#*vomits from nervousness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rowarn · 1 year ago

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PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1

simon riley / reader

FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k

Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed.

It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off.

People your age didn’t struggle like this, you convinced yourself. Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of.

By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.

You didn’t even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in.

“Hey, Simon!” you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting.

He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you.

“What's with you?” he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously.

“Um,” you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

“You look…” his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, “You look tense.”

Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, “That’s no different than usual.”

He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator.

“Where’s all your fuckin’ food?” he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.

“Didn’t get a chance to shop this week, Si,” you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why?” he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.

“Paycheck was short again this week,” you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldn’t look into it anymore than that.

He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, “Your boss fuckin’ stiff you again?”

“I-It’s not a big deal, Simon–” you attempted to quell him.

“Not a big deal?” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, “It is a big deal when you can’t even afford to fuckin’ eat!”

“Simon…” you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, “I wasn’t going hungry, I have like…ramen and stuff…”

He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t afford proper groceries?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, Si,” you mutter, “I-It’s my problem, not yours.”

He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.

He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.

“Simon, no–” you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.

He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, “You’ll take this and you’ll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or I’m going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckin’ hands around your boss’s throat until he coughs up your money.”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon!” you argue, exasperated, “Y-You don’t have to take care of me like this.”

“Yes, I fuckin’ do!” he counters, “You’re my responsibility and I’m not going to let you exist on fuckin’ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.”

He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.

“Thank you, Simon…” you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.

“Shut up and go,” he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now.

You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it.

You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before he’s taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. It’s like he’s always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, still standing by the table.

He grunts, shaking his head, “Orderin' dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “What’re you getting?”

“Gettin’ from that breakfast diner you like,” he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone.

“You don’t even like that place,” you giggle, “In the mood for a breakfast sandwich?”

“Not for me,” was his clipped response.

“What?” you whine, “Simon, don’t order me food!”

“Did you eat today?” he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.

“I had cup noodles!” you point an accusing finger at him, “So yes!”

“That’s not real food,” he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation.

You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out.

You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when there’s a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed.

“Are you tired?” you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, “You want to spend the night?”

“Guess so,” he responds after a few seconds, “You work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, “I hate working Friday nights.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he offers, finally opening his eyes.

You think it over for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, “I think it’ll be okay. Last week was fine.”

He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesn’t argue and you’re thankful for that.

Simon’s been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that you’ve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders.

The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom.

It wasn’t a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent.

You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit – not that you would want to escape.

You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed.

Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14.

It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!

You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine.

Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.

He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.

Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered.

It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you.

“Goodnight, Simon,” you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.

He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well.

The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual.

Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule he’d been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver.

After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV – the morning news, it seemed.

“Good morning,” you called.

“Eat,” was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.

You purse your lips but do as you’re told – not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious.

As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.

“I’m going to go to the store after I eat,” you called, “Do you want to come?”

“Nah,” he grunted, “Gotta go soon.”

“Oh,” you tried to hide your disappointment, “Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he responded, your disappointment only growing at that.

The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was – but you didn’t mind being pressed up against him. You didn’t think he minded either because he never bothered to move away.

You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around.

“You leaving?” you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.

“Got to,” he mumbled, still glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

“You leave it in the bedroom?” you offer.

He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them.

“See you later, Si,” you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving.

You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when he’s home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldn’t because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.

He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.

“I’ll come by when I can,” he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned.

Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didn’t buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet.

When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar.

As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show you’ve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize you’re squeezing your thighs together.

And your panties are feeling awfully sticky.

Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize that’s doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself.

But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better.

Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?

You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching.

With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication.

You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesn’t really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit.

You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. You’re quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself.

But then the inevitable happens – it’s like you hit a wall.

You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you don’t get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate.

Tears sting your eyes, “No, no, no…” you beg no one.

You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But you’re too frustrated to try anymore.

You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.

Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready.

Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didn’t get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life.

You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.

What would you say, “Hi, I can’t make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?” Absolutely not.

You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar.

At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar.

It’s not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread.

It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit you’d ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with.

He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong and cutting his employee’s pay for no reason – or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you ‘got enough in tips to make up the loss’ – you didn’t. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you.

You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you weren’t willing to go back to looking for work.

So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasn’t the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.

The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted.

That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly.

Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be.

You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell.

You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell.

“This goes to the corner table,” the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldn’t be older than 20, but you honestly couldn’t even recall his name.

You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.

“Here’s your drinks,” you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them.

“Thanks, beautiful,” one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray.

“Maybe,” another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked – like he could see through your clothes.

It certainly wasn’t the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.

“What is it you need?” you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation.

One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, “I’ll tip you this if you show us your tits.”

Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads.

“N-No thank you…I-I don’t think that would be appropriate,” you hope that they can’t hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.

“Come on, sexy,” the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, “Bet they’re real nice. C’mon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!”

“M-My shift is over, I really need to go,” you shakily smile and take a step back, “I-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.”

Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong.

The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face.

The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face.

The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state.

She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.

Your coworker called your name and you paused.

“Hey, take a breath,” she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them.

“What happened?” she asked softly, “Do you want me to call someone? The police?”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply.

The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious.

“Get out,” he snaps at your coworker.

She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure – leaving both of you alone.

He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you can’t get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.

“Are you broke in the fuckin’ head?!” he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, “You put your hands on a customer?!”

“Th-They put their hands on me first!” you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, “They touched me!”

He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but you’re panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.

“I don’t give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!” he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, “You better think fast and hard about how you’re going to rectify this. Do you understand me?”

His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesn’t look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until you’re sitting on the dirty floor.

“You go out there and you apologize to them,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Or I’m going to fire you and you’re gonna be out on the fuckin’ streets, got it?”

You nod your head, holding back your sobs but can’t control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open.

You’re left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and you’ve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.

The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But it’s your coworker again.

She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I-I have to apologize t-to them,” you manage to choke out.

Her eyes widened, “No way! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I can’t lose this job,” you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, “I need this job. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t apologize!”

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, that’s it.”

You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.

She whispers your name, “Are you sure he didn’t…”

“He only ripped it,” you assure her, sniffling softly, “But I can’t go out there like this.”

It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one.

“You can borrow my hoodie,” she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, “Go on, you can return it to me another day.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that you’re covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.

You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second you’re out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it.

You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon.

You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table.

“There you are!” the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, “Thought you were gonna run away without apologizing for bein’ a raging bitch.”

You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, “I-I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” another one jeered, “Practically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?”

“I’ve got a few ideas!” a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.

“How about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?” you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.

“How about I bring you a round on me, huh?” she quickly intervenes, “I’ll buy.”

That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.

“Go on home,” she says softly.

“I-I’ll pay you back for the drinks–” she shushes you quickly when you start.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she coos, “Go home.”

With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door.

You don’t even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But you’re sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath.

You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time.

You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.

He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isn’t soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. He’s always clipped and blunt. Sure, he’s kind but never gentle.

Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly you’re sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.

You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back.

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, “Got worried so I rushed over.”

You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything you’re feeling.

Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until you’re just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. You’re taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you.

He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips.

The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, “Si…” you finally manage to choke out.

His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap.

You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell you’re supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, he’s going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your boss’s head through the wall and find those assholes from the table.

You really can’t afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, you’re scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If you’re jobless for even a week, it’s going to fuck everything up. You’ll never make rent and you can’t end up on the street.

“Just a…bad shift…” you supply lamely.

Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you’re lying in the first place or the fact you don’t think you can tell me what really happened.”

“Simon…” you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, “Just let it go, please.”

He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasn’t taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots.

You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not letting it go,” he responds, “I think you know me better than that.”

“Simon, please!” you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep.

“I want to know what happened,” he argues, clearly growing exasperated.

You know he’s not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like you’re overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie – you need it off or you’re going to go mad.

Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands.

But you can’t get the damned thing off, you’re uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why won’t it come off?

“G-Get it off,” you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.

Simon’s hands are back, “I’ve got you. I’ll get it off ya.”

True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself.

He says your name softly but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach – the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.

He’s not an idiot. If anything, he’s more intelligent than anyone you’ve ever known.

Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. You’re running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave.

You don’t hear any movement from Simon. He doesn’t follow you to the bathroom. You’re briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.

“Simon!” you cry, his footfalls an immediate response.

He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, “You finished?”

You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, “I-I want to shower.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.

He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, “Not goin’ anywhere, love.”

He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. You’re terribly stuffy from crying so you can’t even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.

You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.

“Are you hungry?” Simon suddenly asks.

“No…” your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that you’re completely emotionally drained.

“Alright,” is all he says in reply.

You approach the door, where he’s still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom.

You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You don’t make any movements.

He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“Was it your boss?” he asks softly.

“Him and some assholes I was serving drinks to,” you tiredly answer. You don’t have it in you to fight in anymore.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” he pries, squeezing your hands.

“Because I know you, Si,” you sniffle, “You’re going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.”

“And?” he scoffs, “They fuckin’ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.”

“Because I can’t lose my job, Si!” you finally cry, “I barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to afford rent. I’ll be on the streets!”

“I would never let that happen,” he says firmly, “You will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.”

“I can’t do that to you, Simon,” you mutter, sniffling again, “Y-You already have so much on your plate I don’t want to be another problem you have to deal with.”

“Is that what you think?” he scoffs, standing up, “That I deal with you? You’re important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. I’m not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.”

You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.

“I’m going to make you something small to eat. You’re going to eat and drink some water and then you’re going to get some rest, understood?” he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance.

Once you’re alone, you go over his words again. You’re important to him, that’s what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young.

As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy – except for one memory.

You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. You’d known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother.

He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldn’t find out.

You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him – like liked.

You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didn’t feel the same. And that was that.

You never brought it up again.

But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And that’s how it had been ever since.

Simon’s voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen.

Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup.

He knew you well, you couldn’t deny. You picked up the fork he’d placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat.

After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands.

“Um, Simon?” you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, “Didn’t you have something going on tonight?”

“Was gonna be out the lads,” he responded, “Doesn’t matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your friends like that,” you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.

“Aint my friends,” he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.

“Simon Riley doesn’t have friends?” you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.

“Got you,” he said as you followed him down the hall, “All I need.”

A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.

Friends. That’s what you were, you reminded yourself.

Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light.

Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldn’t close your eyes. You felt like you couldn’t relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work.

“Simon..?” you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, “Can I…tell you what happened tonight?”

He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

“This stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,” you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, “They were just chattin’ shit, saying they’d tip me if I showed them my tits,” he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, “I said no and tried to leave and they wouldn’t let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,” Simon growled from beside you.

“I got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,” your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, “He grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.”

“Of course that’s all that bastard would be angry about,” Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“I tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he said–” your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, “He said that he didn’t care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didn’t apologize to them.”

Simon’s arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, “He made you apologize to them?”

You nod your head, “It was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didn’t want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.”

“Pieces of shit,” he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, “They better hope I don’t find them.”

You’d really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldn’t be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them – someone like Simon.

“I should have gone to the bar tonight,” he sighed, “Even though you told me not to, I wanted to.”

“It’s okay, Si,” you sniffle, “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms.

You wake up late, well into the afternoon. You’re groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isn’t in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him.

As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and weren’t in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor.

He’s relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asks. You nod your head, “Hungry?” You nod again.

He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch.

“Simon?” you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen.

He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.

“Where did my clothes from last night go?” you ask softly.

He pauses his stirring of the food, “Threw them out. Figured you wouldn’t want to see them when you woke up.”

“Oh,” you respond.

Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel so…in love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved.

No, he doesn’t love you.

You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking.

The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things.

You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big.

His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built.

Handsome.

You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.

Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue.

You’d never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred.

Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back.

Kissing Simon…you pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing.

What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?

You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them.

Shouldn’t you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken.

You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut.

You fight back tears as you begin to wash up.

By the time your shower is done, you’re exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.

“You scared me!” you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.

“Wanted to check on you,” he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “I just got really tired and I’d like to turn in early, that’s all.”

“Alright,” he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, “Just call if you need anything.”

“I will!” you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily – maybe you were more tired than you thought.

Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk.

When you start to dream, you’re acutely aware that it’s a dream. You’re not sure how but, you just know that you’re sleeping and none of this is real.

But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it.

Simon is there, you’re both in your bed. He’s got his shirt off and he’s on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly.

He doesn’t smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his – a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And he’s so warm against you.

You realize that you’re only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you can’t help but moan.

“Si…” you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and it’s intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place.

Simon’s hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. He’s so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes.

“Si…” you whimper again.

“I’m here, love,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties weren’t in the way. You’d love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. You’d love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that.

You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that you’ve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. You’re sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.

If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him.

Just as you swear it’s going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize you’ve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed.

You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes you’re awake.

“Was doin’ some laundry,” he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.

“Oh,” you whisper, sounding hoarse, “Thank you, Si.”

As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until he’s finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I’ve gotta go tonight.”

“Go?” you ask, eyes going wide. You don’t want him to leave, “Go where?”

“I’ve got some work to take care of,” he replies, “Paperwork I’ve been puttin’ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.”

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you haven’t been without him since it happened and you’re scared to be alone with just your thoughts.

“I know,” he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, “I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles – bruised and split open. They weren’t like that last night you were sure of it, “Simon…”

He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day.

Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice he’s on his phone a lot more, typing away. It’s unlike him, he’s more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass.

You have a feeling he’s lying but you don’t pry.

Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You can’t help but wish that he’d change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all.

But he doesn’t. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you.

“Don’t cry, love,” he coos, wiping a stray tear away, “I promise I’ll get all my work done and I’ll be all yours for a good long while.”

“Okay…” you sound so miserable but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’ll miss you.”

He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He can’t give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder.

You don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much.

You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because it’s scared it’s going to be alone forever.

By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse.

Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger.

You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isn’t there.

Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that you’re experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.

You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.

You’re so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you.

You know he doesn’t feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But you’re willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as he’s with you, as long as he’s in your life.

But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately.

You wish that he loved you.

You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep.

Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you.

A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.

You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and you’re reminded that he isn’t home tonight.

You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.

I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.

He promised.

You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.

You hang up and try again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t answer. Why won’t he answer? He promised.

You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you.

But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him.

Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. You’re fucking angry.

You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. It’s loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you don’t feel better. You’re still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like it’s all bottled up inside you and it hurts.

You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it.

Then you do it again. And again. And again.

You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. You’re sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek.

You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldn’t even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise.

Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow – wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness.

You’re there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room.

You can’t even find beauty in it. You’re so exhausted. Your heart aches. It’s agonizing.

It’s early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You don’t feel excited to see him. You’re not happy he’s back. You don’t feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping.

You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave.

You didn’t want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. You’ve never felt like this about him before. You don’t know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him.

God, you hate him.

He’s surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway.

He wanders further into the room before pausing.

He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that you’re awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you.

