and how much your opinion matters.”

Dad waved me off. “I’m just a guy, Lee. No different than him.”

“Psh, yeah, okay.” Our voices were hushed. “He wants you to like him.”

Dad raised one brow now. “Is there a reason for that?”

I deadpanned. “Because he loves me? And that gets complicated when the most important person in my life doesn’t like him?”

Dad seemed to accept that, but still looked up at me through his lashes. “You ain’t gonna run off and get married or somethin’ are you?”

“Married?!” My voice came out louder than I intended, and I slapped a hand over my mouth when I realized. My eyes shot back to the living room, seeing Noah still snoozing.

Once I gathered myself, I cleared my throat. “No. No, absolutely not.”

He looked at me incredulously. “Yeah? Seem a little defensive there.” He cracked a grin, making me shake my head laughing.

“Dad, Noah and I have only been together for a few months, not including earlier in the year.”

He padded over to me, placing his hands on the tops of my shoulders. “I get that, baby.” He then lowered his head to catch my eye line. “I also know you love that boy.”

My expression was surprised. “You do?”

“Well, of course. Watching you two together, it’s like teenagers in high school.” This made me blush. “I also don’t doubt that he loves you too.”

This made me grin, like a little girl hearing her first crush actually liked her. “Really?”

“Mhm. Can tell by the way he looks at you.” He then turned his attention back to Noah, snoozing. “And also that he could be at home sleeping off that tour he just did, but instead he’s here for two weeks, facing your very scary Dad.”

He had puffed his chest, which cracked me up. “Seriously? You’re not so scary.”

He huffed out a gruff laugh. “Wait till he sees my gun room!”

Dad had said goodnight to Angel and I, reminding me he’d be gone by 4AM to meet with his fishing buddies. He was leaving food in the fridge, a whole pack of bacon specifically for Angel.

I walked over to the couch, leaning down, touching Noah’s arm and giving it a light squeeze.

“Baby?”

He roused quickly, startled, his eyes popping open. They softened quickly, back to the sleepy squint.

“Oh, hey.” He rubbed his eyes and a hard yawn came out. “When did I pass out?”

“A little bit ago. Let’s get you to bed.”

He stood off the couch, stretching his arms. “What time is it?”

“About 8:45.”

He nodded, yawning again. “I’m sorry, I know it’s early for you.”

I took his hand, leading him toward the staircase. “It’s no biggie. You’re exhausted.”

He scoffed. “Well, it’s almost 6AM in Paris, and I haven’t slept since last night. So, maybe a little?”

We walked up the stairs and straight into my room. I had brought his duffle up earlier, and it was perched on the bed.

He grimaced. “You’re sure your Dad is okay with me sleeping in your room? I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh hush. He’s fine. He’s old, not stupid.”

This made him shake his head, unzipping his bag and pulling out sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He looked at me. “Bathroom?”

I pointed him in the direction, and he left quickly. I took the moment to grab my own pajama pants and shirt out of my closet, and slipped my shirt over my head. Back turned to the doorway, I slid my jeans over my hips, standing in my bra and underwear.

I shivered in the cool air of the house, slowly pulling my hair out of the ponytail I had kept it in all day. I took a moment to scratch at my scalp, enjoying the sensation of my hair finally being free and falling loose.

I reached back and unclasped my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Reaching my hands over my head, I stretched my arms and spine, shaking the day off of me.

“Mmph.”

I whipped around, nearly jumping out of my skin. Noah stood in the doorway, hip leaning against the frame, a dark grin plastered on his face, his eyes locked on me. Instinctively, my hands reached up to cover my exposed breasts, making him intentionally frown.

“Would you knock it off!” I said playfully, chucking my shirt at him.

He caught it mid-air and just shook his head. “Sorry. If you’re going to look like that, then I’m going to ogle. My right as the boyfriend.”

I quirked a brow, letting my hands fall to my sides. His smugness faded while I walked over to him.

“Oh yeah?” I stood only inches in front of him now, my hardened nipples brushing the front of the fabric of his shirt. “Go ahead, then.”

He stared at me, cool expression on his face. He stepped forward and pulled the door closed behind him. He was pressed against me now, fingers of his right hand trailing up my side, grazing the side of my chest. Fresh goosebumps raised on my arms, and I inhaled a hard breath.

“So fucking pretty.” His dark eyes, nearly completely blackened, searched my face. “I can’t believe I went without this for so long.”

I snorted. “Hasn’t been that long.”

His voice was deadly, baritone. “Long enough.”

His lips attacked me then, catching my mouth and pulling me toward him. I stood on my tip-toes, so he caught me off-kilter and pushed me down onto the bed, leaning over me to catch my left nipple in his mouth, his hand coming up to pinch the other.

I gasped, wrapping my fingers in his hair. My hips bucked against his stomach, searching for friction. I felt him lean down onto me, his erection pressing into my leg. A deep, guttural growl escaped him, and he stood up.

I hastily grabbed at him, but he took a step back from the bed, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.

I laid back on the bed, eyes blown wide. “What?” My breathing was labored. “Why’d you stop?”

“I just…can’t.”

My mouth hung open in disbelief. “What?! Why?”

“It’s disrespectful!”

I threw myself back on the bed and snarled. “No fucking way!”

He shook his head, hands out in front of him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just…not with your Dad in the next room.”

I sat up on my knees, grabbing the front of his shirt.

“Noah, he isn’t going to know!”

“Dads always know.”

“Oh, come on!”

He threw his head side to side. “Nope. I can’t. Not until he’s not here, at least.”

I almost teared up, rejection stabbing my chest. I crossed my arms and stood off the bed.

“Fine.” I grabbed my pajama pants, pulling them on angrily.

“Babe…”

I ignored him, pulling my shirt over my head and stomping over to the bed.

He chuckled. “Tantrum, much?”

I sniffled, turning my head so he wouldn’t see the lonely tear running down my cheek. “Let’s just go to bed.”

My voice betrayed me, cracking at the end. He scrambled over to sit in front of me on the bed.

“Hey, hey,” He lifted his fingers to grab my face. “you don’t think that I don’t want it, do you?”

I didn’t respond, just averted my eyes.

“Oh babe.” He smiled at me, cracking my hardened exterior. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

I, again, didn’t answer.

“Look.” He grabbed my hand then, leading it to the middle of his pants, pressing my palm to his stiffened cock underneath.

My eyes widened, and I gasped.

“I want it. Badly.” He shrugged and squeezed his eyes shut, freeing my wrist. “I just don’t want to disrespect your Dad like that. Him liking me is a big deal.”

I smirked. “That big of a deal, that you’re willing to let that go down on its own?” I pointed to his crotch.

He groaned. “Unfortunately.”

I shook my head, leaning my face into his chest. “Fine.”

He circled his arms around me, rubbing a hand up and down my spine.

“But once he’s gone, your ass is mine.”

I was woken by a paw to the face, causing me to startle. I cracked my eyes open to see Angel’s honey brown eyes staring directly at me. A low whine came out of him, and my brain clicked together. He had to pee.

Noah was laying heavy next to me, facing away, a quiet snore coming with the rise and fall of his chest. I slipped myself out of bed silently, Angel making a mad dash for the staircase.

