#a day in the life of a market associate
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sassyandclassy94 · 10 months ago
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So there’s this customer who comes in who looks almost exactly like Harrison Ford - he’s actually one of my favorites. He gave me a hug before Christmas because our store had something his wife was looking everywhere for (“Okay. I promise I don’t mean this to be creepy, I’m genuinely excited about this because you have no idea how long my wife has been looking for it; you made her so happy! Will you accept a hug?”)
Anyway, a few months back we were talking about The Boys in the Boat - he said he took his wife and youngest daughter to go see it. So today, when he asked me how I was doing I said “Meh, okay… I’m still obsessed with the Boys in the Boat though!” He laughed and I added “Did you know Don was a whole lot sicker than the film portrayed?”
Customer: “Ohhhh I know! My daughter went through the WHOLE shebang after watching that movie and she told me EVERYTHING as she went along. And that was one of the first things she told me.”
Me: “They picked such a good actor for Don. He didn’t have many lines but his expressions spoke volumes.”
Customer: *nods* “I agree.”
Me: “Plus the actor is so attractive.”
Customer: *laughs* “Now you sound like my daughter. Only she likes the one from Masters of the Air.”
Then that started a whole other conversation about Masters of the Air, lol! But then after that you know what he told me?🥹
“I just want you to know before I say this, I’m a dad of four girls, happily married to my wife of 50 years, so when I say this, know that I say it as a grandfather, and I say it to my girls: Your hair looks so nice down like that.”
Me: *taken aback because… I’m not real used to compliments outside of my mom* “Oh. Thank you!!! And I still think you look like Harrison ford.”
So there’s my positive customer story of the day🥰
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zara-renata · 4 months ago
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Control | ao3 | masterlist
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Summary: You are feeling a bit depressed after completing a mission that didn't go 100% the way you wanted. Mephisto, and then Sylus, pay you a visit to cheer you up.
Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, a little Sylus POV This is not actually strictly part of the Sylus series, but rather a bit of an interlude outside of the series I'm writing because it doesn't advance the plot and I don't know where I'd fit it in. I was having an awful day earlier this week and wrote this purely to make myself feel better. I hope it does the same for others. It doesn't contain all the same triggers as the series (but I'd still advise checking the CWs) and can be read as a standalone if you'd like. This story contains: sfw, pure self-indulgent hurt/comfort for overachievers who, despite doing their very best, still feel like they didn't do enough, fluff, banter, tender Sylus, clingy Sylus, still-bit-of-a-jerk-Sylus, CWs: grief, discussion of the realities of law enforcement and innocent civilian death as a result of criminal activity, violence typical of the game and Sylus's criminal tendencies, mention of slight depression and feelings of emptiness.
Here you are, again. It has been a long day, a long week, a long month. You’ve been called out almost every shift to counter an increased spurt of wanderer attacks, while also trying to execute a carefully orchestrated undercover mission to stem the tide of illegal modified protocore weapons that recently flooded the black market by arms smugglers.
No, not Sylus. He’s too clever to put himself on the Association’s radar for his arms dealing in a way that could result in a trap being set for him.
No, the idiots you were going after couldn’t hold a candle to Sylus.
But their activity resulted in civilians being caught in the crossfire, and you had spent the last month seeing firsthand the carnage left behind after a gang battle erupted on the outskirts of Linkon City. You forced yourself to look at the broken bodies and broken families of the people affected, boots crunching on shattered glass, trailing bloody footprints on the cracked tarmac of the street. You would not allow your… situationship with Sylus to blind you to the reality of what his line of work could do to people. People just trying to live their lives, make their rent, raise their children–to survive a life that’s already painful and short enough already, without people like the assholes you just finished bringing down tonight arming other assholes with weapons that no one should be able to access. Weapons designed with one purpose in mind: maximum damage, minimum finesse. Weapons designed as if collateral damage is a feature and not a bug.
You’re tired. Days like this have always happened to you, even before you became a Hunter. The lethargy seeping through your body, the disinterest in doing anything that normally makes you happy. You lie on your bed, staring blankly through your gauzy curtains, the autumn wind driving the intermittent raindrops against the glass of your window. Each one a crystalline jewel, splattering, liquid diamonds trailing down the pane like tears. 
You have the evening stretching before you, and you want to enjoy it, you do. But you can’t seem to make yourself get up, as your mind drifts to the images you made yourself engrave in your brain. The least those people deserved was you to bear witness, and ensure that you never forget, since your work as a Hunter came too late to help them, in the end. 
You turn your gaze away from the gloomy late afternoon, let it wander over the riot of plants hanging from your ceiling and along the shelving in your room. Life continues. Proof of it is right here in your bedroom, the plants turning carbon dioxide into oxygen for you to breathe with your healthy lungs. You’re fine. You’ll be fine.
Before, you might have dropped in on your grandmother, making her a meal and sharing it in quiet companionship. If Caleb weren’t on a flight mission, you might have asked him to go on a run or to the gym with you, worked off some of this jittery aggression on the mats or by pushing your lungs past their capacity in an effort to leave him laughing in your dust.
But they’re gone now, of course. Victims of the same type of assholes you took down today.
You should be reveling in the success of your mission, but all you can see is the still form of one victim in particular, a snapshot in your memory of their slender wrist, their half-opened hand, lying in the street amongst the glittering shards of glass and scorch marks on the asphalt.
This empty feeling will pass. You know that. You have enough life experience to understand that feelings like this, moods like this, ebb and flow like Rafayel’s tide. So what if it’s harder now, to pull yourself out of them when you find yourself drifting in this sorrowful sea, because your support network has been washed away? That doesn’t mean you’ll feel like this forever. Only that it might take a little longer to drag your tired body off the bed, to refill your empty tank and survive and maybe enjoy another day.
Suddenly, you hear a tapping. You turn your head back to the window. Mephisto is perched on the other side of the glass, gently pecking the pane. He tilts his head and regards you with one glittering red eye.
You haven’t seen Sylus for several weeks now, both of you busy with your respective occupations, and you, doubly busy with the undercover mission. He has sent photos, here and there–blurry pictures of a black cat, a flock of birds in flight against an evening sky, the setting sun’s rays the color of fire and blood. He has asked how you’re doing, and you’ve lied and said you’re fine. He sent you a photo of a glass of wine on a low table near a roaring fire. “You should be here,” he’d captioned it.
Despite all of your complicated feelings about who he is, who he was to you when you first met him, what he does to afford his huge open hearth fireplace and all the finest things in life, you wished you were there with him too.
But you weren’t, and you haven’t been for awhile now. Over the past few weeks, you’ve seen Mephisto in the trees, heard his grating call over the sounds of traffic. But he hasn’t approached you, until today. Normally you would play your typical cat and mouse game with him, or rather, crow and worm, and you’d grab your paintball gun and see how good your aim is as he flaps outside your window, or you’d lure him in with a treat and lock him in the bathroom and wait and see how long it takes Sylus to send Luke and Kieran to set him free. You like to think of it as enrichment activities for both the crow and his owner–you’re not going to make it easy for Sylus to stalk you. He might get bored, after all.
But you just don’t have it in you, today. You slip off the bed and pad to the window, throwing it open. Rain mists your face, drawing goosebumps up your bare arms. Mephisto watches you, and caws softly. You’d call it a coo, if it wasn’t such a horrible sound. Much like his owner’s attempt at a lullaby. You back away, slip back onto the bed. If he’d like to come in, he’s welcome.
You return to staring at your bedroom walls. After a while, you hear the flapping of wings, and suddenly Mephisto lands next to you on the duvet. He shakes his mechanical feathers, and water droplets are flung onto the fabric and the mountain of pillows.
“Thanks, buddy,” you murmur, watching as he uses his beak to groom himself. It’s uncanny, sometimes, how alive-acting he is. Like a real bird. You’ve always wanted a pet. You know that Sylus insists that Mephisto is not a pet, but you really can’t see the difference. Mephisto clearly likes his owner, and does his job dutifully, and sometimes you think, with great pleasure. He drops little destroyed bits of surveillance hardware at Sylus’s feet on occasion, like a real crow bringing something shiny to a human who was previously kind to him. 
Curiously, but without much expectation, you extend your hand to the bird. He hops backward, away from you, but remains on the bed. “May I pet you?” you ask.
He cocks his head, makes soft little chirruping noises in his mechanical throat. You let your hand fall to the duvet, palm up, and close your eyes. It’s nice to have company, in any case.
After a while, you feel him hopping again, and then something cold and smooth hesitantly nudges your palm. You open your eyes. Mephisto is gently pecking your palm. He nudges it, then bobs his head, observing you with his beautiful ruby eye.
“Is that a yes?” you ask. In response, he sits down, nestling into your duvet. You lift your hand, and he lets you run your fingertips along the top of his head and along the smooth, cool metal feathers along his back. 
Every few minutes, he ruffles his feathers and readjusts his position, slowly inching his way closer to you on the bed. Finally, he is resting against your thigh, within easy reach of your hand, head tucked into one of his wings like he’s ready for a nap.
The open window lets the brisk, rainy autumn evening in, and the light slowly fades. Eventually, you manage to drift off into a dreamless sleep.
And this is how Sylus finds you, towards midnight. He lets himself in through your front door, using the fingerprint scanner he reprogrammed to accept his own as well as yours. He enjoyed seeing the look on your face, when you figured out that’s how he had gotten into your apartment without the key you had offered and he had refused. Your angry facial expression is worth more than all of his dragon’s hoard of wealth, in his trustworthy opinion.
He notes that the temperature in your apartment is surprisingly cool, even through the warm wool of his thick black coat. He had sent Mephisto to check on you, but he hasn’t managed to get an update since the bird was tapping at your window, sending back images to Sylus’s phone of you lying on the bed in your sleep clothes, awake, but not looking at your phone or watching your wall-screen, even though it hadn’t even been dinner time yet. He had told himself not to worry, that you were probably just tired after the past grueling month. But now he is worrying. He slides off his black monk strap shoes, and places them neatly along your entryway wall. Despite the faint worry edging up his spine, he takes the time to neatly line up your own hastily kicked off boots next to his, because he also worries that you’re going to trip and break your neck one of these days on all the shit you just leave scattered around on your floor, too exhausted to immediately tidy them up and put them away.
He makes his way through your dark apartment, picking up discarded clothing and folding them over his arm to put in your laundry basket, and quietly steps into your bedroom. 
No wonder it’s cold in here–your window is wide open. It’s no longer raining, but the chill night air drifts into your bedroom and stirs the leaves of your indoor plants. You’re buried in your duvet, curled around an equally nestled Mephisto, who deigns to lift his head from where he had it tucked under his wings. He caws softly, as if to tell Sylus to be quiet and to not wake Sylus’s sweet little Hunter.
“This is dereliction of duty,” Sylus quietly scolds the bird, lifting the lid of your laundry basket next to your closet and neatly putting the clothes inside. He goes to the window and shuts it, and then draws the gauzy as well as the blackout curtains against the night outside. He returns to the living room, hangs up his coat, and brings a glass of water back to your bedroom.
He leans over the bed and pokes Mephisto. “You’re in my spot.” The bird puffs up his feathers a little in indignation and caws quietly.
“Nope, out. You’ve had your turn.” Sylus prods him again, and finally Mephisto ruffles his wings, hops to his feet, and flaps off to the living room, making disgruntled noises as he goes. Sylus sympathizes, but doesn’t feel guilty at all for dislodging him from your side. It’s Sylus’s turn now.
He slips out of his slacks, pulls his sweater and undershirt over his head, and slides under the blanket next to you. You sigh in your sleep, frowning a little, and Sylus runs his finger between your eyebrows, smoothing the furrow there. If he could, he’d reach into your dreams and crush anything that would cause such an expression on your face in his bare hands. Unfortunately, that’s not one of the perks of the aether core in his eye. He settles for plastering his body against your back and wrapping an arm around you, running his nose along your neck and inhaling the scent of your hair. The distance between Linkon City and the N109 zone is getting harder and harder for him to handle gracefully.
While you’ve been busy taking down the low level morons playing at being arms smugglers, Sylus has also been busy for the past few weeks, negotiating deals, consolidating his power, tightening his grip in his efforts to acquire a monopoly on the illegal protocore arms trade in both the N109 zone and Linkon City. He’s making progress, but his work is not yet done. He’s tired, and he has spent every day of the past month missing you. Now that he knows your latest mission is over, he intends to soak in your presence for as long as you’re available, before he has to head back out into the cold gloom without you again.
Sylus closes his eyes. Just for a moment. He’ll check in on some online auctions in a few minutes, review the stock market moves of the day and reconsider investments, but for just this moment, he’ll hold you in his arms, and warm your cold hands in his warm palms.
And that’s how you find yourself waking up in the early hours of the morning, a big warm body pressed against yours. You blink, note the time of two in the morning. You reach out and feel around, setting your bedside lamp to its dimmest setting so that you can see in the pitch-black room. You turn your head, and find Sylus’s sleeping face on the pillow next to yours, looking more peaceful than he ever appears when awake. The furrow between his brows is almost nonexistent, and his mouth is soft, plush lips parted a little. In this moment, you can imagine him as a little boy, angelic in sleep, mischievous while awake. Your heart hurts a little, imagining what kind of life that little boy had to endure to become the sleeping panther next to you tonight.
You turn fully, brush your nose against his, and then cuddle into him, head tucked into his neck. You breathe him in. He smells like warm, sleepy Sylus, a little sweaty under the duvet. You resist the urge to lick him.
“This is the best way to wake up from a nap,” his hoarse, sleep-filled voice vibrates through you.
You laugh softly. “Good, because this is the only package we offer tonight. No refunds.”
“I wouldn’t dream of returning this experience.” You can hear the smile in his voice.
You both lie like that for a while, the sound of the wind outside and your combined quiet breathing the only sounds filtering through the room.
You had fallen asleep feeling empty, but waking up with this elusive man in your bed has you feeling sated. Refueled. Full. You sigh. How is it possible that a man who is responsible for the same things as those assholes you apprehended yesterday can make you feel like this? You remember that person lying in the street, eyes that will never see again, a parent who will never come home again. As if they were just sleeping. But as you stood over them, you knew better–your heart was the gravity well of a black hole, and you felt like you would fold in on yourself from the weight. If only you had been a little quicker, a little cleverer. If only you could disintegrate another human being like Sylus can, with just a gesture. You could have disappeared the assholes who were responsible for this person’s death, an entire life, someone’s baby at some point, brought into the world with love and effort and surviving each and every day, right up until the day you found yourself standing over them, as they lay broken in the street. And they died, for what? For some senseless, stupid feud over money? Turf? A feud they had absolutely nothing to do with. Fuck . You’re feeling sick again.
You burrow deeper into Sylus’s warmth.
“Speak,” Sylus says.
You pull back slightly and look up into his sleep-bleary face.
“Speak?”
“Are we a parrot tonight?” He smiles, eyes heavy-lidded.
“A parrot?”
“And a comedian, ladies and gentlemen,” he leans forward, nuzzles your nose with his.
“Don’t get too close, I probably have morning breath,” you murmur.
“Ah, so you can formulate your own thoughts.” He nuzzles the side of your mouth. “Do I look like a give a fuck if you have morning breath? I probably do too.”
“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then you yawn, widely. 
He runs his hand down your side and pinches your hip. You yelp.
“Don’t change the subject,” he commands. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I can hear it racing from here–I’m pretty sure it’s what woke me up from my pleasant nap.”
“Oh, did I disturb his royal highness’s beauty sleep?”
“Yes, so you owe me. The compensation is telling me what had you staring into the void yesterday, and what made you sound so sad just now while enjoying being wrapped in my extraordinary arms. Many people would pay a lot to be in the position you’re in right now,” he says smugly.
“Yes, in order to slit your throat.”
He huffs. You note that he’s wrong; you’re probably the only one with morning breath. He somehow manages to just smell good. Toothpaste and mouth. You want to lick his teeth. “You’re probably not wrong.” He pauses. “Please talk to me. I’ve gotten used to hearing your worries. You can shut everyone else out, but I don’t like it when you shut me out too.”
You roll away from him, but his arm around you prevents you from going far. You glance at your windows, but the blackout curtains block even the city lights. 
“I’ve just. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things over the past few weeks.”
“Uh oh. Nothing ever good comes from that,” he teases. You swat him in the chest. His body shakes with quiet laughter.
“Do you want to know or not?” you gripe.
“It’s not my fault that you didn’t make it clear that you won’t be accepting editorial commentary at this time. But I’ve learned my lesson. Continue.”
You throw your arm over your eyes and laugh. You can’t help it. Even when you’re feeling at your worst, this man manages to make you laugh. But you feel guilty for laughing, because the person you can’t get out of your head, this stranger who you were unable to save, will never laugh again. You hate it.
You sigh. “I’ve always struggled with the fact that my evol seems to have only a support function. Like, I often need a partner in order to be optimally effective in battle against wanderers, because otherwise it’s just me and whatever my physical talents are. Which, though amazing,” you sniff, “are often just, not enough when dealing with the kind of creatures that I often have to deal with.” You fall silent, imagining if you could set shit on fire like Rafayel without resorting to a flamethrower, or freezing a swathe of enemies all at once like Zayne. The battles you would wage would be epic.
“And I’m obviously competent at eliminating wanderers–I can usually arrive before the damage occurs. I can actually help people. And wanderers, they’re not like human perpetrators. They have no ill intent. They’re like animals, driven by instinct. Even when I do arrive too late, it feels more like a natural disaster than a malicious injustice. Of course, it’s still awful when someone dies for something so senseless, but that’s been the case for all of humanity’s history in the face of stronger predators.” Your mind races. You’re trying so hard to articulate what has been weighing on you. “But that’s only one part of my job. The other side of it, the side that involves going after humans with ill-intent, that’s a lot more complicated. So often, I arrive after the damage has already been done. I feel like the cleanup crew, completely useless to the normal people who just are trying to get through the day who get caught up in other peoples’ cruelty. It’s not like evil assholes announce their arrival with a metaflux fluctuation like wanderers do. I’m just.. too late, too often.” You try to imagine everything you’d do if you had Sylus’s power. You’d probably turn into a supervillain too, to be honest.
You fall quiet again. Sylus props his head on his hand and runs a finger along your clavicle with his free hand. You enjoy the feel of his calloused fingertip along your skin.
“And what else? I’m sensing there’s more to this story.”
You don’t want to hurt him. But you also don’t want to lie to him. “I just can’t reconcile the fact that I spent the last month tracking down the arms smugglers that I managed to catch yesterday, and I’d have gladly killed them if given half a chance. If I could snap my fingers like you, and just fucking annihilate them. But here I am, lying here in bed, with you.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the face as you say this.
You feel Sylus’s fingers begin to trail up your forearm and gently encircle your wrist, pulling your arm away from your eyes. You turn and look into his face. 
“I’m certainly glad you’re not in bed with them now, sweetheart,” he says drily. “I don’t think there would be room for all of us, what with your army of plushies and my impressive physique.”
You groan.
“So let me get this straight. You’re upset because you feel like your skills aren’t sufficient to protect every single person who is in need of help. You’re upset that you can’t kill with a thought. And you’re upset because you would have killed these guys, who are in the same business as me, but you refuse to do the same to me?”
It sounds so simple, succinctly listed like that, for how heavy your heart feels. For the emptiness you felt, instead of triumph, after successfully protecting a lot of people over the last month, and getting a few more petty dealers off the street so they can't contribute to hurting anyone else in the future.