“You called,” he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simon’s never anxious. But he is right now, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was just…busy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.”

Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. It’s a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy.

Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not used to feeling scrutinized. And that’s exactly what your gaze feels like.

Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. It’s tan, just a light stain. There’s a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red.

He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didn’t know any better. This isn’t guilt because he missed your call. He’s guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you.

That’s why he ignored you? To fuck someone?

You’re no longer numb. You’re angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. It’s like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out.

You’re moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious.

You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him.

Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe he’ll feel a fraction of what you feel right now.

“Are you out of your fucking head?” he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable.

You don’t even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too.

When you’re out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. It’s when you’re about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room.

He’s standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself.

“I hate you,” you finally spit, standing on your knees. You don’t have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” you scream. You’re so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear but you don’t care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesn’t do anything but stand there and let you. He’d never lay a hand on you, even when you’re doing it to him, “I needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!”

He doesn’t say anything but he’s trembling now. You’re not sure if he’s just that angry or if he’s holding himself back from wringing your neck.

You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but he’s staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you spit, raising your hand as if you’re going to slap him across the face but you stop. You don’t want to do that.

“Say what?” he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the room’s temperature, “I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. That’s the difference between us. You need me but I don’t need you.”

You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesn’t seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like you’re dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“You hate me?” he scoffs, “That’s just fine. We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door.

And you’re all alone. And you can’t do anything but cry about it.

You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you can’t bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit.

Then you watch the sun come up and decide that it’s a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when you’re plagued with nightmares.

You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. He’s always on your mind.

You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. You’d been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you.

He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didn’t have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him.

What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didn’t need you like you needed him, after all. He’d surely been spending his days in dread of you – of your texts, your calls.

This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you.

What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise.

You wake up one day and realize you’re not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness.

You cry all the time. Day and night.

You try to use your phone, you want to call him but it’s broken. The screen won’t even turn on. You’re completely alone, can’t even contact somebody – not that you have anyone but him.

God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and you’ve been holding out for him since you were a kid.

You’re suddenly aware of the fact you haven’t showered in days. You’ve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen – a slice of bread is what you usually settle on.

You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than it’s ever been but the hot water is completely welcome.

When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You haven’t cleaned it in a while but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You let yourself cry again, since it’s all you can do. By the time you’re done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again.

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t have a job. You hadn’t shown up to your shift in days. And you don’t have Simon anymore.

Panic takes shape and you realize you can’t relax. If you don’t find a job soon you’re going to be on your ass and homeless by next month.

You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear.

Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. You’ll do anything if you have to.

You’re going to prove to yourself and to Simon that you’ll make it without him – and you won’t end up hanging from a fucking rope.

The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and it’s already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar.

You’re filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. There’s a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is.

You look around, searching for your old boss. He’s nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back.

You only realize you’re trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when you’re reminded that you need the job. You need it.

“Enter,” you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, “You.”

“M-Mr. Dawson,” you shakily whisper, “I-I know I haven’t showed up in a few days and I’m really sorry but–”

“You want your job back,” he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, “You want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?”

“Sent who…?” you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking.

“That asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think I’m going to let you back in after that?” he laughs again, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.”

You wince at the insult, “I-I didn’t send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own but–”

“You can have your job back,” he says suddenly, making you freeze, “If you come over here and bend over my desk for me.”

“What..?” you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.

“You heard me,” he snickers, “Bend over my desk and let me fuck you and I’ll let you have your job back.”

Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you can’t. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself.

“N-No,” you find yourself whispering, “I won’t do that…”

His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, “Should have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.”

You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in.

When you get home, you stand there and cry. That’s all you’ve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simon’s prophecy is going to come true and you’re going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel.

You crawl back into bed and don’t get back up that night. Or the next day.

The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread you’ve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold.

You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didn’t even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time.

So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left.

As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs can’t hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet.

You almost want to laugh at yourself over what you’ve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself.

You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you don’t have much hope.

Then, you’re back in bed. And you’re so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep.

But then you have another nightmare. You can’t even remember what it was about, you’re too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do.

Instead, your eyes open and they’re already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact you’re awake.

So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and you’re left exhausted as usual. It’s become your default state and you begin to wonder if you’re going to feel this broken and hurt forever.

You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it.

You don’t even hear your front door open. Don’t hear the boots on the floor. Don’t hear your bedroom door open.

You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you don’t hear anything else.

Your imagination? You don’t have a lamp anymore to turn on. You’d thrown it at Simon and it broke.

Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway.

He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat.

“Si?” you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room.

He’s got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. He’s so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him – hold him so fiercely that you’re worried you may actually break him.

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, “It’s alright, everything’s alright.”

“S-Simon…” you can’t help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was.

“I’m here,” he sighs, kissing the top of your head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and we’ll make everything better, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself apologizing through tears, “I-I don’t hate you, Si. I don’t, I promise. I-I was just mad. I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, “I’m the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckin’ mistake.”

You can’t even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, you’re almost scared that he’s going to disappear if you let go.

But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed.

Before long, your cries finally quiet and you’re left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go.

After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, “Why don’t you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. I’ll fix you up some food, sound good?”

You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll make you some ramen cups,” he responds.

He doesn’t like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach.

“Don’t have any,” you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.

“None?” he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap.

You shake your head, “I didn’t buy any last time I went shopping.”

“What the hell have you been eating then?” he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed.

You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, “I haven’t had much of an appetite but I’ve got some bread…”

Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.

“I’ll order then,” he assures you, “Go ahead and shower, yeah?”

You do as you’re told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until you’re both mentally prepared for it.

You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat.

When you slip into your bedroom, you’re shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged.

You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you don’t undo the work that Simon had done.

You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen.

He’s methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well.

It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls.

You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.

You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldn’t afford to buy groceries – although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldn’t have felt like going out to get any. You wouldn’t have been able to order since you’d broken your phone.

You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didn’t want to order you anything too hefty given the fact you’ve been existing on bread.

He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over.

He honestly looked the same as ever. He didn’t have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didn’t have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even.

His words ring out through your head like a bell.

“We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash.

Maybe he was right, you couldn’t survive without him. Couldn’t even wash your own damn laundry.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts.

“Oh, um,” you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to these few days!”

You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. You’re positive he doesn’t buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. You’re grateful because you don’t want to cry again.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, “I was on base, actually. Nothin’ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?”

You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, “Nothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,” you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, “Turns out your ex-boss doesn’t like when he gets beat to shit because of you!”

Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, “You tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know it’s not good for you!”

All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and you’re shouting at him before you know it, “What the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,” you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, “All you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

“You should have known me better than that!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, “I never would have left you–”

“That’s exactly what you did!” you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking wreck and you look like you couldn’t have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.”

For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and you’re stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again.

“I should have known you better?” you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, “Apparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.”

Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time.

The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away.

Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now.

With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on.

But he doesn’t reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you can’t bear to look back at him.

“I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a breath, “I wasn’t…” he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, “I wasn’t okay while I was gone.”

He doesn’t say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past this, Simon,” you whisper, “Everything’s so fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“I am too,” he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, “We’ll fix it.”

His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But it’s silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it.

Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer.

Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is.

“Simon?” you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, “What time is it?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, “9:20.”

“Oh…” you respond, tucking your head back into your knees.

Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what he’s doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and you’re finding it so hard to think clearly.

You’re pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and you’re met with Simon’s sweet, brown eyes.

“Made your bed,” he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, “Go ahead and get some proper sleep.”

You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.

You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You don’t even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you.

When you wake up next, it’s from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself.

A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simon’s cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I’ve got you.”

“I want it to stop,” you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, “The nightmares.”

Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, “We’ll get you fixed up.”

As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place.

You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. What’s most shocking is that you’re still wrapped up in Simon’s arms – and he’s still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.

You find yourself staring at him. It wasn’t often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more.

When you wake up next, it’s because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.

“You slept late,” you find yourself commenting.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, “I haven’t had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.”

You want to mention that it’s never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response.

As you’re left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You don’t know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, you’ve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again.

But on the other hand, there feels like there’s a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air.

You love him, you really do.

But you’re still so angry at him.

And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly.

The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still don’t have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.

“Somethin’ I need to ask you,” he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.

Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, “About?”

“You said that,” he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, “You almost slept with that guy for your job back.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “Yeah…what about it?”

Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, “You really almost did that?”

You frown, “So what? I can do what I want, Simon.”

He sighs softly, holding his hands up, “I’m not tryin’ to fight, love.”

“I don’t know why it’s your business,” you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, “I just needed a job is all.”

He nods, “You don’t need to worry about that, alright. I’ve got you.”

You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, “There’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“Go ahead,” he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered – some kind of soda if you had to guess.

“That night…” you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, “You, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?”

He places his sandwich down and sighs, “Yeah.”

“...Why?” you finally ask, “I mean…”

You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer he’s quiet. You think he isn’t going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he finally says, “It was a…last minute choice and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He says it but you don’t feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isn’t eased in the slightest. It’s an excuse, something he’s saying to get you off his back. And that doesn’t feel good.

“I um…” you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, “I’m sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, “You were upset.”

“Simon…” you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, “I want to talk. About everything,” Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, “I-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it – really talk about it.”

He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“But I do,” you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, “You said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!”

He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell he’s uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But you’re not going to let him avoid it.

“I don’t,” he snaps, final and harsh.

“I do!” you argue again, “I-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you could–”

“Fuck sake!” he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto.

He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place.

“What are you doing?” you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Don’t run from me, Simon!” you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, “Are you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?”

You can’t fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. You’re left alone again, frustrated, sad and utterly confused.

You wished he would stop leaving.

You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait.

You’re jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know it’s Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has.

The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simon’s soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep.

“I can’t do this, Simon,” you find yourself whispering. It’s quiet but you know he hears it, “I want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you won’t let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I want…” you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.

Simon is painfully silent and still. You’re positive he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because that’s what he does best – avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague.

You suppose it’s from the way he grew up. A mama’s boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult – he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do – mean something to him, that is.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice thick with emotion, “For what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have never–” he lets out a heavy breath, “I never should have said it.”

You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“You mean…” he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing it’s difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, “You mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. You’re…important.”

You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again for good measure.

He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.

PART TWO.

do not modify, translate, or repost.

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

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writersdrug · 3 months ago

Note

My brain is open to your bartender Ghost thoughts

Give me them all 🙏

Lordy this au isn't even an hour old and I have so many thoughts

He doesn't really know what to expect when you come in the morning after the interview. At eight am sharp, he watches as you trudge inside, wearing ripped tights, shorts, knock off combat boots, and a baggy shirt that's messily tucked into your waistline. It looks like you had put on eye liner last night and gone to bed, black lines smudged in a perfect "bedhead" look.

"Really?" He asks, arms folded and muscles buddging. "Come t' the interview in a skirt 'n dress shirt, n' show up t' the first shift lookin' like a wannabe biker chick?"

You scoff, pulling your hair up into a bun. "Didn't realize I'd be walking into the asscrack of "The Devil Wears Prada"..."

He huffs and shakes his head. You hve tough skin - good.

He had Soap come in early that day - poor man usually worked between 4 pm 'til whenever Ghost decided to close. He's still rubbing his eyes and yawning when a pen and spiral notepad are shoved into your hands, Simon pushing you towards towards the cook's table with a hand on your back.

"Hey, welcome to the 141." You say, no attempt at politeness in your tone. Ghost huffs fondly, appreciating how you cut through the bullshit. "Any appetizers today?"

"None o' that keech," Soap says, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his brow. "Canna have a rusty nail 'n th' smash grunded, wel doon 'n with the bun scud - cannae stand th' aoli. Chips oan the side."

You stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief, before turning to Ghost. "Do they all sound like that?"

He grunts. "If they're drunk."

"Are you drunk?" You ask Soap.

"Feck if I know, tryin' tae figure it oot myself." He groans.

Ghost helps you decipher the words Soap had vomited out. You successfully punch it into the POS, only needing a few pointers from the giant over your shoulder. For the rest of the morning amd afternoon, he taeaches you which button on the soda gun was which, the difference between tonic water and club soda, how to run the industrial sanitizer - with a "ye best make sure that shite is rinsed 'fore ye stick em in there" from Soap - where the new kegs go when Gaz brings them in, where to find napkins and condiments in the walkin, how to cut fruit for the bar, and lastly, how to split your tips.

"But why do I have to pay you?" You ask Ghost, sitting at a table with your calculator app on your phone and a basket of fries between the two of you. "You make loads of tips just pouring liquor."

He chuckles, watching you pop a fry into your mouth. "'N you get a cut of sales from the kitchen, since you're part of it."

You perk up at that. "I do?"

"Seven percent." He confirms. "A decent payout on weekends."

"And Soap doesn't get tips."

"Johnny boy gets paid by th' hour."

"I don't?"

"If ya do well enough, ya won't have to." He says, resting his meaty forearms on the table. "You'll be walkin' out with hundreds."

You chew your lip nervously; Simon's eyes linger on the movement, shifting his weight - the polyester seat creaks beneath him as he observes you fretting silently, the silence only broken by the sound of Soap prepping in the kitchen. "Don' worry too much 'bout it. You're young - jus' keep a smile on 'n you'll be fine. Soap 'n I got your back tonight, but I'm not pickin' up your slack after the week passes."

The fry you're steering towards your mouth falls to the table as Simon stands up. "Tonight?!" You exclaim, shimmying out of the booth.

"Yep. Sixteen hundred."

You glance at your phone. "That's in an hour!" There are kegs stacked by the front door, unpolished and enrolled silverware on the bar top, and half of the chairs are still stacked on the countertops.

"Best get to work then, hmm?" Ghost says, grabbing a container of lemons and moving behind the bar.

#bartender ghost #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost cod #cod blurbs

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lymtw · 5 months ago

Text

The thought of you being with anyone else has always made Satoru sick to his stomach. He can't imagine you loving others more than you love him, and if he ever sees you giggling or smiling at someone else the way you do with him, he'll find a way to include himself or put an end to it overall.

It's understandable that you're at your wits end with his immaturity and his inability to make you feel like he trusts you around others, as his girlfriend, but that doesn't mean he wants you to leave him. He can do better. He can make you feel better. He always does.

You're sitting at the dining room table, working on some slides for an upcoming presentation. You're in your zone, focused, even wearing your big noise cancelling headphones, which blast your calming music playlist into your ears.

Satoru sits on the other end of the table, straight across from you. He watches the focus and concentration that has silently etched into your features, his hands folded as he, too, focuses. You haven't said a word to him in the past two hours. You let him know that you'd be working on schoolwork, but he knew there was something cold running through you when you told him this. He could tell you were still upset about what had happened earlier.

It was a brief interaction you had with someone who simply laughed at the sight of your keychain. They complimented it because it was a character from one of their favorite shows. This two minute interaction was enough for Satoru to storm over to you and the unfamiliar person. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he stared the stranger down with a smile so sweet, it was obvious that it was fake. You were uncomfortable, the stranger was uncomfortable, and Satoru was radiating possession over you. You managed to chuckle nervously and apologized for the interruption.