I trotted down the stairs barefoot, unlocking and popping the door open to let Angel out. I closed the door behind him and turned to the kitchen. The coffee pot was on,the carafe full with a fresh brew. I noticed the time, 6:00AM. Dad had left me fresh coffee, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

As early as I fell asleep last night, I was sure that I wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon. I grabbed a mug from the cupboard, glancing out of the kitchen window. I noticed Dad’s truck was gone, leaving Noah’s rental alone on the lawn.

A scratching at the door came as I began sipping my coffee, so I let Angel in. He looked at me, and I smiled.

“Go on, go keep Noah warm.” He darted up the stairs in the direction of my pointed finger.

I needed to brush my teeth, and shower. No need to wake Noah, as he still needed to sleep off the jet-lag. There was very little light in the kitchen, as the sun had yet to rise completely over the mountains.

I decided to use the downstairs shower, so I wouldn’t wake Noah. I let the warm water wake my muscles and brain, slipping my pajama pants and shirt back on, minus the underwear from the day before.

Carefully toeing up the stairs, I slipped into the room and pushed Angel to the edge of the bed. He had curled up on my side, pressed against Noah’s back. I slipped back into bed and pulled my phone off of the side table. After checking that my volume was down all the way, I opened TikTok.

Something about the algorithm was strange, since I never looked up Bad Omens content, yet it still managed to cross my For You Page whenever I was with Noah, or thinking about him, or singing one of his songs to myself.

I sat, scrolling through clip after clip of shows from the recent European tour, Noah jumping around stage. He head banged viciously, he screamed until his throat gave out, and he even threw random items at the crowd. The video of him tossing an entire bag of marshmallows played, and I laughed quietly.

After about half an hour, I felt the bed shift, and an arm curl around my midsection. I smirked, and set my phone down on the table. I felt him press his body against my back, his face burying in my neck.

“Well, good morning.” I closed my eyes at the sensation of his breath on my neck.

He inhaled, squeezing me tighter. “Did you shower?”

My hair was still damp. “Yeah, I’ve been up for about an hour.”

He mumbled into my hair. “Should’ve woken me up.”

“Nah. You needed rest.”

I felt him pressing into me harder, his dick stiff and pushing against my lower back.

“Are we alone?”

I smirked. “Mhm.”

His lips started leaving soft kisses across the back of my neck, his fingers now playing with my belly button ring over my shirt.

I tried to center my thoughts. “You want breakfast?”

His hand then gripped my hip, flipping me onto my back. I didn’t realize what had happened before he was kneeling next to me, his eyes half-open and smoldering. He was smiling, a terrifying grin.

“As a matter of fact,” His hands ripped my pants down without mercy, leaving me completely bare in front of him. “I would love some.”

He pulled my thighs open, leaned down onto his stomach, and buried his face between my legs with absolutely no warning.

My eyes burst open, my hips jumping off of the mattress. “Oh my god!”

I was so stunned, I barely registered that his hands had my legs in a death grip, fingers digging into the tops of my thighs. His tongue worked, laying flat, long strokes over my lips, lingering with very specific pressure to my clit.

My knees bent instinctively, pressing my pussy against his tongue, my hand in his hair pushing him closer to me. He obliged so graciously, latching onto my clit and sucking wildly. I squealed a harsh, raspy moan.

“Oh fuck, Noah. Oh fuck. That’s so fucking good, Jesus Christ.”

I wanted to watch him work, his dark eyes flashing up under those sinfully long lashes, but the sheer vibrations from my core made me throw my head back and squeeze my eyes shut.

Just before I thought I would die of stimulation, his hand released my legs, and pressed them upwards, bending my knees toward my chest. This pressed my pussy forward, and I felt his tongue dive inside, his head moving back and forth ever so slightly. My vision went white, and the sounds leaving my mouth were a mix of whimpering and crying.

“Noah, please, I’m going to come. Please don’t stop.” His tongue came back to my clit, attacking me so deliciously while I felt one finger penetrate me. He curled the digit, pressing into the sweet spot. I exploded, a loud scream ripping from my throat. My fingers nearly ripped the hair clean out of his head.

He didn’t let up for at least a minute, making me attempt to thrash around, held down by his too strong hands.

Once he had tormented me enough, he sat up. My legs fell back down to the mattress while my lungs fought for oxygen. I wasn’t given long to recover, as I was quickly flipped back onto my stomach.

His hands hooked under my hip bones, lifting my ass in the air, and I swore I heard the sound of a condom being ripped open. My brain was still swimming from such an intense orgasm, that I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening until he spoke to me.

His voice was deep, full of lust. “Best fucking meal I’ve ever had.”

I felt the head of his cock nudge the entrance of my pussy, and I adjusted my knees wider, lifting myself up on my hands.

He continued to press against me, not quite sliding in. I felt a hand reach up my back, fingers wrapping in the hair on the nape of my neck. I leaned back against him, wanting to feel him inside me so badly I could cry.

At that moment, his fingers tightened in my hair and pulled my head up so I was nearly standing on my knees. His voice was against my ear now.

“Don’t be so impatient, princess. I’ve been waiting for this for months. We’re doing it my way.” His voice was so deadly, my only response was a soft moan.

He didn’t let go of my hair, but did slowly begin pressing into me, and I could hear a harsh breath being sucked in.

“Fucking Christ, baby.” He slid all the way in, pressing hard against my cervix. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

He let go of my hair now, letting me fall forward, my face burying in the pillow.

“Hold still for me baby, want to feel you.”

I did my best, I promise I did. But he was sliding in and out so painfully slow, and my body ached for him to just go a little faster. Involuntarily, my hips pushed back against him. I closed my eyes, but opened them when I felt a hard slap come to land on my ass. I sucked in a hard breath at the sting, but felt my walls twitch. I liked that. I liked that a lot.

“I told you to be patient.” His fingers were digging into the spot that he had slapped, but in all fairness, I’m not the best listener. I rocked my hips back again, and then braced myself. The slap that came down was harder, making a bolt of lighting shoot up my spine. I shivered, enjoying the sensation of his palm on my hot skin.

“Having a hard time hearing me, baby?” His hand rubbed over my flesh, and I carefully shook my head. “No?” His hand stopped abruptly, another hard smack landing on my ass.

“Ahh, I see. You like that, don’t you?”

I didn’t respond, only pushed back into him again, mouth watering at the feeling of his cock filling me, when his hand came down again.

He chuckled, a dark, wicked laugh. “I see what you’re doing.” He let go of my ass, but instead of another slap, he pulled out entirely, leaving me whimpering in distaste.

I felt his palm rubbing over my skin, my legs spread wide, hips rocking for him. There was nothing to push back on, and I sighed.

“You poor, eager girl. Must’ve been missing me just as much.” He nudged me with his cock, then, and I held still, not wanting him to move away.

I waited there, patiently, and felt him finally press back inside me. I moaned loudly, gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

“That’s it.” His voice was oddly comforting, although he sounded so evil. “See what happens when you’re patient?”

He was now thrusting at a steady pace, and my eyes began to roll back from the coil tightening in my belly.

“God damn, look at you.” He ran a hand up my back. “So fucking needy. So fucking beautiful.”

