#And now the yearning for it has gotten worse!

[always-just-red]

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.  

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly. 

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He���s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

…

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”  

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”  

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d�� rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”    

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.  

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.   

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

[iero]

This morning during my work meeting here in Chicago, I entertained the idea of coming to work here to the employees so I could possibly live here (I fucking LOVE it here) and I meant it as a joke, but they were SOO nice about it! They were like, “We’d love to have you here!” Thinking thoughts… Considering things…

[dreaming-medium]

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse. 

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t. 

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know. 

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 

He never got to see you. 

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair. 

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now. 

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 

Mice would get to it before you did. 

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 

To him too. 

It’s the library where he first met you. 

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 

Absolutely not. 

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 

Your eyes met. He was a goner. 

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today? 

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 

Empty. 

You-less. 

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 

What a moment. 

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 

His throat immediately tightens. 

There you are. You. Beautiful you. 

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 

You turn around with a curious look. 

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it. 

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 

Y/N, please. 

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. 

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 

From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 

Y/N, please. 

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 

He knows everything. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly. 

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day. 

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 

And the worst part? You said yes. 

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never. 

“It’s with me,” he blurts. 

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 

She’s right. What if you don’t? 

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 

Yes, you have. 

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu. 

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 

He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite. 

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops. 

You stop. 

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something. 

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

Your phone rings. 

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have. 

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have. 

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 

The brightest smile stretches over your face. 

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you. 

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 

He wants to kiss you so bad. 

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea? 

Is kissing you the best option? 

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 

But he is. 

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 

He immediately stops. 

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please. 

Slowly, your hand falls from his. 

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him. 

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie. 

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 

Him. You’re talking about him. 

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 

Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 

A sob tears from his throat. 

You grip his hand tighter. 

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks. 

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm. 

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 

You’re still crying. Both of you are. 

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 

All he can do is cry. 

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Housewife!reader

From the request HERE

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Such a good little wife you are to your military husband, ready to welcome him back home after he returns from deployment. This time you've even prepared a meal of all his favorites, but when Simon gets back early than expected and catches you flitting about the kitchen in nothing but his t-shirt, it isn't food that he wants.

Word Count: 6.4 k

Warnings:

Simon has gotten in earlier than either of you expected, but instead of letting you know he doesn’t call, doesn’t text. There are other thoughts on his mind that cloud his judgment and the last thing he thinks about is wasting time focusing on messing with his phone when showing up back home is infinitely better. He’s excited to be back, chomping at the bit to get back his girl as he’s been missing you something terrible. Now that he’s back on home turf, that longing to see you again is only getting worse by the second.  

You had told him your plan for today: you wanted to make his homecoming right by cooking him a nice meal for the two of you as a celebration since he’s been gone for quite a while this round. The gesture is sweet and Simon is getting hungry… the only problem is that it isn’t for food.

He reiterates to himself on the drive back about the promise that he made to you that he would be on his best behavior today. All this trouble you are going to, he wants to be sure to show his appreciation by enjoying the hard work you’ve put in to prepare a dinner of all his favorite things and he plans to keep it by not letting his yearnings get out of hand…at least that is what he hopes.

By the time he pulls up to the house he is over two hours early from when he was meant to land and his pulse is racing as he parks on the driveway. Just a short distance more and he’s back in the company he’s been craving like crazy.

His key clicks in the lock and as he opens the door to his house he is hit by the sights and sounds of familiarity that instantly put him at ease. There are reminders of you everywhere, little touches that make this a place of comfort he looks forward to coming back to after being away. It is the sound of music echoing from the kitchen that urges him to continue forward after he shuts the door quietly, hoping to catch you by surprise. He sets his gear down by the door and creeps silently through the house, the metallic clangs of pots and utensils underneath the music now becoming more prominent as he reaches the source. 

And there you are.

The pupils of those caramel brown eyes dilate as you come into view; it has been too long since the object of his desire was standing right in front of him and fuck, do you look good. He watches you transfixed on the grace of your movements, unwavering gaze following the motions of your body as you go about the kitchen popping from the stove to the countertop singing along with the song playing over the bluetooth speakers. 

This is it, this is his little piece of heaven on earth, his oasis safe from the chaos that is his daily life, his sunshine that pierces through the darkness that clouds his thoughts, and she’s wearing his t-shirt. And only his t-shirt with your panties.

How the hell can you make something so simple look like perfection? He could very well be biased because he only has ever had eyes for you, but fuck your beauty could pull off anything. 

This right here is what keeps him going, knowing that this is what he will come home to.

He pulls his phone from out of his pocket and promptly snaps a picture, wanting to capture this innocent moment of carefree beauty that you exude now that you are alone in your own little world: humming happily to yourself, flitting about the kitchen, his baggy shirt randomly clinging to different curves as you move, your hair tied back into a low ponytail. 

In that moment, looking like you do, he wants you so bad it hurts. Your figure is only a few feet away from his grasp and yet his body is aching in pain still being this far. He has to be wrapped around you and it has to be right now. Moving with haste he pulls off his mask and gloves and discards them on the ground, removing any sign of Ghost so that he cannot taint his sweet thing with the unsavory dealings of his alter ego. He can’t wait, those lips and hands have to be on you the second they can.

Just as you go to stir the pot of vegetables bubbling away on the stove, the music cuts out abruptly and a familiar pair of arms snake their way around your waist from behind, lacing themselves across the middle of your stomach. You jump, not expecting anyone to be against you, but as soon as your eyes catch that forearm full of familiar tattoos you settle. He’s home, that’s all that matters and those nerves that have been brewing inside your chest all day turn into delicious flutters as those large hands begin to roam across your body.

The old familiar curves call to him, beckoning him to travel their paths once again. Who is he to deny them? He does not even wait as his hands paw over your stomach and hips, those large, exploratory hands taking the curves of your body into their embrace over the t-shirt until his grip is so full he can’t contain any more. 

“You’re early,” you say through a smile as you settle back into him, head resting against his shoulder. 

The warmth from his breath is at the edge of your ear as he moves his face in closer while his hands wander with purpose. His lips are ghosting themselves near the delicate skin of your earlobe teasingly until he has you squirming in his arms. "Woulda called, just wanted to get home as fast as I fuckin’ could," he groans as he tightens his grip around you to cause your back to form into the contours of his taut chest. “Had a craving for somethin’ sweet.” 

Pulling up the t-shirt just enough he moves under it with those large hands, splaying them across your soft flesh around your waist, your hips, your stomach as he takes your earlobe in his teeth to nibble at it playfully until it sends shivers down your spine.

“I missed ya, baby,” he says desperately against the side of your head.

"I missed you too," you return. 

The longer he plays up under the shirt, the more your sanity wanes. His touch is ecstasy and after not having it for so long, it is hard to not immediately succumb to its bliss. He’s barely even begun and you are already falling apart; if this keeps up you’ll never finish what you have started on the stove. 

"I wish you would have called,” you say, trying to break the spell, “cause I wanted everything to be done before you got home. I’m not ready, I’m not even dressed. I wanted this to be perfect." 

His lips move from your earlobe and start just below your jaw, making the connection against your skin over and again along the line of your jugular as he descends down your neck with kisses. He pauses against the vein there as his lips pick up the thudding as it pulses under his touch. The more his mouth lingers, the quicker it gets. 

With a smile he nuzzles his nose into your skin as his nostrils fill with your scent; the fragrance fills his head and it feels like he is being consumed. “Don’t need to get dressed,” his words breeze over your neck and down your chest, “ya look perfect just like this. How could I ask for anythin’ more?”

Simon takes the spoon out of your hand and rests it on the counter so that he can turn you around to face him; that stoic military officer is yearning to look into the face of the beauty he hasn't seen in far too fucking long. Meeting your gaze for the first time in months is akin to a contact high and immediately he is out of his goddamn mind as your eyes lock to his.

You are struggling just as badly. It is always a struggle not to miss him like crazy when he’s gone and now that he is back there is so much time to make up for. And the way he looks as he stands here in front of you, hands around your hips, isn’t helping. The universe knew what they were doing when they put Simon together and even though the black around his eyes is already smugged and his crinkled blonde hair is pressed down from being under his balaclava, the sight of him still makes your stomach flip. You are transfixed and it’s getting harder to breathe.

Brown eyes trail down your features to take you all in, drinking up every gorgeous facet of your face as his hands move to cup around the sides of your head like the frame around a work of art. Those eyes that light up whenever they look at him, that sweet mouth always ready with a smile, those soft cheeks glowing whenever he touches you, all of it a unique perfection that he cannot get enough of. Finally his sight lands on your mouth and as if drawn by an overwhelming urge he is compelled to move in.

He has to kiss you; it is suddenly unbearable that he still hasn’t tasted you yet. 

Leaning into your face he gives your lips a peck to test that they still feel the same as he remembers. Pulling back, he catches the sparkle in your eyes that tells him to do that again and he is ready to oblige. Then he steals another and another at an increasing pace until his mouth smashes against yours and latches on, drawing you in as he deepens the connection. 

His tongue meets yours and shoves its way past the barrier of your lips and into the confines of your mouth as he tastes you. Everything comes flooding back all at once and he is overtaken by all that familiarity. The longer the connection lasts the more he loses himself until he is panting into you, sharing one sticky, hot bit of air as his features shape themselves around your own to make your faces become one.

The thick stubble outlining his jaw abrades the skin of your cheeks and around your lips, making your face sting, but you don't want him to pull away. Not yet, not when his lips are making your mind hazy and your limbs tremble as all that tension that has been building for days as you wait for his return bubbles over the surface. 

His desperation is showing as his dick digs itself into your upper thigh, pulsing and throbbing the harder it gets until you cannot ignore it. Each heavy breath pushes his bulky chest against yours until you can feel his rapid pulse rushing angrily through his veins as his heartbeat pounds. 

"You’re gonna be the death ‘a me," he says quietly under his breath as he cannot think of anything else to say in that moment; his mind is too absorbed in the way your kiss is like heaven and he is succumbing to the feeling of it. “I know I said I’d wait til later, but I don’t think I can, sweetheart. It’s been hell without ya.”

At this rate Simon isn’t going to make it to dinner and you’re so close to being done, but maybe there is something you can do to sate him long enough that you can get through this. With a bit of struggle you break the kiss and pull away as he desperately tries to wrangle you back in so that you have to place your hand on his chest to get him to pause.

Giving Simon’s lower lip one last quick nip you slowly lower yourself to your knees before him, your fingers lacing into the leather of his belt as you fiddle with the buckle. “Then how about I give you a little something to keep you satisfied til dinner’s over?” you suggest as you look up at him with those pretty doe-eyes. “Something to make you feel better?” 

His chest heaves up and down with each laborious breath he takes as you jump into unhooking the metal of his buckle and pulling the leather through until the belt hangs loosely around his hips. Your fingers slide down the zipper, but before you can do more his hands press yours into place along the lower portion of his pelvis so that you can’t keep undressing him.

“Ya don’t have to do this,” he mildly protests. Simon knows if you don’t stop he isn’t going to be able to either and this dinner is going to take a detour, though he can’t lie that he wants you to keep going. 

Giving you a look, he waits to see if you stand back up, but you only smile as you pull your hands back out from underneath his. “I want to do this for you, baby,” you reassure, lifting the bottom of his shirt and leaning in to kiss along the light colored patch of hair that trails down into his boxers as you finish undoing his pants. 

How in the hell is someone supposed to resist this? Simon is strong, he would not have gotten far in life if he wasn’t, but not this strong. You reach the waistband of his underwear with your lips and meet the seam with your fingers to pull them down under his ass low enough that you can release his thick, fat cock.

He is hard already, the tip swollen and angry, and the veins running through it visibly throbbing. The inside of your mouth salivates as it remembers the feeling of being stuffed with that girthy appendage. You keep the spit gathered on your tongue as you lean in and open your lips.

Taking the tip of your tongue you trace the head of his cock as your hand at the base keeps his foreskin pulled back. A breathy moan rumbles out from somewhere deep inside his chest, low and guttural as his hips buck and his ass hits into the ledge of the kitchen counter, making his belt jingle from the movement.

“Fuck,” he chokes out as his head falls back and his eyelids momentarily close. “Forgot how that pretty mouth feels ‘round me.”

He can feel a tightening around him as your lips contort into a smile, excited that you can still make that big ol boy come undone with something as simple as your mouth. Clearly he has been just as worked up as you have been for him to get home. As Simon settles back against the countertop with his palm on your cheek, his thumb lovingly strokes the corner of your full mouth as you continue on.

Your lips around him, wet and messy, suck him in until his cock reaches the threshold of your throat. Those pretty eyes of yours lift back up to look into his face, keeping contact as you choke around him, vision swimming with tears while your head bobs up and down in a steady rhythm. Your lips are bright red and swollen from his kiss, your cheeks blossoming with heated color, that lust-drunk look plastered on your face; it all makes up the gorgeous picture. The visual makes his blood pressure rise until his limbs are vibrating with the racing beats of his heart. 

The slurping sounds of your saliva-filled mouth being fucked is punctuated by sparse gags; it hasn’t been this full for a while and it’s going to take some getting used to. Still, you don’t slow your pace, even as his hips begin thrusting against your face the longer you go. It’s like you’d rather suck him off than breathe and goddamn is that a turn-on. 

Simon releases your cheek so that he can rest his hands on the counter behind him. He hasn’t had you like this in so long that it doesn’t take much to overwhelm him now. That pressure deep inside is building to its peak, drawing his body to the edge of its release with each pass of your mouth over him from as far down the base as you can reach back to the tip. His hands grip hard into the surface behind him until his knuckles turn white.

Shit, he is going to come just like he knows you want, but it is at that moment that he realizes that he doesn’t want to just take this quick blow job and be done with you until later. Simon needs you, all of you, under his touch and at his disposal right this fucking second. Suddenly he is pulling out of your mouth and situating his cock back into the confines of his pants as you stare up at him with your head tilted in confusion. 

“What’s…” you start to ask, but before the words can even leave your lips you are being pulled to your feet. He doesn’t say a word as he wipes away a bit of spittle that has dripped from the corner of your mouth, using his thumb to remove it before he kisses you full force again. 

It's too much, too strong an all consuming feeling to stop and so without warning he pulls from you and throws you over his broad shoulder to carry you out of the room in a rush. He is frantic; he needs to have you now and can’t wait to drag you all the way to the bedroom. No, it’s too far.

Scanning around him as his aroused brain tries to find the fastest solution, he spots it. The dining table that you’ve set special for tonight is just a few feet away and he instantly brings you over to it. Dishes clank and clatter, ceramic and glass hitting itself as he hurriedly shoves everything out of his way to make room for your body before setting you on the surface.

"I know you’re not done cookin’, but I’m hungry for somethin' else," he breathes as he sets you down and lays you back. “I need ya now…waited too long for this.”

The movement has caused your shirt to get pulled up off your stomach and the uncovered area catches his eye; more skin that he desperately needs to claim and now. He brushes his fingertips down across your waist and over your navel, past to your lower abdomen until he lightly grazes the seam of your panties. He can feel the goosebumps forming under his touch and he can hear the hitch in your breathing the lower he gets. 

Reaching your sex he cups his wide palm over the mound and applies pressure. It is warm to the touch and he can feel it radiate into his hand. You buck against him, squirming at the unexpected sensitivity with a gasp. All that softness of your body, so delicate to the touch like silk against his skin, it’s too much for him to handle. Simon has had months and months of only rough, coarse, and rugged things from the brutal environment he was forced to endure, but the moment his fingers grace across all that balmy flesh his brain short-circuits.

It’s not just your looks that drive him wild, though. You are the one bit of happiness he keeps separate from the brutality of his work, the sanctuary that he looks forward to coming home to, the calm in his stormy existence. That's why he suggested he take care of the money so you could stay at home, not bother yourself with working, so that the harsh world wouldn't taint your sweet demeanor with its cruelty. And in return you take care of his life, never asking for anything as you make sure everything here runs smoothly.

"You're always takin’ care a me, makin' sure that everything is perfect when I get back home," he says as he gets more worked up. "Now it's my turn to return the favor. Goddammit, I just wanna screw the hell outta my pretty girl until she can’t move."

Firm hands cup against your hips as his fingertips slip between your panties and your warm skin, tangling them in the fabric so that he can pull them down your thighs and off your legs. Your bare petals faintly glisten as he gets a peak at them through the tight space between your legs, a product of his minimal touch already working on your body; nice to know he still has that effect on you no matter how much time you’ve spent apart. He slides his hands between your thighs, parting them easily as a knife in warm butter, until his hand is deep enough that he can stop and separate them so that the gap is wide and his body can easily fit in between.

"All this for me?” he asks as he stares like an animal starved at your pussy, mouth salivating to play. "Bet you’ve been achin’ somethin’ terrible since I left. Do ya need me ta fix that?”

“Yes,” you breathe.Your body is radiating with the intensity of every sensation that courses through your limbs like an electrical current everywhere Simon touches you.

“That’s a good girl,” he says as he glides his hand up so his fingers can part through the lips of your pussy.

Two of those thick fingers slide between the petals of your sex towards your entrance, gathering as much of your slick as he can on his digits. Carefully he teases them around the rim of your core, circling it through the dampness gathering in your slit. “One or two?” he asks as your back arches off the table, the stimulation driving you to the brink of insanity; it’s been too long since you’ve felt his fingers there.

You swallow hard. “T-two,” you beg. At this point, any amount will work as long as they are his and as long as they get inside you.

“Oh sweetheart, that’s what I like ta hear,” he praises as he aligns his fingers with your opening and slowly fits those two long fingers inside and up into you. “Fuck, there ya go. Just breathe for me, that’s it. Let your body do all the work and take ‘em in.”

They slip up further into your cunt and with a slow pace he begins to pump in and out of you while the overwhelming pressure causes you to arch your back up off the table. Instinctively, your hips buck against his hand, trying to make as much contact with him as possible. 

Those long, coarse fingers curl inside you continuously as his heavy palm rests over top of your sex to put pressure so that he can make more contact and cause more friction with your G spot as his thumb nestles against your clit. Your body writhes against the table, your head falling back with eyes closed as the twinges of pleasure spring up your spine and Simon is grinning from ear to ear to see he still knows how to work his sweetheart just the way she likes.