You can feel his heavenly eyes on you, and you're trying your hardest not to crack under the tension. He always manages to fluster you so easily when he watches you, making it much more difficult to get things done.

The silence makes him want to create noise. He wants you to make noise with him. He wants to show you that he loves you and that he does things like that because you're wanted by many, but are doomed to be only his. He'll make you forget the incident ever happened. He can make you feel better. He'll discreetly plant his firm custom of only fantasizing about you, through his touch, and he'll remind you of the way his eyes lock onto you whenever you move, while he watches your reaction to him running his hands all over you. For fucks sake, you're the nightly stars in the sky to him. What's wrong with treating you as such?

Satoru slowly rises from his seat. You're unbothered by the movement, not looking up as he makes his way around the table. He stands behind you, silently setting his hands on your shoulders, as he glimpses at the professional looking word vomit on your laptop. He sweeps your hair back, clearing your shoulders.

You finally read a part of the text that can be used as evidence later on in the slides, and immediately jot it down in your notes. You're not giving Satoru the attention he wants, so he carefully removes your headphones. That definitely does the job.

"I need those. I can't focus without them." You put your pencil down and stop scrolling on your laptop, turning to look at him.

"And I need you to take a break. You said that isn't due 'til next week."

You roll your eyes and exhale through your nose, turning to face your screen again. "Guess I can work without them," you grumble.

He puts the headphones down on a counter behind him and his hands go back to your shoulders, this time dragging forward, dipping beneath the neckline of your shirt. The collar will surely be stretched out by the time he removes his hands.

"Did you hear what I said?" He asks, voice low enough to make your heart drop. His hands slide into the cups of your bra from above, allowing him to hold your breasts.

"I did," you respond, feigning nonchalance, when really you've read the same short passage three times now, as a result of his touch.

"Take a break." He squeezes, gently, taking in the quick jolt of your body when he started concentrating on your nipples. "Indulge me," he spoke, against your ear. He dragged his lips down the side of your neck, kissing every inch of it. It was warm and wet, and it was driving you crazy.

"Satoru..." you said, more breathily than expected. "I need to do this." You contradict yourself and tilt your head to give him more room. He's so enticing. He already has you on board with whatever he has planned, but you'll unstably stand your ground for a couple more minutes to deflate his ego a little.

"If you don't come with me..." he murmurs. "...I will go down there and make it impossible for you to keep working," he continued, between kissing and sucking your neck. Your thighs were pressed together, tightly, and you were so turned on by everything he was doing, all for you to throw him a bone.

You sighed. The pressure offered by your thighs was not enough to satisfy your want for the man touching you.

"Let me put your mind at ease. Bet your brain is fried. Why not just finish it off?" His hands slid out of your shirt, settling on your shoulders once more.

You reached for your pencil, only for your hand to be immediately swatted down by Satoru's hand and pinned to the table.

"Really?" His voice brought goosebumps to your skin.

You sighed in defeat and saved your documents before shutting your laptop, allowing him to lead you to the room. He hummed in satisfaction as you walked with his hand tight around yours.

–

"Satoru! Fuck- Holy- Oh... more, please!" Your words jumbled in an attempt to ask him to keep going against the spot he was abusing. His fingers were slowing, and the stimulation wasn't as prominent. "No. N-No! I was gonna-"

"I know," he cuts you off. "Don't want you to cum yet, sweetie," he groans, using every ounce of patience he has. He wants nothing more than for you to cry out for him once he makes you cum, but you're still thinking, meaning you can still think of the situation from earlier.

"'toru, please. I was so close. This is the second time already."

"Once you break, i'll fix you, babe. I swear. I'll make you cum more than you want to, but give me a little longer, 'kay?"

The transparency of his goal was relieving, but knowing that you'd be toyed with a while longer was frustrating.

"Don't worry your pretty head about when you'll get to cum. It could happen aaany minute now. You have to remember our rule." He smiles, watching the way your stomach quivers in anticipation of his fingers touching your cunt.

You closed your eyes and drowned in the feeling of Satoru's touch. He knows you so well. Knows what turns you on, knows exactly how to get you off, and know how to make you cum in just a couple minutes. He uses this against you when he needs to, but for the most part, Satoru is fair. He's good to you.

Eventually a rule had to be introduced in bed because of his ability to make you cum impossibly fast. The rule implied that if there was enough time to drag your pleasure out, you should make use of all that time, even if it means you don't get as many orgasms. You both agreed that Satoru mastering your weaknesses took away parts of the intimacy when he got you to orgasm so quickly, so he doesn't use those methods as much. He prefers to build you up, anyway. You loved and hated the rule. Loved that you would be observed and touched for longer, and hated that the touch fled as soon as you were on the brink of orgasm.

"Satoru!" You gasp. "Please, I... I-I need this!"

His pace slows again, your body trembling as he pulled his fingers out and stopped all contact with you. His coated digits dragged along your thigh, painting you with translucent wetness. You're so sensitive, twitching at when his fingertips ghost your slit.

"You're getting there." He smiles, too kindly at you.

"Satoru," you groan. He didn't deserve to go by ''toru' in this moment. "If I wanted to be edged, I would have stayed at the table, doing my work while you did whatever you wanted to me, had I not followed you."

"Don't be upset, princess. We both know your brain will shut off the second I make you cum. I just need you with me for a little longer." The kind smile fell off his face. "For the record, I wasn't kidding when I said I would stop you from getting any work done at kitchen table. I promise you, you would have made zero progress."

His switch flipped again, and he gave you a loving grin. He looked up at you from between your thighs, his pretty, blue eyes centered on your own. You love when he looks at you like this—like you're his world, and he would do anything to keep you chained to him. It's moments like this that keep you sane around him. He has this intensity to him when he's alone with you. It causes any doubt you have of his love for you to vanish, instantly. You can never stay mad for long enough when he looks at you this way.

He kisses along your inner thigh, his eyes glue to yours as he does so. His hand stays on your hip, softly pressing his fingertips into the skin. You trembled in his hold when you felt his tongue slide through your folds again. His arms hooked around your thighs, holding you in place when you began to squirm.

"Satoru..." you sighed, your hands gripping the sheets tighter.

"Princess." A smile runs across his lips, not interrupting him as he continues to debilitate you with his mouth.

"Can I please... fuck," you moan. "Please... please," you beg, eyes shut as you try to compose yourself before you continue speaking, but he was relentless.

He let his hands take over, his full attention on what you wanted to say. His thumb glided up and down your slit, occasionally sparing attention to your clit, which only drove you closer to insanity.

"Go on. I'm listening." He very much was listening, your little breaths and whimpers so sweet to his ears.

"Can I cum, please?" Your hips rolled against the mattress, chasing the friction of his fingers against your pussy. This brought a satisfied grin to his face.

"Did you finish all your work?" He looks down to where he's working his fingers into you, mesmerized by the way your slick drooled down his reddened knuckles and the back of his hand.

"T-That's not fair. You pulled me away from my work."

He chuckles at the impatience in your tone. "That's not what I asked you, baby. Did you or did you not finish your work?" His index and middle fingers beckon inside your velvety walls.

"N-No, fuck, no. I didn't," you whimper.

"I love you to death, but I never said this would be a fair game. I'm gonna have to say 'no', too, baby."

You looked like you were on the verge of tears. Tears of impatience and frustration.

"Oh..." he coos. "It's okay. You'll be okay." He placed little kisses on your thighs, as if comforting you through this seemingly endless loop you were trapped in because of him. "Honey, you're gonna be fine. I've got you."

—

Your eyes became waterfalls towards the end of Satoru's game. You were ruined and all hope of cumming any time soon fled by the fifth orgasm you were denied of. He showed you all the affection he could to make up for how selfish he was being with your pleasure. There were fresh hickeys as well as purpling ones all over your lower body.

Satoru loved that he had reduced you to a whimpering, sobbing mess, with just his hands and his mouth. Your arousal, as well as his saliva, coated the better part of the bottom of his face.

His fingers entered you one last time brushing every point of weakness within you, repeatedly.

"Fuck- Oh fuck... Sa...toru!" You moaned. This was different. It was better. It was good. So, so good.

His lips attached to your clit, sucking on it mercilessly.

"Holy fuck..." you whined, sitting up, tangling one of your hands into his hair. Your back arched and your face was aimed towards the ceiling as you took every ounce of pleasure he graced you with. The edge was so close, within reach.

"Please, Satoru, oh my god... please."

With one more curl of his fingers and a swirl of his pointed tongue on your clit, you were launched into oblivion— lost to the overwhelming sensation seeping into you. You cried out his name, him being the only thing running through your mind. Your eyes were shut so tightly that tears spilled down your cheeks all over again. You were panting, cracked whimpers leaving you as you rolled your hips against the mattress. Your grip on his hair tightened even more.

All Satoru could do was watch with marvel, completely ignoring the pain in his scalp. You had the prettiest blush, and like a crystal glaze, your tears decorated your face so stunningly. Your eyes fluttered open again and you looked at him through wet lashes, the most flustered expression on your face as you continued to release small puffs of air. It's then that the constant thoughts of you that echo through Satoru's mind come forward. No one is enough like you are. No one deserves you.

In all the loving thoughts Satoru got caught up in, he was unintentionally starting to overstimulate you. He wouldn't let up, too mesmerized by the way you said his name so sweetly. His arms prevented you from shutting your legs. He couldn't deny that he loved the little grunting sounds you made, and the shuddered "'toru..." you whimpered out when you couldn't handle everything he was giving you anymore.

He finally let up and patted your thigh, silently praising you for being so good for him. Your eyes were shut and your chest was still heaving as you worked to steady your breathing.

There was no doubt in Satoru's mind that you weren't thinking of his little display of possession from earlier, anymore. Just as planned, but just to be completely certain, he would repeat the process a few more times.

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foldingfittedsheets · 7 months ago

Text

Back in the dawn of days I worked at Red Robin. It was my first real job after a brief stint at a dog kennel. Many people don’t know this but there’s a costume. A Red Robin mascot costume. I’d never seen it before I worked there.

He’s a violently red bird with empty eyes, a vacant grin, the most atrocious yellow leggings you’ve ever seen, and feet to make any Kingdom heart character swoon. His name was Red.

I was a host, and we were the only ones called upon to wear the costume. We’d don the bright yellow tights and corporate fursuit with someone leading us by the hand so we didn’t crash into everything.

The mesh screen in Red’s gaping mouth was supposed to let the wearer look out. Visibility was a joke. The restaurant was a dark gray haze of bustle from inside Red’s head. So every Tuesday and Thursday there’d be a two hour shift of a designated Bird Buddy leading the visually impaired sacrifice around.

After being forced to wear it during a heat wave and vomiting from the overwhelming temperature, I had vowed to never wear it again. But every new host always had a tiny secret longing to wear it when they first started. This desire never survived the full two hour shift.

So I was working a day shift with a newer host, Lauren, who had been openly enthusiastic to wear it. The manager hustled up to tell us that a little kid was here for his birthday and desperately wanted to see Red. We weren’t scheduled but impromptu requests could be accommodated when the restaurant was slow.

I said, “Great, Lauren can do it and I can be her buddy.”

I grabbed the hapless Lauren and dragged her to the dry goods storage where the suit was stored and where we changed. I closed the door and dragged the suit down. It had a particular greasy ground in smell to it.

Frying food, hot oil, and body odor had all permeated the faux fur with a unique reek. The management mouthed empty nothings that the suit was sent for monthly cleanings. It was common knowledge they were lying through their teeth. The smell of Red was eternal and unchanging.

“Okay, so take off your pants, put on the tights, then step into the body and I’ll zip you up. Then you get a vest and the head goes on last, got it?”

Lauren stared at me. I stared back. She made no move to change.

“Okay…” I repeated, “So you take off your pants and put on the tights?”

Lauren shifted nervously, silent. Not changing.

“Do you need me to turn around…?” It hadn’t occurred to me that she might be shy based on her personality, all the hosts were fairly blasé about changing in front of each other.

“I didn’t….” Her voice dwindled to a decimal only perceivable by bats.

“What’s that?”

Blushing vibrantly she raised her voice to the level of a tiny mouse to squeak, “I’m not wearing underwear….”

I stared at her harder. Our uniform pants were dark denim jeans. The thought of rubbing my bare pussy into denim for a whole shift was on par with dry humping a sheet of sandpaper. “You’re… you’re not wearing… anything?”

She shook her head miserably.

We both regarded the yellow tights worn by most of the host staff. We contemplated a lack of underwear being pressed into those communal tights, adding to the miasma of Red’s smells.

But I was sure as fuck not getting in that costume.

“Make sure to take the tights home and wash them.”

Her eyebrows went up. She met the bitter steel in my eyes and crumpled. I turned my back and she did what she had to, slipping naked as a babe into the neon spandex of Red’s tights. Lauren trustingly kept a grip on my hand as I navigated her through trays and tables to terrify the tiny birthday boy.

To the best of my knowledge, she never did wash the tights.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #funny #story #writing #food service #Red Robin

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whokilledsamara · 8 days ago

Note

May I request a NSFW alphabet for our deranged, red ass, momo-eyed princess Mr Scarletta from Homicipher👉👈˃ᴗ˂

MR. SCARLETELLA NSFW ALPHABET

a Mr. Scarletella nsfw alphabet. {an : omg.. why ofc.. hes sooo hot i love him. also funny words >< we need more porn of this man in general, also im working on a hc fic for him~~~~ if nobody will write for him then i will!!! ^•^}

warnings! : stalking, non-conish..? more like dub-con, rough sex, cunnilingus, blowjobs, yandere, blood kink, knife play, hes a kinky mf, abuse play, asphyxiation, afab and amab genitalia described, sadism kink, red. everywhere. miss-use of an umbrella.... looks around nervously

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

it really depends on his mood. USUALLY he is somewhat decent at it. he doesnt really understand the human need for aftercare, so most he will do is probably clean you and cuddle you on certain occasions.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

for him, he likes his hands. and his height, but mainly his hands. {plus you complimented them once, so it made him like them more.}

on YOU, other than your face, definitely your waist and neck. he likes how fragile you are. also he likes YOUR height. small.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

due to his sheer size, he cums a lot. not TOO much, and not as much as the others, but enough to fill you to the brim.

he almost always cums inside, unless its a blowjob. if it is, he likes to pull out and cum on your face or chest. make sure to have your tongue out though.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he really wants to fuck you unconscious. though not really a secret, he makes it obvious.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

you would be his first time, being a ghost and all. but hes a very fast learner so expect him to be a beast in bed {or wherever} once he finds those spots and what turns you on.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

any position that he can choke you in. or shove his fingers in your mouth. he would take another position if you offered though. he just wants you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

even outside of sex, he isn't humorous. hes always serious with that stare that he does {soo sexy.. (´﹃｀)}

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

not a lot, but its there. nice red happy trail and hair where it would be normally.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

well he's always romantic. in his own... creepy way. but he does love you. too much. in an obsessive, stalker way. so yes, he is.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he doesn't, nor does he feel the need to, but if he finds YOU touching yourself.. thats a special occasion, he WILL whip it out and start stroking himself then. and only then.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

oh dear.. blood kink, abuse kink, impact kink, vouyerism, asphyxiation, degradation, cnc, etc

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

either his "space" or somewhere random. {he secretly hopes someone will find you}

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

coprophilia, vomit. thats literally it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

prefers giving. you are his QUEEN. {king if you prefer.} he is a beast with his mouth. he would do anything you ask, much like Mr. Crawling.

he does enjoy receiving though, loves to see you go down on him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

fast and rough. will only slow down if you BEG him to.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

anything to get you and him off. he does prefer to take his time with you, so usually he will just teleport you somewhere.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

obviously. i mean its Mr. Scarletella that we are talking about. {drools...} he would do anything risky.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

doesnt have stamina, could go for hours honestly. he can cum pretty fast if he wants to, but either way he just wants YOU.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

no he doesnt own any. {unless you count his umbrella... well get to that later..}

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

oh all the time. constantly teasing you and trying to get you horny. if you tease him back then its OVER for you.. good luck walking ><

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not loud at all, his breath may hitch and he might groan softly every now and then, but he wants to listen to your noises more than anything.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he will use his umbrella handle as a "dildo" of sorts. wants to watch you attempt to put it in. the end is curved, so its fun to watch you struggle. he will force it if he has to.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

oo,, big boy. hes over 8 feet tall, so its a given. his shaft is around 8-9 inches maybe, a darker tip and maybe 3 inches wide.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

hes only horny if either you are, or if you do something that turns him on.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

doesnt need sleep, he is a ghost. does enjoy watching you sleep. hes weird, per se. will cuddle up to you and get you as close as possible.