My body shook, another hard orgasm building. “Noah, God, Noah, please.”

“What do you need baby?” His hand came down to spank me again, a sickening sound filling the room. My eyes rolled back and I hissed at the sting.

“Yes, fuck!” I screamed.

“Love being spanked, don’t you?” He slapped me again, harder.

“Mmm,” Forming words was getting harder.

Another slap. My legs started to shake.

“So good for me, baby. So fucking good.”

Slap.

“Could fuck you all God damn day.”

Slap.

“So fucking tight. So fucking wet.”

Slap.

His breathing was becoming more erratic, his rhythm slipping. He was close.

“Fuck, Noah, I’m going to come.”

He fucked me harder, his hips barreling against me at an alarming pace. He gripped my hips for support.

“Fuck, baby. Come on my cock. Come for me, Leena.”

Slap.

That was it, I was gone. My brain was bursting, my screaming wild. My fingers were digging into the mattress now, chanting his name over and over.

I felt him stiffen, his hands gripping me hard enough to bruise.

He slowed his thrusts, his body half-collapsing on my back. My knees gave out, making him fall on top of me completely. I rolled on my side, my eyes half-masked and staring at him. He was breathing heavy with his mouth open, face showing me how spent he was.

“H-Holy fuck.” Was all he could say. I waited a moment for my heart to calm down. He stared at me, an expression I couldn’t place on his face. “Are you…” He trailed off. “Are you okay?”

I smiled, then. He was worried. It was cute.

I answered him with a soft kiss on his lips.

The day had passed so easily. Noah and I had made breakfast, playing 80’s music, him singing very dramatically to all of the Bowie songs. We had taken Angel on a long walk around Dad’s property, and came back in once the rain really started coming down. Needless to say, we spent a fair amount of time on the balcony in the downpour.

We fell asleep watching The Walking Dead, starting from the first season, as Noah had never watched it.

The following morning, I awoke feeling funny. I couldn’t place the feeling, but it was almost dizzy. The sensation made me salivate, similar to when I used to drink too much, and fell asleep before emptying my stomach.

After a tall glass of water, I unfortunately did the same, everything I had eaten the night before being left in the bowl. I cursed under my breath. Being sick was not on the agenda for mine and Noah’s days alone together.

During my mad dash to the bathroom, I had to have woken Noah, as he was now knocking on the door. I had already flushed my vomit, and was brushing my teeth.

“Babe?”

I opened the door to see him looking at me, sleep still heavy in his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shook his head, dismissing me. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, my lips still clammy and my color too pale. “Yeah, just not feeling great this morning.”

He walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my stomach while I scrubbed my tongue.

“Dinner, maybe? The pork might’ve been under?”

I nodded. “Probably.” I spit out the toothpaste and rinsed my mouth out. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just take it easy today.”

He gently turned me around and placed his lips to my forehead, furrowing his brow. “You’re not warm.”

I leaned into him. “Nah, it was the pork.”

The following days, I spent laying on the couch or in bed, my stomach fighting against me at the most inopportune moments. I would feel great, back to normal entirely, and then would be hit with a wave of nausea that I couldn’t escape. Once I had vomited, I would be slapped with an overwhelming fatigue that had me napping for at least an hour each time.

I could see Noah getting increasingly worried, but I continued to remind him that I was fine, it was just a stomach bug (the possibility of it being food poisoning less and less as the days went on), and that if I went a week with no improvement, then I would go to Urgent Care.

He seemed satisfied with that, but then Dad came home.

“You’ve been sick for how many days now?”

“This is the third day.” Noah spoke up from behind me where he leaned against the back of the couch. I shot a death glare in his direction, to which he just shrugged.

“Mileena, you need to go get checked out.”

I groaned. He used my full name, which meant he was being my father right now.

“I’m fine, Daddy. I feel good!”

“You’ll be throwing up soon. You always do about an hour after you eat.”

I rolled my eyes and hissed at Noah. “Not helping.”

He threw his hands up in his defense.

“He’s right, I’m driving you to town.”

I scoffed. “Hello?! I am not a child. You can’t just force me to get checked out.”

“You’re my child. I can do anything I want.”

I crossed my arms and stomped a foot, narrowing my eyes at my Dad.

“Daddy, I am nearly thirty years old. You cannot make me see a doctor if I don’t want to.”

“Oh no?” Dad grinned at me.

He then turned his attention to the man behind me.

“Hey Noah, you ever hear the story of when Leena was little and went roller skating for the first time?”

My eyes bugged out. I looked at Noah, whose brows were raised, an amused smile on his face.

“I haven’t, actually.”

My head whipped back around. “Dad! You can’t blackmail me with embarrassing stories!”

Dad laughed. “The hell I can’t! Now you get in the truck, or I will tell him about when you sat on an ant hill.”

I heard an amused giggle behind me, and I growled in frustration.

“Ugh, I hate you both!” I turned and stomped up the stairs. “Let me get my shoes on!”

It had taken ten whole minutes of arguing with Noah to get him to stay back at the house with Angel. I didn’t need him hearing that I had E. Coli, or Salmonella, or just a really bad case of the stomach flu. Him and my Dad ganging up on me had me fuming the entire thirty-minute drive down the mountain and into town, soft country music the only sound in the cab of the truck.

When we pulled up to Urgent Care, I took note of the one other car in the parking lot. With any luck, we’d be in and out quickly.

“I’ll wait here for ya.” Dad settled into his seat and turned the music up a few notches.

I rolled my eyes and hopped out of the truck, walking up to the entrance begrudgingly.

“Hi! What brings you in today?” The redheaded girl behind the counter looked no older than eighteen, and I internally sighed in annoyance.

“I’ve got some kind of stomach thing, a virus or something.” My tone made it clear I was not happy to be there.

She nodded. “Okay, sure, we can help with that. Let’s get you checked in.”

I went through the tedious process of giving her my information before sitting down in the small, plastic chairs of the waiting room. I pulled out my phone, opening my texts.

Me: You may not know this about me, but I fucking hate doctors.

Noah started typing almost immediately.

Noah: Same, but you need to get checked out.

I slumped down into the chair.

Me: Teaming up against me with my Dad is fucked. Gonna kick your ass for it when I get back.

Noah: As terrifying as that sounds, I’m sure it’s worth it.

He started typing again immediately,

Noah: I’m getting those stories out of him still.

Me: Over my dead body.

“Mileena Richards?” A female voice called to me. A short, skinny woman in scrubs called me from the door leading to the exam rooms.

I stood up and walked toward her. She smiled warmly at me, and I tried to return the gesture.

She led me to a room where she took my weight, blood pressure, and pulse ox. She then sat back and asked me to describe my symptoms.

“Well, I’ve been throwing up a lot. It seems pretty random.”

“Okay, and have you noticed it happens after anything specific? Like eating or exercise?”

I shook my head. “Maybe about an hour or so after eating? But not every time.”

She nodded. “Any cramping? Gas? Diarrhea?”

I just shook my head. “No, but right before I vomit, I get pretty lightheaded.”

She was typing into her computer. She turned her attention back to me.

“Okay, honey, and when was the first date of your last menstrual cycle?”

She pushed a small calendar toward me, and I wracked my brain. I was so bad at remembering this stuff. I flipped back a month, looking at January. What day in January?