The bit about Sylus being the same as those criminals, without meeting their fate, on the other hand. That doesn’t sound simple at all.
You nod. “Instead of feeling like I did well, and taking the free time I have after I’ve completed a job to enjoy myself, or do something that makes me happy, all I can do is think about all the ways I failed, or how could have done it better, or how I’m still not doing everything I should be doing to help people. That’s why I was …staring at the void, as you put it. I couldn’t imagine one thing that I wanted to do with the free evening I had.”
Sylus pokes you in the forehead. “I knew you were arrogant, and greedy. I just never realized how much until this moment,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
You jerk back from his touch. “I pour my heart out to you, and you call me arrogant and greedy?” He lifts his eyebrows at your outburst. “The fuck, Sylus?”
“Quiet, or you’ll wake Mephisto.” He drapes an arm back over you and pulls you back into his warmth.
“Oh nooo, wouldn’t want to wake your mechanical murder bird,” you bite out, but quietly. You feel like you have a new understanding with Mephisto now that he let you pet him and you shared a nap with him. It’s not his fault that his owner is an insensitive asshole.
“No, we wouldn’t,” he agrees placidly. “Would you care to know why I am rightfully pointing out that your attitude about what you 'should' be capable of is arrogant and greedy? Or do you just want to stay upset about it for a little longer? I can wait.”
You scowl at him. “Oh, I’m happy to wait if you keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into your hair.
You put your palm on his face and push him away. He rolls away with a soft laugh.
“Just tell me,” you grumble. “And then go home. I’m suddenly not feeling like company anymore.”
“Hmm,” he props himself back up on his hand. “You have an incredibly powerful aether core in your heart, one that is coveted by countless people.” He rests his other hand over your heart as he speaks. “You've recently increased its power by absorbing the power of another aether core. You can heal other evolvers, resonate with them to exponentially increase their power, and probably do a lot more than you’re aware of yet. You’ve probably not even scratched the surface of what it can do for you.” 
You look away, but enjoy the press of his palm against you.
“You have extraordinary physical capabilities–I’m not just patronizing you when I said that I’d rather have you at my back than anyone else I know, even without your evol.” He reaches for your cheek, and gently tilts your head to look at him again. His wine-dark gaze drifts over your face. “And you’re not the only Hunter in the Association. If only one person were capable of doing your job, there would be no Association at all. You can’t expect to be one-hundred percent successful, one-hundred percent of the time. Not even I am greedy enough to feel like I should be able to have that kind of success rate. And I’m also not arrogant enough to expect that of myself. I can’t run Onychinus alone. I rely on many subordinates and competent people to take care of the business when my attention is elsewhere.” He looks at you pointedly, as if you’re the elsewhere slurping up all of his attention.
You blow a raspberry at him.
More quickly than you thought he could move, he snatches your tongue between his thumb and forefinger and gently wags it. His skin is salty. “Da thuck, Thylus?”
“Keep it in your mouth if you don’t want me to take it,” he wags it once more, as if to emphasize his point, and then lets go. “Next time I won’t give it back.”
You suppress the urge to just slobber all over his face in retaliation.
“So yes. I find the expectations you have for yourself to be arrogant and greedy, and entirely excessive. Do you think that your colleagues are failures, or haven't done enough, when they return from missions that went tits up, or when they failed to protect one hundred percent of those threatened?"
You scowl. Of course not. You know that they work their asses off to the best job they can. You'd never think less of them for having a bad day, or a bad mission. For people dying on their watch. But they're not you.
"Kitten, you’re doing your best, with everything you have in you. The world is cruel, and so are the people in it. You can’t control that. But you can control what you do about that cruelty. You're already fighting as hard as you can--too hard, if you want my valuable opinion."
"Trying as hard as I can with as much hardware and bodywork I can exploit. But it's just no the same as having your evol," you grumble. You might be slightly jealous of Sylus's power. Just slightly. 
Sylus huffs, sounding a little impatient. "If it's not enough for you to be a walking grenade launcher, and you're frustrated that you can’t disintegrate those you want to eliminate with a snap of your fingers, just bring me with you. You can control me, and I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”
You just stare at him, mouth hanging open a little. He lifts his hand and chucks you under your chin with his thumb to close it. “Why so shocked?”
“Aside from the fact that you just offered to murder for me?” you ask, shaking your head a little.
“I already have murdered for you. I’d do a lot more than that, for you.” He pulls you into his side again and rests his head on your shoulder. “So don’t be too greedy. You're already very talented at what you do. You have control over the most powerful person in the N109 zone. The people you work to protect every single day are lucky that you are on the Association’s side, and not anyone else’s. You can’t save the entire world from injustice. But you can continue doing your best, with your already impressive skills, to protect as many people as you can. And if anyone tries to tell you that what you’re doing isn’t enough, you can send them to me. Including yourself. I will take care of them for you.”
You turn your head and rest your cheek in his silky hair. You breathe deeply and feel your heart settle in your chest. You notice that he hasn’t addressed the fact that he’s involved in the same business as the people you took down yesterday. But you don’t care. You know, somehow, in the calm beating of your heart, that he isn’t anything like them. He isn’t anything like them at all.
Your thoughts drift to a slender wrist, to an open palm. You will never forget this person. Hopefully you can honor them, in some small way, by continuing to force yourself to look, and not surrendering to the horror of it. You will keep going. Maybe next time, you'll arrive in time. You hope it is enough. And you'll also try to hear what Sylus is telling you. All you can give is your everything. No one can ask more of you than that, even if it's you who is asking.
As you continue rubbing your cheek in his hair like a cat, he speaks again. "And as for you not arresting me... or taking advantage of your position and slitting my throat." You freeze. You thought maybe you could just pretend you hadn't expressed this worry tonight. "Have you ever considered the possibility that, in order to treat an infection, it's not sufficient to just address the symptoms?"
For a second you feel like you can hear Zayne coming out of Sylus's mouth, and you're totally weirded out. "What do you mean?" you reluctantly ask.
"Sometimes, the only way to destroy a rotten core is to work from the inside out. It's not enough to desperately amputate the affected limbs. And that kind of work requires getting your hands dirty."
You feel like he just told you something very important. But you can also sense that he won't explain anything else tonight. This is the closest the two of you have ever gotten to actually discussing the substance of his work, and you're satisfied with that. The certainty you felt before, about him being utterly different than the others, settles deeper into your bones. You relax into him again.
“And your last worry. About not knowing what to do with yourself when you’ve completed something extraordinary, and find yourself with some free time on your hands… just call me. We can figure out what to do together.”
You can’t bring yourself to say anything. If you do, you might start crying and not be able to stop. He is everything you needed tonight. You just press closer into him, hoping he can hear everything you can’t say out loud yet.
“So, still not feeling like company anymore?” Sylus asks, after you’ve sat in peaceful silence for a few moments. “Or am I allowed to stay?”
“Would you go even if I asked you to?” You reach up and run your fingers through his soft hair, and he makes a pleased noise deep in his throat.
“If I thought that was what you really wanted, sweetheart.”
And you believe him.
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attapullman · 1 year ago
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If Only the Neighbors Knew | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd
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Summary: A month of stolen kisses culminates in Robert hosting the HOA meeting and getting you on his couch. The ladies of the neighborhood may make him blush, but only you can make your sweet neighbor weak in the knees.
Word Count: 5.2k
Warnings + Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x f!reader, 18+ only folks, swearing, unprotected pinv, oral (f!receiving), self-indulgent as per usual, too many italics. Oh, I am blushing and humbled at all the love that Neighbor!Bob has received! It's exactly a month later and now he's back and making us collectively drop our panties again, as well as all the other women in the neighborhood! But don't worry, he's only got eyes for you ;) Happy Holidays, my dears, thanks for reading!
meet Robert From Next Door here
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He’s setting up refreshments in the dining room. The perfect viewpoint to where you perch on his slate gray sectional, making small talk with the neighborhood. Knees primly crossed under your skirt, smile wide as you laugh about the neighbor kids’ shenanigans. And all he can think about was when you walked in, the soft flush in your cheeks when you said, “Hi, Robert,” and gave him the lightest peck on the cheek, as if you did it all the time. As if it didn’t make him weak in the knees.
The only perk of hosting the HOA meeting is that you’re in his home. The fact other people are also here? Not ideal. It’s been a month since he had you straddled on his lap, sweetly moaning into his mouth, and frankly he wants to send everyone home so he can try the same thing on his couch. 
But he offered to host because it’s the neighborly thing to do. Swung by the market on the way home from base and grabbed crackers and cheese, mixed nuts, and too many bottles of wine because once someone brings up the length of grass everyone turns to drinking.
He’s replenishing the plastic cups and water jug when he catches your eye. The small quirk of your smile, a silently flirty hi, has him flustered. Time to start this godforsaken meeting so he’s closer to getting you alone.
“So, Lieutenant Floyd, what’s new with you?” Mrs. Jacobs has already helped herself to enough wine by the time he joins the neighborhood in his sitting room. She’s flanked by her cronies - minions in matching sweater sets - and all instantly turn their attention on him. While not someone who normally turns heads, the day Robert Floyd bought his little bungalow with the creaky porch he was instantly the talk of the street. A young single Naval officer? The women could barely believe their luck. They were all married, but shameless flirting had never been out of question.
He takes a slow sip of his iced tea, biding time. On the other side of the room, he can feel your amused smile. The rumor mill would churn violently if anyone found out what was going on with you two. So you had been sneaking around the last few weeks. A few stolen afternoons kissing on the couch, errand trips turned into steaming up his truck’s windows. It’s been the best month of his life.
The WSO is spared answering when the president of the homeowner’s association clears her throat to start the meeting, shushing her grumbling husband. The collection of husbands sat at the back with their beers, arms crossed, giggling like schoolgirls at their comrade’s chiding. Normally Robert sat with them, but felt bold and came to sit near you on the sectional, one large decorative pillow acting as a barrier.
As expected, the meeting is trivially boring. While he tries to focus on repair costs and chimney safety, all he can think about is your hand only inches away. If he only shifted a few inches - only a few, it would be subtle - he could run the tips of his fingers along the back of your soft hands, intertwining your fingers and rubbing his thumb soothingly along your wrist. And if he was that close, he might as well dip his face into the crook of your neck, where the scent of your perfume was strongest and most delicious. While he was there, it would be so easy to press a k-
“Anyone have any questions about this?” He’s abruptly distracted from his daydream by several neighbors raising their hand, disgruntled by potential disruptions to their homes.
You catch his eye, eyebrows raised, curious on his thoughts about filter replacement. Or if he's as bored as you are. But he simply gives you a dazed, shy smile, his eyes lingering just a second too long on your lips.
The meeting adjourns - thank god - and neighbors create their cliques to download. It feels safe to start your own conversation (the first the two of you have spoken since you pressed a kiss to his cheek) and you turn to him eagerly. Just as you’re about to compliment his selection of cheese, a manicured hand reaches past you and touches Robert’s bicep.
Mrs. Jacobs and company have returned. “Lieutenant, before I head out I wanted to thank you again for taking care of my lawn last week. Such a big help.”
The tips of his ears blush pink, the tone of his neighbor’s voice a tad too suggestive for a simple chore. Mr. Jacobs was nearing his sixties and spent most of these meetings complaining about an old sports injury. It seemed the least the young WSO could do was offer landscaping help after all that rain last week. His mower was already out and he’d mown the Jacobs’ lawn without a second thought. 
It had helped you had been outside planting bulbs. He liked the eye candy in your slightly too tight jeans.
The women continue to praise him and his generous ways. His cheeks on fire as Mrs. Connelly gushed about how great it was to have a big, strong Navy man in the neighborhood. As much as he wants to look at you, the embarrassment flooding his system has his eyes glued to the hardwood.
“You know,” Mrs. Branaugh began, exchanging an excited glance with her friends, “the city hall fundraiser next month is a little short on volunteers for our auction. Any chance any other lieutenants would be available?” Her eyes shamelessly rake down his chest, practically salivating at the idea of fighter pilots parading around in suits. 
You feel the licks of jealousy itch at your palms. 
He sputters out words, unsure if they’re agreement or excuses. Robert’s suffocating on his embarrassment. Mrs. Connelly and Mrs. Jacobs delight in his blush. The latter gushes, “I’d be happy to pay any of them to mow my lawn this summer.” She turns to her friends and winks. “Shirtless, of course!”
You nearly spit out your drink. The host of the evening looks moments from passing out. Your middle aged neighbors are cackling, lost in their tipsy fantasies. It’s time for everyone to go home.
Thankfully most of the men are ready to leave the gossip fest and return to their abodes. Gathering up their wives and thanking Lt. Floyd for his hospitality, the neighborhood departs the tidy bungalow, calls of, “Come over for dinner sometime!” thrown over their shoulders.
Amongst those leaving is you, slipping on your winter jacket and adjusting a thick scarf for the short walk. Barely recovered from his neighbors’ lascivious comments, he’s sad to see you go. Wishes you would straggle behind and pretend to help clean up, only to ignore the dishes and catch up in the biblical way. He can practically feel your soft skin in his hands. But you give him that sweet smile of yours and follow Mr. Sampson out the door, the promise of another time.
He’s never hosting these meetings again.
After much coaxing from her husband, the last of his neighbors finally leave and he’s alone in his bungalow again. Finally. The cheerful oxford blue walls, the hand-me-down dining chairs, the framed photo of his squadron above the mantle. Being permanently stationed has its perks.
He makes quick work of cleaning, bringing the remnants of his makeshift cheeseboard to the kitchen before wiping down the dining table and straightening the couch cushions. The multitude of empty wine bottles are taken out to the recycling before turning off the porch light, ready to retire for the night. He’s getting a glass of water when a sound pricks his ear.
The faintest knock. So quiet he would miss it had he been anywhere else in the house. Instantly on the defense, tall, broad frame coming to its full height, he’s prepared for the worst as he approaches the back door that leads to his small yard. 
Another timid knock. 
The biggest, warmest smile takes over his face as he opens the door and sees his visitor. There you stand, cheeks pink with cold and your lip trapped between your teeth. You sneak. 
Robert quickly invites you inside, enveloping you with his warm body once you’ve toed off your boots. The hug has tension escaping every muscle, finally back in each other’s arms as it should be. The secrecy, while necessary, is the worst.
“Did you forget something?” His deep voice mumbles into your hair. You push back to look at his face, but his hands are steadfast on your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you. In the month of shared kisses and lighthearted flirting, he’s never had you alone in his house.
Resigned to resting your cheek against his shoulder, you reply, “Didn’t want anyone suspicious if I stayed behind.”
“Ah, so you did the ol’ double back?" You nod. "And you’re sure no one saw you?” His mischievous smile shows he’s all jokes, but in the back of his mind he’s curious if any of his neighbors saw you in the minute gap between your backyards. The same trek he’s been making for weeks after all the lights on the street are out.
You shake your head against his soft crewneck. It’s been three days since you’ve felt his warmth and you’re melting. The faint smell of sage and citrus - and a tinge of jet fuel - flooding your senses and you’re so glad you risked sneaking over. 
Watching him host the HOA meeting with his little refreshment table? So hot. 
While you both want to sit down over a cup of cocoa and catch up on how silly your neighbors are, something else is on your minds. It’s been lying dormant for weeks now, awaiting the moment to rear its head. And in the dim lighting of Robert’s house, on a quiet winter Friday night, the moment is just right.
The first kiss is intended to be innocent, lightly brushing his lips against yours to remind you of his affection. Enjoying the plush softness of your glossy lips. But when the softest of moans leaves you, desperation hits.
He needs you.
The two of you have been playing it safe - you are neighbors after all - but as mere mortals there are needs to be met. The softness of your skin. The broadness of his shoulders. The tension that has been building and building since he watched you dunk that tea bag and knew it was now or never.
You tear away from his face, as painful as it is, to rasp against his jaw. “Robert, your house is so nice. Can you show me your bedroom?”
Squeals of delight bounce off the hallway walls as he all but drags you to the other side of the house. His fingertips dig into your hips, a little too eager, his glasses slipping down his nose as he steals kisses. As he showers you in affection, you appreciate his home out of the corner of your eye. The small collection of black-and-white snapshots from different naval bases he’s worked on. A pencil holder that looks handmade. Your heart lurches for this man whose heart is too big for this bungalow.
Feet slow at a doorway, his hands steadying you against the frame. As you look up into his sky blue eyes, nerves shoot down both your spines. The delicious thought pops into your head that you’re finally going to see him naked and you feel lightheaded.
He can’t let himself think about your body or he will pass out.
His bedroom fits him. Lamps cast a cheery glow onto the mahogany dresser where he keeps a majority of the US Navy paraphernalia he’s been collecting since he was a child - little figurines and framed airshow stills. A large wingback chair sits cozily in the corner, laden with a flannel he had debated wearing; you’re glad he stuck with the buttery soft crewneck you can’t help running your palms over. And the main event, against the far wall, looking as inviting and luxurious as anything, is Robert’s king size bed. He prides himself on the curved wood headboard he spent a summer working on.
Tentatively, he takes your hand and invites you over the threshold. Your eyes rake over everything to find any red flags (none found - it’s okay he has a lot of plane figurines and not a lot of houseplants - he’s gone half the year, those plants are gonna die) before you let your fingers brush over the blue gray of his heavy plush comforter. Similar to his living room walls.
“You must like blue.”
Cerulean eyes sparkle. His fingers tangle in the cobalt cashmere of your sweater. “I really like blue.”
This time, your lips brush his. The softest sweep before letting yourself lean into him, greedily running your tongue across his thin lips, begging for entrance. His cheeks the softest mauve as he opens his mouth to groan his pleasure. Despite your new surroundings, it feels like home when your tiny pink tongue finds itself nestled against his.
A bolt of heat travels down your spine and your hands fist in his crewneck, torn between enjoying the soft fabric and wanting it off. While your hands are desperate and needy, running up and down his torso in indecision, he’s so soft and gentle with you. Fingers tracing the delicate slope of your jaw, a warm hand on your hip teasing the skin above your skirt. Sweet noises blown directly into your mouth as he savors your taste.
The past month has built this up. That year of tension? Absolutely nothing compared to the burning heat across your skin every time you see him now. You know how he tastes, how he smells, how he whines when you lick the spot behind his ear. The itch consuming your body needs to be scratched, needs to be tamed. You need him.
He seems to be on the same wavelength as you feel his hands lead your hips toward the bed, legs awkwardly backing up until they hit crisp bedding. The man keeps a tidy bed. You’re hopelessly more attracted to him.
Tenderly Robert lowers the two of you to the bed, your back relaxing against the blanket as your hair frames your face. The tips of his fingers trace your cheek as he appreciates how beautiful you are. Embarrassed by the attention, you pout until he brings his lips to yours again, loving the way his entire body encloses around you, keeping you safe.
Your legs have a mind of their own as they wrap around his hips, arms sliding down his torso. His cheeks heating as he catches onto you, his own hips rolling into yours. The low noises escaping your throat as he grinds against your bare thigh, turning him on even more. Your chest pressed against his, the swell of your breasts as your back arches - it’s heaven. If it weren’t for your grounding presence stroking a hand through his hair he would think Phoenix crashed the jet that afternoon.
Finally too impatient to wait any longer, you tug on the hem of Robert’s crewneck, silently begging for it to go. He sits up - awkward to do when his pelvis is glued against yours - and pinches the neck of it, shrugging it off his solid frame. Knocks his glasses askew a bit. When he turns back to you, white hot desire slaps you in the face. This six foot pilot, shirtless, with smoldering blue eyes behind fogged glasses and mussed hair? There are no words.