#smut #homicipher #homicipher x reader #mr. scarletella x reader #mr. scarletella #mr. scarletella x y/n #mr. scarletella x you

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stop4death · 6 months ago

Text

confessions

note: i'm not a good writer i apologize in advance. but i have challengers brain rot and can't stop thinking about it so i had to write this. thinking about writing fem!reader x tashi next (reader is lowkey in love with tashi as well in this one in my mind) lmk if u like this and maybe i will

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

summary: since you started at stanford, you’ve been avoiding your close high school friend, art, and you’re pretty sure he’s been avoiding you, too. when he shows up to the tennis courts while you’re playing with your roommate and asks to talk, some confessions are made.

warnings: nsfw 18+ (MDNI!), smut, sub!art donaldson, soft dom!reader, angst, fluff, grinding, hand job, praise, aftercare (reader loves art sm), art is pathetic (in a good way i love him), please lmk if i forgot anything

word count: 1.9k

posted: may 27th 2024

It’s been a little over a month since you started at Stanford. With the stress of all your classes, homework, club meetings, and private out-of-season training for tennis, it feels like you can never catch a break. To make things even worse, you’ve been actively avoiding your close high school friend, Art. You promised each other you’d stick together at school while your best friend, Tashi, and her boyfriend, Art’s best friend, Patrick, are touring. Now, you haven’t heard from him, and haven’t tried to reach out to him either. When your roommate found out you’re a tennis player, she asked if you’d be willing to teach her how to play. You happily agreed, so you’ve been going down to the courts and playing with her once a week. Today, your heart jumped out of your chest and you almost dropped your racket when you were teaching your roommate how to backhand and Art walked in, sitting down in the stands.

“You okay?” your roommate asks, concerned by your sudden change in demeanor. She looks back to where you were looking and sees Art, then turns back to you confused.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine” you say unconvincingly, and serve the ball. She doesn’t press any further, so you continue with the lesson, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

You can’t help but keep glancing up at Art. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since he got there. Once you finish up her lesson, you say goodbye to your roommate and nervously walk up to the stands where Art is sitting.

“Hi.” you say softly, scratching at your palm anxiously.

“Hi. How have you been?” he asks, seemingly genuine.

“Um… I-I’ve been good. How about you?” you stutter, your heart racing.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” you sit down next to him, but he shakes his head.

“Privately?” he looks around at the few people who are on the tennis courts, including your roommate who’s still slowly packing up her bag and glancing up at you confoundedly.

The knot in your stomach twists even tighter, but you nod your head in agreement, standing up. You follow him out of the tennis courts and towards one of the dorm buildings. He unlocks a door on the first floor, gesturing for you to enter. As you walk into your friend’s dorm room for the first time, you look around. Your lips curve up slightly and you feel a warmth in your chest when you notice a photo of yourself with Art on a wall of photos of his friends and family. Your apprehensive look returns when you turn back towards the door as he shuts it behind him, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. You’ve never been a fan of confrontation, but you should have prepared for it when you decided to completely ghost one of your best friends with no explanation.

“You can sit down, you know.” he says casually.

You glance between his desk and his bed, ultimately opting for the desk chair. You face the chair out away from the desk and sit down. He sits down on his bed, facing you.

“Nice room.” you say awkwardly, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Why did you stop talking to me?” he says plainly. You suddenly feel like you might vomit at any second. You would rather be six feet underground than in Art’s dorm room having this conversation right now.

“I didn’t mean to, I’ve just… been so busy with classes and clubs and training I guess I haven’t gotten the chance to text you.” you lie. And he sees right through it.

“Can you be serious… Why haven’t you talked to me since we got here?”

You take a deep breath, and look down at your hands. Trying to think of any other way you can stretch the truth and not have to tell him what you’re about to tell him, but your mind has gone blank. You look back up at him, realizing you have no choice but to be honest.

“Art I-” you try to find the words, your heart racing even faster. “I, um… back in high school, I had this… huge crush on you." Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you stutter through the confession you've held onto for years, and you continue awkwardly, “And I knew you had a thing for Tashi, and it hurt because obviously who could ever compete with Tashi. She’s literally perfect. So over the summer, like a week before school started, Tashi and I were drunk and I decided to block your number. I thought maybe it would help me move on, start fresh, you know? I didn't want to keep being just friends and feeling, I don't know, awkward around you." You shift uncomfortably, the weight of your words heavy on your shoulders. "Honestly, I forgot I even did it until now. I thought maybe you were avoiding me, too, or… I don't know, I guess I just didn't think it through. I'm sorry, Art. If you don't hate me now, could we maybe try being friends again? I've moved past that crush, I promise. I won’t let it get in the way again.”

You try to make the last part sound as convincing as possible. You don’t think you’ll ever be over your crush on Art. He just sits there and listens as you talk. His expression is unreadable, and for a moment, you fear you've said too much. You look down again, fearing his response.

“Why didn’t you tell me before… that you had a crush on me?”

“Cause you liked Tashi. Like everyone else.”

“Tashi was always just a friend to me. I liked you.”

You look at him as if he must be lying, searching for any hint of irony in his tone or facial expression.

“I still do.” he says softly, and the knot in your stomach is replaced with butterflies.

You stand up from the chair, and Art looks at you with concern, thinking you’re about to walk out. You take a few steps forward and sit down next to him on his bed, your knees brushing together.

“I still like you, too.” you whisper and put a hand on his cheek. You slowly lean closer to him, and press your lips against his. His lips are soft and they taste of cigarettes and watermelon lime ChapStick, his favorite. You’ve dreamed about this taste for years. He places a hand on your thigh, deepening the kiss. You quickly move to straddle his lap. Your hands twist in his soft strawberry blond hair as you kiss him sloppily, as if you were trying to consume him. You feel his erection growing under you and grind your hips down against him, making him moan softly into the kiss. You tug at the hem of his shirt and he quickly removes it, tossing it carelessly across the room, then smashes his lips back against yours hungrily. His hand moves up your thigh to the waistband of your skirt.

“So impatient.” you say with a smirk, moving your head down to kiss his neck and taking his hand in yours, moving it away from your waistband. He whimpers at the feeling of you sucking and nibbling gently on his neck. You kiss up his neck and jawline then back to his lips quickly before pulling away. You move off his lap and sit further back on his bed, spreading your legs slightly and patting the space between them.

“Come sit here.”

He looks at you a bit confused, but he obeys. He sits between your legs on the bed, his back to you. You move your hands slowly over his arms and chest, kissing his neck from behind, bringing back the sweet sounds of his whimpering. He closes his eyes and leans his head back on your shoulder, giving you better access to his neck. He moans softly, reveling in the feeling of your lips and hands on him. You tease him, moving your hand slowly down his abdomen and stopping just before his waistband, then moving back up slowly. You do this a few times before he can’t take it anymore and his hips buck upwards, begging for your touch.

“Such a pretty boy… you want me to touch you?” you tease, speaking softly against his neck and driving him insane. He whimpers, nodding his head eagerly.

“Use your words.” you whisper in his ear. His hips buck up again, a needy whine escaping his lips.

“Please,” he gasps out, his voice soft and needy, “please touch me, I want you so bad.”

You smirk and move your hands to the waistband of his pants, tugging down gently. He wastes no time pulling his pants and boxers off in one quick movement.

“Good boy.” you say softly, sliding your hand down his abdomen. A strangled moan leaves his lips as you wrap your hand around his cock and start to stroke him. His hips jerk up, desperate for more friction.

“Fuck” he gasps out, his voice a husky whisper. You continue to stroke him slowly, your other hand wandering over his chest and abs, kissing his neck occasionally.

“Love hearing your moans… such a good boy for me.” you say softly in his ear. He can’t contain his whimpers as you continue.

“Feels… so good.” he chokes out through moans, leaning his head back on your shoulder again. He lets out a low moan as you kiss his neck again, panting heavily.

“Such a good boy.” you emphasize, playing with his hair with your other hand.

“Yes, I am… such a good boy for you.”

You can tell that he’s close to the edge.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yes… yes.” he gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he breathes heavily. You stroke faster now, and he lets out a loud moan as he finally lets go, cumming hard on your hand. He pants heavily as he leans back against you, trying to catch his breath. “Thank you.”

You move your hand up to your mouth, licking some of his cum off and swallowing it, then moving your hand to his mouth. He knows exactly what you’re asking of him. His breath hitches at the sight, and he leans forward to lick the rest of his cum off your hand. He swallows then closes his eyes and leans his head back against your shoulder.

“You did so good for me, angel. My good boy.” you wrap your arms around him, holding him close and rubbing his stomach as he recovers. He lets out a contented sigh as he leans back into you further, his body still trembling slightly. He puts his arms over yours, holding onto you tightly as he catches his breath. You let him lean on you for a few more minutes, still rubbing his stomach, before the two of you lay down, you still holding him from behind. He turns over to face you, his lips curling into a smile. You smile back at him and put a hand on his cheek, stroking it gently.

“I missed you so much. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”

His words are like a shot to the heart. You still feel like a horrible person for the way you hurt him, but one thing about Art is he could never hate you, no matter what you do. You pull him close, stroking his hair gently as you whisper, “I won’t. Ever. I promise.”

#challengers #art donaldson #mike faist #brain rot #smut #art donaldson x reader #sub!art donaldson #art donaldson smut #art donaldson fanfic

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astralee · 3 months ago

Text

surprise

james potter x f!reader

you’re panicking. your hearts racing, you feel flushed and your body’s shaking so much you can hardly control it. “what does it say?” you manage to tremble out nervously. “i think i’m gonna throw up.”

marlene stood before you, the pregnancy test in her hand. “it’s positive.” she spoke cautiously. “are you okay? i can’t believe i’m holding your piss stick right now.”

your eyes had shot open even wider than you ever thought they could go, practically bulging out of your head. “i’m gonna be a mum.”

“yup.” she hummed. “and i’m gonna be the coolest auntie in the world.”

she was probably right about that, she’s certainly the coolest girl you know.

like an epiphany, you thought of your boyfriend. “oh my god.” you groaned out gripping the sink tightly. “how do i tell james? what if he’s disappointed? what if he doesn’t want kids? what if he doesn’t want kids with me?”

“woah, woah, woah.” marlene interrupted your word vomit, her hands firmly on your shoulder as though they were grounding you. “james is gonna be over the moon. he loves you so much and you’ve spoke about kids before.”

“but we’re still so young, i hardly thought either of us was wanting them right now.” you huffed. “i’m scared marls.”

her arms were around you in an instant and you felt the kiss she placed on the top of your head. “i get that, but you’ve got all of my unconditional support and you’ll have everybody else’s too.”

you nodded in her arms, tears streaming down your face.

“why don’t you send your patronus and ask him to come home . i won’t leave until he gets here so you’ll have no chance to spiral, alright?” she suggested and clapped you on the back when you agreed. “atta girl.”

james was home before you knew it, his beaming smile falling at the sight of your puffy eyes and post breakdown face. “what’s up? what’s happened?”

his gaze was wavering between you and marlene and so she broke the silence between the both of you. “nothing to worry about jamsie boy. i’m getting off now, alright? pop round at any time if you need me.”

marlene was gone in a flash and james slowly moved towards you. “you alright babe?” he spoke gently.

“i’m okay.” your voice was shaky and he was quick to bring you into his arms. his homely scent immediately calming your nerves. “i have something to tell you.”

“yeah? what is it?”

you pulled back from him but reached for his hands. you hadn’t planned how to tell him, so the only option was to blurt it out. “i’m pregnant.”

“you’re pregnant?” he choked out and you noticed his eyes filling up almost instantly. “we’re gonna be parents? i’m gonna be a dad?”

you could hardly find the words to respond so you gave him a clear nod of your head.

he was crying, so were you. two lovers desperately clinging onto each other in happiness. “this is the best thing ever.”

“i’m glad. i worried you wouldn’t want a kid yet.” you admitted. you felt a lot better now knowing he was on board with having children. “because we’re still young.”

“i’d want to have kids with you in every universe.” james admitted. “it’s going to be hard but we’ll work through it. we have so many people around us that can help out.”

that you did.

“pads is gonna freak out when he finds out.”

“so is your mum.”

“she’ll be so excited.” james agreed wholeheartedly. “i’m so exited. this is all i’ve wished for for a while. i love you so much, you know? and id never want to experience parenthood with somebody else.”

“me too james. i love you.”

#marauders fanfiction #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #james potter x reader #marauders fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter fluff

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lovverletters · 8 months ago

Text

ILLUSION˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

❝IN WHICH ㅡ Your husband seems to have change for the better. Although is it really him? Or somebody else masquerading as your husband ❞

A/N : Unofficial comeback hihi !! I made this in 3 hours please don't judge my word vomit

T/W : bad relationship, mentioned of murder, not edited, yandere theme, twist at the end

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[name] sighed for ninth time of the day, everything is going horribly for them.

Early this morning, they had accidentally burnt the breakfast they were cooking for you and their husband, Mauve. He did not take kindly to it and yelled at them before leaving for his work.

It only worsen as they had forgotten their lunch and had to work on an empty stomach while their less than pleasant boss chewed them up for their failing performances.