I remembered buying tampons at Target. Where was that? Laura was with me. It was about five days before I moved. We had gone to Target for packing tape, microwave popcorn, bubble wrap, and tampons. I wasn’t due for my period for another week, but I didn’t want to be on a flight to Seattle, and it show up early while I was unprepared.

But…I never used them. My period wasn’t exact, but it came at about the end of each month. We went to the store on January 22nd. 23rd? That means my last period was just before Christmas, which I remember, because I was extra cranky when I woke up Christmas morning at Laura’s, spending the holiday with her and Will. It started on Christmas Eve…

“I, uh…” I stared at the calendar, small and tinted green with little peonies on the corner. “I think it was Christmas Eve.”

The nurse raised a brow at me over the rim of her glasses. “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

I shook my head, staring at the floor, bewildered.

“No.” She didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, her face not moving an inch. “I wasn’t sexually active much at that time.”

She pursed her lips, and pushed herself away from her desk.

“Okay, honey, follow me.”

I stood up, my brain scattered. Noah and I were always careful, so it’s just not possible.

“Alright dear,” She held a plastic cup in front of me. “I need a urine sample from you, in case we need X-rays on your abdomen, we just need to be sure.”

I nodded, accepting the cup and heading toward the bathroom she directed me to.

“Doctor will meet you back in the exam room. Just leave the cup on the tray that’s next to the sink.”

I locked the bathroom door behind me, and stared at the cup. The unnerving instinct to run out of the office and into my Dad’s truck, lying and telling him it was the stomach flu, flooded through me, making my face go numb.

My logical sense took over, and I meticulously peed in the cup, replacing the lid and scrubbing my hands in the sink.

Once I was sat back in the room, opting for the chair, rather than the paper-lined bed, I sat in silence. My phone buzzed in my sweatshirt pocket, and I lifted it with a shaking hand.

Noah: Any news?

My fingers trembled so hard that I screwed up my words and had to keep deleting and retyping.

Me: Not yet.

I didn’t lie, because there wasn’t any. I was just going absolutely insane, and the power of suggestion was making my mind play tricks on me.

I replaced my phone in my pocket and forced myself to take a deep breath. I was fine. Just sick. Nothing serious. Nothing life-changing about it.

A short rap on the door made me startle before it cracked open.

“Mileena?” A tall, older man entered the room. He wore dark green scrubs, a white coat, and a stethoscope around his neck. Very stereotypically doctor-looking.

I nodded in response.

He stepped in with a small stack of papers in his hands. “I’m Dr. Allen.” He was looking down at his documents. “I hear you haven’t been feeling well?”

I coughed to clear my throat. “Yeah, for the last few days.”

He nodded, clicking his tongue while he flipped through the forms.

“Okay, well, I’m going to do an exam, but I’m pretty sure I know why you’re feeling crappy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He looked up at me, a smile on his face. “Yep. Your hCG levels are pretty elevated, and you’re also very dehydrated.”

What the hell is hCG?

I shook my head. “Uhm, okay. What does that mean exactly?”

He moved to sit at the desk, handing the stack of papers to me.

“It means that you’re expecting.” His eyes were sincere, likely seeing that mine looked like they were going to pop right out of my skull.

The air rushed out of my lungs. My response came out nearly inaudible. “What?”

He sat back in his chair. “You’re pregnant.” He glanced at the computer, clicking something with his mouse. “Judging by how late your cycle is? I’d say about six weeks? Maybe a little less?”

I could feel my head spinning on my shoulders, unable to tear my eyes away from the doctor. When I didn’t speak, he continued.

“I would guess that what you’ve been experiencing is morning sickness. It is a little early, however. I still want to do a quick exam to make sure we don’t have any other issues.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. The world had fallen out from under me.

The drive home was utterly silent. I had only spoken to Dad to tell him that I was fine, and we could head home. He didn’t press, but I could feel he was growing increasingly uncomfortable.

“Leena?”

My eyes darted to him. We had pulled onto the lawn and parked already.

I didn’t answer him.

“Is it what I think it is?”

My eyes started tearing up, my lower lip trembling.

“I don’t know how this happened.” My voice was so small, I couldn’t be sure he even heard me.

“Well,” Dad huffed, adjusting in his seat. “I thought you knew this already, but, honey, when a man and a woman love each other-“

My head snapped over to my Dad, tears now rolling down my face. “Are you kidding me?!”

He sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Lighten the mood?” I scoffed. “This isn’t fucking funny!” My voice was reaching the level of a scream.

“Alright, now honey calm down.”

“Calm down?! What do you mean, ‘calm down’?!”

He lowered his eyebrows then. “Mileena Jane, I understand you’re upset, but you will not scream at me like that.”

His even, stern tone brought me back down, but my chest still heaved with sobs.

“Daddy…” I was lost for words. I was lost for thought. “What am I going to do?”

His eyes adjusted out the windshield, and I followed his gaze.

Noah stepped out of the front door, Angel heeling his left, a small smile on his face. He waved a hand at us.

“I’m not sure, baby, but you better figure it out fast.” Was all he said before opening his door to leave the truck. My hand flew over to him, grabbing his arm.

“Daddy?” He looked at me. “Please, for the love of God, don’t kill him.”

He snorted, swinging a leg out of the truck. “No promises.”

He left me alone, and I watched as he approached Noah, and clapped a hand on his shoulder politely. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he pointed at the truck, and went inside, calling Angel to him.

Noah then made his way down the porch, and across the grass. I opened my door and, slowly and shaking, hopped out.

His face fell when he saw my tears. “Hey, what’s going on?”

I wiped my face, and tried to put a calm smile on my face. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Something’s up.” He glanced back at the house. “You fight with your Dad or something?”

I shook my head. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

“Okay, so what’s up? What did the doctor say?”

My stomach bottomed out, that familiar dizzy feeling hitting me.

“He said, uhm,” I swallowed hard, trying to push down the nausea. “that my exam was normal.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So they don’t know what’s wrong with you?”

I stared at him, eyes wide and wet. “They do.”

He furrowed his brow. “And?”

I shrugged, not knowing what the fuck to say.

“Noah, do you…” I closed my eyes, building the nerve. “do you remember the night of the concert? The last one I went to? The night we got back together?”

I had worked it through in my head. The night he sang to me on stage, and kissed me in the green room.

We had gone back to his house, and it’s obvious what happened there. We didn’t have a condom, and I told him I’d go to the drug store the next day for the magic pill. The problem is, when I woke up the next morning, in his bed, Laura had called frantic. Angel had thrown up four times the night before and wouldn’t eat or drink anything. Noah and I rushed him to the vet, learning he had eaten some plants in Laura’s backyard. He needed to be kept overnight, and we almost had to reschedule our flight to Seattle. I got distracted. I forgot.

I watched the gears in his head turn, his face growing increasingly bewildered.

“I remember we…” He trailed off before he raised an eyebrow. “You took the pill…”

I shook my head. “I forgot. Angel was sick.”

He raised his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as saucers.

“Oh my God, you’re right.” For as surprised as he was, his voice was so even.

“Noah, I’m so sorry. I forgot.” I swallowed again, my stomach threatening to spill all over the both of us. “I’m pregnant.”