As he watches you fall apart to the stroking of his fingers, from the corner of sight he catches it: that bounce at the top of your torso under the shirt. It’s as if he suddenly remembers about those beautiful breasts as they rebound with his strokes and out of a drunken haze he is consumed by the need to see them.

Pushing the bottom of your shirt up over your chest, it’s revealed that you don’t have on a bra and his breath hitches to see those perky tits he’s been dreaming of burying his face in staring right back at him. Fuck, he can’t stop himself from getting at all that juicy meat and quickly he leans over you with a groan from the table so that he can reach you with his mouth. Lightly he grazes his teeth over the delicate skin of your nipple to make the little bud grow hard under the sharp contact.

"Oh God, Simon," his name falls from your lips in a breathy prayer.

The sweet sound of his name being spoken in such a desperate way only spurns him on; he needs to hear it as many times as he can make you repeat it, especially after not being able to hear it at all while he was gone. "Say it again," he demands, never lifting his face from your breasts, just switching sides periodically to get them both engaged.

His tongue flicks at the hardened nipple and it makes you whimper as the stimulation runs down your body like liquid fire until you can feel its effects radiating in your clit each time his thumb strokes over it. You know that he wants you to say his name again, but you don’t know if you can. It’s too much stimulation that you are losing your ability to speak.  

"Simon," you say as your voice shakes.  

His hum of satisfaction vibrates through the tissue of your breast. "Again," he repeats firmly before drawing it fully into his mouth. Latching on he takes as much of your breast as he can fit and sucks down hard. 

“S-simon,” your desperate voice clumsily moans. 

Tiny beads of sweat form along the line of your body as it burns with the intensity of the ecstasy you feel under his expert care. He’s in your head, in the very marrow of your bones; there isn’t a part of you that isn’t consumed by him. Those rough fingers grinding away into your pussy and his mouth on your body all pail in comparison to the way his kiss had felt on your lips. That desperate, consuming, overwhelming kiss is your drug and you need another hit.

Your fingers lace into his short hair and you tug hard to pull him from your chest, only then does he unlatch himself from your breast as you guide him back up to your mouth. Simon’s lips are nearly raw and yet he takes yours as roughly as he had in the kitchen, never slowing the pace of his finger fucking. 

It’s like liquid fire, your kiss, and he sucks down with a hunger that cannot be quenched. The sound of your sloppy lips match the wet slaps currently being produced between your legs. Simon is drunk as his mouth takes and takes and takes, and yet… 

His mouth craves more, another set of lips.

The pad of his tongue makes contact with your clit and you jolt, making the table creak as the over-stimulation sends shock waves through your needy body. You can feel the sigh he releases against you as he begins to suck on the nodule of pleasure while flicking it with his tongue; it’s hard to think amongst the staggering overstimulation is leaving you begging and pleading for mercy.

Simon pulls from you amidst your whined protests to drop to his knees before you, giving those thick thighs his attention. His face comes level with your pussy that is absolutely soaked from the work of his fingers and raising your legs to rest your ankles on his shoulders, he dives in. Instantly his face is buried in your heat and as he brushes his tongue through your slit his mouth is filled with your nectar, that tangy burst of flavor that he can not get enough of. It is slathering all over the lower half of his face, coating him from his nose to his chin in the scent of your arousal.

Your thighs squeeze around his head and then release. “I can’t…I-I can’t…” you murmur as you try to move from him.

His mouth releases from you. “Yes, yes ya can, baby. Now, come on my face,” he says fiercely as he grips into the muscle of your hips with all his strength, secures you to his sharp features, and dives right back in like a man starved. 

“F-f-fuck,” you groan as your hands seize the tablecloth in your fists, that coil of pleasure tightening in your stomach tighter with each flick of his tongue. 

Feverish movements against that erogenous button are no longer controlled as he devours all he can, forcing your body towards that ledge to throw you off into ecstasy. He craves it, burns for it, and would die for it: the way you feel, the way you taste, the way your hips writhe against his advances, it all makes him rabid.

As your breath grows shorter and shorter, he knows it's not far; just a bit more suffocation on his part and you will be done in. He moves his face down to tease your hole with his tongue as his nose takes over on your clit. You are so hot it feels like someone has set you on fire as the knot in your stomach gathers to its breaking point. It’s there, right there within reach; just a little more and you are going to come hard and he’ll get his wish. 

Those desperate whimpers quiet all of a sudden and he knows it’s happening; with a few more flicks of his tongue you plunge off the edge with a cry as your thighs clamp down tight around his ears so that he is blocked against you, but that is exactly what he wants. Those seconds after your orgasm shakes through you are his favorite: you writhing uncontrollably over him as he continues to stroke his tongue through you until that high has finally worn off.

Nothing has ever felt better and after not having this for months, it is pure heaven.

It isn’t until you settle down and your legs open back up that he emerges with his face covered in the sticky juices of your cum and his saliva. He is grinning like he has just been given a present, even as he wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand before wiping the slick on his t-shirt.

“Fuckin’ fantastic as always, baby,” he breathes. “But I ain’t done with ya yet. I think we can get at least one more orgasm from ya right now. Come ‘ere.”

He helps your weak body to sit up on the edge of the table to embrace your lips, hoping to reinvigorate you to keep going with the intensity of his desire. You can taste yourself in his kiss, a mixture of sweet and salty that combines with his natural tang to become the flavor of your union. The kiss only lasts a few more seconds, but after just being made to come the exhaustion makes it feel like a lifetime… not that you are complaining.

Pulling from you, he tugs at the crotch of his pants; he can’t wait anymore. “I need ya ta get up and turn ‘round, sweet thing,” he says, guiding you up and rotating you around before pushing you back down onto the table, this time on your stomach. “Gotta get inside. Need ta fill ya.”

The sound of metal jingles as he lowers his pants as his knee pushes against your inner thigh to spread you wider. He releases his cock again and squats down lower so that he can align the tip with your entrance. You can feel it press through the swollen lips of your pussy and you ready yourself for that moment when you’ll be split open.

He can already feel your dampness on his cock as he guides it through and without hesitation he grabs your hips and thrusts inside all the way down to the very base of his cock. Simon instantly bottoms out and needs a second to collect himself; it’s been too fucking long since he’s been inside you and if he isn’t careful he is going to come to quick for him. 

Those rough fingers dig in deeper to your hips as he tries to hold on for dear life. “Goddammit, baby,” he groans. “I’ve missed this.”

His girth stretches your core wide to its limit so that the walls of your cunt can’t help but feel every single detail of his cock: every enlarged vein, the exact curve of it, each and every crease.

It’s like he’s imprinting it with his signature, letting your pussy know that the one it belongs to is home once again.

Hips begin to rock slowly at first and are immediately punctuated by deep-throated groans as he cannot keep himself calm for long no matter how hard he tries. Your body is too much like paradise, so devastatingly amazing that even though he is desperately clawing at his sanity it is slipping through his fingers faster and faster with each thrust like sand in a sieve. Pulling almost completely out of you he slams back into your core down to the base, repeating this over and over with a ferocity that only gets worse. 

Your body rocks, breasts bouncing and bunching the tablecloth as you are pressed into the surface; you can only moan as the uncomfortable fullness becomes euphorically intoxicating. The table squeaks and strains against each plunge of him deeper into your pussy, threatening to break under the force at any second. Plates and silverware clatter to the floor as they are knocked off and yet you do not care. He will just replace them anyway so there is no sense to take yourself out of the moment to worry about it. 

"Ya look so fuckin' pretty with my cock buried in ya," he grunts. "My sweet girl, my good little wife, always keepin' my balls empty. How'd I get so goddamn lucky to marry someone so good, yeah?"

Desperately he grinds harder and harder into you as if he cannot get deep enough, like he cannot fill you full enough. The recoil of your ass as he pounds into you from behind is something he can’t pull his sight from even if he wants to. He is mesmerized, watching himself disappear into the confines of your body only to reemerge more coated in your juices than when he went in. 

“I want ta feel ya pulse around me each letter of my name,” he says as his hand runs down the length of your spine. “Come on, baby, let me fuckin’ feel it.”

You follow his command and flex the muscles in your pelvis. Ten letters isn’t that much, not for him; you do it all for him, anything he asks, anything he needs because you know that he is just as whipped for you as you are for him and this is the way to keep him coming back like a good little pup.

He’s panting like a bitch in heat behind you. “That’s it, fuck, just as that.”

So wet, so tight, the pulsing, the throbbing, the speckles of sweat covering your bodies, his hands grabbing at skin, your hips grinding into him… it’s all too much. “Keep going,” you beg with a shudder. “Fuck, Simon right there.”

You can feel him hitting that sensitive spot inside, his cock pounding over it at the perfect angle, and your limbs tingle as the second coming is fast approaching. There is only one man who can make you come multiple times and it is and always has been your husband. And now his complete possession of your body is almost finished.

“Come on, my pretty girl, gimme another,” he urges enthusiastically as he hears your whimpers get louder while your body trembles. “I know ya have another for me and I fuckin’ want it.”

He pounds into you as if his life is dependent on your orgasm and you steady yourself by gripping onto the edge of the tabletop. The pressure builds and builds, a scourge to your sanity until all at once that bolt of hot electricity shoots through your limbs and your head falls forward with a whine as your second orgasm rockets through you so hard that you are left a mewling mess.

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” Simon growls as he finally allows himself to let go and all that build up, all that pining, all that longing for this moment comes to a head and with a few more hard, deep strokes inside your spasming pussy he too comes undone.

A roar rips through his chest as he pulls out and comes across your back, stroking his hand over his cock until he can milk himself dry. You close your eyes, laying your head down as he finishes and grabs a napkin that sits on the table above your head to wipe the cum off. His limbs feel heavy as he sits you back upright to face him. 

Simon simply stares into your face for a while, letting you both just work to catch your breaths. There are no words that need be said, not between you both. Once he is more calm, he gently pushes a strand of hair off your glistening face and tucks it behind your ear.  

“Ya did so well for me, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, placing a softer kiss on your lips as his heart slows. 

“Always for you,” you return with a smile against his lips. 

As you both stand there in the midst of the afterglow of your euphoria, a smell begins to waft in from the kitchen. It is unmistakably the scent of something burning. You poke your head around him just to be sure there isn’t a fire on the stove before turning back to his face.

“I hope you like your food burnt cause that’s what we’re gonna be having now,” you laugh as he pulls you back in for one more kiss, letting his forehead rest against yours.

“Guess its a good fuckin’ thing I filled up on the first course then,” he says as you tut in fake exasperation. He lowers his voice. “But ya know… if the food’s ruined, maybe we should just go ta bed.”

Something about the way he says it and the glint in his eye as you pull back, it doesn’t sound like you are going to be sleeping anything off.

[indecisivemuch]

The Pact

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Seeing you yearn for a relationship and dejected over the lack of one, Luke Castellan proposes a dating pact. Little did you know, he was going to do more than just wait until the day the pact could happen (friends-to-lovers, fluff, pining, a lot of longing, lowkey jealous luke).

Note: Sort of inspired by Monica and Chandler's pact thing from Friends.

Word count: 3.4k

You were spending some time alone near the lake, trying to enjoy mid summer sunlight as well as the silence from the lack of campers and couples around. For some strange reason, the number of people dating at least tripled in the last three weeks. If you were honest, the sight of happy couples was starting to irritate you.

Your eyes glided through the lines in the novel you were reading, though you could barely get past a few pages before a degree of bitterness seeped through. You set the book down and sighed. Your head leaned against the tree behind you while shutting your eyes and furrowing your eyebrows. 

Oh, if only someone could love you the same way love was portrayed in books.

Before the scowl could grow permanent on your face, you felt light finger tips setting on the crease between your eyebrows. Instead of getting scared, you remained calm. You knew immediately who it was because there was only one person who would do that. The person sat down next to you and you turned to see them already smiling at you. 

To most, Luke Castellan was just the Hermes cabin counselor and best swordsman. But to you, he was a close friend and confidante. He has made it a habit to press softly against your scrunched eyebrows to prevent you from scowling further. It was somewhat sweet to you.

“What’s got you so bothered?” Luke asked, peering at you while tilting his head in a boyish manner. The look alone somehow made you blush. There was no denying that Luke was cute. You knew at least a handful of people at camp who would agree. It honestly surprised you that he was still single. Though you were somewhat relieved at that. For about a year now, you have had a little crush on the Hermes cabin counselor. It was not hard falling for his kind words and sweet actions.

“This is going to sound so stupid…” You let out a deep sigh.

“Oh, come on, since when have I judged you for being stupid?”

“Oh, so you do admit I’m stupid sometimes?”

“Yes, but is that really a problem, considering I find it endearing?” You hope he did not see the way your face heated up at his words. 

Little did you know, Luke did notice it, just like he has always noticed little details about you. Knowing he was the reason behind your pink-tinted cheeks filled his heart with joy. In fact, throughout the last year, it got to the point where he would grow very bold with his flirty jokes, disguising his feelings in between them. Honestly, he was surprised you had not caught up to the truth yet. 

“Okay, well, so many people have gotten together lately, and it’s got me a little bit annoyed.”

“Why?” Luke questioned.

“Because, I want that experience, you know? The teenage love thing. We already have a strange life, fighting creatures and going on quests that could kill us. I just want to at least experience an aspect of a normal teenage life,” you watched him nod and digest your words. “I didn’t want it, want it. But seeing everybody else experiencing it makes me wonder when it will be my turn, you know?” You sighed before adding, “To make matters worse, it seems like nobody is interested in me that way, so…”

Luke almost let out a chuckle of disbelief at your last remark. Oh, many Demigods found you cute. But if only you knew to look right under your nose. He has always been here. If only you could see him how he wanted you to and give him a chance.

Ever since the day Luke Castellan met you, he became a dreamer. During the night, every dream would be of you, while in the morning, he’d daydream of you until he would see you next. You filled in every thought, walking in his mind like it was your home. But even if it wasn’t your place, he’d still give you the keys without hesitation.

“So…you just want to experience teenage love?”

“Well, that, and ideally, to be loved too. I don’t just want some casual teenage love, but at the same time, I’m tired of waiting around.”

A lightbulb practically lit up inside Luke’s head as an idea popped up. The logical part of his mind was yelling that this was a bad idea, though the more chaotic side was pushing him to just give it a shot. Though, he spent little time contemplating.

“What if we make a pact? By the end of summer - so maybe in about a month - if you haven’t started dating anybody…let’s date each other,” Luke blurted out before his mind could talk him into backing out. It was stupid, and he knew it. But if that was one way to potentially date you, then so be it. 

Luke’s heart squeezed when he saw you completely frozen. He started panicking. Maybe he made it too obvious, and perhaps you didn’t like him in that way and were trying to find a way to back out. 

“I mean—just so the both of us could experience teenage love, you know? I think it will be great. We already get along well. We’re good friends. What could go wrong?” Luke tried in a more casual voice.

A lot could go wrong — you thought. A possible thing that could go wrong is that you would fall harder for Luke, and that feeling would absolutely destroy you when you two break up because he finally becomes genuinely interested in another girl. Or, it has you so hung up that you would confess to him, only for him to say that whatever you two had was just a pact. But Gods, your heart must actually be a fool to whisper to your brain, ‘I mean…at least you would no longer have to imagine how it would feel like to be his.’

“Sure,” you said before you could think twice about it. “Deal,” you grabbed his hand and shook it.

“Deal.”

Now…Luke just needed to do a couple more things in the meantime.

During the first week, you asked Clarisse to set you up with somebody. She introduced you to one of her friends, Dean. However, when you mentioned Dean to Luke, he clicked his tongue before warning you.

“I just think you deserve better, Y/N. I’ve known him for five years and have never seen him bring one person on a date twice. Last week alone, he went on a date with five people.” Since then, you haven’t spoken to Dean again, deciding that you don’t want to try and date a playboy.

Two weeks later, you asked this guy on a date. He came to the picnic you had set up with a bouquet of flowers. However, your smile faltered slightly when you realized they were the type of flowers you disliked. You shook the negative thoughts away. After all, it’s the effort that counts.

Things quickly went downhill as the guy started sneezing…a lot. His eyes were watering, and it seemed like he was borderline getting sick. You noticed him trying to stop sneezing. You could feel the guy trying—you really did. But the last straw broke when he turned away to sneeze mid-sentence but didn’t do it fast enough. 

Three days before the day that marked the day the pact would be able to begin, you attended a party hosted by the Hermes cabin. You were honestly done with trying to find someone to date. Perhaps, this pact thing was not such a bad idea after all, even if Luke might not like you as much as you like him. But at least you knew he would treat you well.

However, your numbers must have turned because somebody had walked up to you and struck up a conversation. With similar humor, your jokes bounced off each other’s, and you almost started crying from laughing at one point.

The sound of your laughter caught the attention of the Hermes cabin counselor. Luke could feel his lips slowly curling up into a smile at the sound of your giggles and laughter. He has always found the sound so endearing.

However, when he turned his gaze over at you, his eyebrows scrunched at the sight of you conversing with another Hermes boy — Oscar, who was also one of his friends. Luke was no longer paying attention to the conversation in his circle right now. His ears were busy trying to make out what that boy was saying to make you laugh like that. However, he almost left his friends when you touched Oscar’s arm while giggling at another one of his jokes.

You always tend to physically react to Luke’s jokes, from small touches while laughing to you playfully slapping his arm at his cheekier jokes. They never fail to make the tip of his ears grow red while his cheeks match the same color. Though Luke swore he had never seen you this way with anybody else. Hence, he was less than enthusiastic at the sight of you doing the same with another guy right now. 

You continued talking to Oscar, but your conversation stopped when somebody bumped into Oscar and spilled their drink onto him. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to trip…” the guy who bumped into Oscar apologized.

“Chris, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Oscar said, though a sigh quickly followed his words. “I’ll just go and wash the drink off, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, though?” Oscar looked at you. He smiled when you gave him a sweet nod.

“Sorry again, man,” Chris said before watching Oscar exit the cabin. He turned to you now. “So, how are you? Are you enjoying the party?” You answered Chris and started catching up with him. You and Chris met through Luke, though as the years went on you two became friends as well.

With your focus now on Chris, you did not notice the figure of the Hermes cabin counselor zooming past you two and outside, following a certain someone. However, your conversation with Chris didn’t last long because Clarisse swooped in and borrowed you from Chris. 