Then, their car broke down and had to be towed away while they went home on a cab with the world most unpleasant driver ever.

It felt as if the world was against them. Pinning them against the corner like a bully demanding for their lunch money.

Now, they sat at the dinner table staring at the food that's slowly growing colder as they waited for Mauve to come home. As the clock struck 10 and their husband was still not home, [name] sighed once more before cleaning up the table.

Despite their very best effort to avoid addressing the glaring issue of their crumbling marriage, [name] couldn't ignore it anymore.

Mauve and them hardly resembled a married couple, they don't spend time with each other due to clashing schedule and even if they were free, they'd much rather be alone than with each other. The two of them would bicker and argue over unnecessary stuff, don't even mention being physically intimate with each other. They're practically practicing abstinence.

[name] has been the only party making effort to keep the relationship going but Mauve was not doing the same.

It is clear as day that the spark and love they have had simply dried up.

" I should just divorce him at this point .. " [name] muttered before falling into a deep slumber.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The next morning, they awoke to a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. [name] sat up in surprise at the smell and walking to the source of the wonderful aroma.

To their surprise for the second time, they sees Mauve flipping pancakes in his suit and ties. Upon hearing their approaching footsteps, Mauve turned over and greetes them with a smile.

" Good morning honeybun, I made pancakes for breakfast. Come take a seat " He plated the freshly made pancakes and placing it on the table.

Huh? Honeybun? Where did that come from?

[name] were puzzled at Mauve's odd behaviour. He glanced at them worriedly when he realised they had not yet taken a seat and had been standing at the doorway with a gaping mouth.

" What's wrong honeybun? Why are you standing there like you've seen a ghost " Mauve placed a gentle hand on their shoulder.

" Whㅡ what's the special occasion, Mauve? " they dumbly said.

" Hm? Don't I always makes us breakfast everyday? " He said, albeit a bit confused.

[name] blinked. Once. Twice.

" No? I'd always do the cooking " They replied with an equally confused face.

Mauve went silent before rubbing the back of his neck nervously with a sheepish smile.

" Ah, I don't? I was just messing with you honeybun~ "

They squinted their eyes at their ' husband ', feeling suspicious of his change of behaviour. Just yesterday he was yelling at them for burning his toast and today he's done a complete 180.

" You don't usually call me petnames either. What is up with you today? " They sat down on the chair and begun cutting up the pancakes.

Mauve closed his mouth once again and stayed silent, [name] could almost hear the cogwheels in his brain turning to form a response. After a while, he finally spoke with a deep sigh.

" Look. [name], baby. I've realised all these years I've been a dick to you and not treating your right " His voice quivered.

" Yesterday, I had an epiphany of sort and I don't want to lose someone as amazing as you, [name]. Will you give me a second chance in loving you? " He held their hand in a gentle grasp, his eyes reflecting his sincerity.

[name] was at a loss for word. They genuinely didn't expect to hear that from their husband. They were ashamed of the tiny flame that sparked within them at his words.

They were conflicted, however after contemplating for some time in their head. They finally made up their mind. [name] placed their own hand atop of Mauve's and gave him a gentle smile.

" I honestly don't know what happened to you yesterday but .. I'm willing to give us a second try to make it work " They said softly.

A grin broke out on Mauve's faceㅡ something they had not seen in years. He then pull them into an embrace and littered kisses all over their faces.

" Thank you, baby. Thank you so much " He happiky hummed onto their skin.

[name] couldn't help but grew flustered at his onslaught of affection. They were not used to it but it wasn't unwelcomed. They slowly reciprocated Mauve's hug and buried their face onto his shoulder.

Finally, something's going right for them.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

He almost felt bad for fooling [name] on thinking that their pathetic excuse of a husband could ever change.

For someone as successful as Mauve was, he is incredibly stupid for neglecting the most amazing spouse a person could ever wish for. Honestly, he felt his blood boils seeing [name]'s astonished reaction to him performing simple husbandry dutiesㅡ it shows that the bastard never treats his spouse right.

It disgust him greatly to be Mauve's döppleganger, to share the same likeness as him. But without it, he wouldn't be able to intervene and replaces him.

Nonetheless, he'd already removed Mauve's out of the picture. If there's one thing he doesn't regret is watching the light slowly dimmed from Mauve's eyes as he kills him.

Now, he shall fulfill his position as [name]'s husband, 'Mauve'.

THE END˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

#tw: yandere #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #gender neutral reader #yandere male #yandere headcanons

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kenacoki · 3 months ago

Text

Rain Check

//Pairing// Eddie Diaz x Reader

//Summary// The five times Eddie Diaz tries to ask you out.

//Word Count// 6.97k

//Warnings// none!

//Request// requesting a eddie x reader , 5 times eddie has asked you out and you say no and the one time you say yes. (or something like that idk i’ve seen fics like that and love the idea) maybe reader is a teacher at Christopher’s school ??

//Dividers// sister-lucifer

“I wanna thank everyone for coming today!”

Your (e/c) colored eyes nervously dance around the small, cramped classroom. There are about twenty or so parents currently occupying the desks of your fifth-grade students. As your gentle voice pierces the air, the room falls silent, and all eyes hall on your anxious form.

Oh dear god…please don’t vomit.

You feel your nerves skyrocket as you rub your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants. You take a shaky breath and swallow, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"As the new teacher for the fifth-grade class, I wanted to meet with you and discuss your children's progress and what I think is next to come in the school year for them." You glance around the classroom, trying to make eye contact with everyone at least once.

For the most part, the adults in the room remain quiet. Most of them are at least moderately invested in what you are saying. You gesture towards a bulletin board at the back of the room as your eyes fall on a handsome figure.

The man's honey-colored irises are trained on you, his facial expression completely neutral. He's one of the few parents who isn't sitting down, instead leaning against a wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His biceps are on full display in the snug-fitting t-shirt he's wearing. His short, dark brown hair is perfectly tousled. As you meet his gaze he gives you a subtle, almost unidentifiable once-over.

Good God, he's attractive.

You try to ignore the small burst of butterflies that explode in your stomach, quickly looking away to continue your pre-rehearsed speech.

"As I'm sure you're all aware, this is the last year that your children will be with me before they move on to middle school." You gesture towards some of the younger children, watching as they all look at you with wide-eyed interest.

"They are all incredibly bright, smart, and sweet kids," you continue, a small smile on your face as you speak. "I'm so excited to see what the future holds for them."

You can’t help but jump as the bell suddenly rings, signaling the end of the parent-teacher conference.

"That's all the time we have today," you say, taking a deep breath as you watch the parents stand up and begin to leave. "If you haven't done so already, I've left some signup sheets for class volunteers on the table by the door. Please feel free to sign up to help at your convenience."

You watch as the parents start to leave, the students trailing behind them with excited grins on their faces. A few remain behind, talking amongst themselves as they gather their things.

The handsome man you took notice of earlier pushes himself off of the wall and begins to make his way towards you.

You internally curse yourself as you feel a wave of nervousness wash over you.

Okay, dumbass. Get yourself together.

You take a small step away from your desk, straightening your spine and trying to appear as composed as possible as he stops in front of you.

“I’m uh, Edmundo Diaz. Eddie,” he says, a rough edge in his voice that you find completely entrancing.

God, even his name is attractive.

You fight to keep a neutral expression as he holds his hand out; you try to discreetly wipe your clammy palms on your pants before you take it. His grip is strong, and you nearly gasp at the feeling of his rough calloused fingers against your skin.

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Diaz-” you begin, but he quickly interrupts you.

“Eddie.”

There's a firmness in his tone that sends chills down your spine, and you pause for a moment before you continue.

“It's nice to meet you, Eddie. You’re uh, you’re Christopher’s father, right?”

Eddie nods, pulling his hand from yours as he stuffs them in the pockets of his tight jeans. “That’s right. How’s he doing?”

You swallow, trying to keep yourself focused as you speak. “Christopher is such a wonderful kid. He’s incredibly smart and so sweet. Honestly…” You lower your voice, leaning closer to him. “ I’ve never met a fifth grader—or any kid for that matter—who’s as kind and polite as he is.”

Eddie’s smirk only grows, the corner of his mouth curled up into an almost cocky smile. “Chris is an amazing kid,” he says, his eyes raking over your form. “He’s better than I ever was at his age, that’s for sure.”

You shift on your feet, your nerves going haywire as his eyes travel up to meet yours. “He’s an absolute pleasure to have in class,” you respond, your heart fluttering when his gaze doesn’t move. “I’m positive he’s going to do great things in the future.”

Your eyes catch the LAFD emblem on his shirt, “just like his father it seems.”

Eddie lets out a chuckle, a low, husky sound that makes your knees weak. “You’re a charmer,” he says, taking a small step closer. “Do you always compliment the parents of your students?”

The sudden proximity of his body makes your pulse quicken as his scent slowly fills your nostrils.

He even smells good…god, what’s that scent?

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm and collected. “I’m just being honest,” you respond, ignoring the way your voice slightly wavers. You glance up at the clock on the wall, “Anyways, it was a pleasure to meet you Eddie, but I’ve—“

“would you want to go out for coffee sometime?”

The words immediately die in your throat, your heart nearly stops. For a second you honestly think you hallucinated the sound of his voice, but the expectant look in his eyes makes it very clear that he actually spoke.

You blink a few times, your voice caught in your throat. “What?”

Eddie’s smile grows, his gaze never leaving yours. “Coffee,” he repeats. “Would you want to go get a cup sometime?”

You stand frozen, completely dumbfounded. You honestly didn’t expect him to say that, and yet here he is; a charming, hot-as-hell, firefighter asking you out.

“I—I-“ you stumble over your words, your cheeks heating as his eyes roam over your face, “I can’t.”

Eddie’s smile quickly fades from his, his confident demeanor faltering. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” your words rush out, your cheeks still stained a deep red. “It’s just…I kind of have a rule about not dating parents of my students, you know?”

Eddie just nods his head, that unreadable expression on his face once again. “Yeah,” he says gruffly; the same firm edge back in his voice. “Don’t apologize, I get it.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, a gnawing feeling in your stomach that tells you you’ve made a mistake. “Because—”

But Eddie just gives you a dismissive wave of the hand, “It’s fine. Student’s parents and yadda yadda—I get it. I’ll see you around.” He gives you one last look, a small smile on his lips before he turns on his heel and walks towards the door.

You watch as he leaves, a feeling of dread settling in your chest.

“Goddammit…” You let out a groan, burying your face in your hands as you curse yourself for rejecting him.

“Hey Siri, add wine to my shopping list.”

II.

“Hi, can I just get an iced coffee? Thank you.”

the barista takes your order as you move off to the side of the line, awkwardly picking at the skin around your fingers. You bounce your leg anxiously as you glance up at the clock on the wall.

7:35 am

You’ve gotta be getting to the school—

You're snapped from your thoughts as you hear the door to the coffee shop open behind you; the small bell attached jingling in the air. As you glance over your shoulder, your eyes widen as they land on a familiar form.

Eddie stops in the doorway, eyes widening slightly in surprise as he looks at you. For a moment you just stand there, looking at each other, neither of you saying a word until the barista behind you speaks up and snaps you both into focus.

“Uh, your total is $2.50.”

You turn back towards the barista, hastily looking for a few dollars in your purse to hand them.

“Fancy running into you here.”

You can feel Eddie’s presence behind you, his voice low and rough. He pulls his debit card from his wallet and hands it to the barista.

“Oh, you don’t have to-” you start to protest, but Eddie just shakes his head slightly, interrupting you.

“I got it, don't worry about it.”

“I…thank you.”

The barista hands you your coffee as they take Eddie’s order.

“I’ll just take a large black coffee.”

Both of you stand there awkwardly for a moment, neither of you saying a word. It’s not like there is a lack of things to say or talk about- there are about a dozen things you want to ask him right now. But for some reason, the words just won’t come out.

“So uh….“ Eddie seems just as awkward as you do, his eyes never quite meeting yours as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets, “I’m sorry, about yesterday. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, asking you out like that.”

“I wasn’t—“ you cut yourself off, shaking your head slightly, “I appreciate the gesture, it’s just…” you fidget with the cup in your hand as you speak, struggling to find the words to describe your thoughts.

“Yeah I know,” Eddie sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t date parents of your students. It’s a good rule, a sensible one.”

“Right, it’s, uh yeah…” You look down at the coffee in your hand, fiddling with the little cardboard cupholder. You can feel his gaze on you, the weight of his eyes making you antsy.

“I’ve gotta get to the school—“

“What if I took you out for lunch?”

His question catches you off guard. You have to pause for a moment, processing his words.

“I-” you stutter, not sure how to respond. Your brain is screaming at you to say no, but at the same time, you can’t deny the thrill running through you at the thought.

“Black coffee for Diaz.”

The interruption causes Eddie to turn and face the barista. Glancing back towards the door, you take this as your chance to make a break, hastily slinking away.

“Wait-”

Eddie whips around to stop you, but you’re already halfway out the door, the little bell giving you away. He watches you go, a frustrated yet somewhat amused look on his face as he holds his cup.

“Uh sir, that’s gonna be $3.00…”

III.

The large mall is teeming with people, parents, and families going in and out of shops, or rushing past in order to reach their next destination. You look down at the shopping bags in your hands and groan softly under your breath. You had been here since 9 this morning, and you were already exhausted. And yet, you still had more shopping to do.

You take a step inside the store, immediately surrounded by various school supplies, decorations, and books. It’s a relatively small store, the aisles narrow, but the walls are lined with countless materials to use in the classroom.

You let out a small sigh as you look through the aisles, your face dropping when you read some of the prices.

“Jesus…how do teachers afford some of this stuff?”

You make your way through the store, slowly gathering a few supplies; dry erase markers, a new class calendar, and a few books to add to your library. The list in your pocket grows smaller with each thing you pick up.

You’re standing in an aisle debating over some new math flash cards when a voice suddenly sounds from behind you.

“Miss. (L/N)!”

Christopher…?

You quickly whip around, eyes widening as a smile forms on your face. Sure enough, there, standing in the middle of the store is your student Christopher; Eddie’s son.

“Chris!” You exclaim, walking over to the boy. “What are you doing here?”

Christopher stands there, a massive grin on his face as he looks up at you. “Dad and I are shopping!” he responds, his voice filled with excitement, “I was supposed to be helping him, but I kinda lost him.”

The realization that Eddie is around somewhere immediately sinks in, causing your heart rate to spike.

You quickly glance around, hoping and praying that Eddie is nowhere in sight. But as you look up, you spot a familiar mop of dark brown hair in the next aisle over.

You watch as Eddie looks over a few items in his hand, seemingly unaware of your presence. You can just barely see his face from your position, but notice he’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a tight-fitting dark blue shirt. Your eyes rake over his form, taking in the way his clothes cling to his muscles, making it almost impossible for you to look away.

You swallow hard, forcing your attention back to Christopher, who is still smiling up at you.