Noah had been sitting on the porch since I told him, swaying slowly back and forth while the rain fell around the house. Dad suggested I give him space, give him time to wrap his head around it.

I was trembling, sitting at the dining room table and obsessively munching on pistachios. Dad had already gone to bed, exhausted from his trip and still chewing on the news himself.

It had been five hours. Five hours since I told him the news, and there he sat, unmoving. I was crawling out of my skin, the fear and anxiety slowly turning into anger. He needed time to wrap his head around it?! I was the one growing a fucking fetus inside me! I was nauseas, dizzy, fatigued, and so fucking scared. But he got to take space?

Fuck that.

I stomped away from the table, bursting through the screen door. I walked over to the swing, standing directly in his line of vision.

“Hey!” He looked up at me, face void of emotion. “Look, I get this is a lot, alright? So if you want to bail, that’s fine. I don’t expect you to want to deal with this.”

His face was now twisted, confused.

“If you’re going to leave, however, leave now. I can’t sit in there and wait for you to get up the nerve to tell me you’re not sticking around!”

I was crying again, hot angry tears.

His voice was quiet. “What?”

I crossed my arms. “What do you mean, ‘what’? You can’t ruin your career over this, Noah. The band is just starting to get huge.”

He shook his head at me, standing to his feet. “You think I’m thinking about the band? About my career?” His words were angry, making me shrink slightly.

“I mean, yeah! How could you not? You’ve been out here for hours!”

He blinked rapidly, completely in disbelief.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” It was a half-yell, but it was enough to make me take a step back.

“I’m not out here worried about my fucking band, Leena. I’m thinking about what kind of father I’m going to be!” He gestured between us. “What kind of parents we can be to that baby!” He pointed at my stomach.

I was confused now. “What?”

He rolled his eyes, turning and pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re alcoholics, Leena! I’m less than six months sober!” He coughed then, a choked sound. “I don’t know if I’d be any good as a father.”

He sat back down, and my entire mood shifted. He was concerned about being a good Dad? Did that mean he wanted this? He wasn’t worried about his job? His music? His reputation?

“Noah,” I sat next to him, but still at least a foot away. “you don’t have to worry about that.”

He looked at me then, a look of concern on his face. I gave him the wrong idea.

“I just mean that,” I shrugged, frustrated. “you’re an amazing person, Noah. Your addiction doesn’t change that.”

He leaned back on the swing, leaning his face up to look at the ceiling. “That’s your opinion, Leena. I’ve done horrible things.”

I nodded. “We all have.”

I grabbed his hand then, his face turning to look at me. I gave him a small smile.

“Do you want to do this?”

He sighed, waiting a few moments to answer. My heart pounded in my ears.

“I really do. I’m so fucking scared, but,” He squeezed my hand in his. “I can’t help feeling really fucking excited.”

He cracked a grin, and I returned it. “Me too.”

“Leena, I know this isn’t how this was supposed to happen. And I’m so sorry that I put you in this position.”

My tears came back, then. “No, I’m sorry. I was supposed to get the Plan B. I forgot.”

I hung my head, ashamed.

“Uhm, excuse me?” I looked back up at him. “I was the one who didn’t insist we use protection. And I also forgot to get you the pill.” He lifted my face with his chin. “We both did this.”

I nodded, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“So.” He sighed out, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I leaned into him. “Yeah.”

“Well, we’ve got to move in together.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the thought of going through a pregnancy, and all the fun that was sure to entail crossed my mind. Doing that alone felt miserable. I also thought about the morning sex I got from Noah the other day, and smiled.

“Well, I did rent my house out…”

He huffed triumphantly. “Then that’s settled.”

I smirked. “You still going to want me when I’m all fat and moody?”

He chuckled, pulling me in closer. “You won’t be fat, you’ll be pregnant.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “With my baby.”

I groaned. “Oh no, you don’t have like, a breed kink, do you?”

This made him laugh loudly. “No, not really. It’s just my masculine instinct to be more attracted to you while you’re carrying my child.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Neanderthal.”

We both laughed, but quickly became quiet again. The sound of the woods and rain around us filling the space.

“I love you, Mileena.”

I tucked my face into his side, nuzzling against him.

“I love you too, Noah.”

“You promise?”

“Always.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This story was a journey, and I can say I’ve honestly come to really love these characters. Cant decide if I want to continue their story or not, so let me know if you do. If you’ve followed it, I appreciate you! Till next time, my loves. 🖤

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #fanfic

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notnights · 4 months

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i legit love the idea of jax leaving anonymous gifts for gangle, and enjoying being on stage w/her bcs he's actually challenged and active enough to a point where he isn't feeling boredom or dread. also, there's a certain escapism in taking on the role of a character.

hmm, other ribbun scenarios? i can imagine gangle infodumping to zooble abt smth she used to watch, and jax feeling irritated by her rambling at first, but soon becoming accustomed to it and enjoying hearing her voice and opinions. perhaps he even remembers some of the shows she talks about. maybe he chimes in absentmindedly from his hiding spot and zoob n gangle are both like "u were here this whole time ??"

or what about caine using his ringmaster authority to make sure that jax is kind to gangle for a day? and now he has to do whatever gangle asks, and he's not allowed to break her mask. i wonder what she would do with that opportunity? dress him up in silly outfits? get him to pose in different ways for art references? like a mannequin doll.

i love seeing dynamics like these in moments where they have to work together for a common goal, as well. like, they get paired up together in an event and the reward is like. new crayon colours and a can of silly string/sticky hand/centipede or smth. i imagine a lot of yelling and fighting and cartoon violence shenanigans, but maybe, mayhaps, a "good job! we crushed em!" every here and there when things go well.

i also think jax trying to drag gangle away from a teaparty (hosted by ragatha ofc, no jaxes allowed) so that he can have an accomplice in ruining said teaparty for everyone would be fun. he wants to cause some chaos with his favourite victim

anyway hope u like these misc thoughts. idk im new to their dynamic :3c

1). Yeah it's a good thought! For a moment he can be someone else, someone who cares or someone who is open about being in the company of others.

2). I like to think sometimes Jax enjoys Gangle talking... but that's also why he doesn't like it. Doesn't like that something as simple as Gangle going on about something she likes makes him happy. Doesn't know why yet. Too close, too sentimental maybe. Feelings he's not ready for. So then he breaks her mask to shut her up. :(

3). I really want to imagine Jax and Gangle can get along in that way a bully and his lackey does. Bully picks on his lackey too but sometimes they get up to nonsense together and laugh at others together. Comedy!Gangle liking funny things too, which can range from something as silly as giving one ice cube to someone who asked for a couple, to seeing people get physically hurt (to the extent it happens in the DC anyways).

She won't go as far as Jax, when the going gets tough she'd start feeling guilty before Jax does, but up until then she's laughing and fooling around at Ragatha stepping on and getting slammed in the face by a misplaced rake.

Rare moments where they get along because Gangle is acting more willingly in Jax's interests. Idk if this idea has any merit with what we've seen so far. We still have no reference for Comedy!Gangle, and Jax atm really doesn't have any respect for her as an actual friend, at least when she's Tragedy!Gangle. I can only really imagine him getting along with Comedy!Gangle if she really is completely different though, and again we don't know if she is yet.