“So, I saw you talking to Oscar. Give me the details,” she said, dragging you down to sit beside her.

“He’s great! It’s so easy to talk to him and be around him.”

“Easier than with Luke?” you gave her a warning glare. You might have told her about your little crush on Luke, though you confessed that to her out of the belief that nothing would ever happen and that it would pass soon. Fast-forward to a year later, your feelings have not changed. 

“...No, but—”

“I’m telling you, Luke’s the best one for you.”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

“If he doesn’t like you like that, he would have never made that pact with you." When you didn’t reply to her, Clarisse decided to bring something else up. “Alright, let’s move on and talk about something else then…another candidate. Dean told me you didn’t show up.”

“Show up to what?”

“He wrote you a note asking you to meet him?” the look on your face must have told Clarisse you had no idea what she was talking about. “He wanted to ask you out on a date in person after that talk you two had three weeks ago.”

“Where did he leave the note?”

“Apparently, he was planning to get me to give it to you, but he passed Luke on his way to me, who offered to give it to you.”

“Well, I never got the note. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. Luke told me he’s quite a player.” Clarisse pondered on the information you just provided her. Dean was in no way a player. She knew he has only been on one date with another person at camp. However, the puzzle pieces quickly clicked for Clarisse and she leaned back with a smirk. 

Before you could question the look on Clarisse's face, Oscar came back to the party. 

“Well, if you don't mind, Oscar is back and I have a good feeling about him. So I'm going to go and talk to him,” you left Clarisse, walking in the direction Oscar did. Meanwhile, Clarisse only silently chuckled. She knew exactly what Luke was up to and it made her shook her head in amusement.

“Hey,” you touched Oscar’s arm, though the cheery grin on your face fell when he slightly flinched and shrugged your hand off. “Uhm, it’s good you got that stain off your shirt,” your eyebrows furrowed when you realized Oscar was not even making eye contact with you.

“So, tell me more about that quest you went on last year?” you asked, hoping to start a conversation again. However, Oscar quickly broke out the truth.

“Listen, you seem very lovely, but I don’t want to put myself in the middle of anything. I don’t want to cause any drama.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not the type of guy to steal girls my friends are talking to or having a thing with,” you scrunch your eyebrow in confusion. Just as you were going to question what Oscar was referring to, his eyes betrayed him and looked at someone. You followed his eyesight only to see Luke already looking at you while glancing between you and Oscar. Though realizing he had been caught, Luke looked away and back to his friends.

That was when everything made sense.

“Uh oh…” Chris’s voice snapped Luke from whatever his friends were saying. He followed his gaze to where Chris was looking, only to see you storming over.

“We need to talk,” Luke tried not to think too much about the way your hand felt on his wrist as you pulled him through the crowd and outside. As always, he blindly followed you to wherever you were taking him. 

You released Luke from your grip and stood with hands on your hips. You took a deep breath. 

“Are you kidding me? Have you been sabotaging me? You told me Dean plays around, but apparently he doesn’t. He also gave you a note to give to me, but you never did it. Then, Oscar, who I was getting along with, came back acting weird, wouldn’t even look me in the eye, and then told me we have a thing going on?”

Oh, Gods, you found out about what he has been doing.

“Listen…” Luke started off while rubbing his neck, though he was unsure what to say next because he was indeed guilty of every accusation you were throwing towards him. But how was he meant to trust fate that you would still be single by the time the pact would be able to come true?

So, he intervened in his own way. That included throwing away Dean’s note, having Chris spill a drink on Oscar to get the boy away from you so Luke could have a talk with him. He might have also suggested your date two weeks ago to get you flowers, despite knowing that the boy was allergic to flowers.

All he wanted to do was to make sure the pact could happen.

“Luke…why? You know I wanted this. I wanted to experience things and date someone.” You weren’t mad, but you were slightly disappointed and confused. You didn’t understand Luke’s intentions behind his actions.

However, Luke misinterpreted the look on your face. He thought you were genuinely upset, and that alone pinched Luke’s heart. He gulped at the idea that he might have disappointed you or made you sad. Screw waiting until the pact happens before confessing. What use would that be when you might somehow start hating him?

“...Maybe I wanted it to be me,” Luke confessed, watching your eyes widen. “You told me you wanted to experience teenage love and feel loved, and you’re tired of waiting until it’s your turn. But I have never told you what I want.” Luke took a step closer to you before starting.

“I want to be the one to take you on dates and give you your favorite flowers every single time. I want to be your personal hype man and be your shoulder to cry on if you ever need one. I want to sit with you by the lake while you read. I also want to read the books you read and those little annotations you make. I want to learn about the things you love and the things you don’t. I want to do things you love. I want to show and tell you just how amazing you are every single day. I want to let the feelings I have right now grow cause I really like the idea of loving you, and I want to get there someday.”

You stood there shell-shocked. This felt almost surreal, like something you read from one of your novels. You have always wished to have someone who practically walked out of a romance novel.

“I want you.”

And here he was, standing in front of you, begging for a chance to be yours.

“And I know you just want teenage love, and I could offer you that. But just know I’m also offering so much more, even if you don’t treat the pact the same way as I do and will only view it as a casual relationship. But I suggested that pact and chased all those guys away because I like you a lot, Y/N. And in hindsight, it was stupid and selfish. But I did it because I felt like it was the only way I could have you.”

“I like you too, Luke,” the words slipped out so easily like they were always meant to be said. “I want you to be my teenage love. I want you too.” You’ve been walking around asking when it would be your turn. If only you had paid attention and looked closer instead, you might have noticed he felt the same way. You wanted everything he has spoken of and be just the same for him — to be there for him and learn to love the things he does.

“And I look forward to every single one of the things you’ve told me, and be the same for you. I really can’t wait for it. However, there is one thing I really want right now,” you said as you walked closer to him, one hand taking his own into yours.

“What?” Luke rasped out, looking so tentatively at you. Gods, whatever wish that spills from your lips this second will have him scour the world for it—whatever guarantees your happiness.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Oh, you could ask him for a thousand kisses, and he would give you a million.

Luke’s cheeks grew rosy at your request. He stepped closer, tucking your hair behind your ear without breaking eye contact. 

“Can I?” He whispered in a honey-like tone, and you knew right then that if he kept talking to you in that voice, you’d do absolutely anything he asked.

“Mhm,” your quiet hum granted Luke permission to his next addiction. Without hesitation, Luke attached your lips together with both hands caressing your face tenderly. In return, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled you both closer until your bodies were flushed against one another. Slowly but surely, you also tangled your fingers in his curls. Luke almost immediately melted against your touch, sighing in contentment against the kiss.

Luke was convinced this was now his new favorite thing to do. He wondered if you could taste it through the kiss—his feelings and borderline infatuation for you. Either way, he intended on making every kiss like this: wholeheartedly and as if it would be your last. 

Now, if you were to ask Luke Castellan how to get the person of your dreams, here’s what he’d advise you:

Step 1. Be stupid and propose a dating pact (tick).

Step 2. Chase away every other potential candidate (tick).

Step 3. Confess (tick).

Step 4. Fulfill all those promises you have made about loving the person (To be continued...But, he’s intending to do this for as long as you’ll let him).

-------------------------

masterlist

join my Luke Castellan taglist

[juniperdugong]

Relationship Quirks 95s ver.

Aka habits I can see the boys doing in a relationship || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line ||

Scoups Calls you his "wife" while you guys are still dating

NOT AROUND YOU... at first but I doubt that the guys wouldn't secretly take video of him whining during practice talking about, "I miss my wife..." all pouty and everything (he saw you this morning), and NOT send it to you.

He's awkward when you bring it up because he doesn't know if you feel that way about the future of your relationship but once he knows you do feel the same way WHEW you do not hear the end of it.

Suddenly, all the reservations he makes are preceded by "Well, me and my wife...", anytime you're brought up in a conversation dude glitches out and HAS to mention you as his wife at least once (especially if it's to someone he thinks might be interested in you), and the yearning only gets worse! He'll leave for tour and after he texts his customary airplane goodbye message to you your phone will be blowing up with texts from the boys complaining about having to hear their leader practically sobbing about how much he misses his wife.

Jeonghan Steals your stuff

Has big "What's yours is mine" mentality, but don't worry! What's his is yours too! He swears it! Despite the drastic difference in how much he's using, borrowing, or straight up taking your stuff...

Let's be clear though, he never takes things he thinks you'll miss and if he finishes something of yours he always makes sure to replace it pronto. If you do get upset he makes a mental note to not mess with that particular item ever again.

Have you noticed a suspicious amount of your clothing (mainly hoodies, hats, and bags) go missing and suddenly see your boyfriend wearing them during a live? Yes. Has there been multiple arguments about this behavior? For sure! Does it absolutely warm your heart when you're at a concert and see a staff member run on stage to hand Hannie his current comfort item (a childhood toy of yours that you didn't even know was missing from your room)? Absolutely, it does. (Apologizes profusely once you find out...doesn't mean a single word of it and you know it because he's giggling the whole time)

Joshua Buys 2 of everything

Since the dawn of your relationship, Shua has gotten 2 of every item he buys. His initial reason was to get to know one another better by trying out things the other liked. This then spiraled to him doubling every single grocery item, clothes he buys, and pretty much anything he orders. Could be an insanely valuable item worth thousands that he's getting paid to promote but if there isn't a matching one for you then it's off the table. And no, he doesn't necessarily want to be "matching" all the time but he likes knowing that you guys could match whenever you wanted to.

He also gets extremely offended if you question why there's so much of everything, seriously he doesn't even want to hear it, like "Because it's ours! And we share! So we need double! Do you hate me or something!?"

"Babe, why do we have so much shampoo..." "I'm promoting it." "There's 2 of every type in here." "Yep." "We don't ne-" "We do need it." "It's too much." "I don't understand what you're saying to me right now."

A/N: The brainrot I have for these men is so real rnnnnn. I just had to separate these by years bc it was getting too long :( I'll have 96s up by today too, so stay tuned for that 96 line OUT NOW!! (Have to do it for my babe Nonu) Reblogs and Comments are much-appreciated lovelies!!

TAGLIST (open): @bemybabiibish

[syluss-slut]

•°•°•Safe Embrace°•°•

Summary: your uterus pulls a fuck you by starting your period early even if you just had one two weeks ago, but your 6'2 boyfie is here to cuddle the pain away.

Pairings: Sylus×Reader ⚡

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, mention of period pain.

A/n: yearning is at an all-time high rn. LIKEYOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I NEED THIS MAN SO BAD HNSGBFBSHDNBHSN

You walked towards sylus's room in heavy steps. You were even surprised your body could hold on for that long.

Your period took you by surprise, coming back again after not even two weeks. Beauty of womanhood, isn't it? You spoiled your favourite pajama pants because of that and on top of all this, it was a heavy flow. In the middle of a productive week. Could it get any worse?

You knocked on his bedroom door, sylus taking not even a second knock to open it for you. As soon as the door opened, you managed to take one step in and collapsed right after. (Un)surprisingly, you didn't hit the floor, but rather found yourself in sylus' safe embrace, as he caught you just in time.

As he brought you to the bed, you silently start weeping in his chest. Tears run down your face due to the pain you were in.

Alarmed, "what's wrong, kitten?" Sylus enquires, a soft look in his eyes, concern in his voice.

Somehow, it made you cry even more. Your period hormones were driving you crazy.

He sits down on the bed, with you in his arms and now on his lap. One of his hand is on your back, soothing you and the other holds up your chin.

"Talk to me. What is it, sweetie?" He asks, a gentle tone in his voice that you've rarely ever heard him use with anybody other than you.

"Menses" you replied, in a feeble voice through tears.

"You poor thing" sylus thinks to himself.

"Let me get you some painkillers" he says, laying you down. You grab the sleeve of his gray sweater just as he walked out of your reach, making him turn around.

"Stay with me. Please" you croaked.

Wordlessly, sylus slips under the sheets beside you, engulfing you in a hug, making you the smaller spoon.

His large hand is in your hair, massaging slowly, lulling you into sleep.

"Thank you" your voice comes out muffled as you snuggled further into his chest.

With the feeling of being in a safe embrace and under warm sheets, you finally dose off to sleep, the last thing you remember being sylus' lips as he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead.

•°•°•°(⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠ ⁠)•°•°•°•

When your eyes open, you don't know how much time has passed, but the first thing you acknowledge is the sheets beside you being empty; however they were still warm.

Sylus must have gotten up not so long ago.

Almost as if summoned by your thoughts, you turn to the doorway upon hearing something, and see sylus holding a tray of food.

Your heart melts at his sweet gesture.

"Here. Eat it all and don't forget your meds" he says, placing the tray on your lap.

You decide this isn't enough, "I'm weak all over, feed them to me?" You request, looking at sylus' face to read his expression.

You hear him chuckle, followed by a nod. He picks up the spoon and does as you asked.

The outcome? A few drops of soup spilled on your lap and some of it around your mouth. You smiled at how much effort he was putting into this, which turned into a giggle, which escalated into full-on laughter.

You notice the corner of his lips turn up ever so slightly, and you don't let it slip.

Never in a hundred years did sylus ever see himself taking care of someone, let alone make them feel so safe as to be vulnerable around him. Truly, you changed his life, for the better.

You wiped your mouth clean and didnt forget the painkillers, obviously.

"Rest. I called you in sick for tomorrow" Fuck. You felt like crying again. How can this man perceive himself as 'evil' or whatever the society labels him as? He's just a sensitive soul forced to harden up.

"You know my heart never truly rests without you beside me" you confess, Patting the space beside you, lifting the comforter for him to slip into.

You lay down, and so does he. The soft moonlight in the now dim room fell on his flawless face, it somehow made him look even prettier.

Silver light on his silver hair. You couldn't possibly resist the urge to pet his fluffy hair and so you did.

"Hmm. Keep doing that" Sylus purrs.

You hug him closer, and he rests his chin on the top of your head. Both of you drifting off to sleep once again.

Who would've thought, the feared leader of onichynus, who could have no trouble putting a bullet through one's head, be so vulnerable in his woman's arm?

[poppy-metal]

oooh what if fail marriage!art after separating with reader and being a sad miserable fuck now with tashi and patrick, sees you on a date, like on a random tuesday evening? He sees you all dolled up with this guy and you‘re smiling and giggling and tashi and patrick just feel him vibrating from anger and sadness next to them. How long has it been that he made you smile like that? How long has it been, that you wore something slutty like that for him on date night (when was the last date night ouchies)

sm came over me this au is dangerous.... cause why did i add some reader x patrick drama at the end..... failmarriage au is slowly riding closer and closer to toxic polycule but its gonna be drama drama drama till we get there !!

tashi has to put a hand on his arm to physically stop him from picking up a knife and slitting his throat - or yours - committing a murder - suicide. he thinks god is punishing him. because there's just no way, no way, the one night hes able to drag himself from bed to go out with patrick and tashi you're at very same restaurant. with another man.

and you look beautiful, like honesty his lips are parted, mouth open - because your style has always been a little on the modest side, you wore it well, sundresses and long skirts and blouses. you looked lovely in them.

but this - a skin tight body suit. black and hugging every curve on your body. he knows your body. well, he knew it. not as well as he wanted to, maybe, but he'd seen you naked - he'd been inside you countless times. but this. it feels new. it feels like hes seeing you for the first time. your tits look amazing, somehow appearing fuller with the fabric of the bodysuit clinging to you. and your ass.... he could weep, he really could. it moves like water when you walk, the smooth glide of your steps making the cheeks jiggle just the right way. strappy heels that accentuate your legs.

even patrick lets out a 'damn' and tashi would shoot him a glare except she's staring at you too. all of them just kind of gawk as you walk past them - you dont even look their way - you must have noticed art, you must have - and settle into a booth across the restaurant from them. you're smiling at your date. lips painted a dark seductive red.

art wants to go over to you. stab your date in the eyes. fall to his knees. beg for you to take him back, spare him a glance, just let him touch you. he misses the feel of you, the unique texture of your skin. the way you giggle when your ankle receives soft touches because you're ticklish. are you going to spread your legs for that man tonight? are you going to let his touched burn away arts?

he swallows. sets down his silverware. "im going out to the car." he can't watch. tashi frowns at him, like she wants to say something, encourage him to say, encourage him to talk to you, even, but he just looks at her, pleading. wordless communication that they've gotten down to a science and her lips press into a thin line, her eyes going sad. she nods and drops her hand from his arm. lets him leave.

you watch him go, taking a sip of your drink to hide your expression. the unpleasant turn of your mouth at the way he walks out, head down, fingers nervously twisting the watch on his wrist. you crunch ice between your teeth, swallow down the disappointment of his easy retreat. typical of him, to recede instead of fight.

your eyes catch on tashi's - dark and cunning, assesseing and all too aware, like shes peeling you like an orange and she knows what she'll find - you look down quickly. focus back on the date you'll inevitably ghost.

____

patrick zweig is smoking a cigarette behind the restaurant for a moment - tashi is paying the bill - art is moping in the car still, probably. its just a brief moment of reprieve from the borish melancholy cloud he'll be suffocated in the moment he gets in that car and gets engulfed in the pathetic yearning permeating from art like slick oil, and the even worse tension from tashi over her inability to fix the situation.

god, he just wants to fuck. he expected to be getting alot more ass when art moved in, if he was being honest. like a full on fuckfest. you'd come around eventually - as soon as the facade of a boring monogamous marriage lost its appeal and you realized you'd been missing the thrill you had in college when all of you, the four of you, were in eachothers orbit at all times.

but it'd just been a fucking drag. all he'd gotten was one sad moment, where he'd been throating arts cock and enjoying himself very much, before art had started crying - going on about how he missed your mouth - very mood killing. not that he'd mind if art pretended he was fucking your throat instead of patricks, because that'd be kinda hot, but the tears were a bit much. he hadn't touched art since. he didn't know if he and tashi were fooling around, but he doubted it was a common occurrence with the amount of time art spent moping.

he was on his last drag when the back door swung open and you stepped out into the humid night air. you startled to see him, like a frightened doe, and made to grab the door handle, "oh, im sorry -"

"no - stay." he blew out a cloud of smoke, right in your face - "i got something i wanted to ask you, anyway." he stubs the cig under his shoe.

your eyes dart around nervously but you lower your hand. cross your arms like its chilly. maybe your own cold heart keeps you cold, fuck if he knows.

he leans a shoulder on the brick of the building as he studies you - eyes perusing your outfit languidly. his lips twist, like he's hiding a smirk.