“So have you been helping your dad shop today?” you say, praying that your voice doesn’t give you away. “Have you helped him pick out any good stuff?”

“Yeah!” Christopher exclaims. “We got new shoes for me,” he points down at the new vans on his feet. “And we got some new video games. We’re gonna get pizza later too.”

You nod along, listening to him, but your brain is still trying to process the fact that Eddie is so incredibly close to you right now.

“Christopher Diaz.” an all too familiar voice calls out.

Your head immediately snaps toward the end of the aisle, and your heart nearly stops. Eddie is standing there, a stern look on his face as he walks towards the two of you. He stops just a few feet away from you both, his gaze fixed on his son, who awkwardly fidgets beside you.

“Chris,” Eddie says, his tone firm yet soft at the same time. “I told you not to go over here. You could’ve gotten lost.”

Christopher’s expression twists, a sheepish look on his face as he looks up at his dad. “I got distracted,” he mumbles.

Eddie shoots his son a look, but his expression softens slightly as he looks up and sees you standing there.

There’s a moment of tense silence as Eddie’s eyes connect with yours, his intense gaze sweeping over you, making your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes locked on yours as he stands there; his hands in his pockets and his muscles tensing beneath his shirt.

Oh my god, how does he look so-

You almost forget how to breathe as Eddie’s eyes rake over you, your hands gripping your shopping bags tightly to the point you’re worried you’ll rip them.

“Hey.”

Eddie’s voice cuts through the silence, sending chills down your spine.

“Hi…” you respond, your voice weak. Christ, what is wrong with you right now?

Eddie looks down at the items in your hands, his eyes lingering on the ‘teacher store’ bags.

“Shopping for school supplies?” he asks, taking a step closer to you.

You nod in response, your voice not quite working. Eddie’s proximity makes it extremely difficult to think or speak, your heart fluttering against your chest.

You can practically feel his presence towering over you; a heat radiating off his body as his gaze is still locked on you. The urge to squirm under his look is almost too strong to ignore, your knees feeling weak.

“Yeah,” you finally respond, your voice slightly hoarse. “There’s a lot of stuff I still needed to pick up…”

Eddie nods, his eyes drifting down to your hands. Suddenly, he takes a step even closer, making your breath hitch in your throat as his shadow engulfs you. It takes every ounce of willpower that you have not to shiver under his gaze right now.

Without a word, Eddie carefully pries the bags from your hands, slowly taking them from you.

You feel your pulse skyrocket as his fingers graze against your skin, your brain short-circuiting as he takes the bags from your grasp.

“Uh…” is the only sound you manage to get out, your heart thudding against your ribcage.

What the hell is he doing?

Eddie doesn’t say anything as he takes the bags from you, his fingers grazing yours for a few extra moments before he takes a step back. He looks down at the bags in his hands, a smirk appearing on his face as he speaks.

“I’ll take these,” he says, his tone slightly nonchalant. “You can go finish your shopping.”

His words catch you off guard, and it takes a moment for you to process what he’s just said. “I…what?” you respond, still not quite believing he’s actually offering to do that.

Eddie just shrugs his shoulders, a casual look on his face. “You said there was more you had to pick up, right?” he replies, “So go do it. I’ll just follow behind you and carry the bags for ya.”

You can’t deny how attractive this is; the way he’s just casually offering to carry your shopping bags for you. But at the same time, this also feels…odd. You’re sure this has to be some kind of flirting tactic that he’s using.

But, you’re hardly complaining. If it means you get to spend more time with Eddie, you’re sure as hell not going to argue with it.

“Are you sure?” you ask, uncertainty in your tone.

Eddie just nods a smirk still on his face. "Of course, I don't mind at all," he responds, shifting his weight to one leg. "Consider it a favor for all those good grades you're giving my kid."

You let out a soft laugh, a slight tension in your shoulders lessening.

"Well, I guess if you insist..."

Eddie gives you a small smile, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment. He then looks down at Christopher, who has been quietly standing beside you throughout this entire exchange.

"Go look at some video games for me, buddy," he instructs his son. "I'll be right there in a minute."

"Okay!" Chris responds, shooting you a quick grin before he turns and walks away, disappearing down an aisle of electronics.

Eddie looks back towards you, his gaze focused solely on you now.

"So, what else is on your list?" he says, shifting the bags in his hand.

You blink a few times, forcing yourself to focus. It’s incredibly difficult to do when he’s standing this close, and looking at you with those dark eyes--

“Uhhh…” you falter, struggling to remember what on earth you had even needed. “More…flash cards, I think…” you respond, your words coming out slightly shaky.

Eddie nods, his eyes still locked on you. “Flashcards,” he repeats, the smirk still on his face.

He jerks his chin slightly, signaling for you to start walking. “Lead the way then.”

You swallow hard, nodding silently as you start walking down the aisle, your heart beating hard. It’s almost difficult to focus on walking properly with Eddie right behind you, so close you can almost feel his breath on your neck.

Luckily, you manage to locate the flashcards fairly easily, picking up a few different sets to add to your collection.

You quickly move on to the next item on your list, your footsteps almost robotic as you keep your eyes firmly ahead. You can feel Eddie’s presence behind you, his footsteps slightly heavier than yours despite his more casual demeanor.

Finally, you reach the last item on your list; push pins. You pick a few packs up, looking them over before adding them to your bag.

You let out a soft breath when you finally finish picking up everything you need. You turn around, coming face to face with Eddie.

“Damn, school supplies are a lot more expensive than I thought they were,” he comments, looking back up at you. “You must be planning on spending a fortune on all this stuff.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, looking down at all the items in his arms. “You’re not wrong,” you reply, shrugging your shoulders. “I’ve gotta practically sell my soul to pay for all of it, but the kids are worth it.”

“We can go check out now.” You gesture with your head towards the register.

God his arms look so good right now…

Eddie nods, readjusting the bags in his hands, “Lead the way, sweetheart."

You swear your heart stops for a second at the endearment, your throat going dry. Taking a deep breath, you turn and start heading towards the register.

As you reach it, your chest is fluttering like crazy as Eddie follows closely behind. You place the items on the counter and pay for them, the entire time forcing yourself to keep your eyes on the items in front of you and not on the man right behind you.

You finish paying, taking your receipt and shoving it deep into your pocket. You turn to take your bags from Eddie’s outstretched arms, praying he doesn’t notice your shaking hands.

“There you go,” Eddie says, his voice light and casual. “All done with your shopping.”

You nod, gripping the bags tightly, “Y-yeah, I’m all done,” you respond, your voice wavering slightly. Eddie's eyes flick over your face, an undecipherable look on his face.

He just silently watches you for a moment. then after a beat, he shoves his hands into his pockets, the casual smile back on his face.

Your heart is thudding against your ribcage; every word you want to say is caught in your throat right now. Just as you open your mouth to speak, however, Eddie’s voice interrupts you.

“Chris and I are gonna head up to the food court. Would you, uh…would you want to join us?”

The question catches you off guard, your breath hitching in your throat.

For a moment, you freeze, your brain short-circuiting as you try to process the implications. You want to say yes; spending more time with Eddie is a very tempting proposal. But it’s also a risky one.

“I-i would, really—but I can’t.”

The immediate flash of disappointment that crosses Eddie’s face is almost devastating.

Oh my god I think I would rather die than see this man sad

“Oh.” He says, his voice surprisingly soft. He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a scoff, his gaze flicking away from you for a moment.

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie finally looks back at you, an artificial smile on his face. “You must be pretty busy, yeah?”

Your heart breaks at the look of disappointment on his face, almost making you regret declining his offer.

But you know that you can’t accept it. The risk is just too high; too much could go wrong.

“Yeah,” you respond, trying your best to sound nonchalant. “I’ve got…lots of stuff to do. Lesson plans to write and stuff.”

Eddie just nods, still forcing a small smile, “Right, right. Makes sense. You should probably get on that then…”

Why do I feel like such crap now?

“Right,” you finally force out. “Bye, Eddie.”

You turn away, your heart pounding as you start walking away. For a split second, you want to look back behind you, want to see the expression on Eddie’s face. But you know deep down that it’ll probably make the aching pain in your chest even worse, so you don’t look back.

This sucks.

IV.

The fourth time you run into Eddie Diaz, you’re convinced that the universe is playing a cruel trick on you.

You had decided to go to a nearby park in order to try and get into the grading groove. The park is practically empty, just the occasional stranger walking by. You’re so caught up in a paper on Ancient Rome that you don’t even notice footsteps approaching.

“What’re you working on?” A low, gruff voice comes from your side. You look and see a very familiar, sweaty face, and pair of dark eyes looking down at the papers in your lap.

“Eddie?” You say, surprised to see him standing next to you out of the blue like this. You can’t help but notice the shimmer of sweat glistening off his body; was he running? His shirt clings to his muscular body and beads of sweat roll down his neck and face.

He nods his head slightly, taking in your appearance, how you’re wearing a soft t-shirt and some leggings, your hair lightly disheveled, “Yeah...I was out for a run.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face, and your eyes follow the movement, watching the way his arm flexes as he moves it. You quickly snap your gaze back down to the paper in your hand as he looks back at you.

“So…what are you working on?” Eddie repeats his question, tilting his head to the side slightly to try and look at the papers you’re still holding.

“Just doing some last-minute grading before the semester ends.” You admit, tucking a strand of your (h/c) behind your ear.

“You work on your day off?” He teases.

“I’m a good teacher, what can I say.” You say in mock defensiveness, placing a hand against your chest.

He laughs softly, the smirk on his face doing all kinds of things to your insides, “Clearly.” You give him a playful push on the shoulder, but the contact does nothing to stop the way you shiver as your hand brushes against the bare skin on his arm.

He runs his tongue across his lips, his eyes roaming your body.

You try and ignore his gaze as you look down at the paper in your hand. You’re suddenly very self-conscious about the outfit you’re wearing, all too aware of the sweat that’s coating Eddie’s body, the way his eyes are moving over you like he’s undressing you right here on the park bench.

“What if, after you get done with your grading…we go get some ice cream?”

The question catches you off guard. You look back at him, your expression a cross between confusion and surprise.

“Ice cream?” you repeat as if to make sure you heard him correctly.

“Yeah.” He’s got a lopsided grin on his face as he watches you. “Ice cream, at the stand around the corner here. C’mon, it’s hot out, you deserve a break after all this hard work.”

You glance down at the papers in your hand, contemplating what to do. You still have quite a bit of work left to get done, but Eddie is giving you that look again, almost daring you to agree, and for some reason, you’re tempted to throw caution to the wind. Yet…you can’t.

“I’d love to,” you start, and the surprised look on his face would be almost comical if you weren’t already internally wincing, “but I’ve still got a lot of grading left to do, and...” You pause for a moment, struggling to find an excuse to say no while not fully rejecting him. “And, I have that teacher’s seminar thing tomorrow so I gotta make sure I get some sleep tonight.”

It’s a pathetic excuse, and you know it. Judging from the expression on his face, Eddie knows it too. But he doesn’t call you out, just nods his head slightly.

“Yeah I get it, I guess I’ll let you get back to your…” he glances down at the papers in your hand, “papers. See ya around, (y/n).”

You’re just about to tell him to wait, to throw caution to the wind and agree to the ice cream. But he starts to move away, jogging towards the opening of the park.

You watch as he goes.

You know you made the right choice, even if a part of you doesn’t agree. You go back to grading, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingles from when you touched him.

“Are you guys ready?!”

There’s a chorus of cheers from the kids. You can practically feel the excitement coming from them. They’ve been looking forward to this experiment for well over a week.

“Okay okay! Everyone stands behind the line!” You call, and the class scrambles back so they’re standing behind the white line you had taped down in the grass.

“Okay! On three everyone, one…two…thr—ow!” You feel a tiny pinch on your neck. Instinctively, you swat at your neck and see a dead honey bee lying in your palm.

“Ooh Miss. (L/N) it stung you!”

“Are you okay Miss. (L/N)?”

“Did it hurt?”

The kids have surrounded you now, and are talking over each other, their voices filling with concern and worry.

You hold up the small dead bee, trying to reassure your students. “I’m okay, it was just a tiny bee.” You assure them, but it doesn’t do much to ease the worried looks on their faces

You can feel a small bump forming where you got stung, already starting to hurt and burn.

“Why don’t you guys go count down from 10 in the line? You still get to see the big boom.” You shoo them into the row, all of them giving you concerned glances on the way.

As they count, you crave to find some sort of relief for your neck. It had started to hurt more than you expected, and it felt like the spot where you were stung was even starting to throb a bit.

“2...1!!!” You hear from the class as they finish their countdown. Your eyes widen in anticipation as you wait for the explosion from the small baking soda and vinegar volcano.

And sure enough, there is an explosion and a burst of purple lava-like foam from the vinegar and baking soda concoction. The kids cheer in excitement, pointing at the display before them.

You’d probably enjoy watching the joy on their faces more if you weren’t still struggling with the pain in your neck.

Something…something’s wrong.

You put a hand to your neck, rubbing it slightly, as the kids continue to gaze excitedly at the mess they just caused. Something was starting to feel off…and not just in your neck. The pain and the burning sensation from the sting was starting to grow and intensify, feeling as if it was running through your entire body. The pain in your neck is now excruciating, and you swear you can feel your chest start to get tighter.

You start to feel dizzy, the kids becoming a blur before your eyes. The noise around you is starting to become muffled and everything seems to be spinning a bit too fast.

“Call—call for help…” That's when everything goes black.

When you finally come to, everything is a haze at first. The first thing you become aware of is the beeping noise piercing your ear and the strong smell of antiseptic.

It takes a moment for your eyes to focus and actually look around. Once your vision adjusts, you become aware of the white walls around you, the sterile equipment. You’re in a hospital.

Flashes of what happened slowly start to return to you. You remember doing the science experiment with the kids, the bee, the pain, and then...nothing.

You lay there, (e/c) eyes staring up at the white ceiling, the memory of the kids running through your mind. Your heart almost stops. How are the kids?! Are they okay? They must have freaked out when you passed out.

The need to know if they’re okay overpowers you, and you push yourself up in the bed, the beeps from the heart monitor quickening in pace as you try to sit up, only to immediately be stopped by a firm voice

“Woah there, woah. You should probably stay still, you got some pretty strong drugs in you.”

Your eyes dart to the sound of the voice, and suddenly Eddie is standing there to your right, looking down at you, a concerned look on his face.

“E-Eddie…?” You say, unable to hide the surprise from your voice. He’s the last person you expect to see in the hospital room.

Why was he here?

“Yeah, it’s me.” He says, a soft comforting look on his face. He steps closer to the bed now, stopping right by the side of it, looking down at you. You swear you see him swallow a lump in his throat, “How are you feeling?”

You’re about to make a sarcastic remark about the strong pain meds that are currently running through your system, but the look on his face stops you. The concern and the worry that’s present is more than any casual parent should have, and it surprises you.

“Okay…I think. I’m a bit fuzzy right now, and my neck hurts a bit.”