So it's an idea I haven't worked too much with despite how much I want it. I want them to be silly together. They both ave forever smiles in that aspect.

(concept for the next chapter-promo for the zooblecaine fic)

Anyways, with that said yeah something that gets them working with mutual goals is a good way to get that kind of interaction going. Awful together in a different way. Awful at each other vs Awful together at others lol.

4). Yeah I like the idea he'll drag her to help him with things too. Much to her dismay but she goes along with it, she doesn't really have a choice poor girl. Drags her around like a wet rag until he gets bored of dragging her because, what a drag!

"Wants to cause some chaos with his favorite victim," is such a good line also. I hate Jax, love to see him be awful. My poor girl Gangle deserves better.

#ask #ribbun #long post

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gentaro-kinniecom · 1 year

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🌱Kissing/Making out + Hcs🌱 Pt3

⇨Characters: Keito Hasumi, Kuro Kiryu and Rei Sakuma.

⇨Tw/Cw: none, making out, fluff, coffin kisses (in Rei’s part)

⇨A/n: hello guys! I hope you all enjoy the next 6 parts that are to be posted soon and a Shu request someone left anonymously (which i’ll probably posting after the many parts of this series) so stay tuned! <3

Keito Hasumi

His kisses are very short and straight to the point.

He usually kisses you during the morning or afternoon whenever you both meet (good morning/night kisses..)

Despite that, he’s a very caring and calm lover who doesn’t really like holding hands in public, but is willing to try if you ask him nicely

Will always make time for your needs and dates

He’s not very used to making out with anyone but open to the idea, even if it’s like 30 seconds or a long kiss

Kuro Kiryu

Since his past was different than what he is now, he wouldn’t want to do anything that could potentially hurt you

Kuro is gentle with his affection, like soft kisses and cuddling or even (if your love language is receiving gifts) buying some snacks for you if you’re feeling down, going on a date, etc

He wants to show you how much he cares (in other words he’s a big softy once you get to know him well <3)

Kuro didn’t know how making out really worked at first (?) until he kept kissing you and his lungs craved for air

Kuro had taken a liking to the feeling (and how his lips pressed against yours so softly) so he opted to kissing you whenever he felt the mood was right (and if you were comfortable too ofc)

Rei Sakuma

Coffin Kisses <3, even though his coffin can barely fit one person, he likes kissing in there

It gives him comfort and makes him feel safe somehow???

He’s very gentle and sweet if you want him too (even if he’s like that already..) but is usually rough with kisses

Likes wrapping his arm around your waist, and kissing your neck while doing that

Rei is very open with his relationship and loves pda

Loves making out during the night, and at midnight if he’s feeling romantic <3

#ensemble stars x reader #ensemble stars #keito hasumi x reader #keito hasumi #kuro kiryu x reader #kuro kiryu #rei sakuma x reader #rei sakuma

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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 year

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Santa Comunione

Part I // Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Summary: Hannibal Lecter often does things just to see what happens… and seducing a holy woman is one of those things.

WC: 3.9k words

Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, Corruption, Blasphemy (?), Religious Imagery, Italy arc (Rome instead of Florence), Canon divergence, Self-Harm, Some whump, Angst, Eventual smut, religious trauma (i think?), I’m not a religious expert btw tho i grew up Catholic, mentions of wounds and scars, Ofc Hannibal has a God complex, Catholicism, dead dove do not eat, reader is a nun lol, lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: Unsure of why this idea suddenly possessed me but it’s been a real delight to write. As usual, thank you to Stray, G, my wife beelmons for all the help hee hee <3 I do not condone or encourage any of the actions depicted, you’re responsible for your own media consumption.

——————

“Angel of my life… my body, my blood, my soul, are all yours;”

– Victor Hugo, from The Complete Works; “ The Hunchback of Notre Dame,”

——————

It was easy to get lost in menial tasks.

You’d mastered the ability to slip into your thoughts as your hands diligently worked. Whether it was mending clothes, polishing candelabra, or even refilling prayer candles for all the tourists visiting the basilica.

In the summer, it was especially useful in order to manage the larger crowds — A sea of anonymous faces that quickly faded from memory. Bright shining eyes and rapacious hands reaching to touch things they shouldn’t; Always hungry for a taste of something holy.

The pack of bodies made you anxious, their cloying scent overpowering the all-too-familiar myrrh and incense. Their shrill, excitable voices could be especially grating in such a place, where echo was ever-present. Even more so after reminding them that a low volume was imperative, for such sacred spaces had to be respected.

It was a true test of your virtues, more often than not. Patience, especially, was one you were still working on, even after so many years. It proved to be the hardest to fully harness, no matter how much self-discipline was employed.

In repentance, you found yourself praying more often than not, the repetition of the words putting you in a meditative state.

Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide…

“Mi scusi?” A deep voice brought you back to the present, much too close for comfort.

Startled, you winced a little and quickly looked up. A tall, well-dressed man stood right in front of you, amusement at your reaction tugging at the corners of his full lips. He was handsome in a way that was reminiscent of Renaissance paintings; Like an aristocrat, or a fallen angel perhaps.

“Si, signore?” You asked, keeping your voice low.

He gestured towards the candles. “May I?”

You handed him one, already lit. His fingers just barely ghosted over yours in the exchange, and your breath caught. The small flame cast shadows on his angular face, giving him a more severe look. A bit macabre, too, in a way…

Don’t think such things. He is but a man.

“Grazie,” he said, the smile still not leaving his face.

“Prego.”

You averted your gaze, intent on resuming your work. He stepped to one side, looking over at the statue at the far end of the room — Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Theresa.

“The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans,” he recited. “The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one's soul content with anything but God.”

You followed his line of sight, and before you could stop yourself, you said. “You must see her up close.”

He looked back at you, tilting his head slightly to one side curiously. You tried to keep your eyes on the statue, still beautiful despite endless days of looking at it.

You cleared your throat, continuing almost absently. “There are many proofs of God’s love, but this one might be my favorite. We are most like Him in that through immense agony, we can become holy.”

Your gaze snapped to his, and you stared at each other in slight disbelief for a moment. Just what had compelled you to share such a thing?

“Are you able to accompany me?” He asked. “I’d be delighted to hear more of your thoughts.”

That made you remember yourself, so you shook your head. “No, signore. Do go on, though. It really is a sight to behold.”

“Very well,” he nodded. “May I ask your name?”

You hesitated, but told him out of politeness. He repeated it slowly, as if savoring it on his tongue. Your traitorous eyes were drawn to the way his lips formed around it, and he didn’t fail to notice.

Before you could even think of asking for his name in return, an elderly couple came up to you asking questions. You muttered a quick scusi in his direction as your attention shifted, both frustrated and relieved.

He lingered for just a moment longer before continuing on his way, and you forced yourself not to glance back at his retreating form.

Usually, the few brief conversations you had with visitors barely registered in your mind. Seldom did anyone really gain your interest, but on the rare occasion someone did, you had to immediately tamp down any inane desires.

For you, chastity often oscillated between being a cruel companion and a comforting blanket. There were times, in the darkest hour of night, when you couldn’t help but yearn for things you’d long lost. Sensations, images, smells… all vanished from existence.