"this is new."

you shift on your heeled feet. look away, "you dont know enough about me to know if its new or not."

patrick straightens and steps forward, you hadn't realized his hunching posture before was doing so much to hide his height until then, when you have to crane your head to look up at him, scramble backwards so he doesn't bump your chest with his.

"see that's what pisses me off about you." he pokes you, and you jolt at the sensation of the touch "i do know you. because before you decided to become betty fucking crocker we used to be what you call 'friends'. do you know what that word means? or have you sniffed so much lysol your little brain gave you temporary amnesia."

your mouth parts in shock. you stare at him, speechless. speechless because its been years since anyone has talked to you this way, speechless because the only person who did were him and tashi, when they'd call you out, pull you out of your shell - it makes your cheeks flood with heat.

"i-" you scramble for what to say, trying to pull words, defenses out of the air. "i dont have amnesia...." fucking great line.

patrick nods. "right, okay. so-" he waves a hand in the air, his wedding band glinting in the moonlight. you want to look at it. see if it resembles the one you and art share. you didn't attend his and tashi's wedding. guilt pricks at you. "my question for you is how long do you plan on playing this game? because that's what this is. and dont -" he shakes his head with a laugh - " and dont give me that shit about art and tashi when you know damn well how they felt about eachother in college. you still married the guy. you wanna know why?" another step. you can smell him. spicy and sharp. something tashi would have bought him, no doubt. its too polished to be something he'd pick for himself.

you inhale. lashes fluttering with the memory of the over expensive boysih cologne he wore in boarding school - in college - the kind that stung your nose, but. but made you feel comforted. because it was so distinctly patrick.

"because deep down you know he loves you just as much. you've always known. and this whole act you're putting on-" he looks you up and down, "- of the scorned neglected housewife? its tired. its fucking boring. i mean-" he licks his lips, leans down so close his nose almost brushes yours. "-does art know you almost let me eat your pussy on prom night?"

you gasp, stepping away. flushing. eyes wide. "no." you gasp, voice small. "that was - you promised you'd never -"

"i promised my friend I'd never bring it up again." he looks at you, "you're not my friend, sweetheart. haven't been for awhile."

you glare at him. patrick smiles. one dimple indenting his cheek. so boyishly charming for a man in his 30s. you want to kick him.

"i hate you." you hiss. "i hate all of you."

"uh huh -" patrick shrugs, shoves his hands in his pockets. starts to walk backwards. tashi will be getting impatient by now. wanting to head home to tend to a wounded arts wounds. "keep telling yourself that."

you huff. spin away from him and yank open the back door, ready to storm back inside when his voice rings out one last time behind you.

"your ass looks great, by the way!"

they'd all be jerking off to the thought of it tonight, probably. he knew he would.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Summary: 15 years ago, a football and a boy four doors down makes your move to Florida a little more bearable. Now, you're not quite sure how to feel when you find out he's shown up back at home unannounced

Word Count: 5.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, Frankie has a nickname for reader)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, meeting Frankie for the first time, cute, awkward baby Frankie, a football throw Santi will never forgive you for

A/N: ... Hey.... How y'all doin'.... Remember when I said I was gonna start a different Frankie series months ago? I hope you humbly accept this as my official formal apology for not being able to get my shit together, as I present this offering to you instead 🙂 I started writing this 24 hours ago and I legitimately couldn't stop, so here we are??? I know this is a different style that what I normally write, but here's to trying new things (and hopefully finishing them). I hope you guys enjoy 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Next Chapter

You, Present

“Frankie’s home.” 

You weren’t really sure how to comprehend how the combination of those two words would be one of the worst sucker punches you’d taken to your gut in the better part of the last decade. 

As the sentence replayed over and over in your head, you could think of any other combination of two words that would have scared you less. 

“Hurricane’s coming.” 

“Bomb’s dropping.” 

“World‘s ending.” 

In a universe where things make sense, the response these would elicit from the average person would be reasonable, rational even. When you’ve been given a warning about the way two words have the potential to alter your reality, you can’t help but panic. 

But today, you’ve woken up in a universe where things don’t make sense. 

And what’s worse is, you didn’t even get a warning. 

The statement shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. When you’d seen his truck parked in the driveway four houses down, you knew it had to be him. Anyone else in the world would be caught dead driving the barley mobile piece of metal he’d been traveling in for the better part of 20 years. But Frankie Morales was not anyone else. He’d drive that damn car until the wheels fell out underneath him. 

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten in a stubborn stare down with his 1989 maroon Chevrolet Silverado. You had a sneaking suspicion that today wouldn’t be your last. 

“Why is Fr- Why is he back?” 

You hadn’t intended for your tone to be so bitter, but the taste of Frankie’s name on the tip of your tongue left a taste in your mouth so sour, you wanted to recoil into yourself. 

“Why do you think?” It was clear your mother had no interest in playing into your game of cruel intentions, barely paying you any mind as she glanced out the window, unphased by the looming presence in the Morales’s driveway, “You should go say hello.” 

“No thanks, I’m not a fan of purposely ruining the rest of my day.” You don’t mean for your eyes to roll as far back into your head as they do, but you can’t help it. At this point it seems like an innate, programmed response. Simply the thought of Frankie Morales was enough to dampen your mood; an intentional confrontation was the last thing you needed. 

“You’re going to have to see him at some point, you know. Can’t hide from him the whole time he’s here.” 

Your mom hadn’t even given you the chance to rebuttal, disappearing from your bedroom to leave you to stew in your own resentment, because she knew as well as you that it was pointless to fight back. 

At some point, you’d have to face Frankie. Today, you’d stick to hiding. 

You, Summer of 1999, Age 11

26 total hours trapped in a U-Haul with your family and every item you’d ever owned was not the way you had planned to spend your last week of summer before starting middle school. You’d hoped that the nearly 3 day journey from Michigan to Florida would be long enough to help you cope with your distress. Unfortunately, you weren’t shocked that cramped quarters and unclear driving directions in the midst of uprooting your life wasn't doing much to lighten your mood. 

Your parents had promised you the move would be worth it. That starting a new life halfway across the country would be good for your family. You weren’t quite sure what positives Florida posed to you, but even at the ripe age of 11, it didn’t take a genius to realize that “starting over somewhere new” was code for “trying to keep your dad alive.” 

The doctors back home were thrilled to tell you about the new, potentially life saving treatment for his rapidly progressing colon cancer. You were thrilled too, until that new, life saving treatment meant moving 1,300 miles from home. 

Not once did you protest- keeping your dad a living, breathing part of your life was better than having to say goodbye to your best friends, but it still didn’t mean every mile you drove further and further south down I-75 was another grain of salt in your freshly open wound. 

Your parents had tried to incentivise you with all the joys that Florida would have to bring- warm, sunny weather, beaches, being a 3 hour drive away from Disney world, a bigger house, the list went on and on. And while you knew one day you’d find joy in the rewards you’d reap from your sacrifice, you had a feeling that day wouldn’t be coming any time soon. 

It took too many movers to count to finally get your new house to resemble what was supposed to be a home. There was something so unsettling about seeing your furniture reassembled into unfamiliar corners of a place you’d never been. Even the things that were supposed to feel familiar and comforting now felt distant and foreign, scrambled in the walls of your new residence like a child who had shaken up a box of their favorite toys and dumped them out on the ground, leaving behind a mess for someone else to clean up. 

The only solace you could seem to find in the wave of chaos that had washed over your life was the view outside your bedroom window. A quiet escape, perfectly positioned to watch the warm rays of sunset fade behind the rooftops, the night slowly shifting into shades of black and blue as your eyelids became heavy.

Each night as you drifted to sleep, you dreamt about the ways you could be saved from the lonely island you were trapped on. A sole survivor begging to be found. You tossed and turned in the sea of your twisted bedsheets, crying out that there would be someone, anyone who would risk their life to rescue yours. 

On the first two nights, the only response to your pleas was a deafening silence, an insult to injury that you were destined to spend the rest of your life on a godforsaken landmass no one would ever find. On the third night, your cries carried on the winds of the warm summer air, sneaking through the cracks of an open window four doors down. 

“You should go out there and play with those boys down the road! They look like they’re probably about your age!” 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the two gangly figures racing up and down the street for the better part of the last hour, hoping they wouldn’t catch your passing glances through your living room window as you pretended to watch whatever episode of “Rocket Power” aired next on Nickelodeon. Perhaps the pair boys hadn’t noticed you watching them, but your dad had surely noticed the way you could have cared less about whatever was on the TV in front of you. 

“They’re playing football, I don’t really think they’d probably want me to play.” You huff under  your breath. 

“You’re good at football. Probably better than they are.” Your dad laughs like it’s meant to be funny, but you know he’s serious. He’ll never admit to you out loud he wished his only child would have been a boy, but you’ve never minded playing the role of the son he never had. 

And he’s not wrong. You definitely are a better throw than either of them. 

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that a girl’s asking to go play football with them.” The sigh that follows this is even more annoyed than the last, now too self aware at 11 years old to revert back to the days of approaching kids you’ve never met on the playground and asking to join in without needing to worry about the social repercussions of your actions. 

“Well, you can either pout and pretend to watch TV, or you could go try to make some friends. That’s up to you, Bud.” He smirks at the scrunch in your brow and flair in your nostrils, the same face he knows he makes when he’s been hit by the cold, hard truth he doesn’t like. 

You know he’s right. 

“Fine,” You grumble, reluctantly pushing yourself off the edge of the couch, “But if they’re dumb, I’m coming back home.” 

“Atta girl. Go easy on ‘em, Killer.” 

As you step outside, it feels like you’ve become some sort of jungle explorer, trying to approach a herd of wild animals in their element without startling them to the point of attack. You’d even brought a peace offering to ease the introductions, hoping that your own football would be an appreciated contribution to their game. 

As you make your way down the street, you’re not sure if you’re particularly good at sneaking up on the boys, they haven’t noticed your presence, or worse, they’re actively trying to ignore you in hopes that you’ll go away. 

“H-Hi.” You stammer, half attempting to wave at the back of their heads, nowhere near close to catching their attention. 

“Hello?” This time it’s a little louder, slowly taking a few steps closer, “Hi?” 

God, maybe it’s a fourth option you hadn’t considered and they’re both deaf. 

“Hey!” 

This one finally catches their attention, causing both boys to turn around cautiously, not sure whether they’re more shocked that someone’s interrupted whatever play they’re about to run, or that the person who’s interrupted them is you. 

All of three of you stand in silence for a moment, mind racing in curiosity as you take in the image of clumsy limbs and messy mats of hair stuck to sweaty foreheads. The one boy is shorter, thick, jet black curls sprouting from the top of his head and arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face that’s not quite mean, but most definitely not welcoming. 

The other, taller and lankier, a mop of dark brown hairs twisting at the nape of his neck, eyes soft as he glances back and forth between you and his friend. His demeanor is much different, almost nervous compared to the boy standing next to him, fits balled in the pockets of his shorts while the adam’s apple he still needs to grow into bobs in his throat. 

For as much as no one wants to draw in the silent standoff you’ve entered, you started this mess, so you might as well be the first one to fold. 

“H-hi. Sorry, I um, I didn’t wanna interrupt-” 

“I mean, you did.” The shorter boy mumbles, wincing as the nervous one slaps him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus, what was that for, asswad?!” 

“Let her talk!” He grunts, sneering at his friend before turning back to you, his face much kinder now than the expression he just gave to his friend. “Sorry. You can um, you can keep talking if you want. Sorry about him.” 

You try not to laugh at the exchange, but it’s hard not to smirk at the way the two have managed to put themselves on display in the thirty seconds you’ve spent talking to them. 

“It’s okay. I um- I just moved in down the street. That green house over there.” All of your eyes shift as you point behind you, signaling where your journey had begun a few moments ago, “I was uh- I was wondering if you guys wanted another person to play with? I- I brought my own football.” 

“Normally you only need one football to play football, duh. Do you even know how football works?” 

In an instant, your heart sinks to your gut, eyes dropping to the ground to watch your feet start to drag across the pavement, back to where you came. But before you can lift the sole of your sneaker from the cement, a voice stops you. 

“She obviously does or she wouldn’t ask, numbnuts! C’mon, Santi, don’t be a dick.” 

Although it’s not directed at you, it’s enough to bring your attention back to the kinder boy, no name yet, but quite positive it’s not also Santi (or asswad). The two of you lock eyes for a moment, a strange sort of calm running through you as his slight half smile reveals his brace covered teeth, looking at you in a way that makes you feel just a little less small. 

“Yeah, you can play with us. I’m Frankie, by the way.” 

Frankie. 

There’s something about his name that fits him so perfectly. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know from the way it rolls off your tongue that it just feels right. 

“Hi, Frankie. I’m Mackenzie.” 

Frankie’s hands are now out of his pockets, a line of defense dismantled after hearing your name. 

“Hello? Have we forgotten about me? There are three of us here, remember?” 

“This is Santi. Well, Santiago, but we all call him Santi.” The way Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend tells you everything you need to know about their friendship, giggling at the way he dramatically pouts as he introduces him. 

“Mackenzie? Isn’t that, like, a last name?” Santi asks, still not yet warmed up to the idea of you, but intrigued enough to ease how tightly his arms are crossed. 

“And? Isn’t Santiago the capital of Chile?” You sass, your mater-of-factness and quick wit making Frankie unintentionally snort. 

“Alright, touché, Christopher Columbus.” Santi mocks, acting tough to try and hide the pink blooming in his cheeks. 

“I like Mackenzie. I think it’s cool.” 

There’s something about the way he says it that you know he means it, wondering why the way hearing your name fall from his lips churns your stomach in a sensation you’d never felt before this moment. 

“Yeah, well, just so you know, Frankie is short for Francisco.” Santi interrupts, trying to find a way to get a jab back at either you or Frankie, at this point he doesn't really care which. 

“Well, last time I checked, there wasn’t a Francisco, Chile.” 

That one sends Frankie into full blown hysterics, boyish snickers taunting his friend, whose attempt to save his namesake has left him the butt of the joke. 

“Will the two of you clowns just shut up and throw the ball? If you’re gonna let her play, Frank, can we at least make sure she can throw?” Santi whines, using every ounce of prepubescent strength he has left to play into his unbothered facade. 

“You can use your ball if you want.” Frankie suggests, shrugging at his indifference to the ball held in your hand compared to the one held in yours. 

“No! If she’s playin’, she’s usin’ our ball!” Santi’s voice trails further away with each step back he takes, settling himself in the middle of the street a few feet down from where you and Frankie stood, not willing to take any more risks when it comes to you, even if it’s something as stupid as a football. 

“Fine by me.” You shrug, happily obliging to his request, Frankie giving you a silent nod of reassurance as he passes his football off to you. 

It’s only now you notice he’s nervous again, one hand back in his pocket as he wriggles his toes in the ends of his worn sneakers while you size up your toss, knowing he’s worried that Santi will never let him live it down if the ball can’t make it more than three feet in front of you. 

Neither of you would know it then, but the silent exchange you make with Frankie as you line up your throw would be the first of many unspoken promises you’d keep to him. What seemed like a simple task,  to prove worthy of his friendship by throwing a football, would turn out to be the most important promise you'll ever make to Fransisco Morales. 

You weren’t ever going to let him down. 

“You can go further back.” You shout, almost offended by the distance Santi had chosen to stand away from you. 

“If you can make it this far, I’ll be impressed.” 

“You promise you’ll go get it after I throw it past you?” 

“I promise, Joe Montana, throw the damn ball.” 

You shrug at Frankie, like he’s supposed to know what comes next. He’s too scared to question either of you, all he can do is let his eyes dart back and forth between you and Santi, knowing there’s no world where both of you can prove your point. What scares him more is that he trusts you more than his friend. 

You line your fingers up on the laces, gripping the leather like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. With a step forward, your arm hurls the ball, two of the three of you standing dumbfounded in the street as you watch it soar further and further past its intended target, spirling through the sky until it bounces off the cement with an acrobatic roll, three times the distances of where Santi had placed himself. 

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You just smile and shrug- it's the best “I told you so” you could give them. 

“Fine. She can stay.” 

To this day, it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a compliment from Santi. 

“Nice work, Kenz.” 

Your stomach flips. You try to blame it on the adrenaline of it all, that there was no way a compliment so simple had you wiping your sweaty palms over the denim of your shorts, trying your best to erase any evidence that he was the reason your heart was racing out of your chest. 

Now it’s 15 years later, and as much as you hate him, you still can’t get that goofy, brace faced smile out of your mind. 

Frankie, Present 

There’s a reason he shows up at 1 A.M. Everyone’s asleep. If the world is asleep around him, he’s safe from having to deal with anyone, at least until morning. There’s a part of him that wishes he would have parked his truck down the street, tricking you into thinking that he wasn’t even there. 

It’s hard to justify when you’re the reason he’s back home in the first place. 

When he got the call from his mom, he knew he had to come. He didn't want to, but he knew he’d hate himself forever if he didn’t. 

“Hey, Mamá.” 

“Francisco, how quickly can you make it home?”  

“Mom, I told you, I’m not-” 

“It’s Doug. He’s in hospice.” 

“Fuck. How um- how much longer do they think he has?” 

“When I talked to Michelle, she said they were hoping for a few more weeks. But I’m not sure. He doesn’t look good, mi amor. If you want to say your goodbyes, now’s the time.” 

“O-okay. I can probably be home by tomorrow. Gonna be late though. Is uh- is she, um-” 

“She’s here. For about a week or so already. She keeps looking over at your empty spot in the driveway just like she did all those years you were away. Waiting for you, Francisco.” 

It’s the lump in his throat and ache in his chest that gets him home an hour and fifteen minutes faster than what his GPS said it would. He’s not sure what delusional part of his mind thinks that maybe you’ll be waiting for him when he pulls into the driveway. Maybe it’s the same delusional part of his mind that pictured you sitting there, cross legged on the concrete, staring up at the sky to count stars like sheep, waiting for him to come home all those years ago. 

He’s also not sure why it hurts so bad when he shows up and you’re not there. 

Frankie feels like he’s 16 again, sneaking into his own house in the wee hours of the night, digging the spare key out from under the doormat, attentive to the practiced pattern of how to avoid squeaks in the hinges as he turns the lock behind him, careful not to wake a single sleeping soul. He tiptoes over the 4th stair to the second floor and barely taps the 7th before he finds shelter in his room, successful from his journey. 

Every time he comes home, he can’t help but laugh at the fact his mother refuses to change anything about his bedroom. Everything is in the same place it was the day he left for the Air Force, down to the pile of unfinished homework from his Senior year of high school stacked on his desk. Each time he sees it, he’s never sure if the source of his laughter is nostalgia or irony. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

When he looks at the picture frames scattered across his nightstand, a 17 year old Frankie stares back at him, tall and gangly, arms too big for his own body, an awful haircut he begged his mom to let him get. It was the year he discovered how much he couldn’t live without a hat, simply out of necessity for the 6 months it took for his hair to grow back out. You were the first one to tell him how cute he looked in the one hat he already owned. He bought three more in the weeks to come. 

He wonders what the 17 year old in those pictures staring back at him would think of him now. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that high school him would have beat the shit out of him for the way things turned out, scrawny limbs and all. 

It seems like the military has taught him how to sleep anywhere besides his own home, keeping company with the shadows dancing on his ceiling in the moonlight, tossing and turning in the tattered sheets of the twin sized bed his mom promised she’d upgrade when he got big enough. To this day, he and his mom both know he was never begging her for a new bed because he had outgrown it, he just always wanted to make room for one more person. 

He clocks 3 and a half hours of sleep as good enough, creeping out of his house the same way he had come in, making the 5.4 mile trip to Benson Park to watch the sun rise. Frankie’s always hated running, it’s just as much of a surprise to him as it is to everyone else that he keeps doing it. It makes his knees hurt like shit and his lungs feel like they’re being strangled by rubber bands, a cruel cycle of self punishment he can’t seem to shake his addiction for. 

He’s sat on the same side of the bench underneath the ancient Blooming Dogwood since the first time he came here. He tried one time to sit on the other side. He’s superstitious enough to believe his one time fuck up has had a lasting effect. The bench is so hidden at the back of the park, he likes to think that the two of you are the only ones to have ever found it. No one else has ever burst through the bubble of secrets shared between the two of you there, leaving the wood grain to be stained with memories and moments that have shaped the both of you, good and bad. 

It’s the first place you ever told him about your dad. It’s the first place he ever told you about his. His dad was already nothing but memories by then. It makes him sick to his stomach that soon, that’s all you’ll have left, too. 

Frankie, Fall of 1999, Age 11

“How much longer do we have, Frankie? I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!” 

“Quit being such a baby, you’re fine!” 

“Next time we have to ride our bikes this far, I’m pulling an E.T. and riding in the front basket of your bike.” 

“Perfect, you look just like him.” 

“Frankie!” 

“Kidding, kidding!” 

Frankie’s never had a friend like you before. Sure, he’s got Santi, but it’s not quite the same. 

Santi took some easing into- five years ago, when Frankie moved onto Everett Street, he became a friend by force, not choice. Santi staked his claim on him, seeing Frankie as a gift sent straight from heaven, finally having another boy his age to play with after too many years of being sentenced to dress up and tea parties from his 3 older sisters. 

Santi was everything Frankie wasn’t- loud, assertive, the kind of friend who grabs you by the hand and drags you along with them whether you liked it or not. There’s times now, after a half a decade of friendship, that Frankie still questions the way Santi’s brain is wired, but Frankie’s too good of a friend to ever make a fuss about it. 

You, on the other hand, needed no easing into. From the moment he met you, watching you toss that football so far past Santi that he was convinced it would disappear on the other end of the street, Frankie had been mesmerized by you. 

There’s something about you that makes him feel a weird thump in his chest every time you’re together. Everything about you gives him comfort in a way he can’t describe, a safety he’s felt with very few other people in his life until now. 

There’s just something about you. He still hasn’t been able to quite pinpoint what it is. 

Whatever it may be, it’s enough to invite you on a bike ride to the back of Benson Park instead of Santi. 

“Do you even know where we are? I don’t think there’s any more park left past this point, Frankie.” You huff, slowing the wheels of your bike behind him as you come to the edge of a steep rolling hill, nothing left in front of you but acres of empty land and tall grass. 

“Yeah, I do. Maybe we just passed the trail on the way in. We’ll just- We can just find it on the way back.” 

He knows you know he’s fibbing, but he wants your trust that he won’t lead you astray more than he wants to tell the truth. 

“Okay. There’s a bench underneath that tree. Can we just sit for a little bit before my legs turn to jello?” 

You’re already halfway off your bike before he can respond. Even if he had said no, there’s no way he’d leave without you. 

“Fine. What flavor jello?” 

“Whatever flavor is your least favorite so you don’t eat my legs, Francisco. That’s just weird.” 

The two of you laugh, tossing your bikes to the ground as you bottoms find the wood of the bench you’d pointed out, you on the right side, Frankie on the left. 

“My mom only ever gets the red kind. I don’t even really like it that much. Don’t worry, you’re safe, Kenz.” 

“I don’t really like it either. But we have every flavor at my house ‘cause that’s like, all my dad eats.” 

Frankie starts to laugh like you’re playing a joke on him, trying to pretend your dad’s diet exists exclusively of artificially flavored gelatin, but your sudden silence and the way your voice drops to the ground right with your eyes tells him he’d better stop snickering. 

“Your dad only eats jello?” 

“Well not only, but a lot of it, I guess.” 

His face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and concern at your sadness. He’s never heard you this quiet before. 

“Um, w-why?” 

The silence is almost deafening. He’s not sure why he should be so concerned with asking about jello, but he’s too curious to let it go. He selfishly wants to know what about it makes you so upset, because he just as selfishly hopes there’s something he can do to make you feel better. 

“My dad has cancer. He’s really sick. He can’t really eat a lot, but jello’s the one thing he can keep down most of the time without, like, throwing up or whatever.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, like you’re worried someone else will hear and spill the rest of your secrets right along with this one. You say it like he’s the only one in the world you want to hear it. 

“I’m- I’m sorry. That sucks.” 

Frankie blames it on his instincts, the way his hand finds yours, outstretched on the bench. He touches you like he’s handling a baby bird who’s fallen out of its nest, delicate and careful, calculated, hoping you won’t try to fly away in fear. Instead, your hand welcomes his, scooting closer to the weight of his palm resting on top of it. He feels you give in as you let him carry you back to safety of the tree you’ve descended from. 

“It’s okay. That’s why we moved here. The doctors in Michigan said that there were even better doctors here who could maybe help make his cancer go away.” 

“And then maybe he won’t have to eat as much jello.” He takes a gamble with the joke, but it pays off with your surprised snort, “Sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t be joking about it.” 

“I mean, it was, but it was funny. It’s okay, my dad jokes about it, too. He always says, one day, it’ll be funny, so might as well make that day today.” 

His heart warms as he watches a small smile return to your face. It heats the pink in his cheeks when he realizes he was the one who helped bring it back. 

“Your dad sounds nice.” 

“He is. Even though he doesn’t feel good a lot of the time, he still always tries to come to my soccer games and stuff. I know he can’t be like what he was before he was sick, but he tries to be. What about your dad?” 

Frankie prays you don’t notice the way his heart sinks like he noticed yours. He chews on the inside of his lip so hard, he thinks it may bleed. He wants to lie, but he knows that you’ll know. You always know. 

“Um, I don’t- I don’t really see my dad.” 

It’s you now who's grabbing his hand, offering him the same type of safety net he’d made for you. He’s barely known you two months. He’s known Santi for five years and all he knows is that his dad doesn’t live with him. Frankie didn’t want to tell him, he’s not sure he’d understand. There’s a strange sensation that swirls in his gut, because he wants to tell you. You’d laid the first brick in the foundation of trust between the two of you. The least he can do is help you keep building. 

“Oh. Why don’t you see him?” He sees you’re prying, but not in a way that hopes to expose him. He knows you’re prying because you want him to let you in, to get a peek at what's behind the curtain. It’s a locked door most people in his life will ever get access to, but he’ll let you have a spare set of keys. 

“I never really knew him. My mom said he left when I was a baby. She says she’s always been happy it’s just me and her. That it was easier to live with one less person than to live with someone who was mean.” 

“Your mom sounds like a wise lady.” 

He appreciates the fact humor was your first response, too, it makes the sting of ripping the stitches off a still-healing wound hurt just a little less. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Still kinda wish I had a dad, though, ya know?” 

“You can borrow my dad whenever you want. As long as you don’t mind super embarrassing, stupid jokes.” 

“Are they as bad as mine?” 

“No. They’re worse.” 

Neither of you would have minded staying just a little bit longer, but the bright reds and yellows of the setting October sky remind you both that the parents you’ve opened up about are expecting you back before night washes over the quaint suburbia of your town. The bike ride home is much quieter than the one there, but the simple silence seems to speak louder than anything he’d have to say. 

The next day, Frankie would raid the cabinets of his kitchen for every last packet of jello he could find and bring them all to your front door.

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art. 

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

[darkcircles4lyfe]

it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

[sl-ut]

ceilings

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

description: ellie and y/n are together when they’re in private, but she’s not sure if she’s ready to be with her in public. A newcomer to jackson might be the shove that she needs to decide whether she really wants her or not.

warnings: UNEDITED!!! slight hint of smut, reader has a bad rep, reader is a lil slutty (in a fun way), mentions of bad parenting, slightly mean!ellie, jealousy

words: 4.8K

date posted: 08/06/23

part two

Early morning patrol was going to kill Ellie someday, that she was sure of. The urge to stay in bed all day only worsened as the wind grew increasingly bitter with the oncoming winter. More often than not, she would be paired with Jesse or Dina, who both took their time apart to use Ellie as their unpaid therapist. At that point, she would almost rather have tense smalltalk with Joel or even suffer through Eugene’s ramblings–at least Eugene almost always brought weed to share between them. Plus, waking up before the sun had even risen halfway into the sky was easily one of her least favourite things to do, and her thighs were always sore after riding all day, no matter how often she was on horseback. 

The only thing that made it even worse in the more recent weeks, was that she found it so hard to drag herself out of bed while knowing who was still tucked into the numerous blankets. 

She made an effort to wake up early every morning, turning over as slowly as she could manage in hopes of not disturbing the slumbering figure behind her, settling onto her side as her fingers itched to reach out and feel the smooth flesh beneath the hem of her shirt. In such close proximity, she was able to feel the warmth of her body, blistering beneath the mountain of blankets. The girl was curled onto her side, shoulders rising and falling with every deep breath that escaped her parted lips. Before noticing her own movement, Ellie’s fingertips stroked against the softness of her warm cheek, stroking the sleep-swollen flesh in admiration with slow, gentle movements until the girl’s long eyelashes began to flutter. 

Y/n blinked a few times as she pushed through the grogginess, a dopey grin crossing her features sleepily as her eyes fell on the figure next to her. She tugged the blankets in closer to her chin as she readjusted her head on the pillow, smacking her lips a few times before mumbling out a warm ‘mornin’’.

“Sorry,” Ellie hurriedly pulled her fingers away, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘S okay,” Y/n yawned, “I don’t mind waking up next to you.”

Ellie flushed, chest burning with the desire to snuggle so close to the girl that they became fused together. Her fingers moved down, searching blindly beneath the blankets in search of Y/n’s own hand, and tangling them together tightly.

The night before had felt unreal. Ellie had invited Y/n over, having made sure that they would be uninterrupted, to watch a movie on the shitty little box TV that she had brought out to her garage. In the dim lighting of the battery-operated lantern in the corner and the flickering TV, Ellie had admired Y/n’s features up-close in a way that she yearned to on a much more regular basis. The night had, of course, ended with Ellie tripping over her own feet in excitement as she was leading Y/n to her bed, wandering hands finally finding their purchase beneath the covers. 

Things had been that way for a while now. Ellie had known Y/n from a distance for quite some time before they started seeing each other, but hadn’t truly gotten to know her beyond a few things until Dina and Jesse ditched her at the Tipsy Bison in favour of Jesse’s bed. The two girls had a short conversation that night, and their relationship quickly snowballed from there. Small talk quickly turned into stolen kisses, and kisses turned into experimental touches–though it was always in private.

“I have to go soon,” Ellie whispered to her, “Patrol.”

Y/n let out a quiet groan, “Just skip today, I’ll do the same. Let’s just stay in bed all day.”

A small huff of a laugh escaped Ellie and she rolled her eyes, “Yeah, and risk us both being skinned alive by Maria?”

The girl shrugged lazily, shifting a tad closer to Ellie and nudging at her nose with her own playfully, “I can make it worth your while…”

Ellie’s fingers twitched, a knowing smirk crossing her dry lips, “Yeah? And how’s that?”

“Well, I was thinking…” She lowered her voice, as if they weren’t completely alone in the privacy of Ellie’s renovated garage, “I could get on top of you, and, you know…”

“I’m listening,” Ellie prompted her to continue with a wolfish grin.

“Well, I would get on top of you, get nice and close,” she giggled, “and then we could go back to sleep for a few hours.”

Ellie chuckled, pinching at her side playfully, “I should’ve known you were full of it when you said you would get on top.”

Y/n scoffed, swatting at her as she cackled at her own joke, “Uh, excuse me! I would get on top if you would let me!”

“Oh please, you wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“You wanna bet?” Y/n wasted no time in crawling on top of the brunette, grasping at her wrists and pinning them above her head with as much strength as she could manage, “What do you think of that, huh?”

Ellie’s eyes dropped from Y/n’s own to her lips, then down to the plush of her thighs from beneath the large shirt that she had worn to bed. She could feel the warmth of her centre through the thin fabric of her panties against the firm expanse of her abdomen, and she could make out the shape of her breasts through the worn fabric of her shirt. Her breath caught in her throat at the intimate position, fingers stretching out as she gauged how difficult it would be to break her hold. 

“I think you’re in over your head. You’re nothing but a little pillow princess, aren’t you?”

Y/n pouted, shaking her head in defiance as she bent down further to ghost her lips over Ellie’s before finally dropping them together in a firm kiss. Slowly, she began to rotate her hips against her, mewling against her lips excitedly and easily becoming overwhelmed at the slightest of touches.

Ellie took the opportunity handed to her, wrenching her hands free and manoeuvring herself to be propped up against her pillows while grasping Y/n’s hips in her strong hands while forcing them to continue on with her movements. Y/n shrieked in surprise at the jostling movement, but didn’t fight Ellie’s clear show of dominance and allowed the girl to guide her hips in grinding down against her abs. 

Small gasps fell from her lips as she urged Ellie to let her go faster, their lips moulding together to a series of sloppy kisses.

“See?” Ellie panted as their lips separated for air, “You can be on top all you want, but you’ll never be in control.”

Y/n moaned as the sensation of cotton rubbing against her sensitive bundle of nerves, the contours of Ellie’s abdomen acting as the perfect surface for her pleasure, murmuring out little incoherent sentences under her breath–a result of both the warm feeling that had begun to pool in her belly and the sheer exhaustion that still gnawed at her brain. Ellie whispered little praises to her, watching impatiently as her face scrunched up with every movement of her hips.

Her peak was torn away as a knock sounded on the door, Y/n finding herself falling face-first into the mattress as Ellie pushed her away as if she had burned her, tossing the blankets over Y/n’s body as the door swung open.

Y/n peeled the blankets off of her face, scowling at her unofficial girlfriend for throwing her to the side so haphazardly, though Ellie hadn’t even spared her a glance as she rushed out of bed and towards the door.

“Yo, Ellie!” Jesse marched straight in after knocking only once, “We’re gonna be late if you don’t drag your ass outta–oh.”

His gaze had quickly shifted past his friend’s alarmed expression to the flushed figure in her bed, a knowing look crossing his embarrassed features. 

“Jesse, what the fuck man?”

“Sorry,” He flickered his eyes to Ellie, not wanting to let his gaze linger on the half-dressed girl longer than necessary, “We’ve got patrol, so I guess I’ll just, uh, wait outside.” He paused at the door for a final remark before closing it behind him, “Hi, Y/n.”

Ellie dropped her head in embarrassment, hands on her hips as she shook her head, “Fuck.”

Y/n crawled out of the bed, cringing as her bare feet met the cold floor. Her fingers reached for Ellie’s back, barely ghosting her spine before the brunette ripped herself away, rushing around the room to collect her things.

“Hey,” Y/n called out to her, “I know you’re probably embarrassed over that, but it’s okay. I mean, he didn’t really see anything, but–”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure he’s not dumb enough to not figure out what we were doing,” Ellie remarked as she slid her jeans up over her thighs.

“It’s not the end of the world, now is it? I mean, you know what he’s doing when he and Dina sneak off, right? What’s the difference?”

“Difference is that I know that he and Dina are dating. This isn’t exactly something that I planned on telling people about.”

The blood drained from Y/n’s face, “Oh my God, Ellie. Are you not… I had no idea that you weren’t, you know, out to everyone. I’m so sorry, I would have taken it more seriously if I–”

“What?” Ellie scrunched her face up, “Are you kidding me? I dated Cat, everyone knows that I like girls.”

Y/n paused, the sinking feeling in her stomach returning, only significantly worse than before, “So, you weren’t planning on telling people about me?”

Ellie stood up from lacing up her boots, turning to shrug into her jacket and backpack quickly as she turned back to face Y/n with a sigh. Her shoulders dropped as she took in the wide, teary eyes of the girl she had been quite intimately embracing only moments before, “Jesus, I don’t have time to deal with this right now, ‘kay? We’ll talk when I get back.”

Ellie disappeared out the door without another word or glance, leaving Y/n to collect her things and flee back to her own home. 

* * *

Jackson was not a very big community,meaning that Ellie had come to know who most people were within the first three weeks of her and Joel settling into Jackson for good. Seth was a cranky old asshole, Big Frankie had a bad temper, and Jennifer was cheating on her husband with his brother, only he was too blind to see it. Joel wasn’t exactly one for gossip, so she did her best to follow by example and ignore the kinds of reputations that people held until she could judge for herself. That was until she met Dina.

Dina was the kind of girl who people aimed to please. Generally everyone was instantly drawn to her; pretty, smart, and confident, the kind of girl that everyone wanted to be or wanted to be with. She was the first person that Ellie seemed to actually click with, so of course she was willing to hear and trust her opinion of other Jackson locals. With older people, the general consensus was that they were either nice or absolute dicks with no in between, though things were much more complicated with people closer to their own age. 

There was a clear social hierarchy among the Jackson youths. Dina, of course, was among the top of this status quo, and had very strict opinions of those who she personally did not like. There were a handful of people who Dina wasn’t the biggest fan of, but there was no one else in Jackson that Dina seemed to dislike more than Y/n, though she was never very open about exactly why she didn’t like her, beyond several petty comments or calling her mean names when she passed by with a smile. Jesse had even let it slip one night just before greening out that Dina had once been friends with the girl, but was too out of it to tell her anything else.

Ellie decided that anyone who could have caused such hatred in Dina must have been the scum of the earth, and that it was in the best interest of herself and the relationship that she had with Dina to take up similar opinions, though she still couldn’t quite figure out how that kind of dreadful personality could exist within such a cheerful facade. Of course, Ellie was aware of the reputation that she had around town, and she had taken notice of how she seemed to hang around with different guys every few weeks, but did that necessarily mean that she was an awful person? She had also seen the way that she interacted with others around town, and had heard from Maria how sweet she was with the dogs when she worked at the kennels–things just weren’t adding up. 

When she asked Dina, she was quite vague about the actual issue that she had with the girl, instead choosing to explain why Ellie shouldn’t like her. 

“She’s slept with half the guys in Jackson, and tried with the other half. Guess they weren’t desperate enough to stoop to that level.” Dina had scowled, “Plus she’s such an airhead. Like, I figured that people nowadays needed to have some kind of common sense, but jeez.”

To be quite honest, Y/n was one of the first people who she had taken explicit notice of in Jackson, aside from Tommy and Maria, of course. She was the kind of girl that Ellie just couldn’t look away from, and always seemed to have a peaceful and soft aura about her. Whenever they happened to run into each other, she always greeted her with a smile and a soft hello, only to turn beet red and retreat when Dina came sidling up beside her. Whenever they were both at the Tipsy Bison, Ellie’s eyes couldn’t stop themselves from following her movements, internally cringing as she watched guys run their hands over her body and pulling a boisterous laugh out of her. 

“Can’t believe Keith is the guy of the week,” Dina raised her brows at the sound of the obnoxious giggling.

Jesse shrugged, keeping a neutral position that would only prove to piss his girlfriend off even more, “He’s a nice guy. Seems to like her.”

She snorted, “They always seem to like her, until they get what they want. After that, I guess she lets people see the real her.”

Later on that night, Ellie did actually get to know the real her after Dina and Jesse pulled their infamous disappearing act, and she still couldn’t figure out what kind of person could be so awful under such a starkly opposite front. She quickly grew to like Y/n much more than she wanted to–she wanted to be a loyal friend, to hate the same people that Dina did, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to. But what Dina didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?

It hadn’t seemed to be in the best interest of anyone to be open with her relationship with Y/n just yet. Dina would likely have given her the cold shoulder for God-knows how long, as she so often did with people, Jesse would have been forced to ignore her wherever possible, and Y/n would have faced some serious consequences from Dina and, by association, Jesse. 

Y/n had a reputation around Jackson, and it wasn’t as if Ellie was put off by it, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she was just the latest obsession and would soon be kicked to the curb. As much as she liked Y/n, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to risk losing Dina and Jesse if what they had was nothing more than a passing fling, so it only made sense that she hadn’t told them yet. Plus, that stupid grin on his face was enough of a reason not to tell them.

“Stop looking at me like that,” She drawled, trotting alongside him on Shimmer, “Seriously, I’ll punch that smug little smile right off your stupid face.”

Ellie was honestly surprised that he had contained it this long so far, waiting until they were a fair distance from Jackson to even prod at the questions he’s been dying to ask. 

“So…” Jesse paused, unsure of how to approach the conversation without being maimed by his best friend, “How long have you guys been… Are you together?”

“No,” She answered sharply, “We’re–I don’t know. A few weeks, I guess.”

“Honestly, I didn’t even think she liked girls. Does…anyone else know?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “No, Jesse, Dina doesn’t know. She would probably kill me, which is why I didn’t tell you, and why you can’t tell her. Don’t bother asking anything else, ‘cause I’m not gonna tell you.”

Jesse grunted in response, nodding in silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat and leaned towards her ever so slightly as he muttered out his question.

“How is it?” He laughed at her incredulous expression, “What? It’s not like you can talk about this with anyone else, can you?”

She shook her head at him, turning her face away to keep her eyes on the path ahead of them, “I don’t–I mean…” Ellie sniffed, deciding to answer now rather than be bothered by him for the rest of patrol, “Yes, it is.”

Jesse howled in amusement, “Holy shit, you like like her, I can see it on your face.”

“I do not, I just–”

“You didn’t even look this smitten with Cat, and you were down bad for her too,” He continued, “So are you gonna ask her out?”

She shrugged in response.

“I don’t see why not. I mean, people talk, but she’s actually really nice, funny, not to mention that she’s like–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Ellie pointed at him accusingly, “And you know why.”

“Because of Dina?” Jesse asked incredulously, “C’mon, don’t let her stop you from being happy. What happened between them, that’s like ancient history now, D will get over it.”

“Will she? I mean, she’s never even told me why she doesn’t like her.”

Jesse paused, almost as if he was unsure of how much he should actually reveal about the situation without betraying his girlfriend’s trust, “Listen, it’s really nothing. Just drama from when we were like thirteen, and you know that Dina can hold a grudge, but I really don’t think that she would be willing to just stop being friends with you because of it.”

Ellie shook her head once more, “Just forget it. This is supposed to be patrol, not therapy.” She chuckled at her own words, nudging at Shimmer to get her to pick up the pace and leaving Jesse in her dust.

***

The morning had progressed very slowly for Y/n. She had been left in quite a state; still frazzled from Ellie’s touches, while also distraught from her words. They hadn’t been very public about their relationship, if you could even call it that, but it hadn’t even occurred to Y/n that there might have been a reason behind the secrecy aside from Ellie’s preference to keep her life a bit more private. She knows that Ellie had been upset this morning, and she likely wouldn’t have said the things that she had otherwise, though that didn’t make it any better considering that she was upset because someone had seen them together.

Y/n knew what kind of reputation she had around Jackson. From a young age, she knew that she had issues with being alone–it terrified her to no end. Her father, while still doing the bare minimum, was not very present in her life beyond making sure that she was still breathing and punishing her for getting in trouble. Aside from that, he would have nothing to do with her, and more often than not, didn’t even spend the night in the same house as her. In truth, it would be more surprising if she hadn’t sought out comfort in others, and it was incredibly easy for her. 

The first boy she ever kissed was Frank Cahill, who was a year older than her and just happened to be there at the right moment. She had been crying to herself silently after a fight with her father, curling into herself on the front step of the empty house. Frank happened to be walking by and said the right words for her to fall so easily into his arms. 

From then on, Y/n fell in love with just about every guy she had ever been with. She needed companionship, and guys were willing to give it to her for the price of her body. The only issue being that not many stuck around afterwards, and some weren’t willing to “work for it” beyond what they deemed necessary, so she truthfully could not deny most of the rumours that had gone around about her. Of course, she wasn’t stupid and knew that many of these guys didn’t really like her, but those who were good enough at acting to trick her into believing their sweet whispers truly took a toll on her.

Which is why she was so caught off guard by Ellie’s treatment. Ellie had criticised the way that she allowed guys to treat her in the past, but made it clear to her that she didn’t think of her any differently because of it. If the embarrassment hadn’t been caused by the fact that she was a girl, it left her with no other reason other than that she was Y/n. Ellie was embarrassed to be seen with her, not because she wasn’t out yet, but because she didn’t want to be seen with Y/n in general. 

Ellie was the first girl that she had ever been with. In fact, she hadn’t even considered the fact that she might like girls until she found herself seeking Ellie out and eventually beginning to fall for her. She was different from the others, seeming to actually be interested in her as a person rather than just another warm body, and even after they had slept together for the first time, she still stuck around. She was the first person to make Y/n feel like she was worth more than what she actually believed, but their interaction during the early hours of the morning made her question whether Ellie was actually as trustworthy as she had believed her to be.

Her eyes were droopy as she brushed through the soft chestnut hair of what felt like the thousandth horse of the day. She hadn’t managed to fall back to sleep after returning to her own house and needed to be at the stables for her shift only a few hours later. She was dreading the fact that Ellie would soon be returning from her morning patrol and would be coming straight there to return Shimmer for the night. 

She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of her name being called, managing a cheerful smile as her eyes fell onto Maria’s figure, then onto the shy expression of the girl behind her. 

“Y/n, this is Erin, she and her brother are new around town. I figured that the stables would be a good place for her to start out, so would you mind giving her a little show around when you’re done here?”

Y/n turned to face the girl, taking in her short brown hair and cocoa skin. She smiled at her kindly, nodding to Maria before offering her a hand to shake. The pair had fallen into an easy conversation, giggling quietly together in the corner of the stables as Erin helped her finish grooming the remaining horses.

Y/n found Erin to be a welcome distraction, not even noticing when Ellie and Jesse returned their horses. 

Jesse glanced over at the two girls, then back to his friend, who’s eyes hadn’t left them since they had first set foot in the stables. 

“Who’s that?” She asked Steven as she handed Shimmer’s reins off to him, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of her belly.

“New girl,” He shrugged, “Weird, though. Could barely get a word out of Y/n all morning before she showed up.”

Ellie sneered as Steven led Shimmer back to her stall, resisting the urge to march over to the pair and stake her claim–but what claim? To the public, Ellie and Y/n barely know one another. They may speak in passing, but there really shouldn’t be any reason for Ellie to feel jealous over Y/n getting along with someone else. This is what she wanted, isn’t it? She had been mortified when Jesse caught them together earlier that morning, so what could have possibly changed enough in the few hours that she was gone in order for her to feel so differently?

The brunette would never admit it, but it had actually felt quite nice to be able to talk about the time that she spent with Y/n to someone–it made it feel much more real, like something real could actually sprout from their late-night talks and stolen kisses. Perhaps Dina could grow to accept Y/n as her partner, though she was certain it would take quite a bit of time for that to happen. 

That dreamy image seemed to shatter as Ellie whipped around, marching out of the stables and leaving the two girls to themselves. 

***

The Tipsy Bison was usually busy on Saturdays, and this one was no different. It had been a full day since Ellie had last spoken to Y/n, unable to get over her own pride and jealousy to approach her while she had Erin at her side, which seemed to be just about all the time now. She was thankful for the opportunity to get to the bar with her friends, to drink until her problems seemed so miniscule that she could almost completely forget about them. 

But then she caught sight of Y/n tucked into a corner booth, sitting suspiciously close to an all-too-obvious Erin. The mixture of annoyance with Dina and Jesse, who seemed to be moments away from sneaking off, the jealousy, and the heat of the hard liquor in her veins had her fuming. 

“Oh my God,” Dina had sneered in judgement, “Looks like she burned through all the guys in Jackson too fast and switched teams. Watch out, Ellie, you might be next.”

Jesse and Ellie shared a knowing look over Dina’s head, his dark eyes silently asking if she was going to do anything about the new girl blatantly flirting with Y/n, while Ellie’s simply betrayed the burning rage inside of her. 

She saw her chance when Y/n got up to approach the bar, leaning her arms on the sticky bar top as she waited for Seth’s attention. Ellie sidled up alongside her, remaining a casual distance away from her as she barked out another drink order for herself. 

“So you and Erin, huh?” She mumbled, glancing at the girl out of the corner of her eye. 

“Sorry, are you talking to me?” Y/n looked around dramatically, hand rising to grasp at her own chest in shock, “Last I heard, you couldn’t be seen with me.”

“You know that’s not…what I meant.”

“No, how could I possibly know what you meant, Ellie? When one person saw us together and you suddenly didn’t want anything to do with me, what else was I supposed to think?”

She shrugged, “I don’t–”

“And Erin’s just a friend, by the way.”

Ellie chuckled humorlessly, “You’ve gotta be stupid to not see how into you she is.”

Y/n shook her head, “You know, that’s the second time you’ve called me dumb in the last two days, Ellie. And so what if she likes me? Honestly, it’s kinda nice to–” she paused, choking on a sudden onset of tears. She shook her head, refusing to allow her own emotions to spill out with Ellie present, “It’s nice to be around someone who’s not embarrassed to be seen with me.”

As if on cue, Seth placed the two drinks down in front of Y/n, allowing her to snatch them away from him and flee before Ellie could even think of a response. 

[maxillness]

From People You Know, To People You Don’t || MW2 x Piastri!Driver!Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, Danny being our favourite honey badger, angst, (slight) yearning, age gap, praise kink, self hatred, nipple play, secret relationship

Wordcount: 7.4k

You can read the request here

Some of the timeline don't match the real timeline, but just skip that fact please

Being 21 and in formula one having won both f2 and f3 championships in her first year, her parents were proud of her, as well as her younger brother

She was hyper excited when she got the news that Oscar would be driving for Alpine doing the 2021 season

She loved her brother to death. She always loved karting with him, and always did when they were younger

He always hated it, but only because she always won over him. Always beat him. Besides that, he loved it as much as she did

They always had a close relationship. They told each other everything. From girls and boys, to nasty homework, to what they dreamt of

So how did it change so suddenly for the worse?

A few days after the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix during the 2020 season, she had been at her apartment in Monaco, lazily watching tv as her phone rang

Osc🫶

She picked up the phone, putting it on speaker as she paused the show she was watching

“Ain’t it past your bedtime?” She asked, teasing him as it was only 8 o’clock

“I have news” He said, excitement running through his voice. She waited for him to speak up “I got a contract with Alpine”

“What?” She leant forward, putting her elbows on her knees “You got a contract with Alpine?” She heard a faint hum on the other side “For when? 2022?”

“No, next year” She could hear the excitement in his voice. It was like when they were younger and they would get candy right before bedtime

“Next year? Isn’t that a little late to make a contract?” She asked, confused as why it was this late

“It has been un-going for a while, but I only got the official call today” He explained, hoping she wasn’t mad he hadn’t told her before

“That’s great, Osc. I’m excited to drive with you next year” She said. It was obvious she was smiling as she spoke

“Yeah, and with Logan racing for Williams next year too…” Logan and Oscar was close, she knew that, but as they now were rivals, she was afraid they would fall apart

“Yeah, that’s great, Osc. I’m proud of you”

Being in Qatar at pre-testing was wonderful. The break was finally over, and she had gotten to see her brother again

She sighed as she sat down in the car. She felt great. She felt at home. She missed this. She needed this

She felt bad when a week later she qualified ahead of Oscar. She wanted him to have a good first f1 quali, but he had accepted at this point that she was the better, and more experienced driver, so he didn’t let anything bad about it cross his mind, but only congratulated his sister

She finished ahead of Oscar as well at the race. She felt bad, but on the track, Oscar was nothing more than a rival. Not her friend, not her brother. A rival

It kept going like this. Her finishing ahead, but in qualifying and in the race, him always congratulating her behind hurt eyes

A few races into the season, and she stood in the garage looking over some data, mindlessly looking over it with her manager and mentor, Sebastian Vettel, not noticing Andrea stepping up behind her

“Piastri, can I have a word with you, please?” He asked, putting a hand on her upper back

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?” She seamed concerned, as well did Sebastian

“Not here” He shook his head lightly

She stood up from the chair and following him into an empty part where they could talk in private, not disturbed by anyone

“What is it?” Her voice was shaking slightly, afraid she would be dumped by the season

“I know I shouldn’t say this two days before a race, but better hear it from me than a leak from twitter” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest

“We’re replacing you as of the 2022 season” She knew it. She knew it would be like this

“Okay… With who?” She expected someone like Lewis, Bottas, anyone than the name he spoke

“Oscar” He sighed, looking down into the ground, avoiding her eyes

“Oscar?” She asked “You’re replacing me with Oscar?” She rose her voice a little, getting frustrated at his words “I’m the better driver of the two of us, and you’re choosing Oscar?”

“Yes. Yes, we are” He still didn’t date to look in her eyes, knowing this was what she lived for

“You’re making a big mistake, Stella” She said before leaving

As she walked back into the garage, a camera was all up in her face which she pushed away without looking into it

“Are you okay?” Sebastian asked as she sat back down beside him

“They’re replacing me with Oscar next year” She sighed, not meeting his eyes as he wanted

“What? Why?” She just shrugged at his words, knowing as much as himself

During the next few races and the days in between, she had gotten all sort of messages asking why she was replaced, how she felt about it, etc.

It wasn’t just from the other drivers, but other team principals, other celebrities, fans, you name it

Her responds was always the same; ‘thank you for your concern, but I know as much as you do’

The Hungarian Grand Prix rolled around, and she was tired. She was tired of all the tweets and online stuff at all

She had a good quali, getting in the second row, again outing her brother. As well as the race

She had gotten p1, which she hadn’t gotten in a while. She felt at home again as she heard her national anthem get played and she looked down to Sebastian who was smiling up at her

She sat at the press conference, feeling her still damp hair soaking through her shirt

She sat at the far left with Lewis beside her, Fernando, Max and Daniel filling the table as well

It was nearing the end. She loved press conferences, but she really just wanted to be back at her hotel room and sleep the night through

“Y/N, how do you feel about McLaren signing Sebastian as Oscar’s Manager for next year as well?” She was utterly confused

“What do you mean? McLaren’s not signing Sebastian for Oscar” She was even more confused when Lewis pulled out his phone and opened twitter

It was McLaren’s official account, stating that Sebastian would be Oscar’s manager for next year. The four other drivers looked over at her, worry in their eyes

She sighed, looking out to the crowd again “I didn’t know about this change, but if it what they believe are best for the team, the there’s nothing I can do than continue the season out and prove to other teams that I deserve a seat next year” She spoke softly and without emotion, but her eyes were glassy and hurt

She loved Sebastian, she wouldn’t be where she was today if it wasn’t for him. She didn’t wanna part with him, but if the team believed that was for the best, then let them be with it

The conference ended and she was sat back in her drivers room. She leaned back into the couch. She was trying so hard to hold back, but a few tears had slipped down her cheeks silently

She quickly wiped them away as she heard a knock on her door “Come in” She sniffled softly as the door opened

It was Mark Webber. She hadn’t really thought about it up until now, but he was as unemployed as she was next year

“Hey. Are you in a mood to talk?” He stood in the doorway, not wanting to pry her if she didn’t want to be in his presence

“Sure. Sit” She moved more to the side, giving him space to his tall figure

He closed the door behind him before walking over to her, sitting down beside her, turning his body to face her slightly

“I’m sorry about all that have happened to you, you don’t deserve it” He said, meeting her now dried eyes

“You’re as unemployed as I am. You shouldn’t be apologising for something you didn’t do” She scoffed, feeling bad he felt like he had to apologise

There was a silence between them “You seriously didn’t know about it?” He asked, leaning in a little closer to her

“Not until Lewis showed me” She chuckled “I haven’t even seen Sebastian since. Though I would have a talk with him, but I think he’s hiding from me” She looked into her hands placed in her lap

“Sounds like him” He said “Avoiding his problems until they become serious enough” He sighed as he spoke “You gotta catch him before he have a chance to scram” He chuckled, Lightning the mood in the room

“This helped. Thank you, Mark” She sighed, smiling up at him, straining her neck a little as she had to look up at him

“Of course” He should leave now, but he didn’t want to “I thought about something” She hummed low

“I’m jobless next year, and if you get a seat next year, which you probably will, I was just thinking-“

“That’s a good idea, Mark” She said, noticing he was rambling out of nervousness as to what she would say to his thought

She was beyond mad. She was fucking pissed. He took her seat, he took her manager and mentor, and her parents had taken his side?

The season had started again after the summer break. She hadn’t talked with Oscar or Sebastian since the conference in Hungary

She couldn’t dare to look either of them in the eye, and she hated that she still had to work with Sebastian

She still loved having him as her manager and mentor, but fuck did she want to pull his head off his body

She needed to talk to Sebastian, as well as her brother, but one talk at a time

“Talk” It wasn’t a question as she pushed Sebastian into an empty corridor of the hospitality

He didn’t look at her as he leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest

“I trusted you, Sebastian” Her voice was hurt, but she kept on a brave face as well as her eyes dried

He didn’t say anything

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He was still quiet “You’ll never get my trust back” She sighed “You know what? You’re an asshole. I lost my seat, and you chose the person who took it from me. That’s a fucking shit move”

She could feel the tears starting to swell in her eyes as well as her fell and raised quicker than normally

“I fucking trusted you” Silence “You don’t even have the heart to apologise” Silence “Everything Mark said about you is true” She walked away from him, wiping a tear that had shed down her cheek

Daniel gave her a questionable look as she walked out. She only nodded softly, taking the hint, he smiled at her

After quali that weekend, she stood behind a stack of unused tyres, typing away on her phone. She was so dazed in her fingers moving that she didn’t t notice anybody walk up behind her

“I’m sorry” She was slightly startled by the familiar voice. She turned around to see the hurt eyes of her younger brother

She sighed as she turned her phone off and put it in her back pocket “Why is it, that the people I trusted the most turned against me? Care to explain?”

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I thought I was replacing Daniel-“ “Don’t bull crap me, Oscar. You knew, as well that you knew Sebastian is gonna leave me, and you chose not to say shit”

He didn’t say anything, his throat closed “You took my seat, you took my manager and mentor, and our parents are on your side”

“I used to feel bad that you were referred to as my brother and not by your name. Now? I don’t give a shit. I trusted you with my life, Oscar. And I’m gonna say the same thing to you as I did to Sebastian. You’ll never get my trust back”

“I’m sorry” She only scoffed before she walked away, going back to the motorhome

She went through the season barely being able to look eye to eye with Sebastian, and hadn’t even talked with Oscar since she cursed him out

The same week as the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, she had gotten a call from a number she didn’t recognise

“Y/N” She picked it up and put it to her ear

“Hi Y/N, it’s Christian Horner” She was surprised as the two of them really hadn’t talked as much as people would think

“Hi, what can I do for you?” You could hear the surprised tone in her voice as she sat down on the couch

“I was just thinking if you wanted to come over and talk about a potential contract” She could hear his smile trough the phone

“Really? I mean sure. Now or…?” She could scream if she wasn’t on the phone

“Whenever you have time”

The next morning, she had gotten thousands of notifications from twitter as she woke up. She only got to check them when she was driving to the paddock

They were all about her being spotted shaking hands with Christian outside of the Red Bulls motorhome

Everybody was saying the same thing in one way or the other ‘Is Y/N getting a seat for next year?’ ‘Is Y/N replacing Checo for the 2022 season?’

She had seen and liked to a lot of them, but no way in hell could she do it to all of them as there were too many to even show in her inbox

“I feel bad I can’t tell them anything” She sighed talking to Daniel who was seated beside her

“You’re going to get that seat, and then you can tell the world” Daniel has always been nice to her. She liked him, he was a good friend

“Thank you, Danny” She smiled, getting one back in return “Thank you for not saying anything”

“Can’t tell them things I don’t know about, can I?” Talking to the fellow Aussie was something she looked forward to lately

In that moment her phone rang

Christian Horner

“Speaking of the devil. Y/N” She put her phone up to her ear, looking out of the window to her right as she did

“Hey, Y/N. Great news. The seat is yours if you sign the contract today” She immediately looked to her side to Daniel with a big smile

“I’ll be there as quick as I can. I’m almost there” She heard a faint ‘good’ on the other side “And about my request?”

“Mark is free to join us as well if he’s ready to come back here” She couldn’t contain her smile

“Thank you so much, Christian. I will make sure he knows. Thank you” She hung up the phone and turned to Daniel

“If I sign today, the seat’s mine” Her smile was as wide as Daniel’s normally was, if not wider

“That’s great” He pulled her into a tight hug, slightly difficult by the seatbelts they were wearing, but it didn’t matter in the moment

“You deserve the seat more than anyone” He hugged her a little tighter before letting her go, his hands still on her upper arms

“Thank you. You really are the greatest” He let go of her arms as she reminded to make a phone call

She scrolled through her call list, finding the one labeled with Mark’s name. She heard the phone ring through a few times before he picked up

“Hey, mate. What can I help you with?” She liked the way he called her ‘mate’. It was like a sweet thing that was between the two of them

“Hey, I got two great news” She said, stepping out of the car as they arrived “First of all; I got the seat for next year, I just need to sign the contract”

“That’s awesome” She heard the smile in his thick accent “The other?”

“Second of all; you’re going with me” She had stopped outside of the Red Bull motorhome, before going to her own

“Seriously? Christian agreed on that?” He scoffed, sounding surprised in some way

“In my opinion, I think he misses you” She felt good that she had made him laugh on the other end. She liked that she could do that

“I’m not so sure, but thank you for telling me before I saw it somewhere else” She sighed as he spoke “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way”

“No, it’s fine. Look, I gotta go, but I’ll see you, yeah?” “Of course, see you” She hung up before she headed into the Red Bull motorhome

As she walked into and out of the motorhome, she got glances from all the staff that was there. She did look out of place in her papaya shirt, but it surly wouldn’t be that

She walked into her own motorhome. She had a big smile on her lips as she greeted people in her way

By the look on Andrea’s face, she figured he had already heard about her new contract, as well as Zak that was stood beside him

She ignored than as Daniel walked over to her, hugging her again, as tight as he did in the car before

She was excited for the race, not only because she made first row in quali at p2 beside Verstappen, but because it was Abu Dhabi

If she had to choose a favourite Grand Prix, it would probably be Abu Dhabi. Even if she knew there was no way in hell she would win the championship with the amount of points Max had in his books

It was more likely Lewis was going to win the championship as he was tied with Verstappen on the points

She had finished in p3 that day with Lewis in p2 and Max p1. They all three were soaked in champagne as they got off the podium

“Congrats on the championship” She said as she shook hands with Max

“Thank you. Heard about your seat next year. It’ll be good to be working with you” He said, his slight lisp working on his tongue

They turned towards Lewis as he walked up to them “Congrats to the both of you” He said, putting a hand on both their shoulders

“Thank you” They both said in sync “I’m sorry about it” Max continued, pitty swelling in his eyes

“Hey, man. It’s fine, we’re athletes. It is what it is, congrats though” He said, pulling him into a side hug that would be easy for him to get out of if he wanted to

As she came back from the winter break and into the Red Bull’s motorhome wearing something else than the papaya colours she normally wore, she felt like she had started her life all over

She hadn’t talk with Oscar since he came to apologise, as well as Sebastian since Abu Dhabi

She felt good as she stood in her drivers room, as well as she was drenched in nervous sweat

She turned around at the sound of a knock on the door as well as it creaked open

“You’re going to be okay, Y’know” Mark said as he noticed the way nervousness was splayed on her face

“I’m nervous as shit, Mark. It’s fucking Red Bull. I can’t fuck this up” He walked closer to her, shutting the door before he did

“I know, but you’re going to be just fine. Why would they give you the seat if they didn’t think you deserved it, hm?” He had put his hands on both of her biceps, making her look up at him

“I don’t know…” “Exactly. You deserve this seat. You’re gonna be great, besides, it’s only pre-testing” He smiled as he pulled his hands away

He walked back over to the door “Blue looks good on you, by the way” He said smiling before he walked out

For some reason, she felt heat all over her body as he spoke the words. She tried shrugging it away, but she could pull the smile off her lips

There was no use in being good in pre-testing, but she would tell herself she did good. And the praise from Mark… She was afraid it would be something she would yearn for

She didn’t admit it, but qualifying above Oscar the following week had satisfied her more than anything else

And then when she also finished well above him… She didn’t even feel bad, which she probably should as she hadn’t spoken to him in half a year and skipped Christmas because of him, but she didn’t really care in the moment

She didn’t win the first Grand Prix of the year, but being up on that podium again after the break and seeing Mark standing down there and smiling up at her, she finally felt at home again

She caught the eye of Oscar as she walked through the paddock after the race, but instead of prolonging the eye contact like usual, he just turned away and kind of stepped closer to Sebastian who was walking beside him

That was the moment she felt bad. She stopped in her tracks, looking after her brother

Mark stopped as well, taking a step closer to her “You okay?” He asked, but his words didn’t reach her ears “Hey” He put a hand on her cheek, turning her head towards him “You okay?”

She sighed, feeling herself lean into his touch subconsciously “Yeah. Sorry, I’m fine. Just feels a little bad for Oscar”

His hand still lingered on her cheek. It was there way longer than what should have been appropriate

“Don’t. He took your seat and your mentor, you shouldn’t feel bad” He said, removing his hand, and she almost let out a whine at the loss of contact

“Yeah, but I skipped Christmas, and I know how important it is for Oscar and my parents, whom I haven’t spoken to either in a while” She looked down into the concrete, seeing on how close their feet were

“You’re gonna be alright, mate” He sighed, leaning down to pull her into a tight hug

As he pulled away, her body burned through the clothes she wore where he had touched her

She of course knew that she would be close with Mark as they would work together, but she had gotten closer with him in that little time than she had ever been with Sebastian

She kinda of hated herself for it, knowing damn well she would get too attached if he would ever leave her, even though he swore he wouldn’t

She still had the doubt

It was bound to be, with everything that was taken from her, she was bound to have the doubt that everybody would leave eventually

“You happy about the home race?” She asked as she walked with Mark into the paddock

“So happy. I’m tired of staying in hotels” You could see the shine in his eyes as he spoke, obviously happy about the whereabouts of the race

“Understandable” She said as they walked into the Reb Bull motorhome, her body disobeying and flushing red as Mark’s hand placed on her lower back to lead her in

She missed the warmth of his hand the moment he didn’t touch her anymore. She sighed as she closed the door to her drivers room

She slid down the door, pulling her legs flushed up her chest and banged her head back against the door

This was normal, right? It was normal to develop feelings for someone who you worked very close with

She didn’t feel like this with Seb. Seb is a friend. Sebastian was a friend

This wasn’t normal

She was startled as she heard a knock on her door. She scrambled to get up. She sighed before opening the door

“Are you okay? I heard a small bang” It was Max. He must’ve heard her

“Yeah. No, I’m fine, really. Thank you though” She smiled, nodding slightly as she spoke, her hand still on the door handle

“Okay. Good luck today” He went to walk about, but she called his name and he turned back “Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?” She was hesitant in her words, and it was obvious

“Sure. Anything” She took a step to the side so he could walk into the room with her “What’s up?”

“It’s normal to like someone you work closely with a lot, right?” She asked as he hat sat down on the couch

“Yeah, I would think so- hold on. Is this a personal question or hypothetical?” She froze, afraid he had seen right through her

“Does it matter?” She asked, her voice cracking slightly

“Of course it does. If this is a personal question, then I’m gonna find out who you like from the team no matter if you’re tell me or not, and why would it be a hypothetical question?” He explained, yapping a little too fast for her to follow

“It’s for a friend, Max. She works with her manager very closely, and she’s afraid it’s not normal because she didn’t have the same feelings with the last one” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest

“Oh. Well, love is normal, and you can’t decide who you like and don’t, so yeah, I guess it is normal” He shrugged leaning back into the couch

“Okay. Thank you for the help” She said, Max now standing up

“Of course. Glad i could” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him

“Thank god” She whispered to herself, letting out a deep and long breath

Doing the rest of the week, she kept replaying the conversation she had with Max every time her thoughts said that it was wrong to have the feelings she did

It was finally race day. She had unfortunately had some mechanical issues during qualifying and ended up in Q2 and with Max on pole as usual

The start is good, not perfect, but better than she had expected. She managed to get out of the cramped site with no scratches and a few overtakes

Max is far ahead. Nothing else expected from him. She manages to get into p2, getting the call over the radio that she’s faster than Max, closing in on him

She got up to him, but he kept blocking her as she tried to overtake him “Is he gonna let me through or what?” She asked her engineer

“Give me a second” They said, presumably talking to Lambiase as more than a second went by “You can overtake”

“Thank you” She sighed as Max gave her space so she could overtake him, getting ahead of him in a fraction of a second

She cheers as she crosses the line at the last lap. Seeing her team cheer for her as her first win for Red Bull

She had a big smile on her lips as she looked over the crowd as her national anthem played. She got a quick glance at Max to her side, obviously annoyed at her win

She looked back, seeing Mark in the crowd. She made eye contact with him, making her subconsciously clench her thighs together

She thought it was obvious, but maybe it wasn’t, because he didn’t look like someone who saw, neither did the two drivers standing next to her

The whole team and some other drivers went out to a nearby club to celebrate. She decided not to drink too much as she was a light drinker

“Hey, I’m gonna head back to the hotel” She said, walking over to Mark

“I could take you to mine. Then you don’t have to sleep at the hotel” He offered, knowing it sounded inappropriate

She thought so as well, but the thought of being in Mark’s house, sleeping in his house clouded her mind, and she had agreed before she could think about it

It had all been a blur. From Mark calling a cab, to the drive to his house. He helped her get her coat off, hanging it up on the rack. She kicked her shoes off, placing them neatly on the floor by the wall

“You want anything to drink? Eat maybe?” He asked, as he got his own coat and shoes off

“I don’t wanna trouble you” She said, looking down into the floor

“I’m offering, mate. You want anything?” She nodded slowly, drawing a smile on his lips “Coffee?” He asked, putting his hand on her lower back, guiding her to the kitchen

She put a hand over her cheeks, hiding the blush on her face when his hand left her back. She thanked him as he put the mug in front of her, placing one in front of himself as well

“I feel like you’re the only constant thing in my life that hasn’t left me for my brother” She sighed, looking down into her coffee “I’m grateful for that. I love that” She sighed before she took the mug to her lips “I love you” The words were whispered and hidden by the mug, almost impossible for him to hear

“What?” She froze, afraid he had heard her. She shook her head slightly, putting the mug back down

He sighed, moving to take the seat beside her, turning the chair to face her “I love you too” He spoke low

She turned his head to him, but quickly turned away again “No you don’t. Nobody does”

She didn’t get to register that he had turned her head with his hand on her cheek before his lips were on hers. She kissed back before he pulled away, hand still on her cheek

“It’s impossible not to love you” He stared directly into her eyes, making sure she understood his words

“Kiss me again. Please…” Her eyes drifted to his lips, and back up again “Please, Mark” He chuckled before connecting their lips again

She removed her hands from the mug, placing one of them on his jaw, the other placed softly on his upper thigh

His tongue swept over her bottom lip, resulting in her opening up for him immediately, whimpering at the feeling of his tongue against hers

Both his hands went to her hips, pulling her into his lap, making her yelp at the sudden movement

His hands went under her shirt, settling under her bra covered breasts, her own arms slotted around his neck

She started rolling her hips, getting none of the friction she wanted, resulting her to whine into his mouth at the frustration

“Mark. Please” She whimpered against his lips, hoping he would do something about the ache between her legs

His hands went under her ass as he kissed again. He stood up, pulling her with him, her lags attached around his hips, their lips still intertwined

Before she could think about it, her back was pressed down against the bed of his bedroom

He hurried to get her shirt off, throwing it to the ground, his lips now on her neck, nibbling softly at the skin

His hands went to her back, unhooking her bra, pulling it down her arms, throwing it with her shirt

She whimpered, almost moaning as his thumbs ghosted over both of her nipples, feeling them harden under his touch

“Mm. Sensitive” He smirked slightly, lips going back to her neck as he continued to play with her nipples

“Mark. Please” She rolled her hips, hoping to get some friction her clit, her hands grappling tightly at the sheets beneath her

He pulled back and sat up on his knees in between her legs, his hands pulling down the shorts she was wearing

She shivered at the feeling of his finger tips tracing down on the outside of her thighs as he pulled her panties down

He leaned down, kissing from her lower stomach and up between her breasts. His fingers teased her entrance as his lips went around her nipple, flicking it with his tongue

“Fuck. Mark, please. I’m begging you, please” She rolled her hips, trying to get him to get his fingers inside of her

“Patience, love” He mumbled against her skin, finally pushing his fingers inside of her

She let out small moans and whimpers as he started moving in and out of her, slowly starting to stretch her out

She moaned louder as he started curling his fingers, hitting just the right spot inside of her. The spot that made her back arch up into his mouth and her eyes roll into the back of her head

“Right there. Fuck, feels so good. Please, Mark. Please” She pleaded, not knowing for what, but whatever he could give her

He pulled out of her as she started clenching around him. She whined at the loss, but it didn’t matter when he pulled back and started discarding of his own clothes

Mark was gorgeous, but under the clothes? She might just’ve came right then and there

As he leaned down to kiss her again, her hands were all over him. His back, his chest, his waist, his hips. Everywhere she could reach

His lips went back down to her neck as he put her legs around his hips, pushing himself closer to her

She closed her eyes and whimpered as he slowly entered her, groaning in the progress of it, sending tingles all the way down her spine

“Fuck. You’re so right around me” His breath was hot against her skin as he slowly started to move inside her, drawing out whimpers and small moans from her

“So good for me, baby” He murmured, kissing her jaw, her whole body flushed at his praise, his moans starting to get louder

“Sounds so good for me” He groaned, starting to set a faster and steadier rhythm “Fuck. Feels so good”

“Mark, please” Her back was arched off the bed, hands gripping so tight on his biceps that she was afraid she would have broken through his skin with her nails

“What, baby? Tell me what you want” She whined at his words “Tell me. It won’t hurt” She slowed his hips down, groaning as she clenched around him

She whimpered before she spoke up “My clit. Please” He chuckled and sped his hips up again

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asked with a smirked, trailing his finger tips down her body, landing on her clit, rubbing it slowly

“Fuck. Please. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop” She trembled under his touch, rapidly clenching around him, drawing out soft and low moans from him

“Mark, please. ‘M so close. Please” She squirmed under him, her orgasm so close she could taste it on her tongue

“Come for me, baby” His words almost cut short with a moan threatening to slip out

She didn’t hesitate a second before she came. Rapidly clenching hard around him, pulling him closer to the edge of his own orgasm

“Mark, please come in my, please” She whined as his thrusts became sloppy and out of rhythm

“You sure?” He had planned to pull out, but if it was what she wanted, how could he deny her?

“Yes, please. I want it” He managed a few more thrusts before he stilled his hips as he came inside her, her name rolling off his tongue in a low moan

He slowly pulled out of her, drawing a whine from her as he laid down beside her. He pulled her limp body into his, kissing the top of her head

“I’ll run the tub” Mark said, starting to get up

“It’s late. Can’t we just wait for tomorrow?” She asked, pulling him back down

“No. We’ll shower and then we can sleep. Okay?” She kissed her temple before she let him go so he could turn on the tub

“Come on, love” She helped her up from the bed, pulling her body flushed against his own, guiding her towards the bathroom

He knelt down to test the warmth of the water before he helped her get in. She leaned slightly forward so that he could get behind her

“Don’t fall asleep yet, my darling” He said snaking his arms around her soaked body, noticing she was dozing off

“I don’t wanna go home tomorrow” She sighed, her hands going up and down his arms

“You could always stay here until you need to go again” He said, kissing her cheekbone

“I could?” She asked, turning her head slightly to look better at him

“Mhm” He nodded softly, eyes drifting all over her face, looking at all the small features of it he had never before

“I just need to get my stuff from the hotel tomorrow then” She leaned her head back against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat in her back

It was the best 11 days she could ever imagine spending with him. She had never felt better. Never felt more loved in her life

“Hey, Y/N” Daniel caught up to her as she walked down the paddock “Anything interesting happened since the last time?”

“Y-yeah. I guess so” She felt a slight blush creeping down her neck

“Really? Wanna tell me about it?” Daniel asked, slowing their steps down and looked at each other

She thought about it for a moment, before deciding to speak about it “Okay. But you can’t tell anyone. Okay?” He nodded softly

They stepped to the side, making sure nobody could hear them “What’s up?” He was slightly nervous, seeing herself nervous

“I got in a relationship” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest, looking down into the concrete

“Really? That’s nice. Who’s the lucky guy?” He was far too happy to what she was about to say

“Mark” She said it so low she was afraid he didn’t hear her

“Mark who?” “Webber” He froze, unintentionally holding his breath

“Daniel?” She looked up at him, noticing go he wasn’t breathing “You need to breath, Danny”

“I’m sorry” He led his breath out “Mark Webber? Like, your manager, Mark Webber?” She nodded “Okay…” He was obviously trying to wrap his head around it

“Could you not tell anyone? We’re trying to keep it a secret for now” He nodded, afraid to speak to say something he shouldn’t “Thank you. You’re a real friend, Dan”

“We look out for our own, right?”

After every race, she liked to watch clips from the garage. It gave her some sort of comfort in watching her team, and seeing Mark on screen, she would be redder than a tomato, knowing she could jump him when ever she wanted

At some point, she had drawn Mark into doing it too. They would be curled up into each others body on the couch at whose ever place they would be staying at

She would blush every time she saw a clip where they would talk to each other. On tv it looked so innocent

It looked like your normal manager giving the driver a tip or telling them something they should improve or look out for, but they knew damn different

They knew what was coming out of the older’s lips. The words were pure filth. Filth that would fuck them both in the news if any body heard

It was also then after Imola that tweets started flowing out about hers, Oscars and Sebastian’s “relationship”

How they went from the best circle to something that looked like multi 21 or brocedes if you put it the right way

“How do you feel about all of it?” Mark asked as he saw her closed out of twitter after reading a tweet about it

“It’s fine” She sighed, snuggling into his side under the duvet on the bed “Not like it’s not true” Mark snakes his arms around her waist, pulling her closer “Although, I do miss Oscar sometimes, only sometimes though”

“Of course, he’s your brother. He’s half of you, and the other way around. You grew up together, never left each other’s sides. It’s okay to miss him, even if he is an asshole” That drew a chuckle out of her

Abu Dhabi rolled around, and at this point, her and Max points were tied. She needed to win the Grand Prix to win the championship

It felt like last year all over again. She had heard about the pressure both drivers was on during the time in between the two races, but she never imagined it to be this though

She needed this. She needed to prove she was worth something, and that McLaren made a wrong move to replace her

She needed to prove to her parents that they chose the wrong side

She needed to prove to Sebastian he chose the wrong sibling

She got pole during qualifying, but the whole race, the two Red Bull drivers were battling wheel to wheel, always no more than a fraction of a second ahead of the other

When they crossed the finish line, none of them was cheering as they didn’t know who had gotten through first

“Congratulations, Piastri. You’re world champion” She heard it over the radio

“Seriously?” She needed to hear it again before she was sure

“You’re allowed to cheer, Y/N” It was now Christian over the radio

“Fuck. Oh my god” She hardly got any words out, her excitement getting the best of her, freezing her thoughts

She slowly drove up in front of the sign labeled with a big number 1. She got out of her car, going over to her team, hugging them all

She got to Mark, hugging him tightly, her helmet kinda getting in the way. She was so caught up in the moment, too focused in being in his arms that she didn’t care that his hand that was on her back slipped down to her lower back, too far to seam appropriate

“I love you so much” She said it low, hoping no body from the team heard her, but still hoping he heard her

She pulled back, going back to say congratulations to Max and Lewis who placed p2 and p3

Since it was the last race of the year, everybody went out celebrating. No matter what team they were from, they all went out to the same club

She sat in a booth with Max, Charles, Daniel, Lewis, and Fernando. They were all sitting and chatting about everything and nothing, each of them taking turns to give drinks and shots

Slowly, all of them went to other people to talk to them too. Once it was just her and Fernando left back, Mark had joined them

Fernando had left a little while later, going over to Lance to talk to him, seeing everybody else had left him sitting alone

“Congratulations, baby” He said, leaning closer to her so she could hear him over the music and people talking

“Thank you” Her eyes were so soft as she looked up at him “Thank you for being with me all the way. I love you so much” She leaned over, kissing his lips softly

“Everybody can see us, love” He said, pulling slightly back, knowing she was the one wanting to keep them secret

“I don’t care. We have all winter to deal with the PR” She smiled, kissing him again, her fingertips softly placed on his jaw, feeling him kiss her back, his hand placed softly on her waist

The next morning, she had woken up late, her arm launched over Mark’s waist while laying on her stomach beside him, her head turned away from him

She turned on her back before she sat up. She took her phone from the nightstand beside her

11:56

She sighed, then saw her notifications

Twitter 99+ notifications

She pressed it, seeing it was all responses to one tweet. Her sigh she let out had woken Mark

“What are you looking at?” He asked, sitting up beside her

“Don’t know yet” She pressed the original tweet “We were caught yesterday. Photo proof”

[poppy-metal]

the reader dbf patrick stepdaddy art is DIABOLICAL and i need it RIGHT NOW actually. crying on patricks cock for the first time while art watches like, "im sorry, daddy, 'm sorry, just wanted it so bad, so so badly, you understand, right, you get it?" and the funny thing is, he totally does, because its patrick, yes, he gets it, more than anything he gets it, but this is wrong, isn't it? this is wrong and fucked up and evil, but you're reaching for his belt with wide, wet eyes, begging, "can make it up to you, daddy, can make you feel real good, please, 'm sorry, let me show you how sorry i am" and his resolve just has to crumple.

(obviously there has to be about six million years of YEARNING in between but you know. the horny.)

-kit ♡♡♡

@gamesetart ur sick for enabling me. i slowed things down a little bc i was cooking but the outcome will probably eventually be this. LMAO

under a cut because like patrick, this is sending me straight to hell i fear.

skipping ahead a million years just to fuck stepdad!art who also happens to be patricks ex who hes never gotten over and has been friends with this whole time - maybe its his fault actually, that you fall in love with patrick at the tender age of 14 - because art loves him so much. hes around so much. like father like daughter, right? he might not be your dad by blood but he is in every other way that counts - he has full custody - your mom been out of the picture for awhile now. its almost like having two dad, growing up. you think art and patrick are closer than any two men you've seen before. but they date other women so you don't think much of it - you want art to be happy again. you dont blame him for leaving your mother, you're just happy he took you with him.

anyway - falling for patrick is inevitable - it burns inside you like a wildfire you have no chance of stopping, so you dont try.

and patrick..... maybe he's given up hope on art after all these years. they'd had something brief and tangible in college - but it'd fizzled out - art had pretended it didn't happen. and patrick loved art too much to press the issue. he'd been content to live forever being arts best friend and nursing a flame for him that would never be returned.

and then you'd come along - it'd been hell watching art get married - he never liked that bitch, anyway, for more reasons than sharing arts bed. she treated her kid like dirt. art even worse. it got to a point where the only reason art was staying around was for you - he couldn't leave you. you were just a kid. and art had only been with you for three years but it was enough. enough for him to love you. enough for him to martyr himself for you and stay in an unhappy marriage if it meant he could play the role of daddy for you.

it may have been him who planted the seed. he'd met you a few times by that point, but he remembers a pool party where you'd been sucking on a lollipop as you watched art work the grill - your mother somewhere inside - you were twelve then - old enough to have some brain cells, patrick figured.

"he'd make a good dad, dont you think?" he'd nudged you. "i mean look at him - already rocking the dad stance with a fucking polo to match. he'll be telling us it looks like a storms rollin' in any second now."

and you'd popped the lolly out of your mouth and showed him your teeth with your smile.

a raised brow. "really? does he know that? does your mother?"

"he already is my dad, though."

you'd frowned. stuck the lolly back in your mouth. he could tell he'd given your brain alot to think about that.

it was only a year later that the divore was finalized. and art was granted full custody of you as his daughter - full guardianship. patrick got him the hell out of that town shortly thereafter.

and that was it, really. that was the plan. just to live in peace. he didn't expect to grow so attached to you. to enjoy watching you grow up. to enjoy being there for your important milestones. he saw a bit of himself in you, too, that wild precociousness. that want to run free. saw how it fucking terrified art, who wanted nothing but the best for you after the life you'd had. always the hero.

so yeah, when you'd started your rebellious teen phase he'd helped you hide it. picked you up from parties when you couldn't drive home instead of calling your dad. because he didn't want to see art unhappy. he didn't want to see art look at you and see the patrick in you and hate it. he couldn't.

he didn't know you'd fall in love with him. he didn't.

and when he realized you had, he'd pushed you away. he had.

but the thing is - as much as you had patrick in you - you had art as well. your inherent kindness. your sweet open face. your determination and dedication. he saw it and then he couldn't unsee it. and as long as he'd held onto his love for art he was tired. he was fucking tired of being unloved and unwanted and here you were - a tether to art - his beautiful babygirl - and you were throwing yourself at him. loving him. wanting him. so fucking beautiful and innocent - just like art had been, all those years ago.

couldn't fault him for caving. he'd faught it, but patricks not a good man. and hes a stray dog at the end of the day, dirty and hungry and begging for scraps.

he fucking devoured you. took from you. took your virginity - just like he did your fathers - broke it on his cock and tried not to feel sick that the symbolic way your blood drenched his cock connected you and him and art in a way that was as holy and it was perverted. he fucked you and he fucked you and he fucked you. he had you whenever and wherever he wanted and he didn't allow himself to think about the consequences of it - because he was fucking greedy for it - you took everything he was and you bit into it and you bounced on his dick like he was a fucking god and he found himself falling in love all over again.

he'd find a way to tell art and make it right. he would.

but then there'd been that night when art asked him out for drinks and patrick would tell something was wrong. he'd been distant from art lately, if he was being honest, consumed completely by you. the only reason he was free was because you were at a friends.

when art had confessed he felt you pulling away the guilt had set in... because art looked so sad. so pathetic and lonely and patrick had never wanted this for art. his heart pitched and dropped in his chest and he couldn't tell art about you - not now -

and then art had looked at him and said "you know she reminds me of you -" and patricks lips had parted. the alcohol in his system warmed his blood, but so did the heavy weight of arts eyes on him. it was a look patrick hadn't seen in years. decades even.

It was how you looked at him.

hungry.

that's all patrick thought as art drew closer and closer to him. fuck, when art placed a hand on his thigh. fuck, when his cock twitched. fuck, when art said he missed those days back in college. fuck, when art leaned in and patrick didn't pull away.

fuck.

fuck again, when he came to and they were back at arts apartment - fuck when they passed your room and thank fuck you weren't home, thank fuck - fuck fuck fuck when art got on his knees and stroked patricks cock and patrick thought his first clear thought of the night -

fuck fuck and fuck again because he lost his mind a little when arts lips touched his. went a little dizzy with it.

fuck fuck fuck - because arts sinful pink mouth descended around him and he fucking moaned around it and in some twisted dark corner of patricks seedy mind he thought art must taste you on him - must know its you hes tasting and thats why he throats him deeper like a fucking whore.

i fucked her this morning. he's about to suck his daughter's pussy off my dick and he doesn't even fucking know -

patrick knows hes going to hell.

he knows it because he uses the same fingers he'd had inside your cunt to spread your dads ass open for the same dick he'd plunged into you - he knows hes going to hell because when he slides inside and art moans he thinks he sounds just as pretty as you do - they take me so fucking well - made for me - fucking made for me

and when he pulls out to come down and swallow arts cock down his own throat he moans when he thinks about kissing you later tonight with your fathers spunk on his tongue -

hes going to hell.

[irhabiya]

re: arab spring post, what's wrong with the left in egypt?

in my assessment two main things, that are related to each other.

1) egypt's history of squashing any form of dissent. nasser, who for some reason is worshipped by a lot of western communists, was literally an anticommunist himself and jailed dissenting communists all the time. he did good things of course, but his presidency was very, very far from perfect. or great even. of course this only worsened with sadat, who backed the muslim brotherhood to counteract communists, and nasserists more broadly. and so on and so forth with the following presidencies egypt has seen so far, sisi's complete crackdown on dissent (from literally everyone, islamist oppositions, liberal oppositions, leftist oppositions) makes it nearly impossible to organize when you get thrown in jail if they even suspect that you might be involved with a dissenting organization in any way.

2) the egyptian left, due to the persistent thwarting of anything remotely resembling principled marxism even when egypt was "socialist," has a huge identity crisis. even if government suppression of dissent was not an issue, we don't have one unified coalition we can all confidently rally behind and trust they won't sell us out to the military. last i'd heard of the egyptian communist party, their chairman was endorsing sisi and his coup. all of our leftist parties, whatever remains of them, are disorganized and infested with military sympathizers who cling on to some deranged yearning for nasser's presidential years (though i'd think given the past few years, that delusional fondness should be effectively killed by now. at least i hope so)

another revolution is inevitable in my opinion, the unacceptable living conditions that sparked january 25th are still here–if anything they've gotten much worse, i can only hope we've learned our lesson from the previous one and seize the chance when it arrives.

[hiraganasakura]

I'm rewatching RWBY and I just finished V3 and like. I'm having so many thoughts about Ruby

She was an eager student, yearning to follow in her mother's footsteps and help others, who got accepted into Beacon Academy two years early. But she felt worried that she'd be singled out; she wants to be normal among her peers, not anything special. "I just want to be a normal girl with normal knees," she says to Yang.

Then she's thrown into the position of leadership despite her young age and relative inexperience, and while she takes it in stride she's incredibly hard on herself in the process. "We need to put our teammates first, and ourselves second," she says to Jaune.

And just when she grows comfortable in her skills and her position as team leader, everything falls apart. Beacon falls. Penny and Pyrrha die horrifically right before her eyes and she's left behind to blame herself. Yang loses her arm — and a part of herself. Weiss is snatched away by her father, Blake runs away. Ozpin has vanished, his lieutenants left to pick up the pieces of the broken, ruined Vale. Most of the ppl that Ruby has come to count on, just... gone. And then immediately after she wakes up from all that, Qrow dumps on her that, congratulations kid, you have silver eyes which basically means you're destined to save the world, have fun! "Then what can I do? If I'm so special, I can help, right?" she says to Qrow.

It's no wonder she got such a martyr complex, no wonder she threw herself so heavily into the identity of a hero, no wonder she fell to pieces and grew consumed by guilt and grief and self-loathing later in the show. She just wanted to go to school and learn how to protect ppl. And then she couldn't even protect the ppl who mattered most to her, not out of some failing on her own part, but bcus she is a child, a child with way too much on her shoulders. And it's just gotten worse. Now she's expected to save the whole world, all bcus she inherited her mother's eyes.

The weight of the entire world upon the shoulders of a grieving teen girl.

How would that not be too much for anyone to bear?