#and he probably took this thing to solitary with him

[eleccy]

what happens when klavier and apollo are sorting through kristoph's belongings after his execution and come across an honest-to-god scrapbook, a scrapbook that starts with pictures of kristoph and klavier, the first one being of a young kristoph holding klavier on the day that klavier was born, and subsequent chronological polaroids of the brothers on vacations, on first days of school, on holidays, christmas photos, concerts, birthdays, graduations, and kristoph has meticulously marked dates and locations on every page, and he's freaking decorated every page with colored paper and taped-in ticket stubs and mod podged confetti and he's goddamn DESIGNED this thing, the page with klavier's first concert is marked "a special day!" in neat cursive and it's a pic of them both smiling before everything went straight to shit, and the number of pictures on each page slowly gets more and more sparse, and then there are almost abruptly a few blank pages, and then there are no more pages of kristoph and klavier together. instead now there are pictures of kristoph and apollo at events, social dinners, trials, apollo's graduation, more pictures of apollo and kristoph together smiling at the camera than apollo ever remembers posing for and taking but it looks like he did, and the extra decorations and whatnot are a little more muted, just a little less glamour in them but the same attention to detail as the pages that have klavier, the very last page is apollo and kristoph at a bar association sponsored dinner from april 5, and then the pages stop abruptly for a second time and the rest of the book is completely blank because we know what happened on april 20.

and neither one of them ever fucking knew that he kept this or cared or gave half a shit, but a man who is known to rigorously stalk people who might just somehow be tangentially related to a case that he was tangentially involved with can only treat the people he really loves and cares about in a certain way, given that, and this was like his hobby. this dude was at a craft store on saturday nights picking out matching rick rack and tissue paper and those little zigzag scissors that you use on craft paper and he was telling nobody about it he was just doing it to soothe the demons in his own mind because goddamnit he was proud of those two jokers and he was going to document that shit to look back on if nobody else would. because god knows their parents weren't doing it.

[lucid-loves]

Reader getting kidnapped and tortured for information, when Simon and the team save the reader and take them back to base and Simon helps her recover mentally and physically, Simon swears to protect her at all costs? And they fall in love?! ❤️❤️

Thank you for waiting! 🤍

What a Time To Be Alive

Pairing: Ghost x POW!reader (fem!reader, 141!reader, callsign “Spite”)

Word Count: 13.7k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, angst, violence, scars, blood, wounds, killing, fluff, attraction, one-shot, reader POV and Ghost POV, minors DNI, EXPLICIT SMUT, P in V, passionate kisses, fingering, hickeys, mirror sex, passionate sex, gentleness, compliments, praise

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: You were caught by the enemy during a crucial mission. The 141 team had no choice but to leave you, thinking you were dead already. For a year and a half, you were held prisoner and tortured for information. When the 141 finally gets you back, Ghost volunteers to take care of you during your recovery, having felt responsible for your capture. Both of your feelings blossom into something more as you both realize how much you care about one another. 

You were dead. At least, that’s what everyone thought when they watched you get shot in the head. You didn’t blame them for leaving. You would have probably thought the same thing if it was one of them.

No, you were still alive. The metal plate that doctors put in your head after a bad car accident as a teenager saved your life. You were knocked out cold upon bullet impact, but still very much alive. Not that you were doing well, though. 

With a headache and tired eyes, you looked at your cold, stone wall marked with tally marks for the passing days. 547 days were marked, give or take. There were days where you didn’t wake up so you forgot to mark them. You didn’t wake up until some time after you were captured too. Those days weren’t marked.

Your stomach grumbled, making your body’s ache amplify all over. You couldn’t remember the last time your body didn’t hurt. What was once lean military muscle was now skin and bones. You were constantly hungry for food, a combination of you refusing to eat out of spite and being underserved overcooked rice to the point that it was just mush. 

They kept you weak. Underfed and dehydrated. It was probably a good thing they did because otherwise you would rip your warden apart with your bare hands. 

When you first came to after being captured, you had the honor to meet your warden right away. A man that was on the hit list for the 141, Bill Porakov. but made a surprise appearance at the mission. He was the one that lifted his gun just as everyone was boarding the helicopter to go home. 

It was one of the memories you still remembered so vividly. The dirt kicking up from the ground, the blades whipping around the wind, the look back you happened to give by chance before the gun went off. You saw the aim. You traced it back. And before the bullet could hit him, you had pushed Ghost hard. The last sight you saw of them was Ghost falling forward towards the chopper, the rest of the team that was already grabbing his arms to pull him in. 

You saw the brief expressions he gave you when he looked back. At first, he was annoyed, but it didn’t take long for his annoyance to morph into pure horror as the bullet meant for him hit your skull.

When you awoke, you were strapped to a chair. Your head pounded, you were in your underwear, and you were meeting your warden. 

No matter what he did, you never talked. Even when he cut your skin with knives. Even when he dislocated your jaw with a hammer. Even when he took your pinkie finger and a few of your teeth, you never talked. All you did was give a human snarl, angry firecrackers in your eyes.  

It wasn’t until the third month when he realized that nothing was going to make you talk that he switched tactics to solitary confinement. He came by every now and then to try physical torture again. Waterboarding, electric shock. 

It felt like he did it more so for fun than to fish information out of you after a certain point. 

You snapped to attention when you heard whispers down the hall. A few guards were whispering to each other. Trying to ignore the pain of your body, you attempted to eavesdrop. 

“-said to be extra careful today. Maintenance work will have the cameras down for a little bit.”

“Like anything is gonna happen. Her brain is too scrambled to do anything. You know what she did last week?”

“What?”

“She threw her food out. Managed to sling the bowl through the bars and shattered the thing. Then, she just sat in the corner. Didn’t even realize that the food she got was actually good that day. The bitch is paranoid and out of it. One too many things to that thick skull of hers.”

“Damn, really? When do think the warden is gonna let her go now that she’s fucked in the head?”

“Probably never. After that incident was reported, he just shrugged. Said she was still a prize, even starving.”

As the guards approached your cell, you pretended that you were asleep. It wasn’t hard to do since you often found yourself pretending to be asleep to avoid guard confrontation. When you heard the sound of your cell door unlocking and opening, you stirred as if just becoming awake. 

“Dinner. Don’t make me clean your mess like last week.”

You slowly got up and limped towards the silver tray, your porcelain dishware exchanged for silver since last week. 

You threw the food against the wall last week because it looked good. Too good. You did get paranoid and thought it was poisoned. A last meal. You didn’t care if it made you look crazy. In fact, you liked how they thought you went crazy. They would underestimate you, especially now that the time was right for your plan. 

On your tray was the usual mush of rice mixed together with cut deli meat. The smallest amount of protein and carbs that would make the grumbling stop, but your body still weak. 

Slowly, you ate, trying to ignore the fact that you had to eat with your fingers that were covered in sweat and dirt. They only let you take a cold shower once a month. One that only lasted thirty seconds. 

God, you hoped that today really would be the day you could start your plans of escape. 

“Prison Fight in Cell Block D! Personnel in Cell Block E and F report to Cell Block D immediately!” a strong voice announced over the speakers just as one of the guards was relocking your cell. They both sighed, but then hurried out to see what the commotion was. 

Except, they forgot to lock your door properly. You’ve gotten used to all the sounds of the prison like a pattern. The sound of your cell door locking was a familiar that never missed, until today. Waiting a few minutes, you made sure that the guards were gone and busy. If this was going to work, you had to be careful. Play your cards right.

You were lucky that you were Cell Block F’s only prisoner. 

Slowly, you pushed the door to avoid the whining creak it always gave. Slipping through, you could feel your hands shake and your head spin. Jesus, you were in bad shape. This was the most amount of moving you had done in a while. 

Carefully, you headed down the hall toward the front desk of the block. Luck really was on your side today. As you peeked through the door window, you noticed that there was no one manning the desk. All that was left was a radio, a cell phone, a transmitter, a computer, and walkie talkies on chargers. You pushed the door open, the task taking more effort than it should have, and you picked up the phone. 

Dialing the secret number you knew by heart, you prayed that it would go through. It rang several times before you reached a voicemail prompt. You nearly wept when you heard Kate’s voice asking you to leave a message. You missed her.

Your voice cracked as you tried to summon it. It’s been a long time since you’ve used it for talking. Nowadays you’ve only used it for screaming. It was hoarse and broken. It hurt to speak. “Th-This is Spite. 5286. I’ve been a prisoner all this time. I-I don’t know where. I haven’t seen the light of day. . .”

“Please, bring me home. If that can’t happen. . .”

You swallowed hard and thought about your next words carefully. “I will hold out for two weeks. If no one comes for me, then I will take my own life by taking Bill Porakov’s life. I won’t go to the other side empty handed.”

Leaving the message at that, you hung up, erased the call history, and cautiously retreated back to your cell. Crawling into your concrete slab of a bed, you curled up and closed your eyes. You felt your cheeks become wet as you now waited for someone or no one to help you. 

Just before you began to drift off. You heard sounds coming down your hallway again. Heavy footsteps that identified your visitor. The warden. 

You felt his eyes on you, sizing you up in the corner of your cell. When he attempted to unlock the door, he noticed that it was unlocked already. Instead of becoming angry at his employees, he simply began to laugh. The other guards nervously began to join in. “Unlocked door and still a stationary prisoner. Have you lost hope finally? Good. It’ll make taming you a lot easier.”

~

The 141 team was getting out of a meeting. A boring one. One that went over statistics and facts about their own work that nearly put them to sleep. They never really cared about their accomplishments or results from a numbers perspective. Besides that, all the accomplishments they made nowadays felt tasteless. Ever since you died, all of their success never felt as good as before. 

The team was quiet, walking through base together under a bright afternoon sun. Soap was the first to speak in that thick Scottish accent of his. “How about the bar tonight, lads? I could go for a drink.”

There was no answer for a moment, everyone hesitant to accept the offer. The last time they went out to the usual bar, they did have a good time. Until Ghost glanced over at what used to be your chair. He always did that when he went out to the bar. When he noticed the absence, everybody else did too. 

Ghost took your death the hardest. You gave your life to save his. It was a debt that he could never repay. Besides that, you were one of the best of them. The wittiest sense of humor, the most encouraging and supportive in and outside the battlefield. The best cook too when you were sick of the base’s cafeteria food. 

Drinking only made him forget about you for a short while, but it was always an offer he took up when he was invited out to the bar. “Sure, Johnny.”

“Count me in then too.” Gaz chimed in. Price nodded as well, the both of them having had formulated a plan for the next bar outing. Something that would hopefully bring all of them a little more closure, especially Ghost. 

They were going to propose a memorial. They held one a week after you died, yet it didn’t feel quite right. It was too formal. Too stiff. It was organized by the military. Ghost didn’t even go. They needed to organize one themselves. One that you would approve of better.

They just had to make sure Ghost would attend. A discussion that would be saved for the bar tonight.

Just before Soap could open his mouth to say something, Price spotted Kate running full speed towards them, tears streaming down her face. She was shaking and breathing so hard that it looked like she was close to a panic attack. 

“Kate?! What’s wrong? What happened?” Price already began to ask, the team ready to spring into action. 

She took a few deep breaths, working up the courage to reveal the truth that almost had her faint when she first heard it. “S-Spite. . . She’s alive. . . She’s alive!”

Ghost felt his heart drop. His blood ran contradictory temperatures. Hot and cold. His breath was stuck in his lungs. He lost color under his mask. Then, he clenched his teeth. No, this couldn’t be true. You got shot in the head. There was no way you could have survived that.

“Are you sure Kate? How do you know?” Price calmly tried to reason, not wanting to hold out for false hope either.

Laswell just nodded and opened her phone. In a single tap, your voice came out broken but alive. 

The team was frozen as they listened to your cry for help followed by your fearless determination. If they had any doubts before that it was really you, those doubts no longer existed as you said something only you would say. That you wouldn’t die empty handed. 

“Spite. . . you spiteful bastard. . .” Soap choked, not afraid to shed a tear. 

Kate put her phone back in her pocket and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ll have my people trace the call back to the location.”

Price nodded before turning to his men. “Gear up! We got a soldier to save!”

As soon as the order was given, Ghost left the group to go to his room in the barracks. He had to pack. His mind was racing as he began taking a few extra socks from his dresser. He could hardly believe it. You were alive. You, the person always on his mind even after all this time had passed, was still living. 

He couldn’t imagine the shit you were going through. And he felt like it was his fault.

No matter what, he promised himself, he would bring you back home. Even if it cost him his life this time. 

~

You didn’t know how many days had passed. Porakov took you out of your solitary cell to keep in a new prison located in his office. It was a beautiful office with fresh flowers, polished furniture, and a white carpet. In your new cell, a modern door that needed keycard access locked you in the room. The room was all white except for one wall made out of bullet-proof glass for Porakov’s viewing pleasure. 

Somehow, you missed your old cell. 

As you sat in the corner of your new room, you watched Porakov through the glass. He was chatting with someone new. Someone that looked out of place with their white coat and round glasses. A doctor perhaps?

Your captor finally looked at you, making your skin crawl. He gave a malicious grin like a wolf that trapped its prey. The stranger looked at you too, a curious quirk in his brow.

They approached your door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. You kept to the corner, shrinking yourself as much as you could. “Well? What do you think? Can you do it?”

The doctor examined you further, adjusting his glasses on his face. “I think so. It’s going to take some time, though. Can you have this room ready for me within two hours with everything I need?”

“We actually have everything ready to roll out.” The warden smirked before leaning into his walkie talkie and summoning workers to bring out rolling tables of medical equipment into the room. 

You watched with steel eyes as they set the room up with all the medical equipment. A metal slab as if it came from a vet’s room took up the center. Microchips, a bonesaw, scalpels, and tweezers decorated the various trays. It took nearly no time at all to get whatever torture method Porakov planned set up. 

The doctor began to sanitize his hands. “Such diligence isn’t even demonstrated in regular hospitals.”

“This is a special day.” Your captor responded before leaving the room only to watch behind the glass. As the doctor approached, you braced yourself like a cornered wild animal. 

The doctor eased back, treating you as such. “It’s alright. I’m going to fix you up. Make you feel better. You want that, don’t you? I know you’ve been in pain for a long time.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You simply warned, refusing to believe a single word he said. If he was working for Porakov, that was enough of a reason not to trust him. No self-respecting doctor would even entertain the idea of working for a vile man like him. 

The doctor frowned at your disobedience. “If you fight this, it’s going to hurt way more.”

As his hand inched closer to you, you sprung forward and attempted to bite. He pulled back just in time before you could bite a finger off. He cursed and turned to the glass. “You said she was broken!”

“Seems like she still has a little fight left in her. Apologies, doctor. It’s okay if you have to be rough with her. Teach her who’s boss.” The warden simply encouraged.

With a sigh, he revealed a small gun strapped to his belt. It wasn’t a regular gun. It was a tranquilizer gun. Realizing what was about to happen, you tried to get to your feet as quickly as you could, but it was too late. Your lack of proper body care made you lose your balance. A sharp pain hit your shoulder, a dart sticking out of you. Your vision already began to haze over, your body feeling heavier than ever before. Whatever was in the tranquilizer was enough to make you ragdoll, but not enough to put you to sleep. 

They wanted you awake for this.

Your limp body was lifted onto the table, giving Porakov a clear view of the show that was about to begin. 

It felt like you were beginning to disassociate. Tears escaped as you wished that you were dead instead of being here. Being treated like a rabid animal and a personal show made you sick. Dying alone in your cell would be better than this. 

Something caught Porakov’s attention for a moment. He seemed to be yelling at someone. It looked urgent. Before he left to handle business, he told the doctor to continue his work.

The doctor simply shrugged and focused back on you. He took a scalpel and began to make an incision along the palm of your hand. You felt the chill of the blade meet your hot blood, nerves going off as if you were touching a hot stove. You hissed and groaned at the pain, refusing to give him anymore than this if you could help it. 

But then, he began to dig around under your skin using the tweezers, shredding nerves and muscles like pulling apart thread. As he pinched your nerves directly, you screamed. A bloodcurdling scream that ripped apart your vocal chords. 

Ignoring your cries, he took a microchip and settled it between your flesh. It suddenly clicked for you. He was rewiring you. Finding your nerves like hidden wires to connect to microchips that were programmed to do god knows what to your body. 

Your mind went berserk, screaming at you to get out of there. To fight back. Adrenaline fought tranquilizer for control as your hand was being ripped apart from the inside. Your heart beated within your ears as you find the energy to grab a spare scalpel from the tray and swipe it along the doctor’s neck, letting gravity and momentum carry out your attack.

You heard the sound of him choking on blood, his tools clattering to the floor as he struggled to get his bleeding under control. Rolling off the table, you hit the ground hard with your hip. The breath that was knocked out of you made your head spin. You used to take most pain like a champ. Now, everything felt like your were getting hit by a truck. 

It didn’t stop you from trying to reorientate yourself, your bleeding, open hand clutching your head. When you finally managed to stand back up, the doctor was staggering to get out of the room. Taking advantage of his state of weakness, you took the bonesaw and prepared to ruin his hand like he tried to do to yours.

The doctor stumbled onto the pristine carpet of Porakov, staining it with his blood. As you got closer with the saw, his gurgles became more strained. Begging for mercy. Adrenaline was kicking in full swing now as you became engulfed in rageful flames. You took a flower vase to your left and threw it, hitting him square in the knees. While he was knocked down, you stepped on one of his wrists.

He had no choice but to take it unless he wanted to bleed out, his other hand still holding the wound. Without remorse, you began sawing off his left hand. Within a few seconds, you didn’t even hear the strained mixture of gurgles and screams anymore. You didn’t hear anything anymore as you just sawed away, taking out your time of suffering out on someone you thought deserved to die.

By the time the hand was detached, the doctor was already long gone. Your hands were shaking and you were exhausted. Everything was still mute, the sound of your heavy breath taking over your ears. 

It was the smell of gunpowder that snapped your attention to the exit. It was an undeniable scent. Something big was going on. Perhaps you were finally getting rescued.

You took a step towards the door before stopping altogether, the door suddenly slammed open to reveal a bloody, panicked Porakov. He clutched his side that was staining his uniform in blood. The strap he usually carried was missing. 

Adrenaline came rushing back as you were presented with your chance for revenge. Your step forward brought his attention to you. His eyes widened in fear. The animal was out of her cage. 

Behind him, heavy footsteps approached. The door slammed open again, this time revealing a face that you never thought you’d get to see again. Blue eyes behind a dark skull. Your heart almost collapsed in on itself as you took him in. Even with the black paint around his eyes, you could tell that he was tired despite the rage. 

Most of his anger melted away as Ghost saw you. Dehydrated and malnourished beyond belief. Bloody and sunken in. Eyes full of a mix of emotions that he wished he could ask about.

You looked back at your warden, shaking in his boots like a coward. This pathetic man that tortured you to the point of such weakness was now silently praying for mercy. 

“Hold him down for me.” You ordered Ghost, your voice darker than the depths of the ocean. 

He didn’t think you should be exerting yourself over anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny your order. You needed this. He wanted to give it to you.

A bullet hit Porakov’s knee, making sure he wouldn’t struggle too much for what you were about to do. As he screamed, Ghost settled himself in his office chair, tying him down with some spare duct tape he always kept on him. 

You approached the desk, steadying yourself with your hands. Your left hand was beginning to feel numb by the second, nerves shredded like old newspaper after using both hands to work the saw. Your right hand was missing your pinkie finger. 

“I’m going to make you wish you’ve never been born.” You simply stated, taking back up the bonesaw. Ghost silently watched you bring the serrated blades down on Porakov’s fingers, amazed that your desire for revenge was enough to give your body energy. He supposed that that was one of the things he missed about you. Your unwavering determination to see something through. 

For this, you made sure to tune in in order to hear all the cries your warden had as you took all of his fingers. It was a sound you dreamed of hearing. This moment was what you’ve been waiting for. 

Yet, your heart seemed to remain empty as you watched his fingers fall to the rug. You didn’t stop until all of his fingers were gone, but it all still felt so hollow. You thought if you could get your revenge, you would get your closure. So why wasn’t this as enjoyable as you thought it would be?

Sobs filled the space when you were done. The man you resented shriveled in his seat as he wept for his lost body parts. You clenched your jaw, feeling yourself fill with a cold, angry flame. “Lock him in the cell over there.”

“Wh-What?! Y-You can’t! What about food and water?!” He began to shout, squirming in his chair as Ghost rolled him into the cell. You were lucky that he couldn’t care less about doing the military-right thing. To both of you, this was the right thing to do.

“You are going to die cold, sad, and alone in that cell. I’ll guarantee it.” You promised, watching Ghost situate him in the far corner. He noticed the medical tools scattered around along with the metal medical table. The thought of you strapped down, screaming and losing pieces of your life with each cut made him want to beat the shit out of Porakov. But, it wasn’t what you wanted for him. 

He left and closed the room before giving you space to lock it. As the both of you looked through the glass, taking one last sight of Porkav, you said your final goodbye. “Fuck you, Warden.”

Ghost followed behind as you began to leave, your adrenaline dying back down much faster than you expected. You were downright lethargic when you closed the door to the office, locking it behind you. “Break that shit. Make sure it will be locked for good.”

“Spi-”

“Now, Simon!” You snapped, not meaning to take your pain out on him. In response, he bit his tongue and followed your order. He just wished he could hear you call his name without so much hurt behind it.

As you heard him break the locking mechanism, you leaned against the wall, your vision swirling. Everything began to get hazy and dark, something pulling you into either death or sleep. You couldn’t fight it this time, your body exhausted from all the fighting you’ve spent months doing. 

Ghost turned around as soon as he heard your body hit the floor, out cold. “Spite? Y/n?!”

He took you up in his arms and felt your pulse. Slow, but alive. He didn’t know where your blood began and enemy blood ended. You were so much lighter than what he remembered too.

It should’ve been him to get caught.

Carrying you in his arms, he radioed for evac. This time, you would get on that helicopter and be taken home, safe and sound. He would make sure of it.

~

You didn’t wake up for a while. A long while. By the time you did, you were a fraction into recovering from surgeries already. They fixed up your hand as best the doctors could, they got you on IVs and nourishment. They even had a dentist come in to replace any missing teeth. 

The only thing they couldn’t fix or replace was your pinkie finger. That was something you had to live with for the rest of your life now. A constant reminder of what happened. At least you could wear certain clothes to cover up your numerous scars. It was impossible to comfortably hide a missing finger. 

Ghost never left your room. Everyone took turns visiting you, even in your unconscious state. He stayed, though, the entire time. 

He did everything for you that the nurses couldn’t. Making sure you were comfortable with blankets and pillow changes, making sure you had fresh flowers in your hospital room. He even played music he knew you liked, just in case you could somehow hear the world around you. 

Anything to make up for being the one to take his bullet, he would do.

It was a sight for sore eyes when you finally opened them and saw him. Your throat was parched and sore, but you still spoke out to get his attention from a book he was reading. “Ghost?”

“Spite.” He immediately looked up. Jesus, you could cry. In fact, you did start to cry. 

Tears began to travel down your cheeks. “I. . . I thought I’d never see you again. . .”

He took your right hand in his, a gesture that he has never done before, but not unwelcome. His hand was large, warm, and. . . perfect. “Me too, dove. We thought we lost you.”

“I did get shot in the head.” You justified, already trying to bring some easiness back with some dark humor. 

Ghost missed your humor so much. It was easy to match. “You’ll have to show me how to do that party trick.”

You gave a short snicker. “You just gotta get a metal plate installed in your head. Wouldn’t recommend it, though. Hurts like hell.”

He finally gave a laugh, the first time since he lost you. Squeezing your hand tighter, he prepared the words that he actually wanted to say for when you woke up. “You took that bullet for me. It should have been me, but you took it. I-”

You interrupted him, already knowing where this was going. “Stop. You would’ve done the same for any of us. That’s what it means to trust each other with our lives. You don’t owe me shit for it, okay?”

Before Ghost could reply, the door to your hospital room opened. Your nurse stepped in with some new IV bags and blankets. She was taken aback as she noticed that you were awake. It didn’t take long for the doctor to rush in and for Ghost to get kicked out. 

While he waited, he contacted the team to let them know that you were finally awake. They wasted no time in rushing over to see how you were doing, eager to see who they thought was dead. As soon as the doctor gave them the all clear, you were bombarded with the affection of your team. 

For a moment, it made you forget about the horrors of your capture. 

The fun was spoiled when the doctor came back into the room. The immediate question on everyone’s mind was regarding your stay.

“How long until I can get discharged?” You asked, eager to go back home without thinking too much about it. After the words left your mouth though, you realized that you probably didn’t have a home to go back to. Shit, all of your stuff was probably gone since you were declared dead. . . 

“If everything goes smoothly, we can send you out tomorrow. However, you’ll need a lot of time to recover. We’re going to recommend physical therapy, some new medications, and a therapy recommendation. What you went through is something you should process with time. Do you have anyone that could help take care of you at home?”

You became silent and bit your lip. Before you were assumed to be dead, you didn’t really get along with your family. Knowing your family, they probably rejoiced over your death before immediately going over your will. You would’ve loved to be a fly on that wall. 

And now that you were apparently still alive, you wondered how they would respond to asking for your stuff back. That was going to be something.

With no family, no home, and a list of things to do now that you were back, you began to get a headache. Just as you were about to explain the situation, though, Ghost chimed up.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Your eyes widened at the idea of Ghost being by your side for essentially twenty-four hours a day. “I already told you that you don’t owe me shit.”

He shook his head. “I’m not volunteering because of guilt.”

Now Price was the one to speak up. “It won’t have to be all on Ghost. We can take turns visiting and keeping an eye on you. Hell, we’ll take care of the hard tasks too while you recover.”

Feeling your headache become stronger triggered by new stress, you give up quickly. You were too tired to argue. “Fine.”

“Great! We’ll continue to monitor you and ensure you’ll be ready for discharge soon.”

~

You awkwardly waited in Ghost’s car as he prepared your wheelchair. Your legs were weak, but not unusable. For a brief moment, you argued with him about using a cane to help you walk. He was pretty insistent that you still took it very easy to the point that it was hard to say no.

Once he opened your car door, you got into the chair and looked up at the tall apartment complex. You wondered which floor was Ghost’s as he wheeled you in. 

“You’ll be using my room while I sleep on the pullout couch. If you need help getting around anywhere, just ask. Price and Kate will visit later to discuss some options.” He explained as if he was going through a checklist. 

“Options?”

He shrugged. “Job options. Living options.”

As he pushed you into the elevator, you began to panic. Job options? Did they intend on letting you go? Yeah, you were pretty fucked at the moment, but you just needed some time to get back in shape. You really don’t want to lose your job. Despite everything that happened, you still wanted to be part of the team. 

With each ding of the elevator indicating a passing floor, you got more and more nervous. Ghost looked down at you, noticing how hard you were gripping your seat. His eyes couldn’t help but notice your missing finger on one hand and limp strength for the other. A sting in his chest had him look away.

He wasn’t letting you live with him out of guilt, but he was still sorry that this happened to you.

The elevator doors finally opened on the highest floor, revealing a long hallway leading to only a few doors. At the farthest end of the corridor, Ghost reached the apartment. A blast of refreshing A/C hit your senses first. The further he wheeled you in, the more you began to notice more.

His whole place was tidy and organized, a fact that contradicted what you remember about him. From what you remember, the guy was a mess. His desk at work was always crowded with paperwork, empty mugs of tea, and sticky notes meant to remind him on what to do next. 

The sweet smell of pipe tobacco and vanilla spread across the environment, a few plug-in air fresheners scattered around. It made your anxiety melt as you became more familiar with the scent you used to smell everyday on Ghost. 

He parked you near his polished dining table and placed a laptop in front of you. Your old laptop. “I’m gonna get some lunch started. I figure that you want some time to see what you missed?”

You nodded and booted up the laptop with your better hand. Your hand with damaged nerves needed some therapy focus before it could be fully functional again. “Thanks, Ghost. I appreciate this.”

“Of course.” He responded as he wandered off into his kitchen. A little window viewing the dining room allowed him to monitor you while he cooked. As we figured out what to make, he stared at you from a distance.

Color was returning back to your face. You were still light, but he would put some meat back on those bones soon. There was a shine back in your eyes that brought him back to those fun nights at the bar with you. He remembered your smile, your laugh, your gaze.

He remembered how you used to talk about cooking, one of your favorite things to do, whenever he had a moment alone with you. It was one of the things that made you light up. Ghost would sit there for hours, listening to you talk about what you’ve made, what you want to make, a new technique you want to try, how you should be in charge of the mess hall.

Deciding lunch, he shifted his focus on cooking, already predicting that it wasn’t going to be half as good as your cooking.

While you heard the sound of pots and pans clanging together, your hands ached. There was a phantom knife in your hand, waiting to start chopping vegetables that didn’t exist. For a moment, you willed your hands to move like you were entering prep-mode. 

Your wrist quickly gave out within a few motions of pretend chopping. Not to mention that your left hand refused to curl your fingers in right. 

When will you be able to cook like you did again?

When will everything feel normal again?

The knock on the door snapped you out of your pity party. Ghost answered it and directed Price and Kate to you, as promised. Kate gave you a pearly smile and Price gave you a warm pat on the shoulder. 

They took their seats and then immediately dived into the grit. Ghost eavesdropped from the kitchen. “We don’t want to bullshit you, Spite. There are a lot of things that need to happen before you can return to your job. We can’t even give you desk duty until you do a few things first.”

You crossed your arms over her chest, not liking where this was going. “Like what?”

Kate passed over a manilla folder containing various paperwork sheets and tests. “First, we would need to interview you. Ask you about what happened while you were imprisoned.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “You wanna know if I opened my mouth about anything.”

“We know you didn’t and you never would. A team sent with us when we came to rescue you collected whatever evidence and intel they could get their hands on. They found recordings of your interrogations. We’re going through them now to make sure you kept certain things confidential.” Price reassured, already sensing that you were beginning to stress out.

You understood why it had to be done. It just made you sick to your stomach that your torture was being looked at solely for the purpose of checking to see if you were a good soldier. “Who’s reviewing the recordings?”

“Professionals. But they want your testimony too.” Kate vaguely elaborated, trying to move past this already.

You didn’t let up, though. Instead, you asked for something that shocked the both of them. Even Ghost who was chopping onions paused mid-cut. “Can I choose someone from the team to review them instead?”

“Why would you want that?”

“I don’t want a couple of strangers viewing something as intimate as my torture. I would rather have someone I know I can trust see those recordings.” You justified, not thinking much about the weight of that request. 

Kate and Price looked between each other, silently debating on if they should honor your request. There was a concern of conflict of interest, but then again, the 141 got a few special privileges. Price cleared his throat. “Who would you want to see the recordings?”

The obvious answer should have been Kate, but it wasn’t. In fact, you really didn’t want Kate to look at any part of your torture. You didn’t even think she could stomach it. She was capable and tough like the rest of you, but she worked more from the shadows to save her from horrendous bloodshed. 

There were only three people that you felt like could handle it. Price, Ghost, and yourself. Like hell they were going to let you see your own footage though. “Would you and Ghost mind?”

Price gave it some deep thought before nodding. “I can do it if that’s what you want. Ghost?”

Ghost wasn’t surprised that Price knew he was eavesdropping. “I’ll do it.”

Kate immediately closed that part of the conversation. “Well that’s that. Next, we have to retest you in multiple areas. Physical, mental, shooting range, the whole works. Some of the intelligence based tests can be done sooner, but the rest will have to wait until you are physically fit again.”

“That could take weeks.” You grumbled, already getting impatient with your recovery process. 

“We have time. Outside of work tasks, anything that should take priority in your personal life. Besides the basics, of course.” Price switched topics, hoping that will brighten your mood a little. 

You did like bossing them around when you had the chance. With a smirk, you began rattling off all the things you needed them to do for you. “Contact my lawyer and family. Gotta get that sorted out and hopefully get some stuff back if my folks haven’t tossed anything out yet. And if I don’t have to be the one to do it, the better. That’s probably the first major errand. Most of the other things will have to wait until the basics are done.”

“I do want my favorite brand of coffee here. Sorry, Ghost, but your coffee is shit.” You spoke a little louder, making sure that Ghost could hear you. Doing so made your throat already feel sore, but it was worth it when you got to here a chuckle back.

“Tell me how you really feel.” He smiled beneath the mask as he pushed the diced veggies into a large pot filled with chicken stock. The aroma of chicken soup was making you salivate. 

Kate and Price eased up from your humor too as they added your coffee request to their list. After a few more minutes of chatter, they said goodbye so you could enjoy lunch. It was a good thing too because you were hungry and your voice was getting sore.

Ghost finished up the simple chicken noodle soup. Carrots, onions, celery, leftover shredded chicken melded together in a stock that was sure to be nutritious yet easy on your recovering stomach. When he served you a bowl, you nearly cried at how good it looked. 

With a shaky hand, you lifted your spoon and took a taste. Before you knew it, you began to silently cry. Ghost, who returned to the table with his own bowl, began to panic at your tears. “It doesn’t taste good?”

“This is the best meal I’ve ever had.” You sobbed, recalling all of the shitty, bland food and starvation you had to deal with. To you, this simple chicken soup was heaven on earth. 

Ghost didn’t know what to say, think, or feel for a moment. He didn’t expect such high praise, even if your reasoning was something he could guess. He settled for a proud, simple response. “Thanks. Take your time.”

Silently, you ate, savoring every ounce of flavor that graced your tastebuds. The egg noodles were perfectly al dente, the carrots were tender, and the chicken pieces were easy to swallow. Miraculously, it sparked a deep hunger for more food. But, you still needed to take it easy. If you ate the portion size you did before capture now, you would lose such a delicious lunch. 

“Why did you choose me to review your footage?” Ghost suddenly asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He was content with watching you eat so gratefully, yet the memories of the conversation before lunch still haunted him.

Your hand stopped moving the spoon within the bowl. You didn’t expect him to ask something like that. Normally, he just followed orders. “I think you would handle seeing it better than others. Not gonna lie, there is probably some gnarly stuff on those tapes.”

His stomach twisted into knots at the mention. He would still do this for you, of course, but he probably wasn’t going to be as strong as you thought he was about it.

 It was your torture after all. 

~

Adjustment was going smoothly. There were some hiccups here and there, but you soon got used to Ghost taking care of you. He got used to relinquishing more control over to you as well. You quickly graduated to only needing a walking cane occasionally thanks to your dedication to physical therapy. Your hands needed more work, but at least you could get around the apartment with ease. 

When you earned your achievement of free walking, you got more bossy and impatient. It was something Ghost was able to handle it since you delivered it with humor and hard work, but he soon began to notice dips in your mood here and there. 

He has been adamant about sleeping on the couch while you took his room. Since you began walking, you have tried to change that sleeping arrangement to no avail. Everytime you looked at the couch, a brief flash of guilt went over your face. 

He would catch you looking at your hands a lot, willing them to do more than just twitch and shake. Your brow would furrow in frustration when you practiced holding different movements and weights. Occasionally, you would hiss from pain as you tried to force progress. It became routine for him to end up holding your hands to make sure you gave yourself a break. 

The other issue that was hard to resolve was your night terrors. Ghost thought his nightmares were bad, but they seemed like nothing compared to how you would scream in the middle of the night. It would always startle him awake. He would always rush to the door to calm you down. You would always tremble and cry in his arms. 

You couldn’t go back to sleep unless Ghost was with you, his arms tight around your body and holding you close to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat became a lullaby that always made you regain your breathing.

The more he took care of you, the more he began to notice things about you. He was getting closer to you than ever before as he spent time with you every day. Sure, he was looking out for you, but it didn’t feel like a chore. Having you live with him became such a natural sight to him. It was like you always belonged there. 

So it really unnerved him when he was finally called to review your footage. 

You said goodbye to him when he left for base. For the first time, you were alone. Ghost gave you strict instructions to take it easy, forbidding you from certain activities while he was gone. However, you paid no mind to his warning, eager to normalize your life even more. 

The feeling of the chef’s knife in your palm was a familiar weight that brought back so many memories. You had been wanting to get back into cooking earlier, but Ghost always scolded you and said you weren’t ready yet. 

You planned on proving him wrong by cooking dinner for tonight. Something simple and comforting. Pasta with a homemade sauce. 

Your dreams felt like they were shattering as you struggled to open the tomato can with the opener though. The strength it took made your hands ache almost immediately. Having the strength to push the weight of the blade down into the garlic was agony too. Even with a sharp knife, you were having such a hard time doing what was meant to be easy.

Only thirty minutes had passed after Ghost left when you ended up lying on the kitchen floor, crying for your hands to work again and for a life you lost. 

Meanwhile, Ghost was just arriving on base. He wondered if you were doing alright. He hoped you weren’t pushing yourself while he was gone. Damn, he should’ve asked Gaz or Soap to watch you. He didn’t want to treat you like a child, but he knew you well enough that you were probably doing something you weren’t supposed to. 

That’s how you got your call sign in the first place. 

“Lieutenant Ghost, you ready?” Price ushered him into a secured, private room. Soundproof, dark, and void of any windows. Various tapes sat on a table next to a small TV. Ghost grabbed a chair and settled in, trying to relax as much as he can. 

“Pay attention, try to stay unbiased, and keep this confidential. We can only talk about this with each other, Spite, and the investigation leaders.” Price ordered like a captain. Resolute and sharp. Despite the confidence in his voice, your captain was afraid. He didn’t want to see one of his best sergeants get tortured. 

Ghost was trying to steel himself for it too. “Yes, Captain.”

With that, Price hit play and took the small seat next to Ghost. The footage began with the first day you were captured. You were stirring unconscious, strapped to a chair, and bleeding out of the side of your head where you got shot. The scene already had Ghost simmering with rage and sorrow.

He watched as you woke up, met your warden, and then immediately took a molar from you with swift punches to the jaw. He watched you spit the blood back in his face, growl threats he could never repeat, and then have your knees shattered with a sledgehammer. 

It was clear that it hurt. That it was agony. The way your lungs gasped for air. The way you bit back your screams only to echo within your throat. The way you lost consciousness for a moment only to wake up from immense pain as they cut you. 

And yet, you didn’t say a word. You never mentioned your name. Never revealed who you were with and why. You didn’t let anything get past your locked lips.

Porakov punished your resilience with more torture. Ten minutes in and it was already getting too much for Ghost to handle. How could anyone survive this? How did you? 

His stomach turned as he watched the day you lost your pinkie finger. You were getting noticeably weaker and skinnier with each new day on the tape. Your knee was still healing. Porakov only took advantage of this as he pushed you around. 

None of his questions got answers. Not a single one. Not even when the gardening shears pinched around your delicate finger. 

Ghost almost threw up when he witnessed the final cut. You screamed, but you didn’t cry. You never did. At least, not in front of Porakov. It wasn’t until everyone left you in the cell that you let your pain turn into tears. And it absolutely broke his heart.

Feeling lightheaded, Ghost began to reach for the pause button on the TV. Price beat him to it, though. “I think that’s enough for today. Thought I could sit through what I allotted for this, but this is hard to watch. Even for me. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

After scheduling the next time to watch more footage, Ghost rushed back to his car to drive home. How could he have left you home by yourself after everything that’s been done to you?! You stayed optimistic and humorous most of the time, but there was no way you were really okay. No one would be okay if they went through what you went through.

There was still months of footage left to sift through.

Not caring about the risks of getting pulled over, Ghost sped along the highway leading back home. He began trying to call you, hoping that your new phone that the team got you was working fine. 

When you didn’t answer, he tried again, the pit in his soul becoming darker and bigger. He shouldn’t have left you home alone. 

He stopped trying after the tenth calling attempt. Instead, he focused on speeding faster. He got back to the apartment within record time. When he slammed the door open, he began looking for you.

His terror amplified as he found you on the kitchen floor, knife laying next to you and dinner prep unfinished. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were staring off into the distance. The light in your eyes was gone. Just like the day you ordered for your warden to be killed.

You didn’t remember when the panic attack started. Somewhere in the middle of your grief perhaps. It completely crippled you. Plunged you into such a horrible memory that you were desperately trying to forget. Your breath was stolen and your heart ached as if you pushed a knife into it. 

Afterwards, you dissociated. You couldn’t register the cold tiles beneath you. You couldn’t remember what you were doing in the first place. You didn’t even hear your phone go off or Ghost rushing into the house. 

Warmth stirred you back to the land of the living, Ghost’s arms wrapping tight around you. An unfamiliar sensation buried into the crook of your neck. The feeling of light stubble and shaky breaths. It was then that you realized that he had taken off his mask to bury his face into you. 

Slowly, you wrapped your sore arms around his broad shoulders. The natural, sweet scent of you just made him feel the need to hold you tighter. Closer. 

He never wanted to leave your side again. 

“Is this hug for me? Or for you?” You half-joked, returning to your usual self with a sore voice. 

His shoulders relaxed as he heard your question. Relief soon morphed into anger as he realized that you tried to do without him there. It was hard for him to keep his voice from rising. “I told you to take it easy. I thought something happened to you.”

You flinched back, not expecting to be scolded so soon. “I just thought-”

“The only thoughts you should be having is about recovering.” He pulled back from the hug, allowing you to really see his face up close. 

You had only seen his face a couple of times before your capture. You had served with the 141 for under a year, so it made sense why you didn’t get to see it often. But now that you could really get a good look, your heart skipped a beat and a blush slowly crept along your cheeks. 

His eyes were much brighter without the mask already. Flecks of black warpaint revealed blond lashes that matched his light locks. His jaw looked like it was carved from quartz and a few scars only gave character to his strong features. 

Fuck, your old, childish crush on him was beginning to resurface at the worst possible moment.

You swallowed hard and averted your gaze. The hammering of your heart made it hard to figure out what to say next. “Sorry. . .”

Ghost gave a deep sigh, raking a large hand through his hair. Seeing the guilt in your eyes made him feel like he fucked up. He shouldn’t be making you feel like this. “No, Spite. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Not only that, but seeing your tapes followed by you not answering the phone and then looking dead on the floor had him think the worst. Though, he wasn’t ready to saddle you with that burden. You needed comfort and stability. 

Gently, he cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back up to his. Your breath hitched as he did, his touch now feeling like electricity. “What were you trying to make?”

“Pasta. . .” 

“You really want to get back into cooking?”

At that, you gave a firm nod. It would be something that would make you feel better. Normal. Even if it was just for a moment. You really needed to create something with your hands. 

Ghost couldn’t deny you. Not when you made such a beautifully, determined expression.  

Carefully, he stood up and helped you get back on your feet. The knife on the floor was put into the sink. A new chef’s knife was placed in your hand. Before you could ask what he was doing, he positioned you in front of the cutting board, stood close behind you to the point where your back was touching his chest, and he held his hands over yours. “Let me know if you start to hurt. You can lean back on me if you need it too.”

Now your heart was really racing. The whirlwind shift of emotions made you lightheaded. How could you switch from a panic attack to feeling lovesick? How could you still have a crush on him after all this time? 

It took you a moment to relax under his touch and allow him to use your hands to cut the garlic. The heat of his chest seeped into your back as he cautiously guided the cooking process with you in the middle. When he spoke up, his voice so close to your ear, you nearly fainted. “You feeling alright?”

“Y-Yeah. . . I’m fine. Thanks, Ghost.” You stuttered out, feeling embarrassed by the proximity. 

“You know, you can call me Simon when it’s just me and you, dove.” He allowed, feeling the heat of your own body rise against his chest. He couldn’t see your face clearly, but he could tell that your ears were turning red. 

It stirred something deep within himself.

Your brain short-circuited when he gave you permission to use his real name. You had only used it when you needed him to understand your serious intentions. It wasn’t something you took lightly. Now, he wanted you to call him that more intimately. 

At first, you didn’t know if you could bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t until you realized that all of the cloves of garlic were minced perfectly, your hands still able to take a little more cooking. “Seriously. Thank you, Simon.”

His heart leapt when you used his name like he wanted. “Of course, dove. Anything for you.” 

Simon didn’t move an inch away from you until everything was ready to get tossed onto the stove. When the prep work was done, you had excused yourself to go rest, allowing him to finish dinner. 

He let you go, but he really didn’t want to. He could never let you go now. Especially not when you were definitely blushing over him. 

It wasn’t that you needed rest from cooking. You needed rest from Simon. A minute to get your heartbeat under control. This wasn’t like you. You were confident, resilient, strong, spiteful. Not gooey and bashful. 

Only Ghost could make you feel this way. 

You had a crush on him when you first met the team. It was the air of mystery that drew you to him first. His sense of humor, confidence, and intelligence that matched yours drew you in deeper. He had said that he was actually quite handsome under the mask, and you believed him during that time. 

That’s all you tried to leave it at, though. A silly little crush. Being in the presence of a strong, muscular, and confident man would make anyone feel weak in the knees. That’s what you told yourself when you were stomping out your feelings for the sake of professionalism. 

It worked too. After snuffing out that crush, you grew to be a friend to him. He trusted you more and you trusted him. There was nothing in the world that would make you trade over the friendship you had with him. With anyone on your team. It was the right thing to do at the time and it still was. 

So why the hell were you falling in love with him all over again?

~

You chalked it up to being locked up for too long. Of course your heart would begin to sway towards Ghost. He’s been taking care of you and you’ve been living with him and he’s the first man you’ve been spending time with. Now that you realize this, snuffing out your feelings again shouldn’t be so hard.

Keyword: Shouldn’t.

Ghost made it really difficult for you to maintain some space from him. You have been adamant about healing through cooking. He’s been adamant about being with you every step of the way. Holding you between his arms in case you feel faint, guiding your hands when you don't have the strength, speaking directly into your ear when he wants to talk to you. 

Everytime he came back from base, his clinginess increased tenfold. You knew that he was coming back from watching your footage. But you didn’t want to be pitied or the center of any guilt he may have. 

“How are you feeling? Are you ready for your interview, dove?” Simon hovered near his bedroom door, watching you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You have been looking a lot better after these couple of months. You gained a wealthy weight, you were getting around much better, and some of your strength returned to your muscles. 

It was still a ways to go before you could go out onto the field again, but it was a good start. Besides the night terrors that still haunted you, you were beginning to look like your old self.

At least, that’s what it looked like to him. You, on the other hand, were beginning to stress about how you looked. It felt good for your body to be getting back on the right track, yet you found imperfections. Things you had to be patient about such as your hair. 

The doctors had to cut it in order to put a new metal plate back in your head. Your hair was growing back decently fast, but not fast enough to your liking. Besides the hair, you were covered in scars that weren’t fading anytime soon. Probably never with how deep they went. 

“Dove?”

Simon snapped you out of your stupor. “H-Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m ready to go.”

“That’s not what I asked. You can talk to me about anything, you know?” Simon stepped forward, hoping to cure your sudden anxiety. 

“Sorry, just a little distracted I guess.” You brushed off. It would be embarrassing to tell him how you felt ugly right now. The last thing you wanted to do was fish for compliments too. 

Simon knew you were lying, but he dropped it. Instead, he followed you out of the apartment and drove you to the interview. On the way there, you let the radio fill the silence between the two of you.

He gripped the steering wheel tight, wondering why the hell you were so distant from him all of a sudden. The two of you were getting along great when you first arrived. Now, you were locking yourself up in his bedroom a lot more, speaking to him less, and had your head in the clouds when he was trying to talk to you. 

Did he do something wrong? Make you feel bad about something? He thought you liked him.

The car pulled up onto the base, a place you haven’t seen for a long time. Everything looked like how you remembered. Military grays, greens, and browns. Recruits jogging around. The smell of cigarette smoke in the air. It almost seemed like nothing had changed.

Price greeted you halfway to the interview and then escorted you to it. It was the same room they used to examine your footage, the tapes finally over. You sat in a seat across from a woman in a business suit. 

Price and Simon were ordered to stay out in the hall and wait. As they waited for you, Simon thought about getting back in your good graces. 

“She alright? She seemed more quiet than usual on the walk.” Price suddenly spoke up, also curious about the trouble in paradise. 

“Don’t know. She hasn’t told me anything about what’s been bothering her.” He confessed, an annoyed tone lacing with his words. 

The captain hummed in thought. “Has she taken that offer to see a therapist?”

“Nope. Only the physical therapist. You think she needs it?” 

“It wouldn’t hurt. I think it would be good for her to really unpackage everything that went down before we put a gun back in her hands. Someone that’s a professional.”

Simon gave it some thought. As much as he wanted to be the one you turned to to talk about your feelings, he agreed that you would most likely feel better talking to a professional. He wasn’t necessarily equipped to provide both comfort and trauma solving. 

Hell, he probably needs therapy too.

He figured that he would suggest the idea when the two of you return home. Let you sleep on it. 

You exited the room after about an hour. The interview took much longer than you expected, but they were thorough. No detail was to be left unspoken. It was a wonder how you managed to talk about everything that happened without breaking down. Perhaps it was because you did really want your job back. The more capable you seemed, the more likely they would give it to you.

After a quick stop visiting Gaz and Soap, Simon took you back to the apartment. You entered the space so naturally that it felt like it was your home. Simon even let you buy some decor to make the place more comfortable for you that you could take to your new apartment, whenever that would be available. 

Before Simon could invite you to sit on the couch with him for a moment to talk, you had already closed the door to the bedroom. The interview left you tired. It was still taking a while to get your voice used to talking again. 

As you crossed the space, you noticed your reflection in the mirror. You looked the same from when you left. Maybe a little bit more exhausted, but still the same, unflattering body you wished was completely back to normal already.

There was a soft knock on the door. You didn’t register it as you just sat on the floor, looking at your reflection and wondering what you could do to make yourself feel pretty again. Since you didn’t answer, Simon slowly opened the door. 

“Dove? What’s wrong?” He cautiously asked, not wanting to startle you. 

You gave a deep sigh that even he felt in his soul. “Just. . . missing the me from before.”

His shoulders felt lighter in relief. He was so glad that you were talking to him again. However, It was souring quickly now that your words were settling in. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. . . I guess. . . I thought that I was decently pretty before. I was happy with how I looked. . . I don’t really see that anymore.” You tried to explain, feeling your throat begin to choke on each word. God, you felt stupid.

Simon could hardly believe it. To him, you were still the prettiest lady he’s ever met. Your smile made his day brighter. Your hands felt warm and perfect in his. Your eyes were works of art he could stare into all day. 

He was in love with you.

“W-What?” Your face grew red, not understanding why he was staring so intensely at you. So seriously. It’s been a while since you’ve faced him this close. Did he think you were being dumb too? 

He took a seat behind you on the floor and pulled you into his lap. An arm snaked across your stomach before you could escape. His other hand guided your chin to look back into the mirror. “Take a good look at yourself again, dove. Don’t tell me that you’re not pretty anymore because it’s not true.”

Your heart was going to burst from your chest. If you stay like this with him for much longer, it would be impossible to destroy your feelings for him. “Si-”

“Your cheeks are turning pink. Are you getting embarrassed?” He tightened his hold and deepened his voice. He would do anything to make you feel attractive again. Including revealing that he was attracted to you.

As he pointed out your blush, you only reddened deeper. “T-This is because you surprised me!”

“Oh? It’s not because you like me?” He teased, not being able to help himself. Before everything, you were so confident and enthusiastic at work. He never got to see your bashful side. It was incredibly cute. 

You froze in his lap as he revealed your secret. How long has he known?! Was he just toying with you right now?! This was not how you imagined a confession going at all, not that you ever really planned on confessing. 

Turning your head to face him directly, you attempted to dig out of the hole you were in. “Simon-”

“You’re too cute.” He suddenly admitted before pressing his lips firmly against yours. He lost control as soon as he saw your expression up close within his lap. The way your brows furrowed, how your ears turned more pink by the second, how you called him by his name. 

There was no way in hell he was going to make you feel unattractive right now. 

Startled by the kiss, it took you a moment to realize what was happening. When your brain did kick back into gear, you could hardly believe it. Simon was kissing you. Not just that, but he was kissing you so deeply that it made you melt.

You couldn’t possibly fight back your feelings for him now. 

Eventually, you began kissing him back. When he felt your effort, he took that as a good sign to keep going. Your lips were so soft and warm against his. Your weight in his embrace felt perfect. His tongue swiped at your lips and then plunged into your mouth to taste even more of you.

You softly moaned into his mouth, electricity firing all along your nerves. His muscular, strong chest against your back made you feel hot all over. His tongue that aimed to taste every inch of you did just that. A sensation you haven’t felt for what felt like decades began to spread throughout your pelvis. 

His hand guided your gaze back to the mirror in front of you, your own expression making your breath hitch. Cheeks pink, lips swollen, chest rising and falling rapidly. The bottom of your shirt was a little hiked up, exposing just an inch of waist that drove Simon wild. “See, dove? You’re perfect.”

He held your chin in place, forcing you to watch as he trailed kisses along the side of your neck. His free hand slipped under your shirt, feeling skin that now matched his. You gasped and shivered as he felt you up, feeling his hand travel further up until he reached the bottom wire of your bra. The kisses mixed with tongue and teeth against your neck made you whimper in excitement.

“You’re still soft to the touch. Still warm and living. How I see you hasn’t changed. You are still the same pretty woman I grew to like so much.” He sweetly confessed into your ear as he stripped off your shirt. 

Simon liked you too? Since when? Mental questions faded away as you noticed him unsnap your bra to reveal your breasts. Your hands instinctively went to cover them up, but he caught your wrists in his hand.

“No, dove. I gotta show you just how attractive you are. Keep looking at your pretty little face in the mirror.” He playfully smirked, loving this new side of you more than he imagined. His cock was already pressing against the fabric of his pants, getting bigger by the second. 

With your wrists still held together, he began to massage your breasts. The other side of your neck was shown some love through feverish kisses, making you squirm in his lap. You could feel his growing erection pressed behind you, making your pussy tingle with need. When he pinched a nipple tight, you let a moan slip.

As he dragged his tongue along your neck, he watched the pleasure on your face through the mirror. His pants felt tighter by the second, eager to really show you just how attractive you were to him. 

Limbs felt like jelly as he continued to tease you. When your wrists felt more slack in his grip, he let go to use both hands. You sat in his lap, melted and shivering as he played with both of your nipples. “You’re so sensitive. It’s really turning me on, dove.”

You pressed your legs tighter together, feeling your wetness slowly stain your panties. Simon’s strong chest rose with his labored breath, cock now aching with pain from the restriction of his clothes. He wanted more. He wanted to see every inch of you.

He guided your legs to spread for him, making sure that your pussy would be clear as day through the mirror. You debated fighting back before things went too far, but his hands on you felt incredible. You were so turned on too, despite feeling embarrassed about how weak and bashful you looked. 

In one move, your pants and panties were gone, revealing your slick cunt for both you and Simon to see. Instinctively, you tried to close your legs. However, Simon made sure that you didn’t. He made sure you looked at the mirror too. “Take a good look, dove. So wet for me. . . So pretty. Pink. Soft. Never seen something so delicious before.”

His large fingers began to rub through your folds, spreading your wetness around easily. His eyes grew feverish as he spread you open, feeling the pulse that traveled through you. 

You gasped as he started rubbing your clip in slow, deep circles. Almost two years of abstinence made you sensitive beyond comprehension. “Ah~! Simon~!”

“That’s right, dove. Don’t stop looking at yourself.” He instructed, his voice so deep that it echoed in your head. Lightning zipped through you as he continued to tease your clit, another hand going back to your hard nipples.

God, Simon was so good at this. He was reading you like a book, noticing every flinch, every scrunch, every tremble that flashed across your face. He was getting to know all your sweet spots. Every piece of you that begged for more. 

Your hips bucked as his finger on your cunt slid down close to your entrance. Through the mirror, you saw him smirk, making your heart leap. “Patience. I’ll give my dove what she wants as long as she keeps looking at herself. Promise.”

Gently, he worked his fingers inside of you, feeling just how hot you really were getting for him. He suppressed his own shiver as he felt you tighten up, sucking his fingers in deeper. You clung on to his arms and moaned, throwing your head back against his shoulder in pure bliss.

Grabbing your chin, he made you watch yourself get fingered. “Don’t look away.”

You had no choice but to follow your instructions. Kisses peppered your neck, making sure you didn’t have the space to turn your head away again. You watched his fingers pump in and out of you, more of your natural honey drooling out of you. 

“Ahh! Mnn~!” A loud moan escaped you as you felt his fingers curl to hit that perfect, spongy spot that drove you crazy. Your reaction was instant, your pussy tightening further and tremors traveling through every nerve. Simon could feel and see it. You were getting close to an orgasm. And he really wanted you to reach it.

“That’s it. Watch yourself cum for me, dove.” He praised, moving his fingers more powerfully to make sure you wouldn’t lose that pleasurable high. 

It was beautiful watching you moan and drool and shutter in his lap. It was so sexy how you looked at the mirror with feverish eyes like you wanted more than just his fingers. He wanted to use more too. But not before you came.

Simon put more pressure on your g-spot, not caring that you were making such a huge mess all over his hand. All he wanted to do was go deeper, so deep that his palm was pressing into your throbbing clit. 

That is what made you see stars. With a scream, you were plunged into an orgasm that made you stupid. Simon smirked with pride as he held you during your climax, feeling just how tightly you clung to his fingers. He loved that blissful expression on your face while you came. Corners of your eyes brimming with tears, blush swept across your cheeks, body glowing with excitement. 

“Didn’t I tell you? Absolutely gorgeous.” He complimented, giving you soft kisses on the side of your head as you calmed down. It was still hard to breathe, your heart beating erratically from the climax and from Simon’s husky praises. When he pulled his fingers away, you whimpered from the sensitivity.

Carefully, you were removed from his lap and laid down in front of him. While you took a moment to rest, Simon grabbed a few pillows from his bed, tossed them to the floor, and then stripped. At the sight of his strong build, you swallowed some drool. 

It was strength made to be used. Muscular and soft in all the right places. His own body was covered in old scars, something that made him alluring rather than flawed. And then when your eyes traveled down to his huge, throbbing cock, you felt that familiar tingle take over again.

“Like what you see?” He teased, situating the pillows under you so you could be more comfortable. The head of his dick prodded at your folds, lubing itself up. As he slid along your folds, rubbing your sensitive, red bud, you lost your breath again.

“Simon. . .” You called out in what you hoped sounded like a warning rather than begging. God, you wanted him inside you already. You wanted to feel every inch of him fuck you like you were the most sexy woman on the planet. 

He chuckled a little, your tone a mixture of scolding and impatience. A perfect tone that made him want to fuck you hard already. But, he held back. For now at least. Instead, he turned your head to make you look at your reflection again. Slowly, he entered you, feeling your hot pussy cling to him like it was made for him.

Your expression immediately morphed as he slid his cock inside you deeper. Eyebrows scrunched, vision hazy, plump lips bitten. He was thick. Incredibly thick. You’ve never been so filled up before. It hurt a little, but pain was quickly replaced with pleasure as you got used to it.

Simon gave a satisfied sigh when finally reached the base. It was a sight to behold, your tight pussy stretched to accommodate him. It felt so good inside you. Hot. Slick. His thrusts were slow and deep, watching every reaction you had as you felt every inch of him. It only turned him on even more as he made you watch.

His hands clutching your hips to control the pace had you tremble. You loved how he was careful, yet still wanted to manhandle you. There were moments where you could see him lose his cool for a second. A shuddered breath here, a swallowed groan there. His own expressions as he fucked you deep is what really turned you on the most.

“Fuck, dove. You’re so tight~” He exhaled, picking up the pace with his thrusts. Your toes curled and your back arched as his cock hit every pleasure point within you. It was perfect how he was large and skilled enough to reach every spot you liked. And it was all thanks to how closely he paid attention to you.

His body pressed against yours as he felt the need to be closer to you. He wanted to see your pretty face up close when you cum next. He wanted to feel those beautiful tits pressed flush against his own skin. When he felt you tighten, he knew you were getting close.

You hung onto him tight, wrapping his arms around his neck and digging your nails into his back. It was incredible feeling his muscles flex with each thrust under your hands. Everything felt so good with him. You never thought you would feel pleasure like this again. 

Simon hissed as you clawed his back, a blissful sensation that only left him wanting more. He pistoned harder, hoping that your nails would leave new scars on him. “I can feel you getting close. Look into my eyes when you do.”

Moans gradually turned into screams as he fucked you as deep as he could go, his cock throbbing hard with his own desire to climax. Hearing you scream his name was turning him on more than he thought. So much so that he began calling out yours.

Hearing your own name from his lips with such a desperate tone made the wave crash down. Looking deep into his eyes, you came around him. Every part of you trembled, electricity taking over. It felt like every cell within you was screaming for him. His breath hitched as you tightened and soaked him. And god, the way you looked while cumming. . . 

He held you tight as he felt himself climax too, hot ropes adding to the heat. Your back arched as he gave a few final pumps, milking himself out in you as much as he could. It was hard to control your shutters when he enjoyed the final