You had not always walked the path of piety, but the days before you made that change were not ones you let yourself think about any other time. Especially not when those old feelings stirred like ashes in a charred hearth.

Once you were by yourself again, you caught another glimpse of him in the crowd; His long, sturdy frame was hard to miss. He was engrossed in his surroundings — the gilded architecture, the magnificently carved marble, the myriad scenes of haloed saints soaring through the heavens.

You pulled your rosary out of your pocket, feeling the urge to resume your prayers. The smooth slide of the beads in your palm was usually reassuring, but you were too distracted to even conjure the words.

You squeezed it in your fist, the metal cross digging into your skin. Bright pain ran up your arm as it broke through, a rivulet of blood running through your middle and index fingers.

You released a breath as you relaxed your fist. It was a small penance for a momentary slip, serving also as a reminder of your vows. Pain was the best teacher, after all. It was one of the first things you learned when you converted.

Covertly, you wiped your hand clean with a handkerchief. You stared at the splotch of crimson on the white fabric, slightly entranced by the mundanity of your mortal blood.

Out of your notice, he observed your every move. He wanted to approach once more, to get a whiff of your life’s essence — A sharp note of copper, slightly sweet and endlessly enticing.

But he knew that, like any good hunter who had zeroed in on prey, he had to bide his time.

————

The setting sun streaked the sky in swaths of pastel, orange and violet and pink. The last of its golden rays illuminated the marble floors, setting ablaze the portrait of the praying skeleton.

His eyes lingered on this detail as he silently walked in, his long shadow dragging across it.

Most of the visitors had left by that time, but a few stragglers lingered for evening prayers. He was delighted to find that one of those stragglers was you, still unaware of his presence.

Your knees were on the worn cushion of the praying kneeler, your clasped hands resting on the bench in front of you. Your eyes were closed, face tilted up slightly in quiet reverence.

He saw the hem of your habit had ridden up a little, revealing a small portion of your calf. Just a sliver of flesh, really, but not one you were conscious of showing.

Glancing around, he approached slowly, bending down to fix it. You were mid Hail Mary when you felt the fabric being pulled, which made you stumble over the words.

You stiffened, but didn’t move. Instead, you peered from the corner of your eye to see a familiar figure straightening to his full height.

How curious that your prayers seemed to summon him, even if he was not who you called on.

Or was it?

A day had passed and you’d tried as best as you could to banish that whole initial interaction from your thoughts. His lupine features had begun to blur in your mind’s eye, the sound of his voice losing itself in the din of the crowd. What little you slept, you didn’t even dream.

But now that he was back, looming right behind you, you were on edge again. Shakily, you finished the last string of prayers you had left on your rosary.

Then you did the sign of the cross and rose slowly, turning to face him. Your eyes were darker in the low light, doe-like and fathomless. But there was no naïveté in their depths.

“I hope I didn’t offend you by taking such liberties, Sorella,” he said.

“Finding me or touching me?” You challenged.

He blinked, stunned at being put on the spot. "I figured you must value your modesty and didn’t wish to see you embarrassed. Forgive me.”

You looked him over, assessing. He seemed sincere, if a little clueless. The look didn’t quite fit him, but you wanted to believe it all the same.

“Thank you,” you said finally, glancing over your shoulder. “Come to see the statue once more? I told you it was striking.”

“Indeed, but not quite here for it,” he admitted. “I was unable to stop thinking of your assessment.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not nearly as interesting as you might believe.”

“I beg to differ.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, and you noticed how quickly the light was waning outside.

“Expecting a private tour, then? It’s rather late for that. Doors are shutting to the public shortly.”

“Perhaps I can help you in some way or another. Think of me as a volunteer.”

You huffed in amusement. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

He smiled, gesturing around him. “We have God’s eyes on us here. Nothing to fear.”

Why you were even entertaining this, you weren’t sure. It’d been a while since you’d been intrigued by anyone — anything, really — and being the object of someone’s intrigue felt nicer than you wanted to admit.

You were surrounded by people all day, but that didn’t make you feel any less lonely. Not that solitude really bothered you… for the most part.

You were only human, after all. Full of faults you were meant to atone for.

“Very well, then. Usually, there’s more help, but it seems tonight it’s just us. Start with the candles, will you?”

And so he started extinguishing each candle as you took one last lap around the structure, making sure everything was in place and every last visitor was gone. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, covertly glancing at each other whenever you crossed paths. Soon enough, you were locking the doors of the basilica.

Silvery moonlight and a few orange street lamps were the only illuminations outside. The stars above were like the million eyes of an archangel keeping watch over the nocturnal creatures. That evening, it felt like being closely examined, waiting for any slip-up to impart judgement.

You nodded at the night guard as you handed him the keys, and then you descended the steps along with your new companion.

“May I walk you home? It’s not safe to walk alone in the dark,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Something tells me you’re not really asking.”

He smirked at your cleverness. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if something were to happen to you, when I could have prevented it.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at that, but you opted for being polite. You’d walked the same path many times and had long stopped being afraid of the darkness. What lurked in it, on the other hand…

“I am not so proud that I’d refuse kindness,” you said finally, nodding for him to follow as you turned around. “Wary as I may seem around it.”

“I’ve noticed,” he commented, falling into step next to you. “Has your God been cruel to you?”

You shook your head. “No, but men have. His most perfect creation, indeed.”

He smiled wryly, enjoying the sarcastic venom in your tone.

“We can appreciate divinity by bearing witness to imperfection,” he said. “It helps us relate to one another, sometimes on an unconscious level.”

You nodded slowly, peering over at his profile curiously. There was something truly mystifying about him — as if he was someone that only existed in intervals of time, like the cover of night — which was perhaps what kept drawing you in.

You walked through the cobblestone streets, speaking in hushed voices. You discussed things like art and poetry, quickly veering into more philosophical topics. His mind was like a maze, clearly difficult to navigate, but you did not feel discouraged.

You did always like a good challenge, even if it wasn’t good for you.

All too soon, you reached the old wooden door of the small convent. He noticed there was a small smudge of soot on your jaw, so he pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and gestured to your face.

“May I?”

You nodded, frowning a little in confusion. He stepped closer, reaching up and gently wiping off the smudge. You forced yourself not to blush, barely breathing, keeping your eyes averted.

“There we go,” he murmured, pulling back and extending the handkerchief towards you. “Here, you can keep this until you get a chance to wash yours.”

“My…?” You started, but then his words clicked in your mind.

Your heart began thundering in your chest at the realization, beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck. You took it all the same, finally looking up at him with wide eyes.

You were met with the smirking face of a jackal – a beast turned man. The lamb in you knew this, even if his demeanor was outwardly friendly. The look in his amber eyes was so ardent you couldn’t tear your gaze away, rooted to the spot.

Had anyone ever looked at you like that? You couldn’t recall, and it didn’t seem to matter.

“What is your name?” You asked breathlessly. “I realize I never asked.”

“Hannibal,” he said. “Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”

————

Much later into the night, you were still unable to sleep. You tossed and turned, the sheets sticking to your feverish skin. You were plagued by contradictions, internally waging a war against a feeling that had suddenly yawned open in the pit of your stomach. Something too much like hunger, sharp around the edges.

