#Paper Ghost Stories: Third Eye Open | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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yours, always and forever | jeonghan

Author: bratzkoo | beta read by: @spnyin Pairing: perfumer! jeonghan x estrange wife! reader Genre: fluff, angst Rating: PG-15 Word count: 5.9k Warnings/note: went on a shopping trip with my mom and i cried when i smelled rose kabuki by dior. Happy National Boyfriend's Day to our boyfriend, Jeonghan.

summary: Perfumer Yoon Jeonghan took the Perfume industry by storm with his intriguing perfume names that seems to be inspired by one specific person which makes the industry question, who is he even naming his creations after? Only Y/N, Jeonghan’s estrange wife knows the answer.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The soft glow of the setting sun painted the New York skyline in hues of gold and pink, a stark contrast to the sleek, modern interior of the penthouse apartment where Yoon Jeonghan stood, gazing out at the city he'd conquered. In his hand, a delicate crystal glass held a swirl of amber liquid, its aroma mingling with the lingering scents that always clung to him—a symphony of olfactory notes that had become his signature.

Jeonghan took a sip of his drink, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. His eyes, dark and intense, reflected the city lights beginning to twinkle in the twilight. At thirty-two, he was at the pinnacle of his career, a prodigy in the world of perfumery, and the toast of the fashion and beauty industries. For the third year in a row, the title of Perfumer of the Year sat comfortably on his shoulders, a crown he wore with a mixture of pride and nonchalance that only added to his allure.

The gentle ping of his phone drew his attention away from the view. Another congratulatory message, no doubt. They had been pouring in all day, ever since the announcement of his latest triumph. Jeonghan ignored it, choosing instead to walk over to his workspace—a sprawling, custom-designed lab that took up nearly half of his living area.

Here, amidst the orderly chaos of beakers, pipettes, and countless vials of essences and extracts, was where the magic happened. This was where he crafted the scents that had taken the world by storm, perfumes that didn't just smell divine but told stories, evoked memories, and stirred emotions in ways that left critics and consumers alike in awe.

Jeonghan's fingers trailed over the labels of his latest collection, a small smile playing on his lips as he read each name aloud:

"You, in the Garden."

"You, in Greece."

"You, in the Club Holding Your Favorite Drink."

"You, in New York."

Each name was a whisper of the past, a fragment of a story that the public could only guess at. And guess they did. Entire forums were dedicated to deciphering the meaning behind Jeonghan's enigmatic perfume names. Who was this mysterious 'you'? A lover? A muse? A figment of the perfumer's vivid imagination?

Speculation ran rampant. Some theorized it was a marketing ploy, a clever way to personalize each scent for the wearer. Others believed Jeonghan was leaving breadcrumbs, telling his own story through these olfactory chapters. The more romantic souls insisted it was an ode to a lost love, each perfume a memory crystallized in scent.

If only they knew.

Jeonghan's smile faded as he picked up the bottle of "You, in New York." The weight of it in his hand felt heavier than it should, laden with memories he both cherished and tried to forget. He uncapped it, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

Notes of crisp apple and bergamot gave way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by a base of sandalwood and vanilla. But beneath these carefully orchestrated notes lay something else, something only he could detect—the ghost of her perfume, the one she wore on that last night.

Across the city, in a modest but charming brownstone in Brooklyn, Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper and birthday cards. The celebration had been small but joyful, a gathering of the close friends who had become her support system over the past few years. As the night wound down and the last guest departed, she found herself alone with her thoughts and the pile of gifts yet to be properly examined.

One box in particular caught her eye. It was elegant, wrapped in matte black paper with a single silver ribbon. There was no card, no indication of who it was from. Curiosity piqued, Y/N carefully untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper.

Her breath caught in her throat as she revealed the contents. Nestled in a bed of black satin was a bottle she recognized all too well, even though she had never held it before. The clean lines of the glass, the minimalist label with its distinctive handwritten font—it was unmistakably one of Jeonghan's creations.

With trembling hands, Y/N lifted the bottle. "You, in New York," she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. A humorless laugh escaped her lips. How fitting, how cruelly ironic that of all his perfumes, this would be the one to find its way to her.

New York. The city where dreams came true and hearts were broken. The city where, five years ago, she had celebrated her last birthday with Jeonghan. It had been magical—a surprise weekend getaway, a whirlwind of Broadway shows, candlelit dinners, and long walks through Central Park. It was the last time she remembered feeling truly, incandescently happy.

It was also the weekend that marked the beginning of the end.

Y/N uncapped the bottle, hesitating for just a moment before bringing it to her nose. The scent hit her like a wave, transporting her instantly back to that weekend. She could almost feel the crisp autumn air on her skin, hear the bustling streets, see Jeonghan's smile as he pulled her close on top of the Empire State Building.

Unbidden, tears began to fall, leaving glistening trails down her cheeks. Five years. Five years since she had spoken to him, seen him, been in the same room as him. And yet, with one carefully crafted scent, he could still reach across that divide and touch her very soul.

They weren't divorced—the paperwork sat untouched in a drawer in her study, a task neither of them seemed able to bring themselves to complete. But they might as well have been strangers for all the communication that passed between them. Estranged was the word the media used when they bothered to mention her at all. Jeonghan's mysterious wife, who had disappeared from the public eye as swiftly and suddenly as Jeonghan had risen to fame.

Y/N set the bottle on her nightstand, unable to put it away but unwilling to hold it any longer. She reached for her phone, scrolling through the countless birthday messages until she found the one she was looking for. It was from her best friend, Mina:

"Hey birthday girl! Hope you loved all your gifts. That last one... the perfume. I hope it wasn't too much. When I saw it, I just thought... well, maybe it was time. You can't run from the past forever, Y/N. Call me if you need to talk. Love you!"

So it had been Mina. Y/N wasn't sure whether to thank her friend or curse her for this unexpected trip down memory lane. She fell back onto her pillows, staring at the ceiling as her mind raced.

Did Jeonghan know his perfume had found its way to her? Did he still think of her when he created these scents? Was she the 'you' in every bottle, or had someone else taken her place in his heart and his art?

Questions she had buried for years bubbled to the surface, demanding attention. Y/N closed her eyes, willing sleep to come and provide a temporary escape. But the scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a persistent reminder of all that had been and all that was lost.

Meanwhile, in his penthouse, Jeonghan had moved from his lab to his home office. The wall opposite his desk was covered in framed magazine covers and articles, a testament to his meteoric rise in the industry. His eyes, however, were fixed on a single frame tucked away in the corner of his desk. It was turned face down, but he knew every detail of the photograph it held—him and Y/N, laughing and in love, on their wedding day.

He reached for it, hesitating for a moment before picking it up and turning it over. They looked so young, so full of hope and dreams. Jeonghan traced the outline of Y/N's face with his finger, wondering not for the first time where she was, what she was doing, if she ever thought of him.

A notification on his computer screen drew his attention. It was an email from his publicist, marked urgent:

"Jeonghan,

The press is buzzing about your win and the launch of 'You, in New York.' Vogue wants an exclusive interview, and they're particularly interested in the inspiration behind your perfume names. I've held them off so far, but we need to give them something. The mysterious artist angle only works for so long.

Also, there's been some renewed interest in your personal life. A few gossip blogs have dug up old photos of you and Y/N. Nothing scandalous, but we should be prepared for questions.

Let me know how you want to handle this.

- Somin"

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, a frown creasing his brow. He had known this day would come eventually. The perfume industry thrived on stories, on the personalities behind the scents. He had managed to maintain an air of mystery for years, letting his creations speak for themselves. But now, with his continued success and the increasingly personal nature of his perfume names, the world wanted more.

How could he possibly explain the truth? That each perfume was a love letter, a memory, a piece of his heart poured into a bottle? That 'You, in the Garden' was born from lazy Sunday mornings spent in their tiny apartment's rooftop garden, Y/N's laughter mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers? That 'You, in Greece' captured the essence of their honeymoon, sun-kissed skin and salty air and the intoxicating feeling of being young and in love?

And 'You, in New York'... Jeonghan's gaze drifted back to the photograph. Their last happy moment, preserved in glass and scent. He had poured every ounce of his skill into that perfume, trying to capture not just the smells of the city, but the feeling of that weekend—the joy, the love, and the bittersweet edge of what was to come.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Y/N's contact. He hadn't deleted it, couldn't bring himself to erase that last tangible connection. But he hadn't used it either, not in five long years. What would he even say?

"I'm sorry"?

"I miss you"?

"Every scent I create is a desperate attempt to hold onto the memory of us"?

Jeonghan set the phone down, leaving the call unmade. Instead, he turned back to his computer and began to type a response to his publicist:

"Somin,

Set up the Vogue interview. I'll give them the story they want.

As for my personal life, it remains personal. No comments on old photos or relationships.

- Jeonghan"

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. It was time to give the public a peek behind the curtain, to feed the curiosity that had been building for years. He would craft a story, something romantic and mysterious enough to satisfy the masses without revealing the raw, painful truth.

After all, isn't that what he did best? Create beautiful illusions, capture feelings in a bottle, tell stories through scent? This would just be another performance, another carefully constructed facade.

But as Jeonghan stood to pour himself another drink, his eyes fell once more on the photograph of him and Y/N. For a moment, the mask slipped, and a look of profound sadness crossed his face. All the success, all the accolades, all the adoration from fans around the world—none of it filled the Y/N-shaped hole in his heart.

In the quiet of his luxurious apartment, surrounded by the fruits of his success, Yoon Jeonghan—three-time Perfumer of the Year, creator of the most sought-after fragrances in the world—had never felt more alone.

As the night deepened, two souls on opposite sides of the city lay awake, each haunted by memories and might-have-beens. The scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a fragrant bridge across the chasm that separated them. Neither knew that this birthday, this perfume, this moment of remembrance, was about to set in motion a chain of events that would force them to confront their past and decide their future.

The sleek, modernist interior of Vogue's New York office buzzed with nervous energy as staff scurried about, making last-minute preparations. Today was no ordinary day—they were about to interview Yoon Jeonghan, the enigmatic perfumer who had captivated the fashion world with his mysterious creations.

Jeonghan sat in the makeup chair, his eyes closed as the artist applied a light touch of powder to his already flawless skin. He exuded an aura of calm, but beneath the surface, his mind raced. This interview was a calculated risk, a chance to satisfy the public's curiosity while maintaining the mystique that had become his trademark.

"Mr. Yoon, we're ready for you," a young assistant called, clipboard clutched to her chest.

Jeonghan opened his eyes, meeting his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his tie—a deep, midnight blue that brought out the intensity of his gaze—and stood. With a deep breath, he stepped into the lion's den.

The interviewer, a sharp-eyed woman named Clara, greeted him with a professional smile. "Mr. Yoon, thank you for joining us. Shall we begin?"

As the cameras rolled, Clara launched into her questions, starting with the safe and expected before gradually probing deeper.

"Your latest fragrance, 'You, in New York,' has taken the world by storm," Clara said, leaning forward slightly. "Can you tell us about the inspiration behind it?"

Jeonghan's lips curved into a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "New York is a city of dreams and memories," he began, his voice smooth and measured. "I wanted to capture the essence of a perfect moment in time—the crisp air of a fall evening, the excitement of possibility, the bittersweet beauty of a fleeting experience."

"And the 'you' in the title?" Clara pressed. "Your fragrances all seem to be addressing someone specific. Is there a story there?"

For a fraction of a second, Jeonghan's composure slipped. A flicker of something—pain? longing?—crossed his face before the mask slid back into place. "The 'you' is everyone and no one," he said carefully. "It's the wearer of the perfume, the object of desire, the memory of a love lost or yet to be found. I believe that the most personal stories are often the most universal."

As the interview continued, Jeonghan wove a tale of inspiration drawn from travels, fleeting encounters, and imagined romances. It was a beautiful story, crafted as carefully as his perfumes. But those who knew him best might have noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers occasionally twitched as if reaching for something—or someone—just out of grasp.

---

The publication of the Vogue interview sent shockwaves through the fashion and beauty world. Social media exploded with theories and interpretations of Jeonghan's words. Fan forums dissected every sentence, looking for hidden meanings and clues about the mysterious muse behind his creations.

@ScentObsessed tweeted: "OMG, did you catch how his voice changed when talking about 'You, in New York'? There's definitely a real story there! #YoonJeonghan #PerfumeMystery"

A popular beauty vlogger released a 20-minute video analyzing Jeonghan's body language during the interview, claiming to have spotted at least five instances where he seemed to be holding back tears.

Even serious fashion critics couldn't resist speculating. A piece in WWD posed the question: "Is Yoon Jeonghan's entire oeuvre an olfactory autobiography? The clues hidden in his fragrances."

---

Across the city, Y/N sat at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee growing cold beside her as she stared at her laptop screen. The Vogue article was open, Jeonghan's face looking back at her from a series of artfully shot photographs.

She had promised herself she wouldn't read it. Had sworn she was past all this, that she had moved on. But curiosity—and perhaps something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name—had gotten the better of her.

Now, as she read his carefully crafted words, Y/N felt a complex mix of emotions churning inside her. Anger at the half-truths, sadness at the memories his words evoked, and a traitorous flutter of her heart at the moments where she could see through his facade to the man she once knew so well.

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. Y/N closed the laptop quickly, as if hiding evidence of a crime, before going to answer.

"Ms. Y/N?" A woman with a press badge stood in the hallway, notepad in hand. "I'm Mia from Style Weekly. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about Yoon Jeonghan's latest interview."

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," she said, moving to close the door.

The reporter's foot blocked the doorway. "Please, just a moment. Your connection to Mr. Yoon is a matter of public record. Surely you must have some insight into the inspirations behind his work?"

"No comment," Y/N managed, her voice strangled. She pushed the door closed with more force, hearing the reporter's muffled protests from the other side.

Leaning against the door, Y/N slid to the floor, her heart pounding. It was happening again. The life she had carefully rebuilt, separate from Jeonghan and his world of glitz and glamour, was threatening to crumble around her.

---

In his penthouse, Jeonghan paced back and forth, phone pressed to his ear. "Somin, I thought we agreed to keep my personal life out of this," he said, frustration evident in his voice.

His publicist's calm tones came through the speaker. "Jeonghan, we did our best, but you have to understand. The public is hungry for this. Your story, the mystery—it's what sells. The interview was a huge success."

"At what cost?" Jeonghan muttered, more to himself than to Somin.

After ending the call, he walked to his workspace, surrounded by the tools of his trade. His fingers trailed over the bottles of his creations, lingering on "You, in New York."

For a moment, he allowed himself to remember—truly remember, not the sanitized version he had presented to the world. He saw Y/N's smile as they watched the sunset from the Top of the Rock, felt the warmth of her hand in his as they strolled through Central Park.

Almost without conscious thought, his hand reached for his phone. Y/N's contact information stared back at him, unchanged after all these years. His thumb hovered over the call button.

A war raged inside him. The desire to hear her voice, to explain, to apologize, warred with the fear of rejection, of reopening old wounds.

In the end, he set the phone down, the call unmade. But the desire, the need, lingered.

---

"Y/N, have you seen this?" Mina's voice came through the phone, excitement evident. "Jeonghan's Vogue interview. Girl, he's talking about you."

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Mina, please. You know I don't want to hear about—"

"No, listen," Mina interrupted. "He talks about a moment in New York, watching the sunset from a rooftop garden. That was you two, wasn't it? On your last birthday together?"

Y/N's breath caught. She remembered that evening with painful clarity—the golden light, the gentle breeze, the feeling that everything was perfect. It was mere days before it all fell apart.

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Honey," Mina said gently, "I think it does. He's been telling your story all along, in every bottle. Maybe... maybe it's time to tell yours."

After hanging up, Y/N found herself once again staring at the bottle of "You, in New York." She uncapped it, letting the scent envelop her. In that moment, she allowed herself to truly feel everything she had been suppressing for years.

The realization hit her like a wave: Jeonghan hadn't forgotten. Every perfume, every story, was a message in a bottle, cast out into the world in hopes that someday, somehow, it would reach her.

---

The charity gala was in full swing, the cream of New York society mingling amidst the glittering decor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Jeonghan moved through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, the perfect image of the successful artist.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a fashion designer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with an old friend—one he shared with Y/N.

"Jeonghan," the friend said, a strange mix of emotions playing across their face. "It's been too long."

As they talked, catching up on the years that had passed, Jeonghan found himself hungry for any scrap of information about Y/N. He tried to be subtle, but his old friend saw right through him.

"She's doing well, Jeonghan," they said softly. "She's strong. But... I think she misses you too."

The words hit Jeonghan like a physical blow. He excused himself, making his way to a quiet corner of the museum. His carefully constructed world felt like it was shifting beneath his feet.

Across the city, Y/N was experiencing a similar upheaval. A mutual friend had let slip that Jeonghan had asked about her, that he still kept a photo of them on his desk.

As the night wore on, both Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves standing at a crossroads. The walls they had built, the distance they had maintained, suddenly seemed more like obstacles than protection.

Unbeknownst to each other, they both reached for their phones at nearly the same moment. Fingers hovering over screens, hearts pounding, they stood on the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

In the air, the faint scent of "You, in New York" lingered, a reminder of what was lost and what, perhaps, could still be found.

The stage was set. The next move was theirs.

The Autumn chill nipped at Y/N's skin as she stood outside the small café, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets. Her eyes darted nervously up and down the street, searching for a familiar face she hadn't seen in years. Her heart raced, a mix of anticipation and fear coursing through her veins.

She almost jumped when her phone buzzed. A text from Jeonghan: "I'm here."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she spotted him rounding the corner. Jeonghan looked much the same as she remembered, yet somehow different. His hair was styled differently, and he carried himself with a weariness that hadn't been there before. But his eyes—those eyes that had once looked at her with such love—were as intense as ever.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the busy New York street faded away. It was just the two of them, standing on opposite sides of a chasm five years in the making.

Jeonghan reached her first, stopping a few feet away. "Y/N," he said, his voice a mix of relief and uncertainty.

"Jeonghan," she replied, surprised at how steady her own voice sounded.

An awkward silence fell between them, years of unspoken words and suppressed emotions creating an almost tangible barrier.

"Should we..." Jeonghan gestured towards the café, and Y/N nodded, grateful for the suggestion.

Inside, they found a quiet corner booth. The warm, coffee-scented air was a stark contrast to the tension between them. They ordered—an Americano for him, a latte for her, just like old times—and then faced each other across the small table.

"You look well," Jeonghan said, his fingers fidgeting with a sugar packet.

Y/N managed a small smile. "So do you. I... I've seen your interviews. Congratulations on all your success."

Jeonghan's face tightened almost imperceptibly. "Thank you. I hear you're doing well too. Teaching, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, literature at NYU. It's... it's good."

Another silence fell, heavier this time. Y/N took a sip of her latte, using the moment to gather her thoughts.

"Why did you want to meet, Jeonghan?" she finally asked, setting her cup down perhaps a bit too forcefully.

Jeonghan looked up, meeting her gaze directly for the first time since they sat down. "I... I missed you, Y/N. Every day for five years, I've missed you."

The raw honesty in his voice caught Y/N off guard. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked them back furiously.

"You missed me?" she repeated, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone. "You're the one who left, Jeonghan. You chose your career over us."

Jeonghan flinched as if he'd been slapped. "I know," he said softly. "And I've regretted it every day since."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, familiar bottle. Y/N's breath hitched as she recognized it—"You, in New York."

"Every scent, every name," Jeonghan continued, his voice thick with emotion, "they were all for you. About you. My way of holding onto what we had, what I threw away."

Y/N stared at the bottle, memories flooding back. The laughter, the love, the pain—it all came rushing back in a dizzying whirl.

"I thought I was protecting you," Jeonghan said. "The pressure, the spotlight—it was destroying us. I thought... I thought if I let you go, you could have a normal life. Be happy."

"That wasn't your choice to make," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You should have talked to me. We could have figured it out together."

Jeonghan nodded, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it made Y/N's heart ache. "I know that now. God, Y/N, I know. I was young and stupid and scared. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was just a coward."

Y/N felt the walls she'd built around her heart begin to crumble. She reached out, almost unconsciously, and took the perfume bottle from Jeonghan's hand. As she did, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them.

"I tried to hate you," Y/N admitted, her thumb tracing the label of the bottle. "I tried so hard to forget, to move on. But then I'd catch a whiff of one of your perfumes, or see your face on a magazine cover, and it all came flooding back."

Jeonghan leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "I know I have no right to ask this, but... is there any chance? For us? I'm not the same man I was five years ago. I've learned, I've grown. And I know now that nothing—no amount of success or fame—means anything without you."

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks. When she opened them again, she saw that Jeonghan's eyes were also wet.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "You hurt me, Jeonghan. Deeply. That's not something that can be fixed with a conversation and some pretty words."

Jeonghan nodded, his face falling. But before he could speak, Y/N continued.

"But... I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you too. That I didn't still love you, despite everything."

Hope bloomed in Jeonghan's eyes. "So... what does that mean?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "It means... it means maybe we can try. Slowly. No grand gestures, no rushing back into things. We need to relearn each other, rebuild trust. Can you do that?"

Jeonghan reached across the table, gently taking Y/N's hand in his. The familiar warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine.

"Y/N, I would wait a lifetime if that's what it took. We'll go as slow as you need. I just... I just want a chance to make things right."

For the first time since they sat down, Y/N felt a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's try."

The gentle spring breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms through Central Park, where Jeonghan and Y/N walked hand in hand, their steps slow and purposeful. Two years had passed since that fateful night when they both reached for their phones, finally bridging the gap that had separated them for so long.

"I still can't believe we're here," Y/N said, squeezing Jeonghan's hand. "Sometimes I think I'll wake up and find it was all a dream."

Jeonghan brought her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "If it's a dream, then I never want to wake up," he replied, his eyes shining with emotion.

They found a quiet bench overlooking the lake, the same spot where they had sat years ago, planning their future together. Now, older and wiser, they sat again, the weight of their shared history and renewed love settling comfortably between them.

"The launch is tomorrow," Jeonghan said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Are you ready?"

Y/N took a deep breath, nodding. "As ready as I'll ever be. It's still surreal, you know? Being back in this world, but on my own terms this time."

The past two years had been a whirlwind of rediscovery and healing. After their reconnection, Jeonghan and Y/N had taken things slowly, rebuilding trust and relearning each other. Y/N had been adamant about maintaining her independence, refusing to be swallowed up by Jeonghan's world as she had been before.

To everyone's surprise—including her own—Y/N had discovered a talent for perfumery. What had started as curious questions about Jeonghan's process had evolved into a genuine passion. Under his guidance, she had begun to create her own scents, her natural intuition complementing Jeonghan's technical expertise.

And now, tomorrow, they would launch their first collaborative perfume.

"I have something for you," Jeonghan said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, elegant bottle, its contents shimmering in the afternoon sun.

Y/N gasped, recognizing the prototype they had been working on. "Is this...?"

Jeonghan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "The final version. I wanted you to be the first to see it—to smell it."

With trembling hands, Y/N took the bottle. The label read "Essence of Us" in Jeonghan's distinctive handwriting. Below it, in smaller letters: "By Jeonghan & Y/N."

She uncapped the bottle, bringing it to her nose. The scent enveloped her immediately—bright citrus notes of bergamot and lemon, giving way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by warm sandalwood and a hint of vanilla. But there was something more, something uniquely them—a note that spoke of long nights of conversation, of laughter shared over coffee, of gentle kisses and whispered promises.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "It's perfect," she whispered.

Jeonghan wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "It's us," he said simply. "All of us. The good, the bad, the journey we've taken."

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Jeonghan and Y/N sat in comfortable silence, the scent of their creation lingering in the air around them.

The launch event for "Essence of Us" was the talk of the fashion world. Held in the same New York hotel where Jeonghan and Y/N had celebrated her last birthday before their separation, it was a poignant reminder of how far they had come.

Cameras flashed as Jeonghan and Y/N stepped onto the red carpet, a united front. Y/N, dressed in a flowing gown that shimmered like liquid silver, looked every inch the confident co-creator, a far cry from the woman who had once hidden in Jeonghan's shadow.

Inside, the room was transformed into a sensory wonderland. Different stations represented the various notes of the perfume, allowing guests to experience each element individually before sampling the final product.

As the crowd mingled and the excitement built, Jeonghan clinked a glass, calling for attention. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the stage where he and Y/N stood.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," Jeonghan began, his voice carrying easily through the room. "This launch is special for many reasons, but none more so than the fact that it represents not just a new scent, but a new chapter."

He turned to Y/N, love evident in his gaze. "For years, my perfumes told the story of what I had lost. They were messages in bottles, cast out into the world in the hope that someday, they might find their way back to the one who inspired them."

Y/N stepped forward, taking Jeonghan's hand. "And I heard those messages," she continued, her voice strong and clear. "Even when I tried not to listen, even when I thought that chapter of my life was closed forever. They called to me, reminding me of a love that never truly faded."

Together, they unveiled the perfume—an elegant bottle that seemed to capture the light, refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows.

"'Essence of Us' is more than just a perfume," Jeonghan said. "It's a testament to the power of love, of forgiveness, of second chances. It's the scent of two people who lost their way, only to find that all paths led back to each other."

Y/N nodded, adding, "It's also a new beginning. A declaration that our story isn't just about the past, but about the future we choose to create together."

As the crowd applauded and the first samples of "Essence of Us" were distributed, Jeonghan and Y/N shared a private smile. They had poured their hearts into this creation, distilling years of love, loss, and rediscovery into a single, perfect scent.

Months later, as "Essence of Us" continued to top bestseller lists and garner critical acclaim, Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves back in their favorite spot in Central Park. The trees were ablaze with autumn colors, a crisp breeze carrying the promise of winter.

"I've been thinking," Jeonghan said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a hint of nervousness. "About the future. About us."

Y/N looked at him curiously. "Oh? And what have you been thinking?"

Jeonghan took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. "I've been thinking that maybe it's time for a new scent. Something... permanent."

He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning ring. The design was unique—a delicate gold band that twisted into the shape of an infinity symbol, set with tiny diamonds that caught the light like drops of perfume.

"Y/N," Jeonghan said, his voice thick with emotion, "will you marry me? Again? For real this time, for always?"

Tears sprang to Y/N's eyes as she nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. As Jeonghan slipped the ring onto her finger, she finally found her voice. "Yes," she whispered. "Forever and always."

They sealed the promise with a kiss, the scent of "Essence of Us" mingling with the crisp autumn air. As they broke apart, both laughing and crying, Jeonghan's eyes lit up with that familiar spark of inspiration.

"I think I know what our next perfume will be called," he said, grinning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh? Do tell."

Jeonghan pulled her close, whispering in her ear: "You, Forever and Always."

And as they walked hand in hand through the park, already discussing notes and accords for their new creation, both Jeonghan and Y/N knew that this—their love, their passion, their shared creativity—was the most intoxicating scent of all.

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writingfromasgard · 6 months ago

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The Book Burrow [Ghost]

[Masterlist] || Requests are Open || GIF by hollow-epitaph

cw: Simon using an identity to hide from his previous job?, n/a

synopsis: The dodgy bar down the street was turned into a bookstore a few months earlier in your town and its the last place to try to find the book series your friend recommended to you.

The darkly tinted windows showed your reflection as you squinted, trying to peer inside to discern whether this was truly a bookstore or a bar with a gimmick. It'd previously been a bar that was shut down so the bar seemed the more likely scenario in your mind. The odd hours on the door mirrored that of any bar in the area, perhaps opening a little earlier.

Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip. There was a singular book series you have been trying to find for the past week and the author listed this place specifically on their website. It seemed odd that an author would promote a specific, new maybe-bar bookstore.

While you've been in bars before, they didn't give you any joy to spend time there. The smell of alcohol made your stomach churn most days. You take a deep breath, gripping the handle firmly and tugging on it.

It opens with a creak of its hinges and you smell.. coffee. It's not so strong that it assaults your nose. It wraps around your figure, drawing you further into the building. Your eyes glitter with the scene before you: a legitimate bookstore, no booze included.

Shelves, sparsely populated with books, stand under large handwritten signs marking each section. You tilt your head, realizing the labels aren’t what you'd expect.

The traditional genre labels of "fiction", "romance" or even "nonfiction" have been superseded by handwritten replacements. Each section has it a descriptive tag hanging down above it -- 'Better than Stephen King', 'Mostly Accurate Espionage', 'Horrible Backstory with Good Story', and 'Monster dating'.

Laughter bubbles out of your throat. You approach the 'Monster Dating' section, plucking a random book to scan over the synopsis of it. It's indeed about dating in a fantasy universe where Werewolves and other things go bump in the night.

Engrossed in the first few pages, you don't notice the presence behind you until a throat clears. You jump, snapping the book closed and turning to face a man an intimidating aura to him. He's bulky, the t-shirt stretching over obvious muscles while his face is obscured by a half-mask with a skull's upper and lower jaw printed on it.

"Anything I can help you with?" His voice is full of gravel like his words claw their way out of his throat.

Clutching the book to your chest, you stammer, "I'm looking for a series by Grace Kirkly?"

"Oh." He mutters, motioning you to follow him with two fingers.

The floorboards creak under your steps as you follow him to the counter. He steps to his left, motioning to the display right beside the counter. Your eyes light up as you see the sale sign - twenty percent knocked off the first book, fifteen percent off the second book when purchased together.

You pick up the books, happy to be able to buy all three books in the series in one go. "Thank you."

The books land on the counter with a heavy thump while he rounds the counter. His eyes feel heavy on you as you timidly put the 'monster boyfriend' book on the counter as well.

"Ever read 'em?" He questions, scanning each book leisurely.

"No, a friend recommended her to me." You respond, digging your card out of your purse to hand it over.

"For the series, the first book is more setting up for the second. I enjoyed the second's descriptiveness during the sex scenes. The third shows he's growing as a writer, too." He tore off a patch of brown paper, centering your books on them. "The other book you picked up is a personal favorite of mine."

He creases the brown paper with sharp folds, making the stack of four books look like a singular box. He rolls a piece of tape on top then holds his hand out for your card. You hand it over quickly, a question balancing on the tip of your tongue.

"I thought Grace was a woman. Do you.. read a lot?" As soon as the question leaves your mouth, you feel stupid. He works in a bookstore - he can read as many books as he wants for free, most likely.

He swipes the card then lays it on the counter between you two, his gaze sharp. "Every book in my shop has been read by me. I didn't want to put anything I couldn't say was good on the shelves."

"So the signs are..?"

"It's nice to walk into a place and know exactly what you're getting." He grabs a small card, punching two holes into it before sliding it and your card toward you. "Tenth punch is a free book."

Your eyes read over the card's information - ten little skulls line edges of the card. In the middle is the shop's name - The Book Burrow and under that - Managed by Morys Neil.

Your eyes meet his again, a smile on your lips, "Thank you, Mister Neil."

"I can show you similar authors if you enjoy Grace Kirkly when you return." Morys leaned on the counter, picking up a book from under it to start reading. His combat boots land on the edge of the counter next to your books as he settles into his chair.

"I'll try to get through them as quickly as possible then." The words leave your mouth and a moment later, you realize how flirtatious it sounds.

His eyes leave the book momentarily, "Anticipation is the best part of any story. No need to rush to see me."

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guinea-pig16 · 1 year ago

Text

Yes, Sir!

Soap x Reader X Captain Price

Disclaimer: This is an NSFW piece! 18+ only, please!

Fic is below the cut, hope you enjoy! This is my first time writing a piece with more than one ship!

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Word count: 3,300+

Warnings: AFAB reader, mentions of AFAB parts, penetrative sex, anal sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, threesome (F/M/M), dom/sub vibes

This fic is based off of a dream I had a couple days ago so if you think it's odd, that's why lmao

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Clinks of glasses together filled the air as everyone celebrated a mission well done. Task Force 141 had just completed their latest mission without a hitch, so Captain Price decided to treat the team with a night at their local bar. Laughter and chatter filled the cozy building. You sat at the bar, giggling with Soap, drinking your third beer of the night.

“Ye wouldn’t believe the shite he wis goin on aboot!” Soap leans his head against his arms, shaking from his laughter. “He wis sayin’ shite like ‘two goldfish ar’ inna tank’, an’ one of ‘em goes ‘ye know how to drive this thing?’” Soap’s voice goes deep as he imitates Ghost, and the two of you burst out laughing. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ghost (sitting next to Soap) glower slightly at him. Your ribs hurt as you try to contain your giggles.

“Right, what’s all this then?” You hear a voice say. Soap and you look up at Price, giving him a half hearted salute as you both come down from your laughter.

“Ah, Johnny was just telling me something funny that Ghost said!” You smile, still slightly giggling. Price smiles at the two of you.

“I��m glad to see you both enjoying yourselves, even if it’s at the expense of our dear Lieutenant.” You see Ghost roll his eyes and lift his mask to take a sip of his drink. “You all worked very hard on our last mission, you all deserve a bit of rest and reprieve.” You smile at Price.

“Thank you captain! We couldn’t have done it without your excellent leadership.” Price waves his hand, grinning.

“Ah, it’s nothing without a good team. Anyways, I’ll let you three get back at it.” He waves as he goes over to where Gaz and Laswell are chatting.

Soap nudges your shoulder and leans close to your ear. “Better be careful thir, Sergeant, he wis given’ ye th’ eyes…” He giggles and you punch his arm, causing him to pull back, rubbing his where you hit him.

“Oh, stick a sock in it, Mactavish! As if!” You rolled your eyes at his comment. You had to admit though, Captain Price was a good looking man. But you would never get with your superior.

“Ooo, does ‘at mean yer open to other options, love?” He says in an exaggerated flirty voice as he leans close to you, batting his lashes. You bark out a laugh and shove him back causing him to go into a fit of giggles.

“Once again, stick a sock in it, Mactavish, you dog!” You break into a series of giggles with Soap. In your mind though, you look at him differently. Johnny is definitely a very attractive man, but you guys were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less…

The night flew by. At one point, Gaz had challenged you and Soap to a karaoke contest, and you three treated the bar to a drunken rendition of ‘California Girls’. Let’s just say, you were absolutely hammered. To the point Price insisted on driving you home along with Gaz. You accepted the offer, as you had walked here and didn’t feel like walking back home. Around 1 am, Price dragged you and Gaz out of the bar, yelling goodbye to Soap as he was also being dragged out by Ghost, who was his ride home. He drunkenly waved bye to you as he leaned against Ghost for support.

Price helped you into the back seat, as Gaz had won the front sit through rock, paper, scissors. The ride to your house was filled with laughter as you and Gaz shared stories and jokes, Price silent the whole time with a soft smile on his face. Once at your house, Price wrapped an arm around you and helped you inside. He gently sat you on your couch.

“Alright, I believe you can handle the rest now.” You grinned and saluted him. He chuckled and ruffled your hair. “G’nite, dear. See you in a few days.” He said before waving goodbye, making sure the door was locked behind him as he left.

You stretched and yawned. You stumbled slightly going down the hall to your bedroom. You changed out of your clothes and into loose fitting pajamas, before snuggling underneath your covers. You sighed contently as you drifted off to sleep…

Bang.

You jolted awake. You looked around. You were still in your bedroom, snuggled in your blankets. You groan and roll over, attempting to go back to sleep.

Bang.

Your eyes shot open once again. You slowly lean up in your bed, looking towards your bedroom door. What was that? You think. You hear more small bangs and rustling from down the hall. Slowly, you crawl out of your bed, grabbing your phone, and inch towards the door. You wince as your door creaks when you open it. You hear the sounds stop.

You exit your room as quietly as you can, and begin inching down the hall. You reach the end of the hall and peek out towards the living room. Your heart sinks as you see two, large, black figures facing you. You squint slightly. Something about the figures seems… familiar. You hold up your phone and turn on the flashlight and shine it into the living room. You almost sigh in relief when the light reveals Soap and Price standing in your living room. You then furrow your brow. What the hell are they doing here?

You step into the living room, and take note of the open window. Did they fucking climb through the window? “What the hell are you two doing here? It’s the middle of the night.” You cross your arms and glare at the two of them. They both glance at each other and grin as if they’re in on a joke.

“There she is…” Says Soap, taking a small step closer to you. You don’t know why, but you take a step back, feeling uneasy about this whole situation. Price smiles at you, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Don’t run love, it’s okay…” Price says quietly, and you shiver slightly from the tone of his voice. Soap takes another step towards you, you take another step back. He and Price rake their eyes unabashedly up and down your body, causing your cheeks to heat. They take in where your night shirt has slipped down your shoulder, exposing your bra strap, where your pajama pants have sagged slightly, exposing your hips. Soap groans slightly at the sight, making your face heat even more.

“God love… Ye have no idea what ye do to us…” Soap takes another step forward, you take one backwards. He starts slowly stepping closer and closer, and out of apprehension, you walk slowly backwards back into the hall, inching towards your bedroom. Soap begins speaking in a low, husky tone.

“What ye were wearin’ tonite almos’ ‘ad me an’ Price bend ye over the bar…” You blush furiously. Soap eyes haven’t left yours once, practically burning a hole through your head. “Ye always look so intoxicatin’... The way ye sway yer hips… The way yer lips look when ye smile…” He groans lowly. “Yer a damn drug… ye know that?” His pupils are blown wide, with what you can now identify as lust. You go to take another step back, but trip on your own feet and drop your phone. You fall flat on your ass and are helpless as Soap stands before you. He crouches slowly, eyes never leaving yours. He grabs a hold on your ankles and yanks you so you’re underneath him.

He leans down next to your ear and speaks low. “...We’re gunna fuckin’ ruin you tonite, babes…” Your whole body shivers at his words, and your face flushes red. He looks into your eyes, searching for anything that would say no. You look back at him and bite your lip lightly. He grins and slowly drags you out of the hall by your ankles, his eyes burning into your own. When you enter the living room again Price is still standing there, and you lock eyes.

Soap drops your ankles and leans over you once again, arms caging you in. “What a pretty girl ye are…” And presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You let out a soft moan into his mouth, and wrap your arms around his neck. You feel him move to the side as you see Price get down on his knees and lean over you, pressing a kiss to your neck. You feel his hand drift down to your waistband.

“How about we take these off, love…” Price’s hands toy with your waistband. Soap breaks the kiss long enough for you to whisper out a breathy ‘yes’, before recapturing them. He slips his tongue into your mouth as Price presses kisses along your neck and slowly slips your pajama pants downward.

He tugs them completely off and slips down so he’s facing your underwear. Head in between your thighs, he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, causing you to let out a moan into Soap’s mouth. Soap’s hands begin slipping underneath your night shirt and upwards towards your chest.

“May I take these off, dear?” Price asks, finger hooking underneath the waistband of your underwear. Soap breaks the kiss and asks with his eyes to take off your shirt. You breathily say yes to both, and feel your underwear being slipped off as your shirt is lifted above your head. Soap’s hands find the clasp at the front of your bra and looks at you asking. You nod, and he unclasps your bra and admires your exposed chest, before recapturing your mouth. He kneads your chest as you feel Price moving closer to your exposed heat.

“You look absolutely wonderful, love…” Price groans and licks a strip up your heat, causing you to moan into Soap’s mouth.

“That’s it love, keep makin’ those pretty sounds’ fur us…” Soap says, breaking the kiss to gaze into your eyes. Price wraps his arms around your thighs as he sucks on your clit. You gasp and squirm as he prods at your entrance with his tongue, his mouth hot on your sex. Soap takes off his shirt and grins as you rake your eyes over his chest. “Like wit ye see, lass?” He then buries his face into your neck and gently bites as you arch your back to Price’s work.

“Doin’ so good for us, pretty girl… Gonna make sure ye can’t walk in the mornin’...” Price groans in agreement, sending vibrations into your heat. You shiver and whine as Price laps at you. You feel a knot begin to tighten in your lower belly. Price moves his efforts to your clit, and you feel one of his fingers prod at your entrance. You moan loudly as you feel his finger slip into you. You feel Soap grin against your neck.

You gasp as Price pumps in another finger, stretching you out. You clutch onto Soap like a lifeline as your thighs shiver, causing him to chuckle.

“Careful now, Captain, ye don’ wanna break her now do ye?” If you could, you’d glare at him, but the feeling of Price’s tongue and fingers has your mind practically melting. Price says nothing, he just doubles his efforts, pumping faster and sucking harshly on you. You moan loudly, the knot in your belly tightening significantly. You’re so close.

“Johnny… Price… ‘M so close, ah!” You slur out, your whole body trembling in pleasure.

“I know dear, I can feel ya. I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry your pretty little head…” Price says, before returning his efforts to your bud. Soap recaptures your lips in a heated kiss, his hands brushing over your chest. He sucks on your tongue, and the knot gets tighter and tighter. And then it snaps.

You moan loudly into Soap’s mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Price slows his efforts and helps you down from your high, your whole body shaking from it. Soap breaks the kiss and you gasp for air, chest heaving. Price finally pulls away from you, and you glance up at him, his beard glistening from his work. He and Soap glanced at each other and began undressing in front of you. Once stripped to their boxers, Soap and Price switched. Soap knelt between your legs, and Price knelt behind you, gently sitting you up and leaning you against his chest. Soap gently rubbed your thighs and looked you in the eyes as he removed his boxers. His cock sprung out and your eyes widened as you took in its length. He grinned and grabbed your legs.

“Liking what yer seein’, doll?” You rolled your eyes at his comment, and flicked his shoulder with your hand. Price and Soap chuckled and he began positioning his shaft to your entrance. He looked in your eyes for any objection, but you just nodded and whispered it was okay to continue. Nodding, he gently pressed his tip to your entrance, the both of you letting out a soft groan. Slowly, he pushed into you, making him curse at your tightness and causing you to lean your head back on Price’s shoulder, who leaned down and kissed your cheek.

“You’re being such a good girl for us, dear.” He whispered in your ear, causing you to shiver. Soap bottomed out and stayed there for a moment, huffing. Slowly, he pulled out, and then thrusted back in, making the two of you gasp. A delicious burn traveled through you as he gently thrusted in and out. The burn gave way to immeasurable pleasure as you let out moan after moan for each thrust.

“Johnny… Fast- Faster… Please…” You moaned, head laid back on Price’s shoulder.

Soap chuckled slightly, groaning. “Anythin’ ye want, pretty girl.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, sitting up. And then he began pounding into you, causing you to cry out. He huffed and moaned into your ear, holding you close. The knot in your belly formed again and tightened slowly, making you curl your toes.

“Aww, Price… Yer lookin’ awfully lonely over there…” Soap cooed, grinning. He stopped thrusting into you and you whined at the loss of friction. “Easy there, lass… Thought we should include our Captain… Whit’d ye think, love? Should we?” You dumbly nodded your head, wanting more than anything for Soap to continue pounding into you. You heard Price groan lowly, and the sound of clothes shuffling. Then you felt hands grabbing your ass, and a finger poke into your hole. You gasped at the feeling, and moaned as Price pumped in his finger, stretching out your entrance. You tucked your head into Soap’s neck, and whined as Price put in another finger, then a third.

“There’s a good girl… Doing so good…” Price whispered in your ear, making you whimper. Price removed his fingers, and you felt his cock tease the entrance of your ass. “This is gonna be a bit uncomfortable, darling. Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow…” Price kissed your neck, and slowly began to push in. You winced slightly at the stretch, and Soap pressed a kiss on your head and rubbed your back soothingly. Price gripped your waist like a lifeline, and hissed as he bottomed out. The three of you sat there for a moment as you caught your breath, adjusting to the feeling of the two men inside you. You’d never felt so full before.

Finally, after a couple minutes, you spoke. “O-Okay… You can… You can move now…” You wrapped your arms around Soaps neck, face still buried in his neck. You felt Soap smile into your hair, and Price rubbed your waist affectionately. They both slowly pulled out and pushed back in. The air was filled with low groans and breathy moans as the two men slowly pumped into you. Your nails dug into Soap’s shoulders.

“Ah… Faster, please…” You moaned, feeling the knot tighten once more in your belly.

“Ye sure, babes? Don’t wanna… hah… hurt ye…” Soap groaned. You heard Price make a noise of agreement. You whined slightly.

“Please… You won’t hurt me, please… I need more…” Soap and Price groaned at the sound of your neediness.

“Whatever you want, love.” Price said, before the two of them began harshly thrusting into you. You practically screamed at the feeling. They both moaned loudly at the way you clenched around them.

“Thas’ it, thas’ a good girl. Takin’ us so well.” Soap groaned in your ear, lightly biting your earlobe. All you could do was moan in response, brain turned to mush by the two men. You were sandwiched between them, being used as their own personal fuck toy. And you love it. It was a dream come true. You felt their thrusts become sloppy, their moans stuttering slightly. You could feel your own release coming as well.

“Johnny, Price, So- So close! ‘M gonna, ah!” You moaned. You felt one of Price’s hands come up and grip the back of your neck. He pulled your neck back so you were looking at him.

“Go ahead, come on our cocks, love.” He pulled you into a heated kiss. You whined into his mouth as the knot got tighter and tighter. Soap threw his head back, his thrusts getting even sloppier, and he let out a slew of curses.

You let out high pitched moan after moan, the knot getting unbelievably tight. Any second now… You were almost there. Your head felt lighter and lighter, and a ringing started in your ears, washing out the moans of Soap and Price. You were so close. It was about to snap, you were so close you could taste it. And then it snapped and-

BDING!

You jolted.

Your eyes popped open and you squinted. Sunlight filtered into your room through your curtains, hinting it was early afternoon. You sat up, looking around, blinking quickly. Everything was in place from last night, your clothes laying on the floor. You looked down. You were still in your pajamas. You scratched your head, confused. You crawled out of bed and walked down the hall, hesitantly. You peeked into the living room. It was normal. The window was latched and closed. There wasn’t a pillow out of place.

“What the fuck…?” You mumbled. Was that all… a dream?

BDING!

You turned your head back to your bedroom. Was that your phone…? You walked back to your room and grabbed your phone.

You had a couple unread texts from Soap.

You opened your phone and read his shitty typing. He was asking if you wanted to come hangout with him, Ghost, and Gaz today. They were going to see a movie and then walk around town a bit.

“Ony if yer not so hammered from last nite lol.” He typed. You rolled your eyes and texted back that you’d meet up with them at the movie theater. A couple minutes later, he texted back with the time they’re meeting. You agreed and said you’d see them there. You then sat your phone on your bed and stared at the wall.

Memories of your dream drifted back into your mind and you blushed slightly. What was that all about…? You didn’t have any feelings for either of them… you thought you didn’t at least. You shook your head. You only had a couple hours before you had to meet up with the others. So you took a cold shower and changed into a casual outfit.

You walked down the hall and glanced at the living room, your dream drifting to the front of your mind. Your face flushed and you shook your head once again, trying to clear it.

With that, you grabbed your keys and headed out, making sure to lock your door behind you. Hopefully, you could forget about it today.

What a weird fucking dream.

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Thanks so much for reading !!!! This was my first time writing a threesome, so I hope you liked it !!! I was giggling and kicking my feet the entire time while writing LMAO !!! It was such a weird dream, I'd never had one like that before. And funny thing is, I was reading COD fics before bed that night but it had NOTHING to do with Soap and Price, so I have no clue why they showed up. Anyways, thanks for reading !! Ciao!! <3 <3

XOXOXOXOX <3

#call of duty #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john price #captain price #price mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 smut #smut fic #fic wip #soap smut #captain price smut #threes0me #cod mw2 #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john price x reader

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crazy-only · 5 months ago

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showing subby!yuki your favorite dessert !

pairing: subby!yuki x fem!reader

idea: golden retriever yuki follows you into one of your favorite dessert shops to taste the sweets; little does he know you have other plans for him. (*^^*)

creds: pretty 18+ divider by @anitalenia (you’re so talented omg !)

preface: omg bby is so freaking handsome i don’t know how to put it in words but like his face card is on another level ! (+﹏+) ugh wish he was mine. like look at that sweet smile ?? i think my heart just stopped.

“this one?” your boyfriend, yuki, asks rather cutely, his head cocking. he pointed to the street sign reading oscar’s pastries.

you nodded excitedly. “yep! that’s the store!” smiling back at yuki you grab his hand, his immediately wrapping around yours, and entered the shop.

“woah,” he mutters, brown eyes enlarging at the four-story sweets shop. “this oscar dude must be making so much money.”

you shrug, leading him to your favorite section on the first floor, saying, “perhaps. you should ask him.”

the two of you reached the taffy section, consisting of a large assortment of the sweet candies in the pattern of a rainbow, and you pick up a blue one. you unwrap the parchment paper and pop it in your mouth.

“wait! y-you’re supposed to buy it first, y/n!”

laughing, you simply shrug. “oops!”

yuki clings onto you, arm wrapped around your shoulders, as you make your way to the second floor, this one filled with gummies.

and, to yuki’s horror, you pop another unpaid-for candy into your mouth, this time a long green gummy worm.

“shit. y/n what if they kick us out?” yuki says, trying to hide his excited smile.

you boop his nose with a finger, saying, “maybe we’ll take a field trip to jail?”

yuki grins, never able to get bored with that unpredictable personality of yours. that’s one of the qualities he loved most about you.

after roaming around, you traveled to the third level, where chocolates and caramels filled your senses.

yuki’s grip on your shoulders tightened as a male employee stepped up, asking if you “needed any help.”

with his mouth in a straight line, yuki declined, “no. we’re perfect. her eyes are up here.” yuki pointed up to your eyes, clearly fuming at the employee.

the employee, able to recognize he wasn’t exactly welcome (and a bit embarrassed as well), scattered away to the opposite side of the floor.

you gulped at your boyfriend’s sudden feistiness, wondering how his pretty brown eyes could turn angry so quickly.

you also pondered how his dick would feel inside you.

“is this your favorite section?” yuki asked, noticing the wide smile on your face, yet oblivious to the reason behind it.

with a kiss on his hand you said, “not yet.”

yuki spotted his favorite chocolate, one with a fruity filling, and, with guilty eyes, popped it into his mouth. “mmmm,” he murmured, eyes closed in bliss.

your eyes, meanwhile, widened as your head went wild. the dirty thoughts finally stopped when he opened his eyes, nodding towards the candy, encouraging you to try one.

on the top floor, you and yuki wandered around until landing at the cake section, a boulstorous display of frosting available.

with a soft hum you dip an unused spoon (from the ice cream section you passed earlier) into a pink-colored frosting. “wonder what flavor this is,” you murmur to yourself before placing the doused spoon into your mouth.

you lick the spoon slowly, maintaining eye contact with yuki as you twirl your tongue around the frosting. “mmm,” you say, “so tasty!”

you smirk at yuki’s face, looking like a deer in headlights. “what happened, baby?”

his cheeks warm up, eyes moving between the spoon and your mouth in a silent explanation.

“ahh, i’m sorry. you wanted a taste?” you ask, leaving a ghost caress with your hand on his right cheek.

yuki only stood still, waiting for whatever plan of yours to flourish. it was quite often when you flustered the poor baby, yet he’s never really gotten used to it, always having to resort to the “freezing tactic.”

you pretend to be sad, lips in a pout. “damn, wish i had another spoon.” you step closer to yuki, cocking your head at his intrigued eyes.

with a smile you kiss yuki, prodding your tongue into his mouth and letting the flavor of the frosting reach his tastebuds.

you step away, playfully saying, “take a guess! what’s the flavor?”

yuki shakes his head as if he were in a daze. “um, think it’s, uh straw—wait, i need another taste.” he says the last part with a slight smile, almost as if he cracked the code to a safe or something.

with a planning smile you grab his sweaty hand, leading him to the bathroom.

“you asked me what my favorite section was,” you say, pushing yuki against the bathroom wall and closing the door. “it’s this one.”

you smash your lips onto his, the flavor of chocolate and frosting mixing so well. yuki groans into the kiss, making you only more desperate to deepen the kiss.

with a strong hand yuki grabs your waist, his other one going to your hair. he, just as eager (or, if anything, more so) swipes his tongue inside your mouth.

“comfortable, are we?” you murmur in between kisses, biting down softly on his bottom lip.

“mmmm,” yuki moans softly in response.

you chuckle, letting the man run his fingers through your hair as you lean on him, smashing him against the solid wall. “such a cute boyfriend i have.”

yuki gets shy, looking at the adjacent wall, hands, though, rubbing up and down your waist.

you kiss his neck hard enough to leave marks, aiming for the spots you know the press will find. “how did i get so lucky?”

yuki looks down at you, lovingly, and says, “i’m the lucky one.” he gently guides you to a bench in the large bathroom. “let me thank you?”

taken off guard you raise your eyebrows. “sure, baby. let me know if it’s too much, though, okay?” you knew yuki leaned on the shyer side when it came to intimate acts, so you always made sure he was comfortable with new things.

“okay,” he chirped cutely, making you smile at his innocence.

although the next thing he did was anything far from innocent, grabbing your shorts waistband and tugging it down to your ankles.

“fuck,” you curse, watching the boy leave kisses on the dangerous part between your pussy and thighs.

yuki, a bit concerned, looks up. “does it feel good y/n?”

“baby,” you murmur, a hand going to brush his cheek, “you’re doing great.”

your boyfriend, suddenly confident, moves his kisses to your clothed pussy, a happy grin on his face. his eyes shutter close at the taste of you, eyebrows scrunching in joy at the new taste.

“mm, this my favorite section,” he mumbles against your folds, the vibrations making you even wetter.

feeling hot you take off your shirt and watch as yuki’s eyes go wide.

“perv, don’t start acting like you’ve never seen them before,” you say as-a-matter-of-factly, removing your bra as well.

“i-it’s just, you’re so beautiful, y/n,” yuki says, a bit starstruck. he stares at you as he continues to tease your pussy, kisses all over the sensitive area.

you groan, muttering, “shit. so fucking cute, baby,” which only makes your boyfriend speed up his movements, adding nudges of his nose into the mix.

you grasp onto his hair, saying, “yuki, baby, remember what i said about telling me if it was too much?”

yuki hums, nodding as he became more and more drunk from your pussy.

you tug his dark hair, making him face you, wanting a verbal affirmation from him.

although it gives a different reaction than expected, as yuki groans from the tension in his hair, suddenly saying, “mmm,” his eyes lidded, as he stared into your eyes. “s’pretty, y/n.”

you try to hold it together as yuki’s shame went out the window, purely focused on pleasuring you (or was it tasting your pussy?). the man went down on you again, desperately removing your panties to get deeper in your pussy.

“taste so good, mmm,” yuki moans into your cunt, head bobbing up and down for the sole purpose of licking you dry.

you lean your head against the wall as yuki gently inserts a finger into you, feeling your gummy walls with wonder.

he licks his finger with a smile, and, having an idea, lowers his mouth against your hole.

yuki sends his tongue into you, causing your body to jerk at the sudden change.

you can’t help but quietly moan as yuki learns to hit all the right places, your eyes rolling back in estacy.

yuki’s desperate tongue fucks you to heaven. you grip his hair tighter, needing to have some support.

“mmm, y/nnn,” yuki whines, still fucking your pussy deliciously. “so hard right nowww.”

you pant out a laugh. “from the hair pulling, hmm, baby?”

“mmhmmm.”

fuck. the vibrations along with his tongue were just too much. you start rocking your hips, feeling your release coming, saying to your pretty boy, “be a good boy and i’ll help you?”

pleasantly surprised, yuki hums, “please, mommy.”

and with that nickname your eyes scrunch, rocking your hips sloppily against yuki’s cute face as you squirt all over it, surprising him in the process.

“baby’s never seen a girl squirt before?” you ask him in between fast breaths with a hint of teasing.

yuki shakes his head, entranced at your spasming pussy while he cleaned the cum off his face.

“should we see if guys squirt as well?” you half-joke, guiding your boy up gently by his arms.

“wanna taste you again, though!” yuki mumbles, licking his drenched fingers.

you scoff and, with a push, force him to fall onto the bench, back on the brown wood, his eyes large.

you straddle his lean hips, murmuring against his jaw while leaving kisses, “it’s my turn now.”

#f1 #formula 1 #yuki tsunoda #yuki smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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bullet-prooflove · 7 months ago

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Worth Waiting For: David Hale x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hatersaremymotivators @bennykk @kelpies-shed

Companion piece to Graffiti & Crime Wave

David is being stood up, he’s sure of it and so is the waiter who drifts past him for the third time with a sympathetic expression on his features. He’s been sitting in the bistro for almost forty five minutes and you still haven’t showed up. He’s tried to call you but it just goes straight to voicemail. He should have known better. A girl like you and a guy like him…

Yea, it was never going to happen.

You’re fun, bright, vibrant and he’s…

The type of guy that turns up fifteen minutes early because if you’re on time you’re late.

He takes his wallet out of his pocket and puts a few bills underneath his empty soda glass before raising to his feet and heading towards the door. It’s a thirty minute drive back to Charming and he’s not looking forward to being alone with his thoughts.

It’s when he gets out onto the street that you run into him literally. You’re wearing a beige, cable knit jumper over black, high waisted trousers. Your hair is pulled back into a messy bun, loose tendrils fall around your features. His breath hitches because truly you are the most striking woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

The brown, leather portfolio slips from underneath your arm, spilling paper out across the street. You curse loudly and he can’t help but smile because you’ve always had a little spitfire in you. He crouches down to help you gather them up, noticing as a pink flush creeps across your cheeks.

“Sorry, I’m such a mess today.” You say as you try to gather up the paperwork. “My professor wanted to talk to me after class, by the time I got out my piece of shit phone battery had died. I’m surprised you’re still here…”

“I thought you stood me up.” He admits as he tries to sort the documentation into some sort of order.

“No,” You say shaking your head as you raise to your feet trying to jam the paperwork back into your portfolio. “I was really looking forward to tonight. I’m sorry I know I fucked it up, we won’t make the movie…”

You’re spinning out a little, he can see it. He thinks the conversation with your professor has knocked you off kilter. He has some idea of what you discussed, he guesses it’s to do with the brochure for the San Franisco Art Institute he’s currently holding in his hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks you, handing the brochure back to you. “Over dinner with me?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his and in that moment you realise what he’s giving you. A safe space to work through your feelings, to talk through the opportunity you’ve been presented with. You’ve never had that with a man before, you’ve never wanted it but David, he’s not like those boys you’ve run around with in the past. He gets you in a way that no one else has. He actually wants to listen to you, to understand you.

“I know it can be overwhelming, suddenly having options.” He says as he guides you back towards the bistro. “Options you may have thought were previously out of your reach.”

His palm comes to rest on your lower back as he holds open the door for you. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, dark cherry with a warm amber undertone. It’s a sensual aroma, one that makes him think of summer.

You pause before you head inside, raising up on tiptoes before you press your mouth to his. The kiss is soft, tender. David has never felt something so sweet.

“Thank you.” You say softly, your fingertips ghosting over his cheek. “For waiting for me.”

He smiles as he clasps your hand to his face, his lips brushing over the pulse point of your wrist as he looks into your eyes and says.

“I have a feeling you’re worth waiting for.”

Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#david hale #david hale x reader #soa #taylor sheridan #deputy chief hale #sons of anarchy #deputy hale

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sen-ya · 8 months ago

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@heart-pirates-week || Day 3 || Penguin

Peng gets a third thing I had a lot of thoughts abt him while I made Heart Pirates Week stuff. Puttin it here for now so I can add it to the queue, I'll put it on Ao3 when I'm not on vacation lol. Previous Peng comics I've done (which I will also link once I am not on vacation lol) recommended before this, but not necessary.

take care

Summary:

“Where’re Beps and Cap?” “Dunno, think they went a few villages over looking for some nerd shit.”

teen peng & shachi start unpacking a few things

Warnings: implied child abuse/neglect

Word Count: 1669

“Where’re Beps and Cap?”

Penguin glanced around the open room the four teens had been calling home. It was run down, the wood floor scuffed and littered with what debris Law hadn’t already cleared. He was the only one who seemed invested in tidying the place so the process had become long and drawn out, with periodic full days dedicated to cleaning where Law would use what he could of his powers to move heavy things and direct the other three on how to best scrub the floor or mend the roof. What was left now was one large room that was half-tidy, loosely segmented into a corner for sleeping, a corner for eating, a corner for lounging, and a corner full of books and papers for Law and Bepo’s research.

“Dunno, think they went a few villages over looking for some nerd shit,” Shachi shrugged from his spot in the lounging area. He took a long drag of the joint he was holding before holding it up as an offer. Wordlessly, Penguin made his way to sit beside him and easily took the smoke. Shachi sniffed and pushed his sunglasses up on his head, using them to hold back his bangs which he’d been meaning to cut for months at this point. He was crouched over some papers, clearly stolen from the research corner and flipped to their blank sides. He was scribbling flowing patterns, his hand turned black from the charcoal he sketched with.

Penguin tilted his head, leaning in to get a better look. Shachi cast him a sideways glance. “Thinkin’ about our Jolly Roger,” he explained, turning the page so his friend could see better. “Cap gave me some ideas he had, hearts and shit like that. Real creative.” He huffed a laugh. Strewn across the page were decorative hearts, their lines swirling in where the curves met. Penguin smiled warmly at the drawings, his finger hovering over a few while he ghosted the outlines, careful not to touch the charcoal. Shachi held his head a little higher with pride at the approval.

“But this ain’t it,” he proclaimed with excitement, turning to grab a few papers he’d tossed to the side. He spread them out in front of them messily, showing off five or six pages of simplified, wide smiles. “Cap said hearts and you know what he was thinkin’.” Penguin gave a knowing nod. “So I was thinkin’ about that story he told us, the way that guy smiled at him and whatever. He was even smilin’ a little thinking about it. Anyway. Think he’ll like ‘em?”

“Yeah. Thoughtful,” Penguin beamed. Shachi scoffed and rolled his eyes, shoving his shoulder into his friend a little harder than he needed to. Penguin shoved him right back, and before long they were pushing each other back and forth, snickering as they play fought.

“Don’t say dumb shit like that,” Shachi huffed, though it was clear he was pleased that the other boy could tell he’d spent time on his little project. He gave Penguin a final shove on his head, leaving a nearly solid black handprint on his hat. That only made Shachi’s grin widen and he snatched the hat away.

“What—!” Penguin lunged for it, Shachi quickly scrambling to his feet and running across the room.

“Calm down, you don’t need it right now!” Shachi laughed, turning on the faucet of the sink in their ‘eating’ corner. The delay in the water actually coming out was such that Penguin was able to cross the room and very nearly reclaim the hat before the other boy shoved it under the icy stream, rinsing the charcoal off his hands and the hat in the same go.

“Yes I do,” Penguin pouted, arms tight across his body with his chin pressed firmly into his chest.

Shachi rolled his eyes, turning the water off and slinging the hat over the faucet. He flicked his wet hands at his friend’s face, causing him to startle backwards and look up. Their eyes met and Shachi frowned at the shame making a home on Penguin’s face. “Seriously?” he asked, a little hurt. “It’s just me.”

Penguin’s gaze dropped, his hand shooting up to cover his right eye. The burn and accompanying scar that was there was long healed, leaving a distinct gap in his eyebrow and redness around his ever swollen eye. The iris was clouded, he hadn’t seen out of it in a few years at this point. All he offered as a response was a small shrug before beginning to step away.

He didn’t make it far. Shachi’s hands, still icy from the tap, wormed their way to Penguin’s cheeks. His grip was firm as he forced eye contact.

“You don’t gotta cover your face all the time,” he said sternly. Penguin tried to look around, desperately wanting to be anywhere but here. “I’m right! Don’t act like I’m not. Why are you ashamed of this stupid thing?” He jutted his chin towards the scar. Penguin only clawed at Shachi’s hands, trying his best to squirm away.

The subject had come up a handful of times since it’d happened, but each time his apparent discomfort had gotten the other boy to drop the subject. Maybe it was because they were a little older now, or maybe it was because they were a little intoxicated, but this time Shachi didn’t back down. “It’s ‘cause you got it for me, isn’t it?”

Penguin’s good eye blew wide. “No,” the word was choked. “No, no.” His hands shot up, mirroring the gesture Shachi was holding firm. He shook his head as much as he could in the other’s grasp, his eye squeezing shut. An image sprung to his mind, one of a much younger ginger haired boy, stomach growling. He was a ball of well deserved anger, tightly wound and never afraid to spring. He understood when Penguin was quiet, knew that well fed and well cared for had different meanings. So of course Penguin had to squirrel some of that food away to the only person he felt understood him. Alone and in need — of care, of warmth, of companionship.

There was one thing he would never regret, and that was the reason behind his injury.

But that didn’t make him proud of it. Didn’t make the waves of powerlessness the scar brought on any easier to weather. Didn’t make him feel less that he should have left sooner, didn’t make him feel less weak for not being able to fight back. There were so many things tied up in what he saw when he looked in a mirror. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t there. Hide it away to avoid people staring in a way that reminded him they could see it.

Shachi had a tear in the corner of his eye, and if it weren’t for that anyone would have thought he was absolutely livid. But Penguin knew better, and he felt his heart fracturing as he recognized guilt in his friend’s stare. “I’d do it again,” he muttered. Then, confidently, “I’d do it a million times if it meant you’re taken care of.”

Shachi’s eyesbrows knit together even tighter as the tear fell free, and after that they kept coming. “I told you he’d kick your ass,” he squeaked.

“Didn’t care.”

“You fucking should have.”

Another rigid shake of the head.

“You’re only a year older than me,” Shachi tried. “I don’t need taking care of.”

At that Penguin blinked, considered it for a moment. “I know,” he said carefully. “…But I want to take care of you.”

Shachi studied his face, confused. Penguin knew he was doing it again, giving his friend that look. The one he knew gave him away, the one he was certain Shachi had yet to find a name for. “Actually,” Penguin muttered, swallowing nervously. “I think…?” He looked around, confidence wavering. He screwed his eyes shut to make it easier and blurted, “I think I wanna kiss you. Can I?”

Silence.

Too long of a silence.

After what felt like ages he cracked his eye open and he could see Shachi’s gears turning. There wasn’t hesitance, per se, but questions he seemed to be working through in his mind rapid fire. Finally, he tilted his head, gave a shrug.

“Sure.”

It was quick, awkward, new.

When it was over both of them dropped their hands back to their sides, studying the person in front of them. Penguin’s heart thrummed, and he smiled listlessly. As Shachi pressed his lips together in a tight line, evaluating the situation, he realized he couldn’t recall ever seeing such a grin on his friend’s face. After a few more moments of consideration he offered, “I think I liked that.”

Before either could think on it more their front door slammed open, Law and Bepo strolling in. “Yeah, just put them on my desk,” Law was saying, nodding to the appropriate corner over the stack of books he had in his hands. Behind him, Bepo carried twice as many.

Shachi leaned to the side to look around Penguin. “Sup nerds?” he called. Law flipped him off in response.

“The woman at the library was so nice!” Bepo cooed, easily sliding his book stack where Law had asked. “She saw how much we got through while we were there, so she let us borrow twice as many books.”

“I’m more surprised that they had this much worth reading,” Law mused. He sounded calm, but it was clear to the other boys that he was just as giddy about the development as Bepo.

“What are they?” Shachi made his way to their corner, carelessly picking up a book to flip through. Law snapped at him to be careful, and quickly the three of them started to stir up a commotion.

Penguin sighed a chuckle, hanging back to watch the show as he gave himself a moment to consider the afternoon.

Yeah, he decided. He thought he liked it too.

#my art #one piece #heart pirates #heart pirates week #one piece penguin #one piece shachi #one piece bepo #one piece law #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #my fics

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thevampiremarie · 1 year ago

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Summertime Sadness (part 4)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Second chance romance, heavy angst, hurt/very little comfort

Now: Nothing can stop Ghost from going to you Then: Simon asks you why you're in therapy

NOW

Ghost POV

Ghost is arguing with the nurse at the front desk when the screaming starts.

She won’t let him in to see you. He was about as polite as he could muster for any medical professional in scrubs at the beginning, but a scowl grew deeper and deeper under his mask with every denial. She said you weren’t taking visitors at this time and asked him to leave. And then the nurse switched her story and claimed you were too busy. He went back and forth with the nurse a few times, resolutely holding his ground. Ghost needed to see you, even if he didn’t know why.

And then he hears it. Howling. Plaintive wails, over and over again, rising like the wind and then stopping long enough for the sufferer to cough and clear their throat. More crying, more screaming.

Ghost recognizes who that is. “Simon!” You sob, your hoarse, despairing voice muffled by the thick walls of concrete separating you from him.

He hears you blubber incoherently and someone tries to soothe you. The tosser is doing a horrid job at it. When you scream out once more, begging for your childhood friend, the pain and suffering you add to Ghost’s name makes him feel like he’s just been shot in the chest with a hollow point bullet. Each horrible noise is a shard of the casing digging further into his heart. Wounds like that can’t be mended.

It sounds as if someone is torturing you or something, maybe holding a red-hot poker to your face. Ghost would know what that sounds like. He’s lost count at this point how many people he’s had to hurt. It never bothered him, whether they deserved it or not. Those men, women, and young boys were just the poor bastards unlucky enough to end up on the wrong side of his knife. Or staring down the barrel of his pistol. Or at the end of a rope hooked over a water pipe in the ceiling.

But the knowledge that it’s you that is being hurt bothers him a whole lot.

Ghost snaps when the sounds suddenly stop.

The quiet is always worse than the screaming. Birds go quiet in the forest when a predator moves among them. People go quiet when they die and have nothing left to give him.

Nothing will stop him from getting to you. Nothing. Not even God himself.

He bodily sets the nurse aside without so much as a word and is through the double doors in an instant. Ghost’s timing is perfect - a staff member in blue scrubs is on his way out and all Ghost needs to do is charge past him.

Like a shark following the scent of blood, he tracks where the screaming was with unerring precision. There are many doors here, but he knows which one is hiding you.

It’s the third one on the left.

The nurses try to stop him. They chatter noisily in his ear about “Sir, you’re not allowed to be here” and “Sir, please stop and return to the waiting room”, or “If you don’t leave this area immediately, we’ll call security.” Let security come, Ghost thinks. Good fucking luck. The poor bastards will need it.

But this isn’t about them. This is about you, and whatever the hell it is they’re doing to you.

When he forces the door open, he sees you thrashing and twisting in the hospital bed. The orderlies have managed to restrain you, pinning your limbs down with straps. Someone rights the IV pole you must have knocked over.

Ghost will remember the agonized expression on your face until the day he dies.

Your skin is soaked with a shiny mixture of sweat and tears, and fresh blood bubbles up under the bandages on your wrists and soaks through the paper gown covering your thighs.

Crimson flowers bloom in your sclera from burst blood vessels and the air reeks of vomit and the acrid tang of fear.

A nurse with cold, narrowed eyes reconnects your IV line to the port in the crook of your elbow, callously wiping away excess blood with a cotton pad soaked in rubbing alcohol. That shit stings you and he feels sympathetic pain scrape across his skin.

“What’s wrong with her,” Ghost demands through bared teeth, hissing like a snake about to strike. “What the fuck is going on.”

Your eyes roll back in your head until you sag limply to the sweat-soaked mattress. “We told you she wasn’t taking visitors at this time. She’s in acute benzodiazepine withdrawal. You need to leave.”

“‘M not going anywhere. You’re fuckin’ torturing her. Stop it.” Ghost moves closer to you, close enough that if you’d just open your eyes, you’d recognize him. He hasn’t been this close to a person outside of work in years. “Leave her alone. I said-“

“Right now, she’s a danger to herself and others. The restraints stay until… it passes.”

You give up on the screaming in favor of piteous, gut-wrenching crying. Your body wants to curl up on its side and hide, you want to tuck your head under your arms and make it all go away, Ghost can tell.

He calls your name as he takes one of your shaking hands in his. Ghost calls your name one more time, resisting the urge to shake your shoulders and force you to open your eyes and look at him, goddamnit.

But there’s nothing he can do.

Ghost can only kneel here in a room that reminds him more of a morgue than it does a hospital and feel your weak pulse in your wrist and hope that he never feels it stop.

Finally, your lips twitch and move as if you’re chanting words under your breath. You’re hallucinating.

I’m sorry. Simon. Simon. Come back. I’m scared. Pick up the phone. Please. I’m sorry. Simon. Help me. Don’t leave me here alone. I need you. They never came back for me and you’re all I have. Call me back when you can.

10 YEARS AGO

Reader POV

You’re not entirely sure why Simon fascinates you so much. This place has no shortage of brooding, crotchety, “Rebel Without A Cause” types. If anything, you’re the odd one out amongst thirty other kids because you don’t wake up in the morning wanting to cause property damage or sulk in the corner during group therapy.

But sometimes when he’s sulking in the corner during anger management classes, his grimace turns into a softer, sadder expression and he looks lost, even scared, and you just feel that… He’s different. Simon could be a million different things if he wanted to, as long as there was someone who didn’t give up on him.

It’s with this mission in mind that you sit next to him during lunch with your tray of a sad-looking hamburger but surprisingly delicious crispy fries. “Why don’t you like it here?”

Simon glares at you for interrupting his riveting contemplation of an uneaten apple. You shrug it off and start working on your fries. Maybe he has a stomachache.

When it’s clear that you’re more involved with your food than you are with his “I hate you” vibes, he deigns to answer. “‘Cause I don’t belong. Don’t even fuckin’ know why they shipped me here,” The boy grumbles in a thick British accent as he runs a hand through his short white-blonde hair.

You try not to look at the scars on his hands. For one thing, it’s rude.

The faded marks aren’t quite in the right place to be self inflicted.

You wordlessly hold out a fry. Simon inspects it for a few moments as if he suspects poisoning. He takes it without looking at you and a shiver runs through you when his fingers press against yours.

“The more you fight the program, the harder it will be to get discharged. If you wanted advice. Sorry. You don’t need my advice. I didn’t mean to give you that impression-“ As you ramble, you unintentionally rip the fry you’re holding into tiny little bits of crumbly potato.

Simon cuts you off. “You talk too much,” He says flatly.

That’s it. You must be the biggest idiot in the world. Why did you have to embarrass yourself in front of a cute boy, of all people?

You stare at the sad, torn chunks of potato and feel a strange kinship with them. “…I guess.” You shouldn’t have said anything at all.

After a minute, the boy next to you sighs.

“Thanks. For the tip.”

“We gotta look out for each other,” You say with a smile, perking right up again.

“You’re not from here, are you?” Simon doesn’t like to sit like a normal person. He’s hunched weirdly on the chair with one knee up and the other leg sprawled out on the ground. His limbs are simply too tall to dangle.

As you watch him rest his chin on his knee, you can see vertebrae move under the skin on the back of his neck. Fine, downy baby hairs trail hazy and soft from his hairline.

You look away with a loud cough and bright red face. “I’m not. Technically, they shipped me here, too. I almost sat in the cargo section of the plane across the Atlantic.”

A brief flash of envy flickers in his eyes as he sits up straight. “That far away? And you don’t wanna go home?” Simon speaks like if he could, he’d grow wings and fly far, far away from here. Not just the facility, but everything. He’d like New York, you think. He’d fit right in. The coarse British scowl thing he has going on would scare off any ornery New Yorker.

“I mean… It's not so bad here. Not for me, at least. There isn’t much to do at home so I might as well do this.”

When Simon gestures towards your completely untouched burger, you push the plate towards him. “You seem normal. Why are you here?” He asks around a mouthful of crumbs, spewing saliva everywhere. Like every teenage boy, his metabolism must be through the roof and he eats as if the food is about to run away from him.

“It’s really, like, not that interesting. I promise. You don’t care.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly riveted by the state of your cuticles.

Simon burps. Gross. “Fine, then I don’t.”

You wrinkle your nose and wave your hand performatively. He almost laughs. Almost. Like a baby laugh. One third of a laugh.

This isn’t a good subject for you to laugh back. Maybe one day the whole thing will be a funny joke you can say over dinner, surrounded by people who love you. It doesn’t feel very funny right now. It… hurts.

“No- no… sorry. Yeah. Um. My mother decided many years too late that she never wanted kids. So she went… wherever she is now. And then I snapped, or so they told me. My dad thought I would cope with the trauma better here than in our hometown, where I would be reminded of her everywhere. Honestly? Dad was probably just trying to get rid of me. But once I’m better, he promised he would pick me up and we’ll fly home together,” You finish softly.

With unexpected delicacy, Simon has the decency to avert his dark eyes and fiddle with the little gold chain hanging past his sharp collarbones. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It could be a lot worse. I’m lucky.” You smile, imagining thirty years from now when all of this will be simply memories made beautiful and shiny by nostalgia. Your dad will come get you. You’ll go back to America, graduate high school, and go to a fabulous college. Simon can be your lifelong pen pal.

“You are.” His mouth purses as he tugs his sleeves down over his wrists, watching you examine the tan line on your unblemished arm from your watch.

Tagging: @devcica @igotmajordaddyissues @almightywdm @copiasratscheese @nerdyreaderpapi @schmelscorner @johfaam0 @babygirl-panda19 @illyanam1011 @q8852p @loser-alert @vantae-tea @alexisv15 @chessecakelover @allaboutirem0 @darling006 @aloraaaxcrystalzx @berryjuicyy @desideriumlove @aurora-basin @klttypawss @elysian0612

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fungifanart · 1 year ago

Note

Hey Fungiiii! Hope you're doing well!

Could I request a fluffy Trey x M!reader story bc where the reader is stressed and burned out because of life, and it's keeping him from being able to do anything creatively (writing is preferred but I'm leaving it completely up to you). Also could it be an established relationship and Trey decides to comfort reader with tea and possibly cuddles?

Fatigue

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Trey Clover, Grim

CW: Burnout/Writer's block, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 643

Notes: Hey, BIIIIIIIIIITCH! Of course you can! Funny you requested this, since I'm kinda going through some writer's block of my own, but I managed to get this one done, regardless! (Even if it's pretty short)

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Among many other things, Trey Clover is known throughout Heartslabyul for essentially being the entire dorm's dependable big brother. Whether it be guiding his underclassmen through their homework, calming the seemingly bottomless pit of rage that is his housewarden or preparing a banquet's worth of sweets for an unbirthday party the next day, they know that he'll handle it with his usual playful smirk.

So, what could cause said smirk to waver like it's doing right now?

Perhaps the fact that he's spent the whole of exam week rarely seeing hide or hair of his beloved boyfriend, only to find out later that said boyfriend had to fight for his life against a THIRD overblot ON TOP of basically signing his dorm away.

Upon receiving this information, Trey does the unthinkable and drops his responsibilities, packing himself off to Ramshackle, determined to make sure his boyfriend is okay and then give him a piece of his mind for not telling him about it, only to be let in by the dorm's resident ghosts rather than the Prefect himself, causing his anger to be accompanied by growing concern.

Finally reaching the Prefect’s room, Trey opens the door to reveal his boyfriend slumped over on his desk in front of a typewriter, his head on its side facing away from the door.

Panicking, Trey rushes to his boyfriend's side, “Y/n! Are you okay?!” He asks while shaking his lover, who only turns his head around to face him.

“I'm going insane, my love.” The Prefect says in a monotone voice.

“What do you mean??” Trey asks while sitting the other man up in his chair, his anger temporarily on the shelf.

“It’s just so unfair! I didn't have any time to write during exam week and then suddenly I had to worry about not losing my entire dorm to some wannabe mob boss and then not getting shish-kabobed when the same guy threw a temper tantrum!” The Prefect rants while making wild hand gestures, “I finally found time to write and thought I could use my experiences as inspiration, but when I think about what happened, my hands start shaking and my brain can barely string one sentence together!”

The Prefect’s rant slows down as he turns and buries his face in Trey's chest, “And the worst part of it all is that I've barely been able to see you the entire time! I-I really missed you, y'know?” He says with a small sniffle that causes Trey's anger to melt away.

Pulling the Prefect out of his chair and onto the bed, Trey sits next to him and places a soft, but passionate kiss on his lips, “I missed you too, Y/n. I missed you a lot.” He says after pulling away.

Trey really can't stay mad at him, can he?

However, seeing the Prefect eyeing his typewriter again, Trey quickly pulls him into another hug and then onto their backs on the bed, “I think we've both earned a little rest, don't you?”

The Prefect opens his mouth to protest when Grim, who has been curled up near the back of the bed until now, pipes up, “Myrrgh…please…can't take the sound of crumpling paper anymore…” He groans before putting his head back down.

Trey raises his own head to look at the trash can next to the desk, sees that it's overflowing with balled-up pieces of paper and is about to give his boyfriend a knowing smirk when he looks back to see said boyfriend already fast asleep, the fatigue of everything he's gone through having finally caught up with him.

Trey's smirk is replaced with a loving smile as he tucks himself and the Prefect under the covers, “Sleep well, Y/n.” He says while placing a small kiss on his forehead before getting comfortable and closing his eyes as well.

#why is this mushroom writing fanfics?#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst x male reader #twst trey #twst mc #twst yuu #twst grim #trey clover #trey clover x reader #trey x reader #trey clover x male reader #no beta we die like men

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fleetingvow · 2 years ago

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‘ GHOST OF THE PAST .

Anthony Lockwood x Female Reader

SYNOPSIS. in which anthony recalls the tragedy of the only person who stirred his blood and thoughts. the girl who stayed young forever.

WARNINGS. heavy angst with a character’s death, specifically the reader’s. unproofread.

NOTE. anthony and the others are aged up by five years. lucy and george are vaguely mentioned in the story. this fic focuses more on anthony’s thoughts of how his romance started with the reader and his thoughts of when he lost her.

NAVIGATION. you can find more of my works about anthony lockwood and wednesday addams by clicking the link here! a fair warning, they’re all angsty!

NOTE. written in third person’s point of view. this fic is written by ©fleetingvow on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other platforms without my permission. inspiration is lovely, but plagiarism by paraphrasing is not, as well as stealing someone’s idea and claiming it as your own which is exactly what plagiarism is.

𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗬 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗗 uncomfortably in his seat. It was the very dreaded day for the celebration of love once again. He had avoided it for years that the only things he felt were either hollow screams of desire to turn back time or incessant pain of memories of who he lost.

“Anthony, it’s a gift specifically intended for you.” Lucy stood in front of his desk. The library was still quite the same as it was over the years, only the books in the shelf kept multiplying, and the papers continued to stack on the wooden material. She let out a sigh before resuming with a gulp, “We can’t turn it away. It was from your . . . old friend.”

It hurt so much, hearing the words used to address to the person who was once his very soul. The one who painted the universe for him to feast his eyes. How did Lucy even get ahold of these?

“Thank you, Luce.” His voice was strained, as if he was fighting back tears that were making his tie tighter and tighter as the room almost spun around with the stress he was obtaining just by looking at the objects set before his eyes. “But I think I might need a little solitude if I were to take a look at these.”

Knowing the vulnerability of the situation, Lucy decided to leave the library without a word, just a lump on her throat as she composed herself, trying to recover from the atmosphere in the room. The giver of those gifts was once her companion, and it pained her that it was only years later that they were able to look at her belongings without feeling the need to cry instantly.

Lockwood unwrapped the presents slowly and carefully, not wanting to be careless with the items that were the only closure he had to her. As the parchment slowly revealed the silver metal underneath, there it was, the letters that made up her name engraved as she was in his mind on the back of the mirror.

“Y/N.”

He couldn’t touch it. God, how could he? Anthony looked away, his breath shaky as he looked up at the ceiling, gathering all the composure he could muster with his eyes closed.

‘Just touch it.’ He thought to himself over and over again. His trembling fingers finally closed the gap between the object and his hand. Anthony opened his eyes and took the mirror, completely removing it from the parchment wrap. He then, carefully traced the embellisments on the back of the mirror.

Y/N loved the loops and details.

It took his every bit of energy and will to turn the mirror and see himself in it. It looked exactly like her when he would stare. He always saw himself in the reflection in her eyes, and the mirror was the vivid reminder of her.

She loved that mirror. She treasured it more than she treasured her life. It was her very own object. The thing that only she could possess while many people in the world owned the exact same thing for the sight of it will only remind him of her.

Anthony recalled. He laughed humourlessly. Of course, he recalled. It was the moment his life started. The moment where he realised he was an actual living human being. That he was a person with a purpose and freedom to love and admire. To cherish and to hold.

It was the night of the Fittes’ Annual Valentine’s Ball four years ago. The London air was cold even despite his coat already being thicker than it usually was. Lucy and George had gone to the library in search of any clue for the Fittes’ dirt. He was there to appear as smug and confident as he was to be recognised by such an elite agency.

But then,

Oh, but then,

All regrets of attending the party had done nothing but dissipated. Anthony Lockwood, for the first time, felt the core of his palms hurt in an intoxicating manner that sent electric waves through his veins that he himself couldn’t explain the phenomenon when he saw the one and only Y/N L/N amongst the crowd.

He didn’t know how or why, but God, he knew what. He was aware it was her eyes, the way they glinted under the stars when she stepped outside with him in the streets of London. They shone under the silver streaks of the moon. They said someone’s eyes were the windows of their soul, and he didn’t know what they meant.

Not until he got a glimpse and was trapped under some type of spell that when he looked, Lockwood witnessed the universe being painted around him, flushing colours in the void of his existence, and putting stars to keep him away from the dark.

So smitten he was that he forgot to check the placements of the stars. If they were aligned closely . . . or if they were aligned at all.

They weren’t.

Anthony was pulled back from his memories, turning the mirror away from his face as he put it back down to the wrappers. He couldn’t stop recalling now. Her eyes, her hair, her smile, her skin — Just — Just everything about her, he could all remember it so vividly that it was hurting every bone in his body, making every inch of his skin scream for her.

“Why now?” He whispered, putting his hand on his face to cover it frustratedly.

“Why not?” She whispered in his ear. It was the ghost of the past. It was yet another vision of her, a memory that he wished to relive. It was still four years ago, just two months after he met her. Her breath was hot on his skin as she stifled a laugh. “Be a dear, Lockwood, and help me put this on, will you please?” she asked in a mocking tone. How could he say no? It was a silver necklace. One he gifted for her.

“You’re not ashamed?”

“Of a good man?”

“Of me being in an agency below Fittes. It’s your domain, after all.”

“Anthony Lockwood, is this truly you? You’re- insecure? Your agency is the most prestigious agency in all of London, and you’re underestimating yourself? Besides, Fittes is . . . complicated. It’s bad business, and I would much rather trust the world in your hands.”

But the world in his hands were filled with her name. There was no corner that was safe from her essence. Every bits and pieces of the soil in his world contained his concern for her and her well-being.

“It looks lovely,” she mumbled, looking at the gift around her neck through the silver mirror with her name. “Thank you, Anthony.”

And again, he was pulled in another memory.

“I want to travel the world without everything we have now except for each other. We will move somewhere peaceful and quiet, and we’ll be sitting in front of a fire for comfort forever until we get sick of each other’s company. I want to go somewhere with you, anywhere but here.” She wanted him to run with her, but where? Every corner of the world was detectable to such an agency as Fittes’. She was the agency’s prodigy.

“You can’t throw all that away for me, Y/N. How could we live in hiding forever? What about George? Lucy?”

“I can’t accept his proposal. If I stay at Fittes, I’ll be stuck there forever.”

“Y/N,” it was an opportunity of a lifetime, but he couldn’t bear being the reason she’d throw away a life she’d been building since she was a child. Maybe it was wrong that she met him in the first place! Anthony was a mistake, or so he believed he was to her. She can’t just make a decision that will last a lifetime! What if she gets bored? What if she gets tired of him, and then regret it all? What if he couldn’t provide her everything she needed? She was used to a lavish life, and he lived in the same home he’s always lived in. “I can’t.”

Once he was back to reality, snapping out of his trance, Anthony noticed the envelope on the desk. He took it next and exhaled sharply, the butterflies locked in the cage of his chest and the wild heart of his swarmed around the organ as it pounded and raced into a fast rhythm that made the blood in his veins creep up to every parts of his body, making him feel more anxious than he should be.

The envelope opened, his eyes almost failing him before he could even read. But, he remembered his name, yet faltered once again when he caught sight of the handwriting he knew all too well.

“Anthony,

It must have come as a surprise for you that I still managed to pull something like this after years of my own possible demise—” No! He couldn’t read it. Anthony looked away, taking a sharp inhale to restrain the heartache he felt when he finally gathered the fact that Y/N knew about what was coming for her.

‘No, read.’ He had to be strong. It’s been years and there was no time for him to cower like a brutally tormented dog under a table. He shut his eyes, sparing himself a few more seconds before he turned his attention back to the paper.

“You’ve probably even solved the mystery by now. I knew you knew about the secrets of Fittes, and I was supposed to lure you in to keep track of you, but I couldn’t. Especially when I finally met you. You were nothing like they said. You weren’t arrogant or condescending. You were lovely, gentle, considerate, and smart. It was difficult to be anything but kind to you, Lockwood. The greatest mystery of my case is how I met someone like you.”

Lockwod shook his head. He is arrogant and condescending, but all of those traits of his would fade whenever he was around her. She calmed every nerve jilting him awake every single day. She’d always been the genius cure to the adrenaline rush that felt roo excessive he swore he could almost see the core of the Earth.

“I will wear your ring on my finger, forever until I rot and I will never take it off even if it’s the source you’ll find of me. I will forever march the world, waiting for you. I will be the fire on your hearth wherever you go, signalling that you’re always home, safe and sound as I defend you from anything who wants to destroy your peace. I will be the cold September air to accompany you during your dark cold days. I will be the sun that will peak through the clouds, watching as you smile and enjoy the warmth on your skin.”

A tear escaped his eye. One after the other, he sniffled and wuickly wiped them away to not leave a trace of his vulnerability to the only person that made him feel strong yet also weak in a way that he’d crumble down for her, and far better, kneel before her.

“As long as you walk the Earth for me, live your life for me, breathe the summer air for me. I will be there in every step of the way when you need me, and this mirror will always be a reminder of how I once saw you the night we met, how I’ll always see you — forever charming and gentle as you are, my intellectual bloody pain in the arse. Witness the moon in all its phases, feel the sun on your face, and touch the breeze that will creep up your bones. I will see to it that you will grow old with memories and the life you’re supposed to live.”

He took a shaky inhale and quickly covered his nose, resting the elbow of his hand that held the missive up for himself to read, on the desk.

“Find someone, Lockwood. Find someone who will make you happy, someone willing to spend their entire life with you with regards to your well-being, dreams, and feelings. You deserve someone who cares for you deeply. Put your arms around her waist delicately like you did mine, spin her around ever so gracefully like we once both have done. Dance in front of the hearth to your hearts’ desire. I will watch, and watch, and watch as I’ll sit and wait for you to come back to me when the time comes.

You, Anthony Lockwood, have become my reason to live, but now I must say goodbye. My farewell is dedicated to you and both Lucy and George. You have been a great family. My only treasure that I’m willing to die for.

It is not your fault though. It never was.

You have my ceaseless affections, Anthony. Always.

Yours,

Y/N L/N.”

A sound emitted from his lips as the letter ended that he felt like he needed to read more. Come on, there has to be more! This couldn’t be it! This couldn’t be the end of her moment where he felt like she was alive again! Just as she was starting to feel more real and closer, that’s when the letters had to end!

He put the letter down and ran his fingers through his hair, letting them settle on his dark locks and pulling them to create a pressure that will ease the starting headache. Lockwood couldn’t keep himself together anymore.

No matter how hard he tried.

The thoughts of her gone have always created such a tarnish on the crimsons of his heart. How could she just leave like that and never return? How could she leave him to his feelings? How could she claim he had her ceaseless affections if she left to too early?

Anthony Lockwood cried.

And cried.

And cried once more.

She was gone forever, and the letters in ink on the parchment were the ghosts of the past. He still couldn’t accept it until now. No, Anthony will never find anyone like her. He’d already loved her completely and utterly that his heart has given out all the ardour it had, only for her. The ring she wore six feet under was the solid silver proof of his devotion.

But now, the words he uttered to her the night he held her in his arms could only be heard by the fading wind outside the windows of the library.

Y/N L/N was a bright ember that entered his life and warmed his heart during the cold February air at the Fittes ball. She was fierce and hot, brazen and red.

And oh, how she burned.

She was his dream.

His walking desire.

His waking moment.

His other half.

And what was once such a bright dancing little fiend was now the flame in the library hearth, keeping him steady as he lost himself to the messy art of creating rivers with his tears.

Anthony Lockwood had lost his person.

And he will never be able to bring her back again. The girl who stayed young forever as she wished for him to grow old without her.

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gebo4482 · 5 months ago

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youtube

Paper Ghost Stories: Third Eye Open - Release Date Trailer | PS5 Games

Website / Steam

#paper ghost stories third eye open #paper ghost stories #cellar vault games #chorus worldwide games #indie games #horror games #adventure games #trailer #Youtube

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 1 year ago

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Of Coffee and Cinnamon Rolls - Chapter 1

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x F!Reader

Rating: T

Story Summary: Peter's coffee maker has broken, leaving him in need of a caffeine fix. Luckily, there's a new coffee shop right by the Daily Bugle... With a beautiful barista inside.

Warnings/Tags: Meet-Cute, Coffee Shops, Strangers to Friends to Lovers

Word Count: ~1650

A/N: Continuing my reignited thirst for Andrew Garfield's Peter Parker with this super sweet, super fluffy goodness! Enjoy this first chapter and I'll be back with more soon!

That being said, if you want to be added to the tag list for this or any of my other stories/characters I write for, please let me know!

Ugh, what a morning, Peter Parker thought as he hurried down the sidewalk towards the Daily Bugle's building. His ancient second (or more than likely actually third) -hand coffee maker that he had purchased at Goodwill when he had first moved into his apartment had finally given up the ghost that morning and he hadn't had time to try to fix it before needing to leave for work. Mr. Jameson had eventually relented and hired him on as a staff photographer rather than a freelancer after the former staff photographer, Eddie Brock, had quit to go work for the Post, which meant that Peter was expected to attend the 7am staff meetings.

He slowed as he spotted a sidewalk sign up ahead welcoming people inside a brand-new coffee shop.

Deciding that getting his caffeine fix was more important than potentially being late, Peter adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and headed inside, taking a quick glance around the empty shop.

The woman behind the counter smiled as he approached. "Hi, welcome to Bean There, Done That, what can I getcha?"

Wow, she's beautiful, Peter thought . "Hi, could I get a large black coffee?"

The beautiful barista nodded. "Room for cream or sugar?"

"No, thank you."

"Can I interest you in a cinnamon roll?"

Peter's stomach growled as he eyed the display case of what appeared to be freshly-baked cinnamon rolls. In his haste to clean up the mess his now-broken coffee maker had made he hadn't had time for breakfast. "Uh, yeah, actually, a cinnamon roll sounds great."

"Awesome." The barista tapped at the iPad that was serving as the register. "For here or to go?"

"To go." As much as Peter would've liked to stay and enjoy his breakfast he was already cutting it close.

"Okay, that'll be $6.43. Can I get your name?"

Peter must've looked confused because she pointed to the stack of paper coffee cups and added, "for your coffee order."

"Oh! Peter... My name is Peter."

"Peter," the beautiful barista (or B.B. as Peter was now calling her in his head) repeated, tapping at the iPad again. "Your coffee will be ready at the end of the counter."

Peter paid for his breakfast and moved to the other end of the counter, watching as B.B. set his coffee to brew then moved to the display case. She appeared to be roughly his age, with Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes. She wore black pants, a white shirt, and a flour-dusted apron which bore the logo of the shop and showed off her figure.

"Here you go," she said, walking back towards Peter and handing him a small bakery box. "Cinnamon roll for Peter."

"Thank you."

She put a lid on Peter's coffee and slid it over to him. "And here's your coffee."

Peter picked up his coffee and bakery box as the bell above the door chimed, signaling another customer. "Thanks again."

"No problem. Thanks for stopping by, come back again soon."

"Will do."

Peter ran the rest of the way to the Daily Bugle. Luckily Jameson was running late so Peter managed to slip into the conference room with a couple of minutes to spare.

He opened the bakery box and took a bite of the still-warm cinnamon roll. Wow, this is delicious.

He finished it right before Jameson walked into the conference room.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," Jameson barked. "We need a puff piece to round out Sunday's edition. Whaddya got for me?"

"The library is having a book sale--" one of the junior reporters began.

"Boring, nobody goes to the library. What else?"

"There's a pet adoption event in Central Park--" another one tried.

"We covered the last one. Gimmie something different."

Peter cleared his throat. "There's a new coffee shop down the street that's having a grand opening tomorrow… Bean There, Done That?"

"New coffee shop, huh? Is it any good?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir. I just had a cinnamon roll from there. It was great."

Jameson thought for a moment. "Might get some free baked goods for promoting it. Ok, fine. Brant!"

"Yes, sir," Betty Brant, one of the senior reporters, replied.

"Set up an interview with the owner. Parker, you go too since we need photos of the opening."

Peter grinned. "Yes, sir." Hopefully B.B. will be there.

"Alright, now get out of here. I've got golf with the mayor in an hour and I need to practice my back swing."

Peter headed to his desk to work on editing photos for the online edition of the paper, briefly stopping to eat lunch in the staff break room before getting back to it. As he was packing up to leave for the day Betty stopped by his desk. "Hey, so I stopped by that coffee shop during my lunch break and talked to the owner, and she agreed to an interview but asked if it could be before the shop opens, so I'll see you tomorrow morning around 7:30?"

Peter nodded. "Sounds good."

"Oh and you were right, the cinnamon rolls are excellent. I can't wait to try some other stuff from there."

"Me either. See you tomorrow, Betty."

He grabbed his backpack and headed down to the lobby.

"Bye, Stan!" he called to the elderly security guard as he exited the building.

As he approached Bean There, Done That he noticed that the chalkboard sign was still outside. Maybe I should stop in and get another coffee and cinnamon roll since it's gonna be a long night. And if B.B. happens to still be there, well, that's just a bonus, isn't it?

B.B. looked up from the tray of cinnamon rolls that she was boxing up as he entered. She smiled. "Hi, back again? It's Peter, right?"

Peter nodded. "Right."

"What can I do for you?"

"Um, actually I was wondering if I could get another coffee and a cinnamon roll."

B.B. nodded. "You're in luck. I'm getting ready to close up so I was boxing up the few I have left."

She moved over to the coffee machine. "Large black coffee, right?"

Peter nodded, impressed that she had remembered his order from that morning. "Right."

"Ok, I'll have that for you in a sec."

Peter waited at the register while B.B. brewed his coffee. "So, uh, first day open?" he asked.

B.B. glanced over at him. "Yeah, sorta. Technically tomorrow's our official opening but I decided to go ahead and open for a couple of hours today."

She popped the lid on and set it in front of him, then grabbed the box of cinnamon rolls, waving off Peter's payment. "Here you go. On the house."

Peter blinked in surprise. "Oh, wow, thanks. Are you sure though? I wouldn't want you to get into trouble with the owner."

B.B. grinned. "Considering I am the owner, I don't think I'll get into trouble for giving away free stuff. Besides, you're my first repeat customer, so that should at least entitle you to a free coffee and bakery item, right?"

"You're the owner," Peter repeated, suddenly feeling dumb considering how obvious it was.

B.B. nodded. "Yep. I couldn't sleep last night, and when I can't sleep, I bake, hence the cinnamon rolls, so I figured it was better to open for a few hours a day early and sell them rather than have to throw them out because I can't eat them all."

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Y/F/N. Y/F/N Y/L/N."

Peter took it, giving it a brief shake. "Peter Parker."

"Very nice to meet you, Peter Parker."

"Nice to meet you as well, Y/N." Peter enjoyed the way her name felt on his tongue.

"Thanks for stopping by again. Hope to see you again soon."

Peter grinned. "Actually, you'll be seeing me tomorrow morning. I'm the staff photographer for the Daily Bugle so I'll be taking photos for the paper during your interview."

A look of realization flitted across Y/N's face. "Ohhh, that makes sense now. That reporter from the Bugle did say that one of her colleagues had stopped by this morning and recommended that she try the cinnamon rolls."

Peter chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Yeah, that was me."

"Well thank you for recommending them to your colleagues. I really appreciate it."

"It was no problem, really. The cinnamon roll was excellent." Peter gestured to the bakery box. "Well, I mean obviously, since I'm back for another one." Not because you're beautiful and I just wanted to see you again, he thought. Well… not only that.

He took a sip of his coffee. "So I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Y/N smiled. "Yeah, I guess you will."

Peter picked up the bakery box. "Thanks again for the coffee and cinnamon rolls. I really appreciate it."

"It's no problem."

Peter turned to leave.

"Oh, hey, wait!" Y/N added.

Peter turned back towards her.

Y/N bit her lip, then picked up a business card from the holder in front of the register and wrote something on the back before handing it to Peter.

Peter studied the card.

Bean There, Done That

714 2nd Ave.

New York, NY 10016

(646)-555-2390

www.btdt.com

He turned it over and saw an additional phone number written on the back.

"If no one's up front when you get here tomorrow morning you can text me and I'll come let you in," Y/N explained.

Peter put the card in his wallet for safekeeping, making a mental note to add Y/N's contact info to his phone as soon as he left the shop. "That sounds great."

"See you tomorrow, Peter."

"See ya, Y/N."

Peter left the shop with a grin. Maybe my coffee maker breaking wasn't such a bad thing after all.

#lotmf writes #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #OCACR Masterlist

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