He nods slightly, his eyes roaming your face, checking what you assume he can in the state you’re in. “Well that’s to be expected…ya know it was me and the rest of the 118 that responded to the call.”

He’s standing so close now, his body practically towering over you. A small lump forms in your throat at the revelation that it was him and his team that had responded to the call, it was them who had probably saved your life…he was probably the one who had saved you.

Eddie reaches a hand out now, almost as if he’s going to touch you but hesitates last minute, letting it drop to his side. He looks unsure, a strange look for the usually confident man.

“The, uh, the kids are safe,” he says, and a sense of relief washes over you. “There was some…chaos once you passed out, a few of them started crying, but they’re okay now, Buck was able to calm most of them down.”

“I-I just, I wanted to check on you.” His voice is low and quiet, you’d almost think he’s uncomfortable. And then it hits you. This man, this man who stands before you, a wall of muscle and toughness, actually looks almost nervous. It's endearing and sweet...and strangely attractive.

“Listen,” he spares a glance out into the hallway of the hospital, “I’ve gotta go, but when you get released…you really should let me take you out.”

His words are so unexpected that you think you actually hear him wrong. But it’s not a dream at all, or the meds that are running through you. Eddie looks at you, a soft, pleading look on his face, as he waits for your answer.

For a moment you’re so shocked that you can’t even speak. Eddie’s already got your head spinning at the best of days, the fact that he's asking you out right now is almost too much for you to process. In a weak moment, you’re tempted to just give in…but you can’t.

“I—I can’t…” you practically whisper, and the expression on Eddie’s face is almost enough to make you change your mind. He looks like a puppy that’s just been kicked. “I-I appreciate the offer Eddie…but we both know it’s not a good idea.”

He looks down at the ground, the disappointment present on his face. He nods his head slightly as if to agree with you, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to. He clenches his jaw, and swallows, looking back up to you, the pleading look in his brown doe eyes slightly stronger now.

“I-okay.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from taking it back, from telling him that yes, yes you’ll go out with him. You watch as he stands there for a moment longer, wanting to say something else, but stops himself, turns away, and leaves the hospital room.

You feel your heart sink as he leaves, a feeling of guilt and disappointment washing over you. You know that your reasons for saying ‘No’ are good ones—great ones! But still, as he walks off…

You already regret saying it.

VI.

This…this is violating so many different ethics laws.

you hastily walk down the street, “Oh my god, I’m gonna lose my job for this.”

So what if went back to your emergency forms and got the Diaz’s address? It’s not like it makes you a stalker.

…right?

as much as you try and tell yourself, you know you shouldn’t be doing this, and yet no part of you wants to stop.

You’re so lost in your thoughts, that it’s a miracle you don’t miss the street where Christopher lives. Walking on, you suddenly feel a drop of rain splash against your face.

Looking up at the sky, you see black clouds moving in rapidly, “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

As you turn the corner, you see the street numbers slowly rising as you get closer to the one that matches Christopher’s house. Your heart is racing, and you start walking even faster, the rain starting to come down in heavy sheets.

Once you finally reach Christopher’s house, you stop, staring at the front door. All the doubts that have been nagging at you in the back of your mind start to come back in full force.

You shouldn’t be here.

And yet, you are.

You take a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare yourself to knock on the door. You’re already so far down this rabbit hole, might as well dig deeper, right?

With a trembling hand, you reach up and knock on the door, the sound of the rain getting louder as the moments pass. You hold your breath as you wait for an answer, feeling every second tick by.

The seconds feel like minutes, and the rain starts to get worse, until finally, you hear the door unlocking.

The door swings open, and Eddie stands there, his eyes widening in obvious surprise as he sees you standing there. The rain is falling faster now, and you can feel the cold drops hitting and drenching your clothes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eddie asks, the confusion obvious in the tone of his voice. You look like a complete and utter drowned rat, hair soaked, body starting to shiver. How long had you been standing out in the rain for?

“I want you to go out with me!” You shout over the heavy rain.

Eddie’s expression morphs into almost complete shock, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging open. He stares at you, clearly not having expected that at all. You stand there, looking up at him, and your face is drenched with rain, water dripping from your hair and running down your face, but you don’t care, because all you can focus on is the man in front of you as you nervously ramble.

“I-I completely understand if you don’t want to. You’ve asked me out so many times and I’ve turned you down repeatedly, but after the other day I-i just couldn’t—“

You’re cut off mid-sentence as Eddie surges forward, his body almost colliding with yours as he pushes himself against you. The kiss takes you by complete surprise, and you don’t react for a moment, but you soon find yourself kissing him back. You can feel your heart thump against your chest as his lips continue to press against yours.

This is what you’ve craved for what seems like forever now. The feeling of his lips on yours, the taste of him. The cold rain doesn’t even register, all that registers to you is him. The feeling of his body pressed against you as his lips move against yours has you feeling a high you never have before.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Eddie pulls back slightly. The two of you are both a mess, breathing heavily, hair soaked, and clothes sticking to your bodies. But all Eddie is focused on is you.

He stares down at you, his eyes roaming your face, “You…you really want to go out with me?” he says incredulously, his voice low, barely able to be heard over the rain. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks out across your face.

“yes.”

A look of complete surprise and happiness crosses his face at your answer. Eddie’s hand comes up to cup the side of your face and for a moment the two of you are silent, staring at each other, taking everything in.

Until a shiver wracks throughout your body, cold from being out in the rain.

Eddie’s eyes dart down to your form. Concern flashes across his face as he looks down at your clothes, which are now drenched and sticking to you. “Jesus Christ…you’re soaked.” He says, his eyes roaming over you once more

“I could say the same for you.”

He chuckles, reaching out and grabbing one of your hands; rubbing it between his in an attempt to warm you up.

“Let’s get you inside. You’re gonna get sick out here,” He keeps a grip on your hand as he leads you into the house, shutting the front door behind the two of you.

“then…we can talk about where I finally get to take you for this date.”

#911 x reader #911 abc #eddie diaz #eddie diaz x reader #911 #911 imagine #911 oneshot #eddie diaz fanfiction #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz fluff #eddie diaz imagine #911 eddie #911 fanfic

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flowerfreya · 5 months ago

Text

The Office AU

This is part 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Just getting some more backstory for the reader and the boys as well. I’m trying to make it interesting but if it feels like to much filler let me know pleaseee

Poly!141 x reader

Content: reader backstory , and they have a girlfriend???!!!

He sees you before you see him and that is because you're taking a nap at your desk, your head down with sunglasses on, at least that's what he thinks. All the lights are off because they are motion sensored and when Simon comes in because of course he is the first one here the lights turn on. You shoot straight up sunglasses askew.

“Morning”

“Good morning Simon” You smile nervously. “ I got here at 6 am so I just took a quick cat nap before everyone came in and I had an alarm set for 7:30 before everyone came in but it looks like we have an early worm”. You’ve changed from the sunglasses to your regularly prescribed glasses, standing up with your makeup bag.

“Why did you get here at 6 am?”

“Oh, my boyfriend gets here at 6am and you know only one car”, you shrug like it's a normal occurrence. He just lets out a hum and just sits at his desk and you walk to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

By the time everyone comes in, you're ready for the day. You greet everyone with a smile and wave.

Simon stands up, which you don’t normally see, “Need to talk to you”, as he walk to John. Simon shuts the door after entering and you're a bit nervous that he's going to tell you about sleeping and you're trying not to stare but you can’t help it, you really need this job. Soap comes up to your desk and peaks over, “Did you get anything from TJ Maxx, Hen?”.

“You know about that?”

“Aye”

“Ha, well I never got a chance to go, but maybe this weekend”, you don’t say because when you got home you had to do all the chores that didn’t happen when you were at work and then you were so tired, you did your skincare and knocked out. He questions why you didn’t go and respond with a basic one liner, you know life. You look up at him and smile , he opens his mouth and looks like he’s about to say something and John’s door opens back up , only Simon leaving and John's voice carrying out in the office building calling your name, “Let me see you in here” . You move quickly half thinking your going to get fired and take a seat and instead of word vomiting like you did before you just sit there and wait.

John sighs and shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to ask,“Love, why are here so early” .

Your so embarrassed about your car situation and how it’s already affecting your new job, “Me and boyfriend, only have one car so I have to ride with him and his shift starts at 6am so that’s why”

“One of the guys are me can pick you up on the way to work, if you want”

“Oh no , I don’t mind getting up early unless you mind me being here early…..” you trail off , hoping that this won’t be such a big deal.

“It’s fine, bird. Just don’t want you to go sleep on us waking up that early and working is hard”

“Oh no, I’m good. I just take a nap before everyone gets here, if that's okay, I don’t charge it on my time card”.

“That's not what I'm worried about”. You look away , not sure what to say and your eyes fall to his desk. He has around 20 challenge coins that look like from his time in the military. You see pictures with all the boys , some in uniform , some in just civvies, but they all look happy and so close it makes your heart hurt. You decide to change the subject.

“How long have you known the boys?”, you ask, gesturing toward the pictures.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled,”I feel like I’ve known them forever”. He sounds so fond of them and you can see the connection between them from the few days you’ve worked there. You're about to ask another follow up question but then you are interrupted by a knock and then the door opening.

“John”, a woman exclaims loudly and hops around the desk and gives him a kiss. It's a giant kiss. Somehow also…wet. Unprofessional. You know your mouth is open and you are staring but like what else are you supposed to do.

“Kelly, the door was shut, that means I was in a meeting. You know that.” ,he says in a low voice.

“Honey, I didn’t see her the-” , you cut her off ,” Oh,no I was just leaving“. You stand up and attempt to push in the chair but it doesn’t fit under the desk, so now everyone is looking at you attempt to push in a chair that you actually can’t. “Okay, I’m just going to go, do you want it open or shut?”, you ask.

They both say the opposite answers at the same time. You look between the both of them. “Uhhh”, you don’t even know who this woman is and what she is to tell and how much pull she has in the office.

“Open.”, John states matter of factly.

You’ve been sitting at your desk for around 20 minutes. You haven’t done that much work because the door is shut , the blinds are closed and you wonder what they are doing in there and its distracting you. You message Soap.

>>come here.

Soap looks up at you with eyebrows raised. You motion your head in a come here motion. He leans against your desk, “Aye, hen” , you try to make sure your tone doesn’t sound like a crazy lady, “who is Kelly”, and maybe you shouldn’t have ask because he stiffens up and avoids eye contact with you and hmmms.

“Oh, nevermind you don’t have to answer”, you add a chuckle to end as to not be awkward and look down at your keyboard.

Speak of the devil and she will appear , Kelly steps out of the office and see’s Soap and gives him an intimate hug, she knows his body she’s done this before. “I’m going to go to the annex and say hi to Gaz”, Kelly mentions as she moves toward the back of the office.

You see it for what it is, they share. Which is fine you do not judge on relationships but you don’t know what you thought was going happen between Soap or Johnny or even Simon like you have a boyfriend for christ sake.

Your boyfriend comes in, hes in a good mood. He wants to go out for dinner , he of course picks the place. Your just happy you don’t have to cook. Your shutting down your computer, putting on your jacket and getting you lunch box. You wish them a goodnight. John comes out of his office, “Everything, okay”, you nod your head and smile. It doesn’t matter anyway. Your happy. Your so fucking happy so it doesn’t matter anyway.

They “break up” with Kelly that night. They do it at a nice restaurant and do it immediately so she won’t get any other ideas. Simon doesn’t say anything, he knows Kelly only put up for him because they are a package deal. She of course ask why and John take points and lets her down gently but firmly. Then they get up and brainstorm how to get their Hen.

#task force 141 #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #captain john price #soap x reader #gaz x reader #johh price x reader #poly!141

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ironstrange1991 · 1 month ago

Text

The Healing Touch

Pairing: Stephen!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The Reader has a terrible headache and Stephen goes full doctor mode to take care of her

Word Count: 4,1k

A/N: This fic is total self indulgent. The entire medical part is based on my experience with the worst headache I've ever had in my life. I had to take something positive from the whole situation. Hope you guys like it and have a nice reading ;)

You had never had such a bad headache in your entire life. It was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes and prevent you from working. It had all started with an allergy attack due to the renovation work in the office building where you worked. Even taking the anti-allergy medication you were used to taking, things only got worse and soon your airways were completely blocked and you had an incessant cough that made you want to vomit your guts out.

But things got worse when you woke up on Friday with a headache that simply wouldn't go away no matter how many painkillers you took. The persistent pain got worse over the days, reaching its peak on Monday morning. When you woke up, you simply couldn't open your eyes, and when you tried to get up, your head hurt with a piercing throb that made you sit down again and fall into silent tears.

It was a nightmare. Stephen was on mission and you hadn't been able to talk to him in the last few days. You were practically married to a doctor, but you couldn't count on him to help you when you needed it most and that only made you cry even more, giving in to despair.

After a few minutes you forced yourself to get up and staggered to the bathroom where you forced yourself into the shower, hoping that the cold water would somehow help you, but there was no improvement. As you were changing your clothes, feeling dizzy from the strength of the pain and the throbbing in your forehead, you decided that you would take a taxi and go straight to the hospital. By that point, your anxious mind was already telling you that you had a brain tumor.

You were slowly walking down the stairs, each step you took making your head ache even more, when you heard the familiar hiss of a portal opening in the entrance hall. You didn't feel excited, already imagining it was Wong and the light coming from the windows and the door barely allowed you to open your eyes to see anything, but then you heard a baritone voice informing you that it was Stephen who had arrived.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?" His voice was a big relief, although it sounded extremely worried and as if by magic - which it was - he was by your side, helping you to put your arm around his neck and picking you up. He quickly went downstairs and took you to the nearest sofa in the main hall and knelt in front of you. Cloaky let go of his shoulders and flew nervously across the room, stopping behind the sofa and watching you.

Stephen's presence, although a relief, made you succumb to tears again.

"Hey, Y/n, look at me, tell me what's going on, you look pale. What are you feeling?" He asked, going into full doctor mode and forcing your eyes open so he could examine them.

"My head is exploding." You finally managed to speak. "It's been hurting since Friday, but today it's unbearable, Stephen. I can't handle the pain."

Stephen conjured a small flashlight to examine your pupils and then hummed to himself looking relieved. "The pupils are normal. That's good. Can you follow my finger, please?" He asked, raising his index finger to the level of your eyes and directing it to the left and then to the right slowly. You followed the movement with your eyes to which he praised.

"Very good. Now tell me how many fingers you see." He asked, showing you three fingers.

"Three."

"Very good. And now?" He showed you one finger.

"One."

"Good. One more time. How many fingers?" He asked, closing his fist.

"None."

He nodded, sighing in relief. But the small wrinkle that always appeared between his eyebrows was still there.

"How is your vision? Can you see perfectly or is it blurry? Any black spots or spots of light?"

You shook your head. "I can see, but I can't keep my eyes open because the light makes it hurt even more." You whimpered. "The pain is too bad, Stephen. I don't know what to do."

Stephen shushed you, putting the small flashlight aside and bringing his two thumbs to your forehead, positioning them just above your eyebrows and pressing them there in circular motions.

"Fuck." You hissed.

"I hit the spot, didn't I? Here is where it hurts the most?"

You nodded. "And inside of my eyes and on my cheeks. It feels like my whole face hurts. Even my teeth."

He hummed positively but remained silent, moving his fingers from your forehead to your cheekbones and down to the joint of your jaw, putting some pressure there.

"It hurts so much, Stephen. What if I have a brain tumor? Or... or an aneurysm? What if I have an aneurysm?" Your voice was getting shakier and shakier, and heavy tears fell from your eyes. "I don't want to die, Stephen. I don't want to." You said, clinging to him and hiding your face in his neck as you gave in to crying again.

Stephen wrapped you in his arms, one of his hands stroking your hair as he shushed you. "You're not going to die, sweetheart, and you don't have an aneurysm or a brain tumor." He said, trying to reassure you.

"But it hurts too much." You whimpered.

"I know. I'll make it stop. I promise. I'm here now. But you need to let me go so I can go to the drug store to get your medication."

But the idea seemed absurd to you and instead of letting him go, you tightened your arms around him even more, which made him grunt softly and pull your hands away gently.

"What you have is called sinusitis. It's a serious inflammation of the airways that causes secretions to build up in this region here." He explained, pulling you away enough so he could illustrate what he was saying. He ran his index finger along your cheekbones and above your nose. "Because of the inflammation, you feel pain here." He continued moving his finger down to your jaw. "That's why your teeth hurt too." You nodded.

"But why does my head have to hurt so much? I don't understand." You asked, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand.

"Because the inflammation causes the facial muscles to tense up, which causes all the pain." He explained, standing up, but you held his hand tightly.

"Don't leave me alone. Please."

Stephen sighed. "I really need to go, love. The sooner you get your medication, the faster you'll get rid of the pain. Isn't that what you want?" He asked and you nodded, but kept holding his hand anyway.

"I had an idea. What if Clocky stays with you while I go, huh? Do you think that's a good idea?"

Before you could even answer, you felt the sentient relic moving excitedly behind you.

"It really loves you, you know?" Stephen insisted and you finally let go of his hand and watched him gesticulate with his head for the relic to come closer. Cloaky quickly flew over the couch and wrapped you in a comfortable hug. One of the things you loved about it - besides the fact that it was a magical piece of clothing that had thoughts and feelings just like Aladdin's carpet and you thought that was amazing - was that it smells like Stephen.

The warmth and soft touch comforted you somehow and you leaned against the back of the couch and curled your legs up trying to get as comfortable as possible.

"That's great, sweetie. I'll be back in a minute. I promise." He said and with a quick gesture of his fingers his robes were exchanged for jeans and a shirt and he walked quickly towards the door.

...

Stephen hated waiting in line. He had always been impatient, but ever since he learned the mystic arts he simply couldn't accept that there were things he couldn't solve with magic. Sure, he could open a portal and get the medication he needed, but that would be stealing and he considered himself an honest enough guy to do that. So there he was waiting in line at the checkout with a basket in his hand, waiting for the woman to pass the purchases of the person in front of him with an almost deliberate slowness while everyone in the drug store continued to stare at him in the strange way that everyone else stared at him when they recognized him.

When it was finally his turn, the woman named Katia looked at him with a sour face and said in a tedious manner, "Prescription, please."

Stephen sighed, "I don't have a prescription. I'm a doctor. The medication is for me." He lied shamelessly.

The woman cast a suspicious look at the basket and then at him. "I'll need to see your license."

Stephen sighed, letting his irritation show. "Come on, you know who I am. Everyone knows I'm a doctor."

"I'll need your license, sir."

Stephen sighed, taking out his wallet and opening it with difficulty because his hands were shaking more then usual. He took the document and showed it to her, then put it back.

"That's 145 dollars." She said, finally putting the boxes inside a plastic bag and handing it to him.

"Keep the change for the wonderful service." He said ironically, handing her the money and finally leaving the drug store and returning to the usual movement of Manhattan.

When Stephen finally returned home, it seemed like it had taken hours, but it had only been 25 minutes. He found you still in the same position, cuddled with Cloaky and with your eyes closed. He quickly moved his fingers, closing all the curtains in the room and approaching.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I tried to go as fast as I could..." He said and Cloaky gently pulled away from your hold and flew up the stairs.

He sat down next to you and conjured a glass of water and handed it in your hands while he opened the medication boxes and took out the pills and put in your hand.

"This is an anti-inflammatory, this one is an antibiotic and together they will cure the inflammation and relieve the tension."

You nodded, putting the two pills in your mouth and swallowing them with a sip of water. He couldn't help but smile at the fact that you didn't question him, just trusted him completely. He knew that a big part of that trust was because you loved him, but an important part was because you trusted him as a doctor and Stephen missed that. He missed being a doctor, having people's trust in that way and feeling good about being able to save a life or help someone in that way.

"This one is for the pain. It's a strong painkiller and should take effect within a few minutes. It will make you drowsy, though."

You took the pill and threw it in your mouth, swallowing it quickly while you poured the glass of water. Stephen smiled tenderly, taking the glass and placing it on the coffee table. Then he took a small bottle from the bag and opened it, showing you how to use it. "This one you spray twice in each nostril, and it will help decongest your nose and make you breathe better."

But instead of taking the bottle from his hand, you just got closer to him and put your head forward, waiting for him to apply the medicine to you. Stephen let out a small chuckle, feeling his chest get warm. You were so cute. Even in that situation that wasn't the least bit funny, you managed to be extremely adorable.

"There you go." He said, finishing the application of the medicine and putting them all back in the bag and placing the bag on the table. "Now come here." He asked, stretching out his arms so you could snuggle into his chest. “I think you need cuddles.”

He hugged you, gently resting his chin on the top of your head. "I'm sorry I wasn’t here for you, sweetheart. I hate these missions sometimes, especially when we can't communicate." He confessed. Deep down he was feeling extremely guilty about the situation, even though he knew it wasn't his fault. If he had been there, he would have diagnosed the problem sooner and spared you so much pain. After all, what was the point of dating a doctor if you couldn't count on him when you needed him most?

"You're here now. That's all that matters." You answered, lifting your head to look at him and it broke his heart to see your eyes red with tears like that. He cupped your cheek gently. "Can I kiss you? I heard that getting a kiss from me is the best medicine for sinusitis." He joked, managing to get a small smile from your lips.

"Kiss me all you want then." You said with a tired smile and he giggled, kissing you softly on the lips and then giving small kisses on your cheeks, on the tip of your nose, finishing on your forehead.

You hummed softly. "I love you, Steph." You said, laying your head back on his chest.

"And I love you, sweetheart. More than you can imagine." He confessed and you hummed again, but remained silent and he respected your silence. He knew that the pain you were feeling wasn’t small. Sinus headaches could be extremely painful, and you had endured it for as long as you could without asking for help. He only wished you had gone to the hospital sooner. He hated seeing you in pain.

...

You didn't realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up to the sound of soft voices talking. Stephen hadn't moved a muscle apparently, possibly to avoid waking you up, but now he was talking to someone.

"I'm glad she's okay now. Give her my best wishes when she wakes up." You heard Wong's voice and kept your eyes closed. The excruciating pain had passed, but your head was still sore and there was still a slight throb above your eyebrows.

"Are you going back to Kamar Taj yet?" You heard Stephen ask.

"Yes. Lots to do as usual. I'll let you rest for the night, Stephen. We'll talk tomorrow morning. Send me an update on Y/n when she wakes up." And as soon as he finished speaking, you heard the squeak of the portal opening and closing and then silence followed only by the sporadic sound of cars passing by on the street.

When you finally opened your eyes, you were surprised to find the Sanctum plunged into darkness. A single lamp was on, emanating a dim light from the kitchen. You had no idea how many hours you had slept, but you were completely dizzy, probably due to the effect of the medicine. You yawned and rubbed your eyes slowly, noticing that the pain behind them had also diminished considerably. Stephen moved slowly and then stroked your hair.

"Are you awake, sweetheart?" His voice was hoarse and heavy with sleep, which made you wonder if he had fallen asleep too.

"What time is it?" You asked softly.

"Almost nine." He answered. "You've slept for almost ten hours."

You rubbed your eyes again and then looked at him in surprise. "You've been here this whole time?"

"I left you in Cloaky's care so I could shower and eat, but I basically spent the day on this couch. I ended up falling asleep too, which is a rarity. I woke up to Wong calling me and asking for a book."

You smiled to yourself. "I'm glad you got some rest too."

He hummed positively. "How are you feeling? Better, I hope."

You nodded, slowly lifting your head to look at him now that your eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

"My head is sore, hurts a little, but the excruciating pain is gone."

Stephen smiled, cupping your cheek and stroking it slowly with his thumb. "That's great. But I'm afraid you'll need to take another painkiller now to give the anti-inflammatory time to kick in before the pain starts to come back." He explained.

"But if I take another one of those I'll sleep for another ten hours." You complained, to which he shook his head.

"I think a Tylenol will do for now. I'll get it for you." He said, threatening to get up, but you held him in place and cupped his face.

"Stay. Just a minute more."

He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'll be back in a moment."

You let him go reluctantly, but took the opportunity to sit up. Your body was limp and you felt like you were slightly drunk, so you avoided getting up. Suddenly you saw your bag on the coffee table and remembered that you hadn't even texted your boss, but before you could think to do so, Stephen was back answering the question you hadn't even voiced.

"I called the office and told them you were sick. You're staying home tomorrow too, by the way. Doctor's orders."

You nodded, watching him approach. He was wearing gray pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair, always impeccable, was messy and a few strands fell over his forehead. He looked handsome as always, but you couldn't help but notice a nasty cut on his cheek that you hadn't noticed before.

"You're hurt." You said as he sat down next to you, handing you a Tylenol pill and picking up the empty glass on the table and handing it to you. With a simple gesture of his hand, the glass filled with water.

"It's nothing. Drink it."

You obeyed, and the whole time he looked at you with tenderness in his eyes, but the crease between his eyebrows was still there.

"I'm fine, Stephen. Really."

He nodded, taking the glass from your hand and placing it back on the table.

"Seeing you in pain was a horrible experience, Y/n. It made me think that I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, and I'm not just talking about illnesses. The work I do, the things I deal with are extremely evil. It makes me think about the risk you run by living with me."

You smiled, trying to ignore what he was saying, but deep down you knew he was right. Living in the Sanctum with the Master of the Mystic Arts was a risk, but one you were willing to take because you loved him. "Let's not think about that." You simply said. "I'm fine and you came back from your mission safe and sound. That's all that matters."

He nodded, taking your hand in his and promptly changed the subject. "You need to eat something before taking the next dose of medication."

"Pizza." You asked immediately, which made him giggle.

"I was thinking about a salad..."

"I thought I was going to die today from a brain tumor. Fuck the salad, I want pepperoni pizza with lots of cheese and chocolate ice cream for dessert."

Stephen smiled broadly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Whatever you say. I'll order and while we wait, I'll help you take a shower. What do you think?"

You nodded. "I don't think I can stand up on my own to do it anyway. Whatever you gave me made me totally dizzy."

"I told you it was strong, didn't I? But the important thing is that it took the pain away."

You nodded. "Thanks for taking care of me, Steph."

"That's what you do when you love someone, isn't it? You've taken care of me so many times, sweetheart. I lost count of how many times you patched me up after I came back from a mission. That’s what people who love each other do."

You smiled "I really do love you."

...

Stephen had never seen you eat pizza so eagerly and then devour two bowls of ice cream. It was cute. Even your childish palate was something he found adorable about you. He ate four slices of pizza himself and found himself having seconds of dessert, which he rarely did. After a day like the one you had, he was sure you both deserved the comfort of the food.

Finally, you got ready for bed and ended up in bed with the lamp on, giving the room a low, comfortable light.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked to confirm, but it was clear from the look in your eyes that the medication was taking effect.

"Better. I barely feel any pain, but my head is still sore."

He caressed your face, watching you settle into the pillows next to him. "It's normal after such intense pain. You'll be better tomorrow."

You smiled, biting your lower lip and making that little face you always did when you wanted something, but you didn't say anything, you just brought your hand to his hair, tangling your fingers in it and scratching gently. Stephen closed his eyes, indulging in the touch and only then noticing how tired he was. The mission had been energetic, it had been a really hard few days that had taken a lot out of him physically and although he had managed to sleep for an hour or two, he could feel the exhaustion taking over him.

"Hm, it feels so good." He found himself confessing as he melted into your touch. "I missed you, sweetheart. Every day all I could think about was that I wanted to go home." He opened his eyes to see you smiling sweetly at him and slowly you snuggled closer to him as he automatically reached out to hold you impossibly close.

You cupped his cheek and pulled him to your lips, kissing him slowly, but with a growing desire. "I missed you too. I had plans for when you got back. I wanted to surprise you with a special dinner, but it wasn't possible." You said and he smiled reassuringly.

"Well, even though the day wasn't the most pleasant, it's safe to say we had a special dinner tonight. The pizza was very good." He said smirking.

"But there was something else I wanted to give you when you got back." You said, hooking your leg around his hip teasingly and Stephen soon understood what you were up to, but even though he wanted it as much as you did, he was forced to reason.

"Unfortunately, it's not a good idea, sweetheart, even though I really want it."

You frowned, clearly annoyed. "Why not? After the day I've had, don't I deserve a little affection?"

Stephen nodded with a smile. Of course you did. You deserved everything you wanted and he believed he deserved it too after the mission he had just returned from, but it wasn't always possible to get what you deserved. "Trust me, you do, but I don't want to risk making your headache worse."

You stared at him, not understanding what one thing had to do with the other, and he chuckled, trying to explain in a way that made sense.

"Remember what we talked about the tension in your facial muscles making your head hurt?"

You nodded.

"When we make love and you have a good time, which is always, I hope, the pleasure makes you tense the muscles of your entire body, even those on your face and especially during orgasm, which could lead to an orgasmic headache."

You rolled your lips, trying not to laugh. "Did you just make that up?"

Stephen let out a soft laugh. "Of course not. I'm serious. It's a real problem that you don’t have, but given the sinusitis, orgasm could be a trigger for a worsening of your condition."

You buried your face in his neck, laughing softly, and the sound was very welcome after he had seen you crying in pain earlier. "Believe me, I would never make that up, especially since I'm climbing the walls after so many days without sex."

"It hasn't been that many days." You contradicted him. "But I believe you, as stupid as it may seem. I just hate this fucking sinus thing even more now." You groaned.

"Your treatment will last five days, but after that we will have plenty of time to make up for it, trust me."

You sighed, lifting your head to look at him. "You'll have to make it up to me tonight with lots of kisses."

Stephen smiled. "As many as you want, sweetheart." He said, pulling you back to his lips.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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