With a frustrated sigh, you shifted onto your back and stared at the ceiling. You were no stranger to restlessness, but this time, you couldn’t be bothered to kneel beside the bed and pray. There was something far more pressing in the forefront of your mind.

It was that look, like he could see beneath the veil of your piety — through you, even. He’d seen you punish yourself, too, which was an intimate act all on its own. A subtle art that you’d perfected over time, or at least thought you had.

And still, you could tell he liked what he saw.

Yanking the covers off of yourself, you padded over to your desk, pulling the handkerchief out of your satchel. The material was much finer than anything you’d ever owned, gliding smoothly in your hands.

Gingerly, you ran your fingers over his embroidered initials, faintly smelling a note of something rich and earthy, like bergamot or perhaps clover.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you brought it closer to your face, absolutely entranced. It was at these late hours that consequences seemed nonexistent. The truth seemed less frightening when shrouded in darkness, with only the moon witnessing your downfall.

You brought it back to the bed with you, lying down on your back once more. With the silken fabric pressed against your face, you inhaled slowly. The linen shift you wore to sleep rode up past your hips, exposing your legs and part of your lower abdomen.

Your fingers moved on their own, barely dipping into the hem of your underwear before stopping. A sensation akin to electricity crackled inside your chest, seizing your muscles. Blood roared in your ears as your heart galloped frantically.

Was this what being on the edge of damnation was like? Too much like seeing your reflection on the forbidden fruit, bright red and infinitely tempting?

Your teeth scratching the skin, about to sink into the sweetest of knowledge…

As if scalded, you yanked your hand back, sitting up on the bed. You felt as if air had been squeezed out of your lungs, panting harshly, clawing at your throat.

The room felt unbearably hot, the walls seemingly closing in on you. You stumbled out of bed and gripped the edge of your desk, knees buckling. The pulsing between your legs quickly simmered into a dull throb, shame, and guilt following in its wake.

You were being tested, you had to be. What else could explain such recklessness?

At least you’d gotten yourself away from the cliffside and could still get back on the right path. Surely, the Shepherd would not shun one of his lambs for almost being lured by a wolf.

But how could you ever explain that inane desire of yours to be devoured, ravished, utterly adored in your last gasping breaths?

He was not blind to the way you’d bared your throat at the first glimpse of fangs.

This time, retribution would require more bloodshed — a lingering sort of discipline. After all, what was one more scar to add to the latticework of pink, raised skin all over your back?

You undid the laces at your throat and pulled your slip off, letting it fall to the floor unceremoniously. You reached into the bottom drawer of your small dresser, finding purchase amidst the few austere garments you owned.

Your hands no longer shook as you gripped the twisted handle of the cat o’nine tails — it was salvation at your fingertips, and you held on so tightly it left indentations on your palm. You focused your gaze on the wooden cross on the wall, prayers for mercy at your lips.

And the only other thought in your mind at that moment was ‘Fifteen lashes should suffice.’

——

Perhaps you’d gone overboard.

In the sobering light of day, you lay on your stomach next to the open window, listening to the trilling of birds. You felt ill with the aftermath of your slight overindulgence of masochism.

Earlier that morning, you’d feigned stomach pain and nausea. The latter wasn’t too far from the truth, and the pallor of your face – which was also dotted with cold sweat – helped sell the lie.

None of the Sisters – much less the madre superiora – were privy to your violent bouts of self-discipline. Not only would they disapprove, but… it would lead to situations you did not want to bring upon yourself.

You were just drifting off to sleep, exhaustion finally overpowering you, when you heard a soft knock on the door. You pulled the blanket back upon yourself, hiding the incriminating evidence.

“Si?” You called softly, shifting your head to face the door.

It swung open to reveal the madre superiora herself, accompanied by… Oh, merciful God.

Hannibal tensed at the doorway, his nostrils flaring as he scented the coppery tang permeating the small room. Though the window had been open for some time, your essence still lingered – a narcotic in its own right. He kept his composure as his mouth watered, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“How are you feeling, Sorella?” the madre inquired, concern all over her gentle, weathered features.

“Still about the same,” you said, attempting to keep your eyes on her and not on her companion – none other than the man who’d tried to coax you away from the Lord’s pasture.

“Doctor Lecter here said he helped you home yesterday. He expressed concern for your well-being and has offered to examine you.”

“Free of any charge, of course, madre,” he assured. “I merely want to help however I can. If that is okay with you, that is.”

You merely nodded, not trusting your voice at that moment.

“Your generosity shall be returned doubly, Doctor,” the madre said with a smile. “I shall give you some privacy. Please let me know if you need anything.”

And with that, she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Hannibal approached slowly, as if you were a skittish animal he didn’t want to spook. You eyed him peripherally, wary all the same. He knelt at your side, taking a moment to observe you.

“I was worried at your absence today,” he said as a way of explaining his being there, voice low. “I hear it is some sort of stomach bug?”

“Not quite,” you murmured. “It is something far more… visible.”

He slightly tilted his head to the side in curiosity. “May I take a look at you?”

“How can I refuse the most generous doctor?”

You shifted your shoulders to indicate he should pull down the sheet. He reached out to do so, finding some resistance. The fabric clung to your wounds, which had crusted as scabs began to form. As he had to use a little more force, you sucked in a breath through your teeth.

Upon seeing what you had done to yourself, he was momentarily flummoxed. His eyes trailed over the angry red welts, appreciating the macabre artistry. The scent of blood was stronger now; A few of the wounds had reopened and were weeping crimson. He stifled the sudden desire to catch one of the drops with his tongue.

“What have we here?” he asked.

“The consequence of sin.��

“And what sin might that be?”

You pursed your lips, refusing to give voice to your faults. Your silence only compelled his curiosity further, but he decided not to press. That didn’t mean he wasn’t good at getting the answers he wanted, though.

“I was unaware such practices were still… observed.”

“Not usually. It is my best-kept secret,” your eyes fluttered closed as he pulled the sheet further down, until the barest glimpse of the top of your ass was visible. “Something for my own.”

His response was a thoughtful hum, and he stood to get some supplies from a small bag he’d brought.

When he knelt once more, you could smell alcohol. “Let’s clean these up then, shall we?”

You nodded, attempting to brace yourself. The lacerations on your back sang with agony as he began to dab at them, your teeth clenched so hard you feared they might crack. Still, his touch was so tender — almost to the point of reverence — that you thought you might weep.

“We are most like Him in that through immense agony, we can become holy,” he quoted, perhaps attempting to distract you. “Is that not what you said? I admire your determination.”

As the sting just barely began to dissipate, you could speak again.

“Think I am redeemed in the eyes of Heaven?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “In my eyes, at least, you are.”

Near delirious with a pain that made your brain feel like glass — and that cursed longing you suddenly couldn’t tamp down — you arched closer to his hands as he dressed the wounds.

“What do you gain from all this?” You ventured, needing to know the answer.

“Must I gain something?”

“I can’t seem to find another explanation.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I am merely intrigued by you. I can’t help being drawn. Can you blame me?”

“Perhaps I just don’t understand what makes me so interesting.”

“In time you will see. I will make sure of it.”

----

Part 2

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