Who would have thought peppermint tea would lead to all this?
You lose yourself in his kisses again, running your hands along the smooth expanse of skin now available. Your hips desperately rutting against his for more friction, a pool of arousal settles in your underwear with how fucking good he looks covered in your affection. Your lips find his neck and suck, the sounds emitting from him indecent. His hands settle at the hem of your skirt, brushing the skin of your thighs as he worries the fabric, contemplating his next move.
“Please.” It’s quiet, but your plea nearly echos in the room. His eyes meet yours. “Please touch me.”
There’s no going back anymore. Reluctantly pulling away from your body, he lowers himself to his shins, large hands smoothing over your thighs. As he rubs soft circles into your muscles, the hem of your skirt shifts higher. His heart thuds at the sight of your gorgeous, soft thighs, completely on display for him. Tentatively he presses a kiss to your inner knee. When you don’t shy away, he pecks another slightly higher. His nose skims the thin skin and you whimper. It’s music to his ears.
Your skirt is nearly around your waist, delicate panties in view. Robert’s heart violently slams in his chest and his erection throbs, begging to be freed from his jeans. He can’t help but focus on the spot that conceals your center, your arousal wet and dark. 
His lips kiss your inner thigh again, just inches from where you desperately want to feel them. “May I?”
You’re frantically nodding, your fingers crashing into his as you work in tandem to get the offending little piece of lace off. As they come down, his kisses trail up, teasing the skin to elicit tiny whimpers. Hot breath skims your pelvis and it’s torture. He delicately places your knees on his broad shoulders, warm skin on warm skin.
Propping yourself up on one elbow, desperate to see his face, his pretty blue eyes smile at you as he finally, finally licks one broad stripe up your folds.
Your brain effectively short circuits.
Like a broken dam, once he’s had a taste there is no going back. Hot, thick swipes over your wetness, desperate to soak up your sweet arousal. Unintentionally his nose crashes into your clit, his messy tongue work bringing him deeper and deeper within you. Above him, you’re singing his praises, mouth open wantonly. “Right there! Right there!”
The hours he’s spent wondering what you taste like, if you’re even sweeter than your kisses, have paid off. He’s addicted. Wrapping his arms around your gorgeous thighs, obscene sounds squelching from his lewd tongue, he brings a thumb to your clit to draw deliciously tight circles. The way your back arches has him panting. 
It’s hard to tell whether it’s the tingle in your toes or the fiery knot in your stomach that grows faster. The way his tongue flicks over that ring of muscle has your head spinning. His lips capture a fold and suck, moaning at how sweet you are for him. 
“Taste so good, baby. Knew you would, my sweet girl.”
Your head falls back when a finger prods at your opening, slipping through your silky wetness. If his tongue was good, his fingers are a gift. A thick digit that reaches deep, finding that spongey spot that makes your stomach curl. It works its way back and forth, bringing moans to your lips and entrancing him as he watches you take him so easily. He can barely help himself when he slips in a second, salivating over how effortlessly you stretch for him.
“That’s my girl, so good.”
Two fingers deep and a hot mouth on your clit, the world is careening around you. All sense of direction lost, too hot in your sweater, hips desperately following his lips and fingers. Your hand shoves in his hair, holding him there because it feels so good. He thrusts deeper, stretching his fingers within your tight walls. The pressure against your cervix and clit make your head pound. And then suddenly…
“R-Rob-by!” You wail into the bedroom, voice lost amongst the hot air and salacious sounds coming from between your legs. Thighs tightening around his cheeks, knees buckling as you bring your legs to your torso, curling into yourself as your orgasm blindsides you. Your brain dizzy with pleasure and relief as he keeps working his tongue within you, one hand stroking your stomach soothingly as the other disappears over the edge of the bed.
Time disappears as you lazily ride his tongue until the oversensitivity kicks in. As your hips squirm away, he presses one last kiss to your clit before dragging himself up to stand. Despite only having two brain cells left after your orgasm, you’re instantly wet again watching how he grinds his palm against the thick bulge in his jeans. 
“That feel good?” Your eyes droop happily as you nod, a little sheepish. “You are so gorgeous, so good for me. I’m a lucky man.”
As you sit up on boneless limbs, he swoops down to press a kiss on your sweet lips. The tangy linger of your taste coats his mouth. By itself it’s sexy, but then you see the wet smudges and fog of his glasses, askew on his nose from where he pressed so hard into your cunt, and a deep groan escapes as you attach yourself to him again.
Reaching down, your fingers are desperately working the button of his jeans - the need to feel every part of him against you so dire - but he’s stilling your hands, kissing along your neck. A little flushed at how close he is to cumming at the thought of your hands on him.
His lips brush your ear. “Want to enjoy your mouth any other time, but I really need to be inside you. Please.”
You’re both openly moaning out your insatiable hunger as you fall back and scoot toward the pillows, sitting up on your knees to unzip your skirt and discard it and your sweater. His hand dips beneath his jeans as he soaks up your skin, the way your bra just barely covers your nipples. He makes no show of pushing down his jeans, pulling them from around his ankles along with his socks. His mind is carnally focused on getting you completely naked as he tugs the front of his boxer briefs down to relieve the pressure on his cock.
The two fingers suddenly make sense. Robert is a big guy - not quite as big as the rest of his squadron, but naturally takes up space with his broad shoulders and large hands - and you feel silly for not connecting the dots. His cock is thick, veiny and red tipped, balls bulging with cum. You gulp down a thick breath knowing he’s about to cram every inch of it into you. This is what you’ve been waiting for.
Since the moment Robert stood on your stoop and introduced himself, the magnet between you has fought harder and harder to bring you together. Pulling by invisible strings, bidding their time, until they finally snapped and you gave into your desires, hands rushing all over while taking time to learn the curve of each other’s bodies. Finding the freckles on his shoulders. Exploring the dip of your back. And as you lay beneath your next door neighbor, breaths heavy and nervous and excited, you allow the magnets to snap together fully as he slowly thrusts his hips until they mesh into yours.
He’s deliciously thick, stretching every part of you as he pants heavily into your neck. Kisses sooth your skin while your nails mark his. In the low light of the room, he gazes at you, so enamored with the way you look taking him. The obscene wet sounds of his hips meeting yours, slow and steady so he can savor the way you squeeze him. Your whimpered noises spurring him on.
You bring a hand to his cheek, using every ounce of will to focus on his sweet face. “This is…this is even better than I imagined.”
He couldn’t agree more. Paired with the dreamily debauched smile on your face, his hips piston faster, arms squeezing tighter as you moan wildly. Bodies vibrating with pleasure, your legs wrap around his thighs for the leverage to meet his thrusts. He grunts as hands tangle in his hair, pulling lightly. The eye contact is intense, unable to look away as you both feel the build up. God, his eyes are the perfect shade of blue.
Your fingers slip to your clit, ready to propel you to the finish, when his thumb knocks you away. His circles are tight and rough as he gazes at you with desire-dark eyes. “It’s okay, let me help you.”
Your kind and overly helpful neighbor. Who lends you his lawn mower and hangs up Christmas lights. Who always compliments your coffee. Who times his thrust with a harsh push to your clit and has you immediately careening off the cliff, seeing bursts of light as your second orgasm of the night envelopes you.
His mouth attaches to yours, tongue lapping up your taste, as you moan through your aftershocks. His cock is still deep, stroking that spongey wall as he works you through and chases his own pleasure. You’re still so tight around him and he’s ready to cum. Making sure his lips don’t leave yours, he draws back and thrusts deeply, watching the way your body surges with his strength. Once, twice, and your eyes roll back as he lets go, filling you with his spend so you have everything he can give.
A streetlamp flicks on through the window. You’re only just catching your breath when Robert slips from the bed. A tap turns, there’s some rustling, and he returns with a soft cloth to help you clean up. Too tired to speak, the two of you just exchange sweet smiles as he once again comes to your aid.
The bed dips and he’s back against your body, cocooned in his dreamy coverlet, clean-shaven face pressing kisses against yours. His cheeks the lightest pink as he lowly whispers, “Hi.”
You can’t help the wide grin that overtakes your features. “Hi.”
No other words are needed to express the satiated happiness bursting through your hearts and every pore. His arms wrap around your bare shoulders tighter. A full year of pining for you, of making any excuse to help out to be in your presence…so worth it for the way his whole body feels whole when you’re around.
Sleepy eyes flutter up at him, trying so hard to stay awake and enjoy this time together. He presses a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger on the light layer of sweat his deep thrusts caused. If only his squadron could see him now, his sweet little neighbor half-asleep after a night with him.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he mutters into your hairline as he pulls the blanket around your shoulders. You barely hear him as you begin to dream about a sandy-haired man who brought you the sun, the moon, and the stars.
When the first streams of morning light begin pouring in - because someone was a little too busy doing the deed to close the curtain - two sets of eyes pop open. You’re facing each other, foreheads rested upon the same pillow, eyes half-slits as you adjust to the light. Robert radiates heat, and you curl even closer into him. His lips turn in a satisfied smile as you burrow into his chest.
As the sun rises higher in the sky, the two of you continue chatting in low voices. Legs tangled under the sheets, Robert’s head propped up as he listens to your story about accidentally setting your old kitchen on fire trying to make pancakes. His deep laugh crinkles his eyes, pausing to press the lightest kiss to the corner of your pouting mouth. 
You’re just starting to lean into the kisses - hard not to when he looks so kissable - when a grumbly gurgle sounds out from below the covers. Both of your eyes shoot toward your abdomen, a hungry monster in the midst.
“You hungry?” His eyes are so impossibly sweet. You nod slightly, embarrassed at your crass stomach. But he’s already giving you a kind smile and helping you out of the bed, finding a pair of sweatpants and a weathered soft hoodie to keep you warm. 
In plaid pajama pants, your neighbor guides you to his kitchen, with the cheery maple cabinets and old-fashioned diner clock, and settles you onto the bench seat in the breakfast nook. “Coffee? Tea…peppermint tea?”
It should actually be illegal how good he looks when he winks at you with that little smirk shirtless. 
“Coffee is fine,” you reply, your cheeks hot. He busies himself with coffee and contemplates what he has to constitute for breakfast, and you busy yourself with the day before’s paper. He’s started the sudoku, but abandoned it when his sister called. 
Vaguely familiar with the puzzle game, you look at the little scribbled numbers in the boxes to see where he’s left off. Either the mind-blowing sex or lack of caffeine has gotten to you, because you haven’t a clue where to start from.
A steaming mug is placed before you before an arm wraps around your shoulders, looking over your progress. “Yeah, I was stumped too.”
He walks you through his thought process, thick, long fingers tracing over the paper as he points out what should fill out each box. Your eyes stray to him over and over, enjoying how passionate he is about his daily activity. Watching him blush and tilt your head back to the puzzle every time he notices you staring.
You’ve finally gotten a few boxes sorted out when you remember your coffee. Placing a thankful kiss to his cheek, you take a small sip. 
“I don’t know how to say this nicely, but this is the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life.”
Your expression is neutral, trying to keep the disgusted look off your face (unsuccessfully) and he bursts out laughing. Pushing the mug as far as possible from you, missing the delicious imported coffee in your own kitchen, you gladly accept the kiss he presses to your cheek as an apology for the worst thing you have ever consumed.
“How about you are in charge of drinks from now on and I’ll be in charge of food?” 
You eye him wearily. “If that’s how you make coffee, I’m scared to see what your cooking skills are like.”
He promises you that his mom requests his lasagna recipe every time he’s back home, and that he’s fairly capable of putting pre-made things in the oven. Good enough for you. Leaning in and molding your mouth to his, the two of you share enough kisses that his bad coffee grows cold.
Turning your attention back to the sudoku puzzle, eager to finish, Robert tightens his grip on your waist. Appreciates the way you look in his clothes after spending the night in his bed. The excited look in your eyes as you solve another box. God, you look so good in his life.
He muses privately that you should just sell your house. He has no plans to ever let you go.
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sosomonimagines · 5 months ago
Text
House's girl, part two — Gregory House x Daughter!Reader
Summary: House finally starts to genuinely care about someone, but they try to take that person away from him.
Warnings: talk of divorce and custody disputes (triggers for children of divorce like me, I imagine)
Author's notes: English is not my native language and I am from South America, so I don't know if my view of the court is authentic to that of the US. I did some research, but you never know!
Part one:
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Three months ago, you began living with your father. Somehow, the two of you managed to establish a routine that brought a certain stability to the new arrangement. You would wake up at six-thirty in the morning on weekdays, and House, who got ready faster, always prepared a strawberry Pop-Tart for you. James would give you a ride to school at seven-thirty in the morning.
When you got home, sometimes at four, sometimes at six in the evening depending on your extracurricular activities, you would devote yourself to washing the dishes, aware that it was a task your father preferred to avoid. Your studies went on until eight at night, and often, your father would arrive around that time. He would bring food from the hospital cafeteria for you, usually a salad with meat and a bit of pasta. Over time, he noticed your love for pasta and liked to bring it for you whenever he could.
When your father arrived at that hour, you would take a break from studying to watch medical shows with him. On the occasions he came home later, which was quite common, he would go straight to bed without resorting to sleep aids. Although he used to rely on some substances to aid his sleep, he initially felt it would be inappropriate with you around, and then simply forgot the need for those medications.
On weekends, you dedicated yourself to studying, but also found time to keep your father company, whether by watching television together or quietly reading at the kitchen table. You both enjoyed watching old movies, like A Clockwork Orange and Psycho, as well as other classic Hitchcock thrillers.
While House followed a highly different and self-destructive routine on Saturdays and Sundays, he valued your presence, distancing himself, even if only temporarily, from the drugs and prostitutes that usually filled his days. He vividly recalled how challenging the first day you arrived at the house had been, but within just three days, the presence of another person had become an unexpected comfort. House couldn’t remember ever truly loving someone before; he had always associated love with pain. Yet, with you, it was strangely different. There was a genuine sense of melancholy and truth in paternal love that he had never experienced before.
He was still the same sarcastic and cynical man as before. The biting comments and natural teasing hadn’t disappeared; they remained, unshaken. Yet, something had changed. He knew that you weren’t just another person in his life — you were you.
•••
Saturday, November 5th:
You rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, noting that despite the changes since moving into your father's house, grocery shopping remained a persistent issue. Your father, who loathed going to the market, made his purchases erratically, buying only a few random items at convenience stores.
“There’s no food”, you said, glancing at your father, who was idly flipping through a newspaper.
“Have you considered learning to photosynthesize? We’d save money,” he replied with sarcasm.
“I’m hungry”
He sighed, put down the newspaper, and looked at you.
“Buy some food”
“Have you thought about going to the market yourself? Buying enough groceries for the month, preparing for a possible hurricane or any other natural disaster? Normal people do that.”
“Normal people, not incredible people like me”
“You should get treatment for that megalomania”, you said, shutting the kitchen cabinets with a bit more force than necessary.
“And you should work on your excessive use of big words to sound smarter” he retorted, pulling his wallet from his pants pocket and handing you a card. “Go shopping if that’s what you want. Call a cab to get to the market and another one to bring the groceries back”
“You’re coming with me”, you said firmly.
“Hey, I’m the parent here, I give the orders”, he retorted.
“Come with me”, you repeated. “You’re the responsible adult and need to fulfill your adult responsibilities.”
“Alright, Miss Bossy” he replied with an ironic smile. “When did you become so commanding? Has someone introduced you to my boss?”
When you both arrived home from the market, each carrying paper bags full of groceries, the nightmare began. The mailbox displayed a new letter, something that had probably arrived the day before and gone unnoticed by you until that moment — and, as usual, your father didn’t care enough to retrieve it.
You unloaded the groceries onto the kitchen counter and went back to retrieve the letter. It was addressed to your father and came from the New Jersey Court of Justice.
“Hey, dad,” you said, handing him the letter. “I think someone wants to arrest you.”
“You can’t even commit crimes in peace in this country”, he replied with an ironic tone.
As he opened the letter and read in silence, House's world seemed to collapse. It was one of the rare times he felt completely at a loss for words.
“Is everything okay?” you asked, concerned. “Wait, are they really trying to arrest you!?”
“No,” he answered in a low voice. He wasn’t sure which question he was answering, but the "no" seemed to apply to both “I need to go.”
And just like that, he left, clutching the letter, without explaining where he was going or what was happening.
Stacy Warner didn’t expect House to show up that Sunday. Since they had decided to part ways, House’s visits had always carried an unwelcome omen. They usually indicated a relapse on his part, an attempt to possess her merely to feed his ego. And with Mark, her current husband, present, the situation became even more uncomfortable and pointless.
“House, what are you doing here?” Stacy asked as she opened the door. The mention of his name drew Mark’s attention, who quickly joined her.
“You know you’re not welcome here, House,” Mark said, with a tone of disdain.
“Shut up, Mark,” House replied, frustration evident on his face.
“House! You can’t come here and talk to my husband like that,” Stacy exclaimed, exasperated
“I need legal help. I need lawyer Stacy, not my ex-wife Stacy,” House clarified, trying to stay focused.
“Are they finally going to revoke your medical license?” Mark asked sarcastically.
“Please, shut up,” House replied, and this time Stacy didn’t interrupt him.
Stacy invited him in and led him to her private office. The space was elegant and well-maintained, with tall dark wooden shelves filled with legal books. On the walls, diplomas and certificates hung, attesting to her experience and competence.
“What happened? Are they really trying to revoke your medical license?” Stacy asked, her tone serious, reflecting the gravity of the situation.
House didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he handed her the letter. Stacy opened it and began to read. In short, warned that your mother was asking for custody back, in addition to requesting a restraining order against his father.
“Y/N is living with you?” Stacy asked, perplexed. She was House’s second wife, and when they were together, you were still a young child. Stacy knew he had always met his legal obligations, paying child support on time, but she also knew he had little desire to take on parental responsibilities.
“For three months,” House replied.
“But why?”
“Because her mother decided to date a jerk who makes my daughter uncomfortable,” House answered angrily. “It was the police’s decision to send her to my house since I’m the closest relative and she wasn’t safe with the guy. The mother wouldn’t believe her.”
“And now she wants custody back?”
“Exactly.”
“You never wanted to take on the role of father to this girl. What 's changed?”
“What’s changed is that I’ve come to enjoy being her father, okay? Now help me. If she’s dating an abusive jerk, how can she possibly revoke custody?”
“I don’t know, House. Things aren’t so simple in the legal system. She might have broken up with the guy and is asking for a review of her current situation. Since she’s always been the one caring for Y/N, there’s a chance the judge might consider that. Plus…”
“Plus what?”
“She’s asking for a restraining order against you. She wants to present you as a danger to Y/N. She might use your drug history for that, which is a convincing argument.”
“I’m clean. I’m not a danger to my daughter; she’s just doing this to me because she hates me.”
“But you haven’t been clean for long, and you’ve never been actively involved in your daughter’s life. I can’t be entirely optimistic about your chances of winning the case.”
“I need you to help me. She’s the only thing that makes sense in my life, please, help me.”
“I’ll try, House.”
“Have you lost your mind?” you asked when your father came home. You were eating Ben & Jerry’s straight from the tub and watching old episodes of The Simpsons.
“What are you watching?” he asked, ignoring your judgment. He knew that leaving the house abruptly might have scared you, but at that moment, nothing mattered more than spending time with you.
“The Simpsons.” You paused and then asked, “Want to change the channel? Oh, wait, not being overly nice right?”
“Right,” he said with a small smile, sitting down beside you.
“Want some ice cream?”
“No,” he replied, and you both continued watching the show in silence.
Occasionally, House glanced at you, feeling a pang in his chest. It was the first time he truly cared about someone, truly loved someone, and they were trying to take that away from him. And it was the first time he felt a real need to fight for someone.
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waitimcomingtoo · 1 year ago
Text
Lead Me To The Garden
pairing: Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader
Synopsis: Peeta kisses you before going into the Games but then has an onscreen romance with another girl
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“Who do you think it’ll be this year?”
Peeta didn’t look up from the dough he was kneading as he thought about your question. Reaping day always brought a lot of anxiety for the two of you and Peeta typically distracted himself by baking. In a similar fashion, you liked to distract yourself by hanging around the bakery and watching Peeta.
“I don’t know. Maybe one of my brothers.” He said finally.
“Don’t even joke. I better never hear “Mellark” out of that crazy sparkly lady’s mouth.”
“I told you, she’s not crazy. That’s just how people dress in the Capital.” Peeta chuckled and held his hand out. You put some flour into his hand and he slapped in onto his dough.
“I don’t care how much money you have. Nobody should dress like that. How does she even sit in those dresses?” You wondered and took a bite of one of the muffins he had made. You hopped up on the counter top and let your legs swing as you watched him put his bread into the oven.
“What would you wear? If you had Capital money?” He asked as he wiped his hands on his apron.
“A yellow sweater.” You said with a sheepish smile.
“What? That’s it?” Peeta chuckled and leaned on the counter that you were sitting on, boxing you between his arms.
“Don’t laugh.” You gasped playfully. “You can dye cloth but not wool. At least not in this district. And you definitely can’t get any color as yellow as the dandelions that grow behind my house. So I would buy a nice, warm, yellow sweater. The kind with the fancy pattern that looks like a braid. It would be the first thing I own that’s pretty. And that’s new. I would be the first person to wear it.”
“If I had any money, I’d buy you one.” Peeta said with a soft smile.
“Really? You wouldn’t spend your money on yeast or milk?” You teased him.
“Baking isn’t my whole life, you know. I like other things too.” He said and leaned in a little. You inhaled his scent and could smell the baked goods he’d been baking all day on his skin. It was mixed with the scent that was just distinctly Peeta, a scent you had grown to associate with home.
“Like what?” You asked as you leaned in as well. Peeta’s eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he reminded himself that best friends weren’t supposed to think about each other that way.
“Stealing food from you.” He said to cover up his fondness and took the muffin from you hand. He held eye contact with you as he took a bite of the muffin which made you laugh and smack his arm.
“You’re really good at it.” You humored him.
“Thank you. I try to be.” He said and hopped up on the counter beside you. He handed the muffin back to you and you mouthed “thank you” before taking another bite.
“So what would you really buy?” You asked once you swallowed.
“I’d buy a house.” He said without having to think about it.
“Really? But you have a house.”
“I know. But I want my own house. With a nice oven and a book shelf for your books for when you come over. And it would be nice and quiet inside. And I’d have a garden so I never had to go to the market if I found a new recipe I wanted to try.” Peeta said as he traced the outline of a carnation on your leg. You slipped your arm through his and ran your fingers up and down it in the way he once told you his mom did when he was a little boy.
“That sounds really nice.” You said quietly. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly.
“You could live there too.” He told you.
“Why? So I could take care of the garden for you?” You teased.
“So we could be together everyday.” He said, making your laughter stop. You didn’t realize he was being serious and felt guilty for making a joke. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to run your fingernails up and down his arm.
“That would be nice.” You agreed. “We could get a little house by the meadow. We could decorate it the way we wanted, like with your drawings and paintings. And there would never be shouting because we’d always talk to each other with love.”
“I think we’d be really happy there.” Peeta said as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you. You kept your head on his shoulder and stared straight ahead.
“But what if they call my name later?” You said quietly.
“They won’t. There’s dozens of girls in the district. They won’t call you.”
“What if they call you?”
“Theres even more boys in the district. And if they did call me, one of my brothers would probably volunteer.” Peeta shrugged but you could tell he didn’t believe himself.
You sat in silence for a little longer until his bread was ready. He took it out and brought it outside while you grabbed a blanket. You ate out on the grass in comfortably silence as you stared out at the mountains. A horn soon sounded in the air, signaling that it was time to go. You walked to town together and saw girls and boys getting into their respective lines.
“See you after?” You asked him with a nervous smile. Peeta nodded and pulled you into a tight hug. He kissed the side of your head before joining the rest of the boys. You got your finger pricked and joined the girls in a massive group that faced that stage. A younger girl from distract was called first and her sister immediately volunteered to go in for her. Your heart was finally started to calm down when you heard the worst two words you could possibly imagine being said into the microphone.
“Peeta Mellark.” Effie said with a poised smile. You’d never know she was giving s death sentence by the tone in her voice.
You froze as the crowd was swept with shocked murmurs and people looking at you. Your head was stiff as your eyes slowly followed Peeta emerging from the crowd and walking on stage. He was just as catatonic as you were on that stage and kept his eyes low. He shook hands with the girl who had been picked and was led backstage which was when you started screaming. You pushed through the crowd and ran towards the stage but were caught by two Peacekeepers. You thought you were about to be executed but they actually brought into the back to where Peeta had gone. You passed his brothers and parents in the hallway before getting shoved into a room. Peeta was inside with red eyes and a pale face.
“Peeta.” You choked out and threw your arms around him. Peeta hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you and buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear until he calmed down.
“I’m so sorry.” You said into his ear.
“It’s okay.” He sniffled and pulled out of the hug. You stared into his teary eyes for a second before grabbing his hands.
“We can run. We can sneak out of here and head to the woods and just run.” You whispered.
“We can’t. They’ll catch me and kill you first trying.” He shook his head sadly.
“But we have to do something. They can’t do this to you. They can’t take you away.” You urged. Peeta put a hand on your face and wiped your tear with his thumb.
“There’s nothing we can do.” He whispered. You nodded your head and knew there was no use spending the little time you had left trying to come up with a plan that would never work.
“I guess you’re right. So I’ll see you when you come back, okay?” You said and cupped his face.
“Oh, honey.” He smiled sadly. “I’m not coming home.”
“Shh.” You covered his mouth. “Yes you are. You’re gonna come home to me and we’re gonna build the house with the garden like we said we would.”
“There’s never going to be a garden. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta choked up so you pulled him back into a hug.
“No you’re not. You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.” You promised him as you stroked his hair to calm him down.
“Our district can barely afford to feed themselves. We have no money for sponsorships. And I have no skills outside of the bakery. I can’t hunt or protect myself. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta cried into your shoulder.
“Shhh. Don’t say that. You can still win. Maybe a miracle will happen.” You said but even you didn’t believe it. A Peacekeeper then pounded on the door to signal that your time was almost up. You froze in Peeta’s arms before gripping him tighter. Peeta pulled away suddenly and cupped your face in his hands.
“I need to tell you something.” He said hastily.
“What is it?” You worried when you saw the panic in his eyes.
“I’m in love with you. I always have been. Since we were kids.”
“Peeta, what?“ You whispered and wrapped your hands around his wrists.
“I have always loved you. I’m sorry it took me until now to tell you. I wish I told you when I first felt it. But I needed you to know before I left.” He said as he stared into your eyes. You were speechless as you stared back but before you could say anything, a Peacekeeper burst in the door. He grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room but you just yanked your arm away. You threw your arms around Peeta and kissed him for as long as you could before you were pulled away by the Peacekeeper.
“Now you have to come home.” You said to him as you struggled against the Peacekeeper trying to pull you out of the room. Peeta grabbed your hand and held it as long as he could until the Peacekeeper picked you up.
“I love you!” Peeta shouted after you with his hand still outstretched.
“I’ll wait for you!” You shouted back as you were carried out of the room.
You watched the broadcast everyday with your eyes peeled for any glimpse of Peeta. You were shocked to see him on fire in the tribute parade and even more surprised at the sight of him in a suit for his interview with Cesar Flickerman. You’d only ever seen Peeta in colorless, wrinkled, cotton clothes from your district which was a sharp contrast to the shiny black suit adorned with sparkly red flames on the sleeve. You smiled shyly as if he were right in front of you and tried to touch the projection of the broadcast but your fingers just went through. Peeta was surprisingly charming in his interview and it made your heart yearn for your best friend. You missed spending the day with him and him making you laugh in person so this was a nice substitution.
“Is there anyone special at home?” Cesar asked Peeta. Peeta smiled shyly and looked into the camera, making you feel like he was looking directly at you.
“Actually, yes. There is a special girl from home that I’ve loved for what feels like my entire life.” Peeta said with a bashful smile. You grinned and clasped your hands under your chin as you watched him talk about you.
“Well that’s great. If you win the games, she’ll have to go out with you.” Cesar said and patted his shoulder.
“Unfortunately winning the games isn’t going to help me.” Peeta said with a sad smile.
“Oh no? Why not?” Cesar asked him.
“Because she came here with me.” Peeta answered.
Your stomach dropped. Your jaw dropped. Your felt like you were going to be sick. He wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about the girl he got reaped with. You turned away from the broadcast and held yourself in your arms as you ran to your room. You slammed your door before throwing yourself on your bed. You cried yourself to sleep and when you woke up, you realized you had missed the start of the games. You lingered around areas that were broadcasting the games to keep an eye on Peeta. Your anxiety was at an all time high day in and day out as you prayed he’d live to see another day. It was a few days in that he got cut with a sword by one of the boys from district one. You cried yourself to sleep again that night since Peeta wasn’t shown on camera for a while after that. Finally, you heard from a girl in town that Peeta had been found by the lake by the girl from your district. You ran home as fast as you could and turned on the broadcast right in time to see him kissing Katniss. You let out a shocked squeak and quickly turned the games off. You did your best to avoid any information about the games after that but the romance between Katniss and Peeta was all anyone in your district could talk about. It was rare that people from your district lasted this long in the games, let alone two of them, so you couldn’t blame people for talking about it. To add to that, the romance was something that had never been seen in the games before and made for very entertaining television for every single person in your district besides you. You were rooting for Peeta, of course, but you could not bear to watch him cuddling with another girl as he fought for his life.
Finally, the last day came. You watched Peeta and Katniss win after nearly killing themselves in front of the world so that they didn’t have to kill each other. You felt your anxiety deplete for the first time in weeks when Peeta put down the berries. You didn’t even care that he was hugging another girl after nearly killing himself so that he didn’t have to lose her because it meant that he was coming home. He was finally coming home.
On the day the winners were set to return home, you waited in the crowd beside Gale Hawthorn, a boy from your district, and Katniss’s little sister. You and Gale were eyeing each other curiously and had no idea that you were in the same boat. Peeta and Katniss were brought out on stage and you felt tears come to your eyes the second you saw Peeta. You clapped for him like everyone else in the crowd but froze when you noticed that he was holding her hand. Peeta was scanning the crowd for you and when he finally spotted you, he dropped Katniss’s hand and waved to you. You weakly waved back but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions brewing inside you. You were beyond relieved and grateful that he was home safe. But that didn’t mean it didn’t deeply hurt you to watch him with another girl after he told you that he loved you. You and Peeta stared at each other from your places on the stage and the crowd and both began to cry without relaxing it. You wiped your face and put on a smile for him despite the pain you were feeling inside.
After Peeta and Katniss gave their speeches, the crowd dispersed and you followed Peeta’s brothers back to his house. You bounced your leg as you sat at their kitchen table and waited for Peeta to come home. Finally, the door opened and he walked inside. He was dressed in fancy Capital clothing but had the same old smile that you knew so well. You watched him hug his mother first, then father. His brothers hugged him all at once and patted his back or rubbed his hair, touching him in any way they could.
Then, he looked at you.
Peeta looked startled to see you at first but his eyes immediately softened. You stood up from your seat and your legs felt like jelly as you slowly walked towards him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he could not believe you had come to see him after what he made you watch him do in the games. You were hurt and confused by his actions but you put on a brave face for him now that he was home.
“You’re here?” He asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
“Of course I’m here. You’re here.”
“I thought you’d be mad.” He said in a weak voice. He was looking at you as if he was expecting a lecture or a blow out fight, but that’s not what you came for.
“I still had to see you.” You said simply.
Peeta gulped when you didn’t deny that you were mad but nodded his head.
“So where’s Katniss?” You asked him with fake politeness.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “With her family, probably.”
“Oh.” You nodded and an awkward silence fell between you. His family exchanged looks and Peeta was fully aware of it.
“Do you think we could talk? Just the two of us?” He asked hopefully. You nodded your head and he lead you to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. A black box on his dresser caught your eye as you sat down on his bed. He noticed it too and went over to it to open it up. When he turned around, he had a soft yellow knit sweater in his hands that made your jaw drop.
“I, uh, I brought you this from the Capital.” Peeta said as a shy blush covered his face.
“You found a yellow sweater?” You gasped and touched the sweater with gentle hands as if you were afraid your damage it. You’d never seen clothes that color in person before and it was even better than you imagined.
“I tried to but I never found one like the one you described. So I asked them to make it for me. They made four of them, actually. They can just do that there. They know nothing about want.” Peeta laughed shortly but neither of you found it funny.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You smiled gratefully and took the sweater. The fact that he had remembered the sweater you told him about despite everything he had just gone through. You felt guilty for being mad at him now that he had given you the sweater and realized you hadn’t even hugged him yet. You folded the sweater and left it on his bed before standing up. Peeta tensed up and wasn’t sure what you were about to do. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around him, to which he immediately responded to and hugged you back. He instantly broke down and cried in your arms just like he did the day of the Reaping. You stroked his hair and cooed in his ear until he calmed down enough to talk.
“I didn’t think you were ever gonna talk to me again.” He sniffled. You pressed your cheek against his blonde hair and took in his scent for the first time in weeks. Underneath the expensive cologne the Capital had dawned him in, you could still smell Peeta.
“Of course I’ll still talk to you. I’m sorry I was so cold to you. I’m just confused.” You admitted as you pulled out of the hug.
“I know.” Peeta nodded. “And you have every reason to be. I told you I loved you and then I professed my love to another girl with the whole world watching. If the roles were reversed, I’d be devastated. But you have to understand, that wasn’t what it looked like. It was all an act.”
“An act?”
“Yeah. We pretended to be a couple so people would send us food and medicine. I had no way to tell you that it wasn’t real and I’m so sorry about that. You don’t know how badly I wished I could tell you.” Peeta professed as he cupped your face in his hands.
“You were just pretending?” You smiled in surprise.
“Of course I was. What did you think? That it was real?” He laughed softly.
“Well, yeah. That’s what it looked like. I thought guys fell for each other during training and your love got you through the games.”
“Our acting got us through.” He corrected. “Haymitch told us to do it the day we met him. You really thought I fell for another girl that quickly?”
You didn’t share in his smile and shook your head instead. Peeta’s eyes softened and he rubbed his thumb on your cheek.
“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t imagine how confusing that must have been to watch after how we said goodbye.” Peeta said with a sympathetic pout. Your anger towards him melted away as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.
“So you don’t love her?”
“No. I never did. I’ve only ever loved you.” He answered with a soft smile. A smile tugged on your lips as well so you rested your forehead against his. Peeta let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you flushed against him.
“You know, the thought of coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going. I thought about the way you kissed me every night.” Peeta said as he stared into your eye.
“You did?” You smiled shyly at the memory.
“I did.” He nodded. “It was the only thing keeping me warm.”
You stared back into his eyes before tilting your head to the side and connecting his lips in a kiss. He kissed you back slowly and tightened his grip with one hand while moving the other up and down your back. All your anger and confusion melted away into the kiss now that he was yours again. When you pulled away, you stayed in comfortable silence in each others arms.
“Will you come live with me in Victors Village? We can plant our garden like we said.” Peeta asked you.
And so you did. You moved in with him and hung his paintings on the wall to decorate the place. You planted the garden in the backyard and put you in change of the vegetables while Peeta tended the flowers.
But you didn’t feel at home when you walked through the door each day. It was only when Peeta got home everyday with a fresh loaf of bread that the house became home.
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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 8 months ago
Note
1k night celebration 🍾🍾🍾🎈congrats 😏
i don’t know if you write ABO but if you do, please do an Alpha! Agatha Harkness who meets omega! Reader. Agatha see the fear in Reader’s eyes. Reader is terrified. Agatha is horny and thinks that Reader is pretty
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Nothing to Fear Dear
Alpha!Agatha Harkness x omega!fem!reader
Summary: You are terrified of Alpha's, but suddenly one comes into your life that is just...different.
Word count: 2.4K
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, a/b/o content (marking/scent glands/scenting/breeding), shit alpha's wolf whistling and being rude to R
A/N: This is my first time writing ABO! Please if I got anything wrong please tell me how I could improve! I love reading ABO and would love to write more I just don't know if I did it justice.
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You didn't trust Alphas. Your history with them wasn't good. Your dad, your cousins, your ex. Telling you what you could and couldn't do. Controlling you at every turn. Now that you were on your own and away from all of them.
You tended to stay home, get things delivered, but there was a farmers market with the nice weather rolling in and you really wanted to go see what it was like. You got yourself dressed for the day; nothing too revealing, nothing that would catch an Alphas attention. You took a little tote with you that you had bought with every intention of using sooner, but you barely left the house.
You step into the bustling farmers market, immediately enveloped by a symphony of sounds and scents. The air is alive with the chatter of vendors and the hum of visitors exploring the stalls. Vibrant displays of fresh produce catch your eye—deep red tomatoes, crisp green lettuces, and baskets overflowing with colorful berries.
As you stroll through the market, the scent of freshly baked bread mingles with the earthy aroma of herbs. You pause at a stand where a farmer enthusiastically offers you a slice of juicy peach, its sweetness bursting in your mouth. Nearby, a musician strums a cheerful tune on a guitar, adding a lively backdrop to your experience.
You find yourself drawn to a table laden with homemade jams and honey, each jar gleaming in the sunlight. The vendor, an elderly woman with a warm smile, shares the story of how her bees produce the honey you now sample on a small wooden spoon. The rich, floral notes of the honey linger on your palate as you continue your journey.
The vibrant energy of the farmers market is both exhilarating and slightly overwhelming. You navigate through the bustling crowd, making sure to keep to the less crowded paths. Despite your efforts to avoid attention, the occasional Alpha scent catches your nose, causing a flicker of anxiety.
You remind yourself to breathe, focusing on the pleasant sensory experiences around you. The sweet taste of the peach, the melody of the musician's guitar, and the warmth of the sun on your skin all help to ground you. You approach a stand with beautifully arranged flowers and pause to admire the vibrant array of colors.
As you continue exploring, you find yourself stopping at a stand featuring an assortment of herbs and spices. The vendor, a middle-aged Beta with a kind demeanor, offers you a sample of a fragrant lavender sachet. You inhale deeply, the soothing scent helping to further calm your nerves.
It’s while you’re at this stand that you feel a presence nearby. Turning slightly, you see her—a striking woman with brown hair and an air of confidence that immediately marks her as an Alpha. She’s examining a selection of fresh herbs, her expression thoughtful and focused. You can’t help but notice her tailored, yet casual outfit, giving off a sense of understated elegance.
Your instinct is to move away, to avoid any possible interaction, but something about her presence is different. She doesn't exude the same domineering aura you've come to associate with Alphas. Instead, there's a calm, almost magnetic quality to her. Before you can make a decision, she glances up and catches your eye, offering you a gentle smile.
“Lovely day for a market, isn’t it?” she says, her voice warm and inviting.
You nod, managing a small smile in return. “It is,” you reply softly.
“I’m Agatha,” she introduces herself, extending a hand. “It’s nice to see new faces around here.”
You hesitate for a moment before shaking her hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Do you come here often, Y/N?” she asks, her gaze steady and kind.
“No, not really. This is my first time,” you admit, feeling a bit self-conscious.
“Well, you’ve picked a good day for it. The weather is perfect, and the produce is exceptional this time of year,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “If you’re looking for recommendations, I’d be happy to help.”
The offer is tempting, and despite your usual wariness around Alphas, something about Agatha makes you feel at ease. “That would be nice, actually. I’m not really sure where to start.”
Agatha’s smile widens. “Great! How about we start with the fruit stand over there? They have the best strawberries you’ll ever taste.”
As you walk together, Agatha points out her favorite stalls, sharing little anecdotes and tips. Her presence is comforting, and you find yourself relaxing more with each step. The way she interacts with the vendors and other market-goers shows a level of respect and genuine kindness that you haven’t seen in an Alpha before.
By the time you’ve filled your tote with fresh produce and a few delightful treats, you realize that you’ve enjoyed yourself more than you expected. Agatha has made the experience not only bearable but pleasant.
As Agatha shows you around the market, you begin to let your guard down. Her warm, genuine demeanor makes it easier to forget the usual anxiety you feel in the presence of Alphas. However, this fleeting sense of comfort is shattered when a group of Alphas nearby start to take notice of you.
"Hey there, sweetheart!" one of them calls out, his tone laced with a possessive edge that sends a shiver down your spine.
Another Alpha joins in, letting out a piercing wolf whistle that makes your heart race with fear. You freeze, instinctively drawing closer to Agatha. Your eyes meet hers, and you see a flash of something intense and protective in her gaze.
In an instant, Agatha steps closer to you, her presence becoming a shield against the unwanted attention. The scent of lavender intensifies around you, soothing your frayed nerves. Agatha's expression shifts, her previously warm smile replaced with a steely determination.
"Is there a problem here?" she asks, her voice calm but with an underlying firmness that commands respect.
The Alphas, taken aback by her sudden presence, hesitate. One of them scoffs, trying to maintain his bravado. "We were just having a bit of fun," he says, though the uncertainty in his eyes is evident.
Agatha takes another step forward, positioning herself directly between you and the other Alphas. "Well, I suggest you find your fun elsewhere. This Omega is with me." Her tone leaves no room for argument, her Alpha presence now fully asserting itself.
The other Alphas exchange glances, the weight of Agatha's authority pressing down on them. They grumble among themselves before deciding it’s not worth the confrontation. One by one, they back off, their eyes still wary of Agatha.
Once they’re gone, Agatha turns to you, her expression softening immediately. "Are you alright?" she asks gently, concern evident in her voice.
You nod, still a bit shaken but deeply grateful. "Thank you, Agatha. I don’t know what I would have done without you."
She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her touch grounding you. "You don’t have to worry when you’re with me," she says softly. "I won’t let anyone hurt you."
The sincerity in her words touches something deep within you. Despite your past experiences, you feel a growing trust in Agatha. Her actions have shown you that not all Alphas are the same—that there are those who can be kind and protective without being controlling.
As you continue to explore the market together, Agatha remains close by, her presence a comforting anchor. The other vendors and market-goers seem to recognize her protective stance, giving you both a respectful distance.
By the time you leave the market, your tote filled with fresh produce and delightful treats, you realize that today has been more than just a shopping trip. It’s been a step toward healing and perhaps the beginning of a new friendship.
As you part ways, Agatha gives you a warm smile. "I hope to see you again, Y/N. Maybe we can make this a regular thing."
You smile back, the anxiety that usually plagues you feeling more distant than ever. "I’d like that," you reply, and for the first time in a long while, you truly mean it.
-----------------
The weeks following your initial encounter with Agatha have been transformative. Each trip to the market with her has been better than the last. She introduces you to her favorite stalls, the vendors greeting you both warmly, and slowly, you’ve started to feel like you belong. Agatha’s presence has been a comforting constant, her protective nature ensuring you always feel safe.
Today, however, is different. Agatha had invited you out for a date beyond the familiar confines of the market. The thought had initially filled you with trepidation, but her kind eyes and gentle smile had reassured you. She had taken you to a quaint café, where you spent hours talking and laughing, the time slipping by unnoticed. As the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange, Agatha suggested heading back to her place for a nightcap.
You hesitated but agreed, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. Her home is cozy and inviting, filled with the same warmth and charm that she exudes. As you step inside, you can’t help but feel a surge of affection for the woman who has slowly become so important to you.
Agatha offers you a drink, and you both settle on the comfortable couch in her living room. The conversation flows easily, but there’s an underlying tension—a palpable awareness of the new territory you’re venturing into.
As the evening progresses, Agatha moves closer, her touch gentle yet insistent. When her hand finds yours, the connection sends a jolt through you. You’ve never felt so much fear and love all at once. Her touch is tender, but there’s an intensity in her eyes that makes your heart race.
"Y/N," she whispers, her voice husky with emotion. "I’ve wanted this for so long."
You swallow hard, your own emotions a turbulent mix. "Agatha, I… I’m scared," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
She cups your face in her hands, her thumb brushing gently over your cheek. "You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll never hurt you," she promises, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.
You nod, trying to focus on the love you feel rather than the fear. "I trust you," you whisper, and the words are a revelation to yourself as much as they are to her.
Her lips find yours, the kiss starting slow and soft, but quickly becoming more passionate. Her hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel her need for you in every touch. Your heart races, but this time it’s from desire rather than fear.
Agatha’s hands roam over your body, exploring with a gentle yet insistent touch. Every caress sends shivers down your spine, the fear slowly melting away under the heat of her affection. She pulls back for a moment, looking into your eyes, her own filled with a mix of love and desire.
"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice filled with genuine concern.
You nod, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes, Agatha. I’m more than okay."
Her smile is radiant, and she kisses you again, this time with a fervor that leaves you breathless. You surrender to the moment, letting yourself be carried away by the wave of emotions. Agatha’s touch is both tender and possessive, her need for you evident in every movement.
She pulls you onto her lap, working you against her throbbing cock that pushes against her pants, making you moan out. It had been years since you had sex with another. Your fear took such a hold you’d taken suppression pills not wanting the attention of Alpha’s when you’d go into heat. You hadn’t been taking them since you met Agatha. She made you feel safe even though the fear sat in your chest like a heavy stone.
“Are you okay Y/N?” Agatha pulls you back to reality and you realize you’re not breathing properly.
“I got lost in thought. I’m sorry.” You tried to make an excuse, but Agatha knew you better she saw the look in your eyes.
“It’s me sweet girl. No ones going to hurt you.” She pulled you close, brushing against you and scenting, a lavender calm over you and you didn’t need much more to start grinding down on her. You wanted, no needed this, needed her and Agatha felt the same way. Trying to get herself out of her pants as fast as she could and you had worn a skirt because Agatha had asked.
She pulled your panties aside, rubbing against you as a moan tumbled out past your lips. Agatha pulled your lips towards her own, whispering against your lips,
“Is this okay?” You nodded frantically, moving your hips just enough for her to slip inside. Suddenly you’re getting pulled down onto her. “Fuck...you feel perfect. My pretty girl. Such a pretty little omega.” All you could do is nod dumbly as she thrusted up into you.
Nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing had even ever come close to how Agatha was making you feel right now as she thrusted up into you and you rolled your hips. She felled you up perfectly like she was made for you.
“A-Agatha...?” You breathed out, making her look at you. “Mark me. Please...wanna be yours...please let me be yours.”
“Only if you’ll be mine pretty girl.” You smiled all big and blissed out on her cock.
“Yes! Please wanna mark you too!” She smiled, leaning in and pulling you further onto her cock as she knotted you, filling you up full and biting into your neck, making you moan out at the double pain and pleasure combo. Once she pulled back you leaned in, marking her. The sound she made for you was perfect as you clenched around her. She was made for you and you were made for her.
As the night progresses, you realize that this is what you’ve been missing. The balance of fear and love, the intensity of her affection, and the safety you feel in her arms. Agatha has shown you that it’s possible to feel safe and loved without being controlled, and for the first time, you truly believe it.
When the night finally ends, you’re wrapped in her embrace, feeling more at peace than you ever have before. Agatha’s presence is a balm to your soul, and you know that with her, you can face whatever the future holds.
Taglist: @dorabledewdroop
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torturedtypewritersdept · 4 months ago
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proclivity - part one - scott street
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✯ pairing:
ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader
✯ summary:
at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?
✯ warnings:
mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.
✯ a/n:
nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!
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Your feet hit the floor with a loud grunt as you pull yourself from your satin pink sheets, they feel heavenly and quite frankly, the discipline your parents are bestowing upon you as they do their best to make it a point that your pogue ex-boyfriend is an ex for a reason is mind-numbingly stupid. You’re aware of this fact — you are so hyper aware that it causes you physical pain. So much more than your broken wrist, which is also his fault as much as everything else. You groan loudly as you hear your mother call your name again. The “Don’t make me ask again, y/n” voice  she’s using is also mind-numbingly annoying, though you know that she is very serious and that she will probably send your father in to chop you into a million pieces and sell your corpse on the black market if you don’t listen to her. So, you scream back. 
“I’m up!” 
You screech. You are usually perfectly obedient and poised, but the one thing that JJ has taught you is absolute attitude from the pits of hell. Your parents had realized this new attribute early on into your relationship with him and from the way you picked up his habits so quickly, they knew he was bad news. It should’ve been your first sign that something – the relationship, him – it was all wrong. You should’ve known when your parents started talking in Rafe’s language – in pogue versus kook, because they weren’t those kinds of people, the kind to pass judgment on people that they didn’t know and you never had been either. You feel like you’re at a disadvantage because of this now, because really you should’ve listened to Rafe’s warnings in early childhood about pogues being bad news. You never expected them to be true, for your perfect pogue to make you question who you are, to wind you up in jail. Jail – a word so far from being associated with you that it makes you cringe just thinking about it. Just thinking about the way it's dirty, pogue-ridden walls were trying to infect you with its virus, to hold you captive for all the days of your life. When your father had picked you up, he was livid – fuming, ready to murder every person that had touched his precious baby daughter. You’d been without insulin for hours and were on the verge of being too sick to recover when he picked you up. That seemed to be the only real thing on your side as he stormed into the Kildare police station and carted you off to the hospital. Good thing he did, because your arm was broken as well as your diabetes royally fucking you like it always did. He demanded answers and you easily gave him the right one — that Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car hadn’t prepared you for this, for JJ’s abandonment either. You assumed he took pity on you then in the way that only a girl dad knows how to. That doesn’t really matter though, because you’re still getting punished. They are making you take a summer job at The Island Club in order to pay for your transgressions, the price of bail but more importantly worrying them and getting yourself hurt. You get it truly, but that doesn’t make it suck any less. You wish you could call Rafe in times like these, though you know those days have been over for a very long time. 
You’re behind the bar when they walk in, getting orientated by none other that a pogue named Summer from your class. She’s nice enough and very pretty, saving for college because without a job, there’s no way she will be able to go. You appreciate her kindness as she shows you how to make a Mai Tai for the fourth time. You notice the three stooges as they walk through the door from a fresh round of golf, still smelling of freshly cut grass and the stench of perspiration. You mentally berate yourself for your brain’s inability to use their real names after all this time. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce approach the bar dripping wet with sweat. You haven’t seen them exert this much physical activity since the beginning of last year’s football season so the sight is a little funny. It’s hot in the obx this year though, more so than years past. So, you’re guessing it hasn’t taken much to make them glisten. Your eyes are locked on your former friends, but Rafe particularly – since he’s really the only one stuck in the former category. The other two still love you very much, despite your very poor taste in men. He’s handsome – you note, more so than the last time you saw him. He’s grown about a foot, everything is bigger about him really and you can’t help but wonder if that part is bigger too – MOVING ON. He’s smiling, talking to Summer and for a moment you find yourself staring, wondering if he’s ever going to smile at you like that again one day. Stupid girl, you think. The answer is no and you know that. 
“Y/n, When did you start working here?” 
Topper asked, puzzledly. You can feel Rafe’s brow etch in confusion as he stares intently at your cheeks that are freckled brown from the summer sun. 
“I got in trouble, remember? This is my punishment.” 
You are doing your best not to have to explain your situation to the entirety of the club. So, you laugh in comradery with your friend, clenching your teeth and sporting a forced smile, though you feel ashamed about it and probably will punish yourself for it later. 
“Three Mai Tai’s, pretty please.” 
Rafe spoke, breaking your attention away from Topper, giving Summer his best puppy dog eyes. You smile softly at his tactics, noting that nothing has changed in that regard.  
“We can’t do that, can we?” 
You whisper in Summer’s ear. She looks at you and smiles. 
“Good girl! You’re picking up fast, just like I said you would.” 
You beam at her praise as she redirects her attention to the boys.
“Come on, boys. You know I can’t serve you alcohol, you’re underage.” 
She said, rolling her eyes. Topper laid his fake ID down on the flat mahogany surface of the bar, sliding it over. 
“This clearly states that I’m 23.” 
He retorted and you rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance. 
“Come on, y/n! Really? What is it? You only give alcohol to Maybank or something?” 
Rafe jokingly questioned with a sneer, his distaste for anything Pogue related always everpresent. Your face fell and your breath caught in your throat, the moment the last name of your ex-boyfriend left his lips. You think only of the Rafe that used to be your best friend and then to the moment that all changed during freshman year. How he left you in the dust of appearances and fancy parties, how he turned into a major dick who made it his newfound purpose in life to cut you down every chance he got. You remembered the embarrassingly drunk voicemail you left him last year, crying into the phone about how he was everything to you and he left you behind after the first time JJ had touched you in a violent way. You never told him that though. You had been civil and joked back and forth, but had no real conversations or interactions since then. That was mostly because you were embarrassed about it, you knew that he probably showed it to Kelce and Topper and laughed about it for ages, making fun of how pathetic you were. Your fears seem to be true now as he cuts you down with his sneer and hate-filled blue eyes. You still don’t know what you did, what you did to put the butterfly effect into motion; how you and Rafe got so far off the beaten path. The tears rimmed your eyes, being reminded of your now ex-boyfriend wasn’t how you planned on spending your afternoon. No one knew how you’d followed his every whim all summer, how it had landed you in jail, gotten you a broken wrist, almost killed you when you hadn’t paid attention to your sugar for hours. He’d left you there and no one knew and you wanted so badly to tell Rafe about all of it. But, you couldn't – not anymore. Because you were right where he left you, like an abandoned toy in the toy box he no longer wanted to play with. As if all of that wasn’t enough to embarrass you and make you want to die, JJ had cheated with one of your close friends, Kiara, too and all the Pogues knew about it – sending you into a spiral of grieving all your friends at once. You had virtually no one. Rafe didn’t know and how could he, you stopped getting to tell him the ins and outs of your life a long time ago. So, while the joke seemed harmless to him, it broke something inside of you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. But, he knew you, he knew that look, he knew those glossed over eyes – he knew he had fucked up. 
“Woah, what’s wrong? I’m just kidding around. Can’t you take a joke, Y/N?” 
The bitterness left his tongue as quick as his feigned concern, almost like he couldn’t turn either off.  
“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve been wiping my own tears for a long time now.” 
You bit out, not meaning to spill your guts the way you did, but he deserved it. He couldn’t help but feel your words so deeply. He often felt guilty for the way he left you, with no reason why. There was a time when he would’ve talked you out of being with a loser like JJ Maybank, a time when he would dry your tears and hug you tightly, a time when he would’ve protected you. You slowly but surely made the boys their drinks, a tear slipping out of your eye. No one noticed but Topper and he gave you a sad, knowing look. You headed to the kitchen, hoping no one would be in the locker room that was right off to the side of it, so you could cry in peace. 
“What did I say?”
Rafe questioned the boys, confusedly. 
“You’re a fucking idiot. Have you not heard that Maybank cheated on her and all the Pogues knew about it? He got her in trouble, Rafe and she got hurt. She’s lost everybody important to her, and you just have to be an asshole to her, when we all know how you really feel about her. Grow up, man.” 
Kelce spoke up with distaste on his tongue. 
“Shit.”
He whispered out, deciding then, he’d make it his mission to get into your good graces again, if that was even possible. It’d been long enough without you in his life and he had only wanted a break to protect you from his own faults. 
After you had made it to the locker room, you leaned against the lockers, your head falling back in defeat. It’s been two weeks since JJ broke your heart and it felt like the last year with you had meant nothing to him. He didn’t even say he was sorry. You stayed like that for a moment, cringing thinking about the fact that you had to work with him tonight. Summer had warned you in advance as she orientated you and you gave her the smaller version of events. You wished so badly that you could rewind time and not let Rafe drift away from you, all you wanted in this moment was one of his hugs – feeling his strong, muscular arms wrap around you. It had been two years since you’d had a hug like that. You pushed the thoughts down once more, drying your eyes and making your way back out to the bar. The boys were still sitting there. Rafe took in your form, the way the blanched redness of your face stood out. He could tell you had been crying, really hard, and that made his chest tight. It had always made his fucking chest hurt. He wanted to kill JJ Maybank for what he had done to you. You made your way behind the bar and locked eyes with Topper. 
“Can I get you boys anything else?”
You asked – voice shaky. 
“We’re fine, Y/N.”
Topper spoke with a softness and an ease to his voice. Topper and Kelce had stayed friend’s with you even after Rafe decided not to and Topper was the first phone call you made after your dad had brought you home from the hospital; filling him in on all the gorey details. He came over with pizza and wine and made you laugh about how much of an idiot JJ was. That made you feel better for a while, but you cried yourself to sleep that night, mostly sad that you couldn’t call Rafe out of embarrassment or fear of leaving another voicemail he’d never return. You often wondered if you were ever important to him at all. 
“Hey, sweet cheeks!”
You were brought out of your thoughts by JJ’s boisterous yet sinister laugh as he called you by a nickname you no longer welcomed. Rafe watched as your body became completely stiff. It made his skin crawl that you were so uncomfortable and as he saw your eyes gloss over he knew this was about to be bad. 
“What, Y/N, you too good to talk to me now?”
JJ questioned, annoyed that you were ignoring him. You wanted to speak to him, but you couldn’t find the words to say and you definitely didn’t want to do it in front of Rafe. Before you could even muster up a response, Topper and Rafe were behind the bar, standing in front of JJ, blocking him from getting close to you. Summer was thankful because she had never liked JJ and couldn’t do much on her own to protect you. 
“Maybank, I suggest you back up. You have no right to talk to her after what you’ve done!” 
Rafe growled. 
“Oh and you do? You tore her heart out of her chest, hollywood.” 
He laughs in response. 
“What are you even talking about?” 
Rafe questioned confusedly. 
“Oh, you know, when you stopped talking to her out of the blue freshman year. What you thought I didn’t know about that? You don’t think everyone knows about that?” 
JJ’s laugh has become incredulous at this point. Rafe looked in your direction, with apologetic eyes. 
“What would you know about that? You don’t know anything that went on between us.” 
Rafe snarled. 
“I know she cried all the time. I know about that embarrassing voicemail she left you. I know she never got over it. I mean I can’t say I blame you for ghosting her like that, she’s boring and what would the king kook want with her-”
The sound of Rafe’s fist meeting JJ’s jaw was enough to send a chill down your spine. Topper quickly pulled you away from the scene, not wanting you to be caught in the crossfire of an angry Rafe, especially when it involved defending you – he knew he had no self control in that regard. 
“Y/N, look at me. Are you okay?” 
He questioned softly. 
“I-I, no, top. W-why d-did he do this t-to me?” 
You asked through stifled sobs and his soft eyes traced over your figure. Unbeknownst to you and Topper, Rafe had run out to find you after he mopped the floor with JJ, his knuckles bloody for you. But, as he made his way through the club, he heard stifled sobs on the other side of a wooden door and he stopped to listen.
“I don’t know, sweet girl. People cheat and I don’t think there’s ever a reason-”
Topper continued, but was quickly cut off by you as you clarified who exactly you were referring to. 
“No, why did Rafe do this to me? I loved him so much and I-I don’t know maybe JJ’s right. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to be his friend anymore. Maybe he saw what a piece of shit I was.” 
You mumbled. 
“No, listen, it’s deeper than all that. When Rafe’s ready to tell you what happened, he will. But don’t beat yourself up, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 
He replied, stroking your hair. 
Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he really had broken your heart and you really thought you were the one that wasn't good enough for him. 
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as always, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know <3
taglist:
@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey
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centrally-unplanned · 5 months ago
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To talk about monopoly & antitrust, I want to start off with your first day in Econ 101, when you learn "how prices work". The toy model that nearly everyone learns as one of the first things ever is that classic supply-and-demand graph of price and quantity; you know it, I don't need to show it. And in relation to how firms set price in a market, the explanation you get is something like:
"In a world with perfect information, zero transaction costs, rational agents, and no barriers to entry, new firms and/or increased output will enter the market until marginal price equals marginal cost"
This (seemingly) portrays a model where new companies "entering the market" is how prices go down. Like say there are Firms A, B, and C, engaging in oligopolistic pricing for a normal good; what happens is some new Firm X (with the same production costs) emerges with the sole business strategy of "offer prices lower than them because they are skimming" and it drives everyone's prices down in a race to the bottom. That, in a sense, competition between identical firms drives the price equilibrium.
That isn't very true, not in practice and not even theoretically; the 101 stuff just sort of biases you to see it that way. Firm X above is being rational in one way but silly in others; why would it enter a market where its competitors are making healthy profits just to fuck that up, knowing it has no advantage they can't immediately replicate in response? And pay all the fixed costs other firms have already paid to make that 0.1% profit? In real life firms almost never do this, they compete over (actual or perceived) advantage or market segmentation. And it also means that - if all firms are truly the same in a market - cooperating on price, far from being aberrant behavior, is the natural thing to do. Why would I look at my rival firm and lower my price to "undercut" them, knowing that they 100% can just lower it too? We both lose, immediately. In practice, companies often set their prices by looking at the prices of competing firms and matching them!
Many things actually drive the price equilibrium of course, but one of the biggest - and most useful for our purposes - is the substitution effect. If companies defacto cooperate on prices all the time, why is the price not infinity? Well because if you are selling steaks and set the price to infinity, I'm not gonna buy it! I can just buy chicken, for me it's pretty much the same. And chicken is cheaper to make than steak. As a chicken firm, I totally can set my price under your steak and you can never, ever match it; that is a real advantage, one from asymmetries of production. The price of steak is driven by the need to compete with chicken much more than it is driven by the need to compete with "other steaks". And so on down a chain of a million desires and costs and needs.
So to wrap this around to antitrust, there is a common idea out there that monopolistic pricing is increasing from the past because if I look at different industries, so many of them today are consolidated into 2-3 big firms. Your grocery stores are all Giant or Safeway or w/e it is in your city, if you are buying a TV Samsung & LG are half the entire US market. How could these companies not collude on price? Of course they do, and they don't need explicit agreements that would violate extant FTC regulations to do it; they can just softly communicate and feel out cooperation. So you gotta break them up and change the rules so they can't do that.
The trap is thinking this is any different if it was 10 firms - it really isn't! Maybe marginally, sure, and if it was 2000 firms yeah okay the sheer chaos would probably create some price churn; but in the past prices were not driven down by the diversity of firms making price cooperation impossible. The long history of guilds, business associations, chambers of commerce, and so on shows that they had plenty of avenues for cooperation - and often did straight-up set prices. Meanwhile, when Wal-Mart, Target, Aldi, and others all cut prices at around the same time, they are not mainly competing with each other. If they were they would just mutually agree to not do that, without even saying anything! How stupid do you think they are? That isn't hard to do. Instead they are competing with Amazon; with boutique local stores; with restaurants; with the changing price of labor; with shifting consumer sentiment and expectations. The industry concentration doesn't matter.
Until it does of course! Because what is the substitution good for oil? They exist of course, but they ain't cheap; people will still buy gas at gigantic ranges of prices. Here, the fundamental structure of the market is monopolistic - and also a geopolitical clusterfuck, but let's not get into that. Producers openly rig prices sometimes, and antitrust actively regulates against it, and it is a hot mess of governments and companies and all that. Are people who hold patents engaging in monopoly pricing? Obviously, that is the point of patents! It is by design; but there are tons of arguments to be made around creeping exploitation of the IP system. Sometimes hundreds of firms in a dominant market niche will offer complex, bundled products where the price of each piece of obfuscated and the value is subjective, but consensus is you can't not buy the product or you will be screwed and since you can't tell what the product even is, let alone how valuable it is, you can't object when they set the price - I hear these are called "universities", but they go by other names in other sectors.
All of the above are something like "monopolies", which maybe are getting worse over time, but they are monopolies for different, product-specific reasons. I think there is a good deal of FTC work and other reforms that could be done in the US to identify areas where this kind of rent extraction is happening. But what it doesn't look like is opposing blanket industry consolidation. And in fact the correlation is honestly pretty weak. Because identical firm competition does not drive the price equilibrium.
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minus-plus-zer0 · 5 months ago
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💐 Fiance Headcanons 💐
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♡ Genre: Fluff, tiny bit suggestive ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader
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Bakugou was over the moon when you said yes to his proposal.
And you better believe HE was gonna be the one proposing. He wanted to be first place in everything in life. He'd be the first one to kiss you, the first to invite you out on a date, the first to ask you to move in-together, etc. He was always one step ahead of you, you could never ask first. He's competitive like that. All your firsts are now his, but never forget that all his firsts are yours too. His lips are only for you! Morning breath or not...
Bakugou knows what he wants and he knows he has always needed you by his side, maybe even more than you needed him. He really couldn't imagine his future without you given everything you've been through together. It wouldn't make any sense not being with his best friend.
So when he popped the question, you best believe his heart was racing more than it had for any fight he'd ever encountered. This yes-or-no question felt like a life-or-death situation. His happiness hung in the balance from your response.
But you loved him very much, and you knew he would stay by your side forever and make you happy in a way nobody else could. So you gave him a million rapid-fire yeses, and he kissed your silly face to kingdom come.
After the proposal, he boasted to everyone and anyone about his upcoming marriage. It's tiring how cute he can be. He's gotta share the news with everyone, rub it into their faces how much better your love is than theirs. It's just like when you two started dating, he wanted everyone to know that you were both off the market FAST.
(Technically he was never on the market for anybody but you but it's better to make it official, you know?)
His parents adore you but they still argue with Bakugou every now and again. You try and convince them to be sweeter to him, you don't want anything to ruin his day. That only worsens their bias towards you so your efforts kinda fail, but it's the thought that counts!
You both have to do a lot of planning for your future together ahead. He's ready to make this wedding the best of the best, like nobody's ever seen. You've got your own set of dreams as you coo over some romantic wedding ideas and cake toppers, while Bakugou takes note of what you like most. Little does he know, you're doing the same to him. After all, its his special day too!
But sometimes you disagree on how the wedding should go, or what kind of food to order. One of the biggest disagreements is on who to invite to the wedding. Bakugou wanted to install a million different rules regarding who can and cannot come, what they can do, what they can't say, etc. It was all too much. If the bridezilla stereotype really exists, then Bakugou embodies it.
It's around this time that your friends from the Bakusquad really start helping out. You've got a lot of shoulders to lean on for emotional and technical support. However, there is such thing as too many cooks in the kitchen. Bakugou reins them in when they start acting like they're planning their own wedding. He knew it was going too far when Kaminari started wanting the whole event to play his personal dubstep mixtape and Ashido wanted to get rid of all the spicy food. If Bakugou didn't veto their ideas, they might've walked all over you with their good intentions.
Bakugou doesn't want a traditional bachelor party before the wedding, regardless of whether or not that's common in Japan. It's just definitely not his thing. He doesn't like the sexual stuff associated with it and he doesn't agree with how it celebrates your supposed "last day of freedom" in a relationship. To be honest, he wants you to avoid it too.
Instead, you probably have two separate normal parties with your own circles of friends that are the same gender as y'all. Ashido remarks that this is still functionally similar to most normal bachelor(ette) parties, but whatever. You're with your buddies, Bakugou is with the boys of the Bakusquad, and even though you're separated he's texting you saying he wishes you were there with him because he's gloating to his friends about how good your relationship is but they're not believing him and it's pissing him off. Please, please, please come home.
Bakugou is essentially forced at gunpoint to have a good time. They're probably hit up some restaurants with spicy food challenges to see how far he can go without killing himself before the wedding. Don't worry, he'll keep himself in one piece so you'll still have a man to marry by the end of it. The others, however, don't stand a chance. They'll be dead by morning.
Later on, you're planning out your wedding attire before the big day and Bakugou's not allowed to see it but you're texting him and teasing him about what it could possibly be. It gets a little steamy at times, with him guessing at EVERYTHING you could be wearing, but sometimes he gets his guesses hilariously wrong. His mind goes places.
You're also planning out your honeymoon together, but there's so many places you'd wanna go that it's hard to pick. Since Bakugou is such a rich Pro Hero and all, you have a world of options to choose from. It doesn't have to be limited to one location, you could do a whole tour of places if you wanted. Bakugou definitely wants to get out there and see some sights with you, maybe show you around a couple of the tallest mountains around the world and see what you think of them. Or he'd wanna find a nice, temporary beach house and settle there, watching the waves with you as you skip stones across the water. He'll cheat by using his Explosion Quirk to make it skip farther, so your Quirk better be able to match that. But no matter what, he'll still say he won in the end, and argue with you until you agree.
With this much planning, you know that the wedding itself will be something to remember.
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seventeen as words you can't translate🖋️ :
playlist: aurora album by toneejay
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✦ Scoups: Ya'aburnee (Arabic)
▻ Meaning: A way to declare your hope that your loved one will outlive you, as it would be unbearable to live without them.
➔ Ya'aburnee literally means "you bury me" but the depth of its meaning goes beyond literal. When you don't, can't, won't think of a future without the other person, you use this word. And who else is the embodiment of Ya'aburnee if not choi seungcheol? He breathes seventeen, lives seventeen, and it's as if he will die without seventeen. There's no one as devoted as scoups.
✦ Jeonghan: Toska (Russian)
Meaning: A sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without a specific cause; a longing with nothing to long for
➔ For me, personally, ever since Jeonghan went to the military, it's as if something is missing in my life (dramatic I know). But it's not just me! Jeonghan is the emotional pillar of svt and we all know it. How many times do you think the members turn around to talk with him and have to remind themselves that he is not here with them? He is also the first one to enlist so everyone feels his absence deeply. It's as if he is in another universe that we can't to go even if we wanted to. Jeonghan, when I catch you, jeonghan.
✦ Joshua: Kilig (Tagalog)
▻ Meaning: The feeling of butterflies in your stomach specifically associated with romance
➔ One of my favourite words in tagalog and one of my favourite persons in svt. The closest literal meaning is 'to shudder' but I think the most accurate english translation is 'the fluttery feeling you get due to love-related things'. And Joshua is so first love coded that I am convinced that everyone looks at him feels their heartbeat speed up me. He, as a person, is made up of all the things I associate love with: softness, gentleness, thoughtfulness, consideration, kindness, and pure loveliness. He is the ultimate kilig feeling: falling in love
✦ Jun: Goya (Urdu)
▻ Meaning: A momentary suspension of disbelief that occurs when fantasy is so realistic that it temporarily becomes reality, usually associated with a story very well told.
➔ Goya has different meaning depending on the context, but, here, I am referring to the word as it is used in literature. It's not so much as a word but rather it is a concept. When you can almost 'taste' a piece of art because it's so vivid, then it's 'as if' (goya) it were real. And I think Jun fits this word quite well cause it's 'as if' he was real. Most of the time he doesn't feel like a real person to me. He is someone who is so ambitious and yet so kind. Someone who will keep mum about their sufferings but do everything they can to distract you from yours. Someone who works like an ox day and night yet takes the time to appreciate every little thing. We don't deserve jun. Not even a little.
✦ Hoshi: Ré Nao (Chinese)
▻ Meaning: A place or situation that is 热闹 (ré nao) is not only fun and lively. It also has a special vibe that makes everyone want to be there.
➔ The literal meaning of ré nao is “lively” or “bustling.” But it's more so about a vibe. Imagine that moment with your friends or family when you guys are out in public, in a crowded scene, like a flower market or the night stalls, and everyone around you is having fun and you are at peace yet full of joy. Contentment at the liveliness and the feeling that everyone is joining in to make it fun is approximately the closest meaning of ré nao and that's so hoshi. He is what makes bss and svt so fun. Once he steps in a practice room, it gets brighter in that instant. Hoshi makes everything full of life and everyone feels a little more alive, a little more in love with life. He is unlike any other idol. You can't mimic that jest for life even if you try.
✦ Wonwoo: Prozvonit (Czech)
▻ Meaning: Ringing somebody’s phone once so that they call you back.
➔ I think wonwoo's charm is that at first he seems unassuming (even, stoic) but the more you know about seventeen the more he reels you in. In that sense, he is 'prozvonit'. Like ringing someone's phone so that they will call back, a glance or look at wonwoo will have you double back and fall into the rabbit hole of falling for him. His playfulness, cheekiness, and emotional sensitivity is the best thing about him.
✦ Woozi: Commuovere (Italian)
▻ Meaning: A heartwarming story that moved you to tears.
➔ To me, Jihoon is a story that never ends. Every song of his is a story straight out of "one thousand and one nights" and each of them leave me brawling. Whether it's the concept or the melody or the lyrics, each song has a tiny bit of his soul. Jihoon touches not only my heart but the very essence of what makes me, me. And I am convinced that is true for most carats. He is both the art and the artist and deserves all the nice things the multiverse has to offer.
✦ Dokyeom: Retrouvailles (French) 
▻ Meaning: The happiness of meeting again after a long time.
➔ Our sunshine, dokyeom! His ability to put a smile on anyone's face needs to be researched in a case study format. He is so humble, down to earth, and funny that even if it's your first time seeing him on a screen, you will feel that you have known him forever. Dokyeom is always a sunshine, both in his personality and also as the light in everyone's life. Even if you go wayyy back to svt's debut time, you will see the same bright grin which can brighten up your day, night, and universe.
✦ Mingyu: Wabi-Sabi (Japanese)
▻ Meaning: Finding beauty in imperfections
➔ Mingyu is someone who finds beauty in everything, be it an object or experience. His optimistic and hopeful nature helps him see life through rose-coloured glasses and it's one of my favourite things about him. I even bring evidence! Only mingyu could find love in shoelaces *_*. Another evidence is him being an outfit repeater. He clearly loves his clothes and cherishes them. If someone in this world could find beauty in imperfect things, it's him. He always tries to make any and all situations better. The loveliest human.
✦ Minghao: Merak (Serbian)
▻ Meaning: The feeling you get from simple pleasures that adds up to a sense of happiness and fulfilment
➔ Whenever I hear minghao speak in interviews or in livestreams, I think to myself, "Wow, he really got life figured out." Not because of how self-assured he always is but more so why he is that self-assured. He understands what is important in his life and acts accordingly. And that makes him such a simple and unassuming person who appreciates life's small pockets of happiness. He also creates this happiness for himself and his loved ones. Xu minghao is my favourite role model.
✦ Seungkwan: Hyggelig (Danish)
Meaning: A delightfully cozy, intimate moment or thing
➔ The synonym of Hyggelig is 'gemütlichkeit' in german and 'gemytlig' in swedish but it is 'seungkwan' in korean hehe. And it's because whenever seungkwan talks its as if he and the listener are the only person in the room. The same feeling as when you are gossiping with your best friend and giggling into smithereens. The reason behind me calling him 'Hyggelig' is cause seungkwan is a person who treats every person honestly and earnestly. He is genuine in his desire for connection and companionship. It's one of his many good qualities. Someone like him is unique even in the midst of billions of people.
✦ Vernon: Fernweh (German)
▻ Meaning: The feeling of homesickness for a place that you’ve never been to
➔ Vernon always felt like home to me. He is comfort manifested as a person. The understanding and quiet support he always offers to everyone is filled with so much kindness and grace. I just know that everyone who talks with him feels as if they were in their home, in pajamas, sipping on their comfort drink on a sleepy, rainy day. Vernon is always himself and he makes the other people feel okay to be themselves too. He is a home that a lot of people me miss when he is not there.
✦ Chan: Duende (Spanish)
▻ Meaning: A work of art’s mysterious power to deeply move a person
➔ Chan is a person with too much power over svt and carats. His earnestness and dedication to put his best foot forward and to help svt be the best it can be is unbelievable. He is that work of art that will move a person to tears if they take just a glimpse. His sense of rhythm and the art of dancing make him a living masterpiece. The diNOW of kpop indeed.
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sassyandclassy94 · 8 months ago
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The Harrison Ford guy came into the store again today and of course, we were talking about The Boys in the Boat!
Customer: “You would’ve loved being at my family cabin; the boys were a hot topic.”
Me: “It’s such a good story!!”
Customer: “Yeah and you’re one of the girls that actually knows and acknowledges how talented and how driven they were aside from being simply good-lookin men, right? *leans in closer* RIGHT, LADIES??”
Me: *holds my hands up* “I SWEAR that I did not notice how good looking they were until AFTER I watched the movie. I saw the trailer when I went to see Trolls and I was hooked.” *proceeds to tell him how the book has been on my list since I was first hired at the library ten years ago*
Customer: “Mhm…”
Me: “I swear on my life! I’m not even a Callum Turner girlie!! I mean, my female eyes may have noticed Bobby at first in the trailer but as for Don—“
Customer: “As my father would say: BULL. ‘CRAP’.” (Said in some sort of accent)
Me: “Aww, I swear—“
Customer: “I know!! I’m just teasing you!”
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370005 · 2 months ago
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sollux & terezi on beforus are in the business of ruining lives (for fun and profit)
details + bonus doodles under cut
ive been in a beforus mood lately so im thinking abt what the trolls lives could have been like.
sollux and terezi are white collar criminals. i wanted to give her the seer curse of Seeing Things even though she isn't a player, so she utilizes her infinite outcome matrix analysis abilities to forsee tragedies specifically caused by negligence. there was definitely a point in her childhood where she attempted to be a mothmanesque figure, warning potential innocents of upcoming events and terrorizing the people responsible for totally preventable misfortune.
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but then she grew up and realized that the people who were responsible for shoddy architecture, massive layoffs, and general societal injustices didn't have a conscience to torment. They were gaming the system for money $$$ and you had to hit them where it hurts. she used her proclivity for predicting small-scale catastrophes to predict how said ensuing scandals would affect the stocks for the entities involved. you can't make the executive heads feel bad about dropping 30% of their staff to feed their own salaries, but you can definitely manipulate the market and ruin their public perception until people are papering their hives with the company currency
sollux, who worked the BSE as their best surveillance analyst, clocked terezi as a front runner when she showed up out of absolutely nowhere and scored huge profits after two consecutive PR disasters led to the bankruptcy of like 8 corps and heavy damage to their subsidiaries. it was kind of impressive, but he had a job to do yaknow? terezi, who was immediately on the run from the beforus finance cops and had to be sneakier and meaner with her manipulation, and sollux became completely obsessed with this criminal mastermind who was VERY easy to track. she was always behind the scenes in every major upset but sloppy about it. he probably should have turned her over to the authorities the second he knew her location. but, let's be honest, can you resist a pyrope on a mission?
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after a very tumultuous rivalry that swung red and black like a centrifuge they eventually join forces because it turns out terezi doesn't have any inside info. she's just acting on VERY good hunches. there's honestly not really anything illegal she's doing PERSAY. and then sollux joins the efforts and uses his forensic experience to make her a lot harder to track, as well as collecting sensitive info and facilitating scandals that will rock the bottom line of anyone they consider an enemy. terezi is very into the networking part of it, amassing a silent army of business associates who can do the dirty work for them, either through bribery or blackmail. she knows how to get people to do what she wants >:] it's a bit morally dubious but it's all for the sake of the people.
lots of fun moments with these two, like when sollux brainstorms a series of possible connections that could insinuate that a group of people have been too careless in their various embezzlement schemez and theres a big tower of cards begging to be toppled. or when terezi comes to a sudden realisation that a potential whistleblower's nerve is about to run out and they've gotta act NOW if they want to benefit from the fallout.
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these two are always hiding from the 9+ cumulative life sentences they've accrued and the financial ruin theyve rained on corporate beforus. as a result, they pretty much only have each other, and maybe a handful of their most trusted affiliates. kind of hard to nourish any type of relationship when the people close to you are in danger of being implicated in your many crimes and all of your enemies are incredibly wealthy, powerful, and influential. i imagine their luck runs out one day and they're disappeared from society without a trace.
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aquamarixx · 2 months ago
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breaking the internet
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chapter two Hiori discovers Miss Journalist might be a loyal fan of his — and learns the hard way that stalking someone on Winstagram can quickly get complicated. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader angst, fluff, very hiori yo centric piece, reader is big hiori fangirl i guess masterlist
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A few days later, Hiori noticed Bastard München’s group chat buzzing on his way to training. In just a couple of days, your article he had stumbled upon gained traction, spreading quickly among fans and media circles.
To his surprise, the team’s marketing team seized the opportunity to reshape the narrative to their advantage. They shared the article on the team’s official social media account, tagging you, with the caption: “Big W, thanks @/yn_offthepage for the awesome feature! We appreciate the support and dedication from all fans as we push forward this season. Don’t count us out yet!”
The reaction was immediate and electric. Fans who had been hesitant—some even critical—now rallied behind the team. Comments flooded in, sparking a renewed sense of hope for the Kaiser-less Bastard München. It was as if your article had breathed life back into a disheartened fanbase, bringing a spark of energy and support that the team badly needed.
By mid-day, another notification caught Hiori’s attention—a link to an old podcast clip that had resurfaced from an episode a few weeks prior to the start of the season. He opened it, surprised to see that you had been a featured guest in Anri Teieri and Ego Jinpachi’s Japanese Football Association podcast show.
The video began with the three of you sitting around a cluttered table with JFA signage and merch. Anri wore her usual JFA-branded polo shirt, and Ego wore a dark dress shirt paired with his signature bolo tie. 
You, however, were dressed more casually this time—casual but sporty. You donned a simple oversized tracksuit jacket and pants, with your messy bun adding an almost charming touch to your appearance. Your cheeks were lightly dusted with blush, and somehow looked radiant under the studio’s lights.
The podcast attracted attention quickly, and for good reason. The topic of discussion? The top three teams to watch that season. When Anri posed the question to you, Hiori hadn’t been prepared for your bold and quick response: Bastard München. The choice raised an eyebrow from Ego, who clearly hadn’t been expecting it.
In the next few seconds, you defended your choice with a blend of sharp analysis and an unexpected warmth. 
“Bastard München may have their flaws,” you explained, “but this season is about more than just winning. They’re rebuilding, and that means everyone now has a chance to shape the team’s dynamics in a way we haven’t seen before. It’s exciting because of how the team chooses to play things out this season can make or break them.”
As Hiori watched the clip, he couldn’t suppress a slight smile. The way you spoke about Bastard München struck a chord.
Your words weren’t just empty praise. They held conviction, a belief in their potential that was oddly reassuring. It reminded him of why he played, of the love for the game that had gotten buried under expectations and pressure.
“Think of it this way,” you continued, “just like in the Blue Lock project, players are forged through fire and brimstone, transforming into better versions of themselves. But this time, it’s not just individuals. It’s a whole team, shaping their destiny together. Aside from snide fan remarks, the only limiting factor to their potential growth is themselves, with the season a ticking time bomb hovering over their heads. This is where real egoists evolve.”
Not many sports personalities, especially journalists, would have taken the risk of showing open support for a team with uncertain prospects.
She a Noel Noa fan? he wondered.
Regardless, he hadn’t expected to feel that weight behind your statement, but something about it felt... right. 
At practice later that day, the clip had gone fully viral. So viral that the team’s sly marketing team couldn’t resist showing it to the squad. And like clockwork, during their break, Coach Noa and the marketing manager flagged down the sweaty athletes and gathered them in the locker room to watch the podcast clip.
The team crowded around the big TV, and as they watched, Hiori felt the atmosphere shift. The weight of their previous defeats seemed to lift. Your public support for Bastard München—the way you called them the team to watch out for this season—was like kindling to their dying embers. 
Even without looking at each other, they can feel that there’s a newfound determination settling within them. Even Greisner’s grumpy self got visibly pumped, his potty mouth running nonstop, but in a good way.
Watching his teammates respond to the clip reaffirmed what he’d felt earlier. But it was Hiori who felt the impact the most. Your conviction, your words, as if everything was directed to him.
This wasn’t just about the praise; it was about being seen, understood, in a way he hadn’t known they needed. Your words had done more than lift him; they’d awakened the fire within the entire team, making them feel, for the first time in a while, like they were exactly where they were meant to be.
But what surprised Hiori was the next clip that Coach Noa played.
The clip showed Anri bringing out an exaggeratedly large whiteboard titled “Ego’s Top Player Watch List”.
It showed a list of the top ten players to watch this season, paired with a comically drawn cartoon face of a player beside their name. It listed high-profile names and football stars everyone was expecting to see. The usual suspects—Julian Loki, Michael Kaiser, Shidou Ryuusei, the Itoshi Brothers—were all there.
But you interrupted Ego’s explanation mid-sentence.
“Not to be rude, but this looks like a ‘super fan’s’ wet dream.”
The team erupted in laughter. Hiori could hear Anri snort in the background, trying to cover it up with a cough after getting a stink eye from Ego himself.
Even Coach Noa couldn’t help himself, letting out a low chuckle at that unfiltered comment about his former brother-in-arms.
The camera panned to Ego, whose face was now a mix of curiosity and provocation. Through gritted teeth, he said, emphasizing every syllable of every word, “Is that so? What makes you say that, Y/N-chan?"
Realizing how rude that sounded, you bowed profusely, the tips of your ears red from the embarrassment. “I’m sorry! That came out wrong!”
“What I mean is, these are the players that football fanboys usually rattle off,” you said, catching yourself a bit too late. You just called Ego a fanboy. You winced but pressed on.
“These are the stereotypical names everyone expects to hear. But there are so many others who are just as impactful in their own way. Players like Nanase Nijiro, Niko Ikki, Agi, Miroku Darai, Alexis Ness …”, and for a second, you visibly, faltered, hesitating.
But you continued with a smile, “... and Hiori Yo, to name a few.”
“Oooh, that’s some hot take you’ve got there, Y/N-chan.” Anri laughed. “Also, two players from Bastard München?”
“So I’m guessing your favorite player is from the German club then?” Ego pried as he erased names on the board to replace them with Alexis Ness, Agi, and Hiori Yo’s names.
“Is it that obvious?” You chuckled. “Actually, let me show you.”
The team’s eyes were glued to the screen as you started unzipping your tracksuit jacket and revealed a Bastard München black jersey with the big bold gold number on the front.
Jersey number 23.
Hiori Yo’s jersey number.
His jersey.
“Ooooh!” The team erupted in laughter and teasing as they eyed Hiori, who was clearly stunned by the sudden reveal.
And it didn’t stop there.
“He’s a strategist both on and off the field. A true genius." You leaned forward, eyes bright with conviction.
“Everyone’s always focused on the strikers, but for me, midfielders steal the show. Playmaking is the heart of football; without midfielders to anchor the team, you’d just have chaos and confusion. Don’t get me wrong, I love the excitement that forwards like Julian Loki bring. But midfielders like Hiori Yo have their own kind of charm, a different thrill.” 
Your voice softened, your gaze momentarily distant, as if lost in thought. “There’s something mesmerizing about the way they read the game, anticipating moves before anyone else sees them. They make football more dynamic, more unpredictable. What’s not to like, right?”
You paused, catching your breath, and glanced around, realizing you rambled on. Anri and Ego exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by your enthusiasm. Hiori watched as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks flushed as if you'd suddenly remembered you weren't alone.
It was clear you’d been watching him closely, noticing the subtleties of his play that often went unnoticed. And for a moment, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.
As the clip ended, the locker room broke out in playful whistles, the whole Bastard München jeering at Hiori. Grins and knowing looks flew his way, as they egged him on this surprising development.
“Look at you, Hiori,” Ndiaye teased, nudging him. “Got yourself a fangirl.”
Hiori felt his cheeks grow warm as he tried to hide a small smile. But something stirred within him. Was it validation? Recognition? He couldn’t quite tell.  
“Who wouldn’t like Hiori? He’s, like, the ultra-sadist.” Isagi laughed as he elbowed Hiori on the side.
“Ah, shaddap, that was ages ago,” Hiori laughed, shoving him back. “But this ultra-sadist ain’t passin’ to ya if ya play like crap next match!”
“Damn, so cruel, so mean, Hiori.” Kunigami said.
“Guess it’s just my charm, eh?” Hiori grinned as he gracefully dodged a playful jab from a pouty, jealous Igarashi.
“Lucky! I’d kill for a fan in the press, so unfair.” Raichi groaned, casting a jealous look at Hiori.
Theo Sachs draped his arm around Raichi and said, “I doubt Miss Y/N would even write about you, even if you’re the master striker. You gotta be smart, not a smartass.”
“Plus, if we’re judging the team, you’d probably come in just above Igarashi at the bottom.” Yukimiya chimed in, laughing. “Even Gagamaru’s got a better shot at landing a cute fan.” Gagamaru simply huffed in smug satisfaction.
A loud clap broke their chaos as they heard Coach Noa clear his throat. “Alright, that’s enough. This is good publicity, yes, but remember, this puts all eyes on us for the next few matches. So don’t slack off. We’ve got a chance to prove them wrong, and I expect every one of you to play like it.”
The team erupted in shouts and cheers, clearly energized by the encouragement in the video. It might not have seemed like much, but having someone voice their confidence in Bastard Munchen out there for everyone to see lifted their spirits and boosted morale in a way they hadn’t expected. 
Football players are so single-minded, Hiori chuckled to himself.
The team dispersed as Coach Noa dismissed them with a wave, nodding with certainty at Hiori before heading to the field. The rest of the team scattered, eager to enjoy the rest of their break before afternoon training resumed.
He watched them go, but his mind lingered on the clip and on you.
Hiori felt a strange warmth unfurl in his chest. You weren't focused on the typical names, the usual flashy strikers; you spoke about the heart of the game, the grind, the transformation.
And when you mentioned the midfielders—the players who built the game from the ground up, who connected every move and controlled the chaos on the field—it felt like you were talking directly to him.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had seen that side of his role, had recognized the way he approached the game. He felt seen—not for his skill or his stats, but for the way he played, for the choices he made on the field.
This wasn’t validation from his parents or praise from a coach. This was different. It was like a piece of himself he’d almost forgotten was gently being uncovered again. And in that moment, Hiori realized he wasn’t just another player on the field. He was Hiori Yo, a player with his own way of seeing the game—and you understood it.
Hiori replayed the clip, slipping on his earphones as he sank onto an empty bench under the shade. He let the image of you in his jersey burn into the back of his mind. And that smile.
This feels damn good, huh?
It was strange. Most people dismissed his approach to the game as too quiet, too calculated. But you understood it, and that understanding warmed him from the inside out, like a light he didn’t want to fade.
Without a thought, he checked your Winstagram account he had bookmarked. He scrolled down further before stopping as he spotted the picture he had been looking for. He clicked on it, and it showed him a carousel of images from that podcast episode. He did linger a little longer on a candid photo of you in his jersey.
He tried to zoom in, double tapping the image. “Ah, shit.” he muttered, as a heart-shaped “like” notification popped up instead.
In a panic, his fingers moved before he could even think about it. His heart raced as he tapped it continuously, unliking it, then tapped it again, liking it once more.
He froze, realizing that what he had done probably made things worse.
“Well… no goin’ back now, huh?” With a soft chuckle, he hit the follow button before stashing his phone in his bag and jogging back to the field, a smile playing on his lips.
While in the middle of researching a story, you were drenched in sweat as your phone blew up with notifications. The JFA podcast going viral definitely wasn’t on your to-do list today. While the clip's popularity was undoubtedly a career boost for a budding sports journalist like you, the attention was overwhelming.
Many praised you for your insightful take on the team and Hiori, but others labeled you an overzealous fan, clinging to idealistic views. As you scrolled through the messages and comments, a creeping anxiety settled in. 
Was your conviction really misplaced? Maybe you should’ve just mentioned PXG, like the other “normal” fans.
Instead, you had blurted out your admiration for Bastard Munchen—and, to make it worse, wore the jersey of your favorite player on camera.
What was I thinking, showing that off in a recorded video? So stupid.
As you scrolled further, a few off-the-rails comments caught your eye: 
When she talked about Hiori, she gloooowed.
Hiori Yo's biggest fangirl confirmed?
Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and something else, something unexpected. You quickly swiped past the post, your heart pounding. Was it really that obvious? The beating in your chest wouldn't go away.
Your moment of procrastination was interrupted by a series of Winstagram notifications popping up on your screen.
hioyi_yo23 liked a post. hioyi_yo23 liked a post. hioyi_yo23 started following you.
“Shit. Shit, shit shit shit shit. What now?!” You choked on your iced latte and scrambled to open the notification.
You couldn’t tell if the universe was playing some twisted prank on you. Because when you saw what photo Hiori Yo—Bastard Munchen’s midfielder, jersey number 23, THE HIORI YO HIMSELF—had liked, it felt like the entire world had just shifted on its axis.
It was your photo, wearing his jersey. He saw. He watched the clip. And he knew your Winstagram account.
Wait—did he like it and un-like it?
You quickly opened his profile, you fingers trembling. His account was a stark contrast to yours. There was barely anything personal—just a handful of Bastard Munchen-related posts, a few photos of teammates and friends, and some glimpses of his personal life, like the computer games he played or events he attended.
Everything was cryptic, like the man himself, showing only fragments of his life.
“Well, here goes nothing,” you muttered, butterflies exploding in her stomach as you tapped the follow button.
You stared at the screen for a moment, holding you breath. A smile tugged at your lips as you read it again: hiori_yo23 follows you.
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author's notes: after so many revisions, it's finally done! i rewrote this chapter and it turned out longer than i expected. but i wanted to show both hiori and reader felt, their internal thoughts and feelings. a friend (who hasn't read or seen blue lock) has been helping me with proofreading. i was pretty happy because he said, he's liking hiori's character and how the slow burn is unfolding. anyway, i hope you guys enjoyed it! lemme know what you guys think!
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so-i-did-this-thing · 3 months ago
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Hello Nicholas!
I hope this isn't a weird question, but I saw in one of your posts that you used to be in a huge amount of debt and now you're living more comfortably- how did you manage to get out of debt? I feel like every time I start even trying to figure out where to start, it's just all too big to ever get out from under. Do you have any advice for me?
Hope you have a great day!
Hey there! Yes, from about 2007-2010 (before I transitioned), I was making less than $10k/year. I defaulted on all my credit cards, exhausted my retirement, and nearly lost my house. It sucked, and in 2024, I'm finally start to feel somewhat secure. What I learned (assuming living in the US, I also did not have student loan debt):
I had to first figure out the sources of my debt. A big chunk of it was because of bad spending habits due to mental illness (hoarding + retail therapy when I was dysphoric/depressed). Another chunk was from being in an abusive friendship. Another, from being unemployed. And the last, was general capitalism (this was during the housing crisis.)
I started working on improving myself to curb behaviors that led to debt. I started working on my hoarding. I started transition to improve my mental health (had to sell some stuff to afford HRT). It took until 2015 to ditch my abuser, alas.
I started working on new job skills. I swallowed my pride and got an office job after a failed 3-year stint at freelancing. It was shitty, but enough to take care of my income emergencies -- keeping my house out of foreclosure. I got a better job 8 months later. It also sucked and I was in it for 7 years, but eventually changed industries and that's when my career took off. Because with each new job, I've gotten better and better pay.
I started using budgeting software. YNAB is my favorite. I try to account for every single dollar I have.
I started spending smarter. Food was the expense I had the most control over. I went to the salvage grocery store (you can find non-expired stuff if you hunt) and bought the "ugly" produce 1 day away from rotting from the local markets. I actually managed to eat well once I found these grocery stores, and my food bill became a fraction of what it'd been at typical grocery stores. I do wish that I had given food pantries a shot, but I was in denial about my poverty at the time.
I sold a ton of useless crap. I got rid of a good chunk of my nerd "collectibles". I only miss a few things over a decade later.
I negotiated with my debt collectors. I managed to set up payment plans with my credit card companies, condo association, and the IRS. I also did a debt consolidation loan once I qualified and was sure I could commit to the monthly payments. It forced me to be super strict about my budget and for about 5 years I didn't buy much for myself. It sucked, but I cleared a bunch of debt that way.
I got help from my family. I was embarrassed to tell my family about my predicament, but it became impossible to hide. I got help cleaning out my hoard and my mother has gracefully given me generous cash gifts every now and then. Never enough to be life-changing, but enough to give me a mental breather.
I played the credit score game. This one seems counter-intuitive, and requires some self-control about not abusing credit cards. Many people recommend the "snowball" method for paying off cards (pay off your lowest debt asap, then go to the next one), but I went with a "credit utilization" method (bring my highest used cards down to the next utilization level, then move to other cards) so I would see immediate changes in my credit score. What is credit card utilization? It's the percentage of how much of your credit card you're using. A card with a $1,000 limit and $100 on it = 10% utilization. Your credit score changes when you cross the following thresholds: 90%, 70%, 50%, 30%, 10%. Once my credit score started going up past 400 (especially as defaults started falling away), I applied for a secured card. As I started using that better, I applied for a few more cards, then for credit line increases every 6 months. My car insurance rates were tied to my credit score, so as soon as that improved, I switched companies and saved money there.
Mistakes I made:
Being in denial that I was poor. I didn't really look for resources on how to live while in poverty. This hurt me a lot because I ended up neglecting myself out of pride, which made my situation even worse.
Payday loans. I got stuck in the payday cycle for about 8 years. I wish I had sold more stuff or asked family for money to have never needed that initial loan. Once you are in the cycle, it becomes very difficult to get out.
Not going to a food bank.
Not asking for help sooner. And not just financial help.
Not getting out of abusive situations sooner. This is hard, and I sympathize with anyone in a similar position. But if you think it's time to move on, trust your gut - don't sacrifice yourself for people who don't care about you.
Ignoring debt collectors, because I was too afraid to negotiate for a plan. The IRS was so patient with me in the end, even after defaulting twice on plans.
Not considering getting a roommate to reduce costs, or not thinking of doing more things like shared meals with my fellow poor friends. Again, denial and pride. Humility is not a bad word and I wished I had learned it sooner.
Not changing jobs sooner. Curbing my hoarding and getting a better job are responsible for about 90% of me being where I am financially today.
Getting out of debt is a marathon. It took over a decade for me, and I am *still* feeling the sting of poverty. I wish you the best of luck. Folks are welcome to tack on specific tricks and strategies -- this is just a general outline of my particular journey.
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assortedshrift · 7 months ago
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Twst Otome Isekai AU
Reader used to love isekai but became sick of all the terrible ML’s and annoying FL’s. There is nothing worse than getting into a series with an immersive setting only for the author to waste it on terrible main characters.
Eventually you give up on the genre and focus on getting her business degree. A year after graduating things are actually pretty good, you survived the terrible job market and landed a pretty sweet gig with a decent paycheck. Now, on the anniversary of your decision to drop all light novels, manhwa, manga, etc… you decided to celebrate your good fortune with a treat from your favorite cafe. You'll never guess what happened while you were crossing the street…
So yeah, Truck-kun sends you to Twisted Wonderland, which happens to be the last isekai you read. Ugh.
Okay, so it wasn't the worst offender, there were plenty of trashier light novels out there. you were actually pretty invested in the story’s world. The MC Allison (Call me Allie!) is a down on her luck woman from the modern world who died from tripping into traffic, only to wake up in the world of Twisted Wonderland. Through her the audience meets the characters and learns about their lives. The overarching issue is the mysterious condition known as ‘Overblot’ that occurs when someone uses too much magic. Allie is taken in by the Royal Sowards Association (RSA), a multinational group dedicated to helping others. They discover that something about being from another world allows Allei to purify blot, and she saves the ML’s during their adventures.
You honestly liked the novel at first. The worldbuilding was captivating and the characters were interesting. Unfortunately as the story progressed the MC became increasingly disappointing. Allie is first presented as an average, innocent young lady who just wants to do good, but you can't think of her as anything other than a loser. It’s understandable how someone transported to a new world would start off with little agency, but despite many opportunities for character growth the MC only seems to get worse. 
Allie claims to have big dreams but never works towards them. She touts the value of being independent but stays reliant on handouts from the other characters. When faced with the suffering of others Allie cries about the unfairness of life then just… moves on. It was so frustrating for you to be shown glimpses of an interesting world while stuck with the viewpoint of such an agentless character. Considering all this, it would be an understatement to say that you were upset upon waking up in the headquarters of Night Raven Collaborative (NRC), a dark counterpart to RSA. 
If there were a need to describe NRC in one word, that word would be ‘petty’. Some time after RSA’s founding a group of villainous individuals realized that the united heroes were causing all their schemes to fail. The group reluctantly learned to work together which led to the founding of NRC, a secret society dedicated to the destruction of RSA. Now, millennia later, the heirs of these dark legacies are still trying to defeat RSA. 
But that's enough exposition, back to Reader.
You are quickly discovered by Dire Crowley, a dark fae who was tasked by the original founders to take care of the organization as a sort of regent in their absence. In the present day he is the public face of NRC’s leadership. He questions you using magic to determine who you are and why you're here.
Now, at this point it's been years since you last read Twisted Wonderland, and a lot has happened since then, so you have no idea what's going on. This is actually a good thing as your genuine confusion convinces Crowley you aren't some sort of infiltrator. He is quick to focus on the fact that you came from another world, and like Ambrose did with Allison, Crowley suspects that your trans-dimensional travels may have imbued you with special abilities. It's pretty lucky that the man got so caught up in fantasies of exploiting your potential power, because the more he spoke the more you realized exactly where you were. 
Yeah sure, as far as post death situations go it could probably be worse. But seriously? It couldn't have been a story that you actually finished? Isn't the protagonist supposed to be an expert in the fictional world? Well at least there are some secrets that you know about.
Thanks to some quick thinking, you manage to convince Crowley to give you custody of an estate that NRC owns but has mostly forgotten. It's obvious that he intends to keep you close for observation. But thanks to the novel you know that the head of NRC is a lazy penny-pincher who will take any chance to offload work onto others. From his perspective it must have seemed like a deal, you stay close while also taking responsibility for something he considers a waste of resources.
 The Ramshackle estate was originally a neutral ground for the founders to meet in. but once they built a more grandiose HQ the place was abandoned and left in disrepair. The only reason you thought of it was due to a couple chapters where junior members of the RSA  tried to investigate rumors of an evil organization, but had to stop and rescue Allie from the ghosts. There was a short interlude where the shadowy leads of the evil organization had a group call to complain about the heroes and mock them for going after such a useless place. 
Except the joke is on them because later Allie and the juniors return to discover a magic mirror that does… something. You had dropped the story before they revealed that part. The point is that there's something valuable in Ramshackle and it now belongs to you. Initially you intended to pawn the mirror and gtfo. Too bad grim had to go and ruin it. A talking monster who, as far as you remember, never appeared in the novel, but somehow managed to break into the building and worm his way into your heart.
Ugh, whatever. You can improvise.
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lucid-loves · 8 months ago
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First Light ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 6
Pairing: bodyguard!Ghost x princess!reader (fem!reader)
Word Count: 3.2k
CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, verbal abuse by parents, physical abuse by parents, psychological abuse by parents, opposites attract, forbidden love, slow burn, fluff, attraction and sexual tension, reader POV and ghost POV, minors DNI, smut, virgin reader, praising, kisses, porn
Let me know if I missed any CWs.
Story Synopsis: After receiving death threats from a mysterious terrorist organization, your royal parents make a decision to reach out to the United States for help. Specifically, they want the US to send a bodyguard to protect their precious princess. When the 141 is called upon to investigate, Ghost is the one assigned to protect you. With your lack of experiences outside of your royal life and his experience with nothing but deadly, worldly affairs, opposites attract.
Chapter Synopsis: Ever since the kiss you shared with your bodyguard, your imagination has been running wild with naughty fantasies and curiosities. You decide to learn more on your own, but Ghost is willing to teach you himself. (SMUT ALERT) 
Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8
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Ghost stared intensely at the report that was just sent his way from his team. Gaz had managed to catch the tagger from the farmer’s market. Interrogation led to their real identity, some associates, and a map marking the other spots that intended to be staked out by the group. And all of this was really thanks to you for noticing the tagger fleeing the scene. If you weren’t so observant, they wouldn’t have made as much progress with this investigation as they have. 
Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for more terrorists to be caught. If progress continued this smoothly, then it wouldn’t take long for the 141 to be done with this job. Then again, the sooner that this job ended, the sooner he would have to say goodbye to you.
The torn lieutenant looked up from his seat at the dining kitchen towards the living room. He was looking at the back of your head, hair up in that hair clip you seem to adore, wrapped up in a good book that you found around the safehouse. Luckily, the safehouse was decently stocked with things for you to do. It was never difficult finding a way to entertain yourself while Ghost worked. 
Neither you nor Ghost have brought up the kiss. You thought it would be hard meeting his gaze after that kiss followed by what you so naughtily did privately in your bedroom. And it was. Every time you thought about him, your heart threatened to leap from your chest. Butterflies went haywire in your stomach. It was only your training as a princess that you were able to keep up with appearances. 
Not that you weren’t thinking about so much more in that curious head of yours in your moments of refinement. Every now and then your mind would wander towards more naughty thoughts. If that was how a kiss felt, how good would it feel to go further? To have his kisses pepper your neck down to your breasts. To feel his large, warm hands against your bare, electrified skin. To have his fingers trace down your spine and make you shiver. 
Little did you know that Ghost was having the same thoughts as you.
He was also struggling with completely getting the kiss out of his mind. How perfect it felt to have your body press against his. How sweet you tasted on his tongue. How quick he seemed to get aroused just from kissing you alone. He wanted to take it further not just physically, but emotionally as well. He’s grown rather attached to you since the day he realized that you were more than just a princess and a mission. 
Ghost wanted you to be his completely. But he knew that that would be a huge mistake.
The both of you were like polar opposites. Ghost came from a world of gunfire while you came from the world of champagne glasses. He could offer you safety, but never security. Not with his job. While he did his best to stay alive, he never knew if one day could be his last. You didn’t deserve to live with that on your shoulders. 
A quiet sigh was suppressed as Ghost got up from his seat. Slowly, he strolled over to you and put a hand on your shoulder, gently pulling your attention away from your book. You knew that he was approaching, though. It was like you developed super senses when it came to his presence now. 
“Gonna go check the perimeter. You okay staying here?”
You enthusiastically hummed in response, not wanting him to worry too much about leaving you alone for a moment. Your bodyguard has been frequently going outside the safehouse to check the perimeter. It was part of his job, however, you were quick to understand that it was to also get some fresh air. 
When you finally heard the sound of the front door clicking shut, you closed your book and grabbed the remote to the television. Today was the day you were going to watch something incredibly new today. Something you have been curious about before and have grown even more curious about since your feelings for Ghost grew. 
You were going to look at porn for the first time. 
With a time limit of about twenty minutes, you planned to make every second count. Nothing too crazy. Just the basics. Just enough time to see what all the fuss is about and hopefully learn something new. Smut within books every now and then have been enjoyable to read. Though watching videos of the real thing was sure to feel different than reading words on a page to imagine in your head. 
Quickly, you connected to the protected internet on the television and pulled up what was trending on a major porn channel that was listed first in your search. Without hesitation, the channel offered videos upon videos of explicit content. Your eyes widened and your heart quickened at the crude thumbnails depicting all sorts of actions. A harsh heat reddened your cheeks, embarrassed by what you saw. Yet, you couldn’t look away.
It was fascinating to you how many options there actually were. This was just the first channel you came across too. There seemed to be porn for just about anything. Scrolling through, you felt your blood continue to heat up. A subtle, sweet tingle between your legs began as you examined the thumbnails closer. Most of the videos being offered depicted actors that seemed to be enjoying themselves, job or not.
Did sex really feel that good?
Ensuring that the television was on mute, you opened a video up at random and observed. There was kissing. Deep kissing like the ones you shared with your bodyguard just a few days ago. Things became more hot and heavy once the actors began to strip. 
You gasped at all the touching and groping the stars did to each other. How excited the beautiful woman looked as her partner kissed down her body. Squeezing your thighs tightly together, you tried not to get too swept up in becoming aroused yourself just from watching. 
There was no doubt about it, though. You were getting wet. Your brain was replacing the actors with you and Ghost too. Lightheadedness came over you as your body burned with lust. No wonder why everyone was so obsessed with porn. 
You took a quick glance at the clock and turned the television off, deciding that it was best for you to move to your private bedroom. There was still time before Ghost would come back from his perimeter check, so that meant you had time to calm yourself down before he noticed anything amiss. 
After entering your bedroom and closing the door, you hesitantly slipped your hand down your pants to check yourself.
And of course, you were soaked. 
You knew you shouldn’t be embarrassed since this kind of thing was natural. Taking a deep breath, you moved to the bed to try to relieve yourself before your bodyguard returned. The last thing you wanted was for him to walk in on a sight you wouldn’t be able to explain away.
~
Ghost took a big whiff of fresh air, letting the clean air refresh his brain. His perimeter checks have been mostly for keeping his thoughts straight. It was hard to keep them organized when he was within your sweet presence. However, he still thought about you. Always. Even when he was ensuring your safety like this. 
He glanced at the watch on his wrist, noting the time to add to the report he’s been working on to prove that he wasn’t just lazing around. In fact, he’s been trying to find some work to do whenever he could to ensure he kept a safe distance from you. Keep it professional despite growing closer. Besides that, he didn’t want you to feel awkward about the kiss you shared. 
Thankfully, you seemed to be doing just fine as far as he’s noticed. 
After taking one last look around the countryside, trying to spot anything suspicious, Ghost headed back inside. When he saw that you were absent from the couch, a brief moment of panic set in. It was the sight of the book you were reading, carefully closed and bookmarked on the coffee table, that allowed him to relax. You were probably taking a nap in your room, he figured. 
Taking advantage of the moment, he fixed himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Once his brew was ready, he brought his cup over to the couch. He settled himself down and reached for the remote to watch some news. Life didn’t slow down just because he was out in the middle of nowhere. As soon as the television turned on though, he choked on his drink. 
Someone forgot to exit the channel before turning off the television. 
Ghost was suddenly met with thumbnails upon thumbnails of porn. Nothing telling of your tastes since it was just the trending page, yet it was still a shock to the eyes. He couldn’t help but laugh a little in his surprise. It didn’t take long for him to piece together that you probably weren’t in your room just taking a nap.
Before Ghost switched the channel, though, he looked through the options of explicit videos. He understood that you probably have never seen porn before, so this was another one of your “research” sessions. That’s not what started to bother him.
What started to bother him was the fact that you shouldn’t be getting your sex education from porn. If you wanted to know what it was really like, you could’ve just asked him. He may not have had many partners in his life, but he still knew the real experience. You deserved to know what real, healthy sex was like. Not filmed, directed sex. 
That, and a princess like you should set her standards high when it came to sex. Something Ghost was willing to set for you.
Even if this was wrong, he didn’t care. If the mission was going to end soon and he would have to say goodbye, he wanted to ensure that you would still accept nothing but the best in and outside the bedroom. He wanted to ensure that you would end up with someone that would treat you right.
Someone like him. 
Turning off the television, Ghost abandoned his tea and headed toward your bedroom. He softly knocked on your door and waited, hoping that he didn’t catch you too off guard. 
As soon as you heard the knock, you jumped in fright, leaving you right on the edge of an orgasm that you finally managed to approach. Ghost was back early. You should’ve cared to listen closer to the sound of him coming back in the house. 
You fixed your clothes hastily, cheeks still flushed pink from your solo sexual adventure. Shyly, you opened the door to greet your patient bodyguard. Clearing your throat, you spoke in that usual, refined manner that you trained yourself to use to cover up evidence of inelegance. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“We have something to talk about. May I come in, Princess?” Ghost treaded carefully, not wanting to startle you, but also not wanting to offer an opportunity of complete rejection just yet. You opened the door wider to let him in, your heart and mind racing on what Ghost could possibly need to talk about.
He sat on the edge of your bed and patted the spot next to him. Timidly, you took a seat beside him. The naturally sweet scent of yours almost made Ghost pull you into his lap. It was like he was obsessed with you. It almost unsettled how deeply he fell for you.
Once you seemed comfortable, he began without that careful language he had learned to speak when he was with you. It was better to be himself about this, especially if he wanted to get what he wanted. Straight-forward. “You forgot to reset the TV. I saw what you were looking at when I came back from my perimeter check.”
Your body suddenly heated up as if a wave of fire washed over you. Cheeks turned scarlet and you nearly couldn’t breath. The way he was speaking so bluntly with you caught you off guard as well. Words were trapped in your throat. What does someone say in this situation?!
That gaze of yours that Ghost wanted on him was averted in embarrassment. He couldn’t blame you, but he wasn’t going to let you escape either. He had a standard he had to set for you. 
He took your chin to guide your eyes back on him. By now it felt like your heart was going to give out with how hard it was beating. 
“You really wanna know what sex is like?”
You could have sworn his voice lowered to seduce you. It felt huskier as it echoed in your ears. It was working too. Your mind immediately screamed to say yes, to take what was being offered to you. Though, you stopped yourself from taking the opportunity. This didn’t even feel real. You swallowed down the lump in your throat before speaking. “Lieutenant G-”
“Simon Riley. It’s okay to call me by my real name, Princess. It’s also a simple yes or no. Do you want to know what it’s like? How you should be treated?”
Biting your lip, you thought deeply about this proposal. If you were to say yes, you and Ghost would be crossing so many boundaries that you might not recover from. The kiss was something the both of you were able to seemingly recover from. But that was small compared to sex. 
Especially since you were still a virgin. 
God, did you want him though. You really, really wanted him. You probably wanted him more than anything in your life.
Finally, you justified that you could keep a secret. Ghost certainly could too. You trusted him. Meekly, you gave him the answer he was hoping for. “Y-Yes. Please, be gentle. . .”
Within a blink of an eye, he pulled you into his lap and held you close. Removing the mask revealed a more clear, confident sea within his eyes. “Of course. I’ll teach you everything you want to know.”
His lips pressed firmly against yours, not being able to be apart from you a moment longer. Damn, he’s missed those soft lips of yours. He missed the heat of your body against his. It felt like it’s been ages since the last time you kissed. He felt determined to get his fill before it was too late. 
Your own senses were ignited like fireworks, tingles making its way down all the way to the tips of your fingers that held onto your bodyguard for dear life. Having been left on the edge of orgasm from before made you feel more sensitive than usual too. You felt every inch of his lips, every movement of his hands tracing your curves. It was difficult to suppress all the pleasurable shivers he gave you. 
When he slipped his tongue into your mouth, you moaned, a sharp pleasure traveling down your spine. That only encouraged Simon to take it a step further. Your shirt was raised slightly, giving him enough room to touch your bare skinned hips with his hands. Your skin was soft beyond belief that it drove him wild. 
By now you were struggling to catch your breath, his kisses becoming more intense as he was able to touch you without the barrier of your shirt. He kissed you with such need, passion, and desire that it made your head spin. He ate up every moan that escaped you like it would be the last time he would be able to.
You were gripping his shoulders so tight that your nails dug into his skin. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. It only made him want more. He broke the kiss and went straight to your ear, making sure that your breasts were tightly pressed against his chest. There was no escape for you as he teased your ears with sweet words in that deep baritone voice you grew to love. All while his hands worked to massage your bare waist. 
“You should be kissed passionately like you are the most beautiful woman on this planet. Your partner should take their time to find all your sweet spots too.” Simon advised, his lips grazing your ears as he spoke. 
Your breath got caught in your throat as he told you how much you should be treasured. How soft your skin was underneath his fingertips. How decadent your kisses tasted to the point that he needed more. How your future partner should treat you just like this. 
Finally, he could kiss that neck that he’s been dying to kiss every time you put your hair up. His lips landed on your neck, causing you to tremble as he licked, nipped, and suckled. It was heavenly. Underneath you, you could feel his growing erection pressing into you. Even underneath his jeans, you could tell that he was big. It filled you with a newfound sense of pride that you could arouse someone as serious as your bodyguard. He was attracted to you as much as you were attracted to him. 
Slowly, Simon began to tip you back within his lap, forcing you to hang on to him if you didn’t want to fall. He took advantage of the position, trailing his kisses down to your collarbone and nearing your breasts. His hand supported the curve of your back, gravity allowing him to really feel every shiver that passed through you. 
“They should make you tremble in pleasure just like this. They should want to press their lips against every inch of your skin. They should get excited by giving you pleasure first.” He continued to confess as he nipped at the tops of your breasts. He was driving you crazy with each touch, your cunt dripping wet like he’s been teasing you for hours. 
Suddenly, he swung you around and laid you down onto the bed. Simon hovered over you with a sexy smirk on his face. 
“If you want more, then strip for me, Princess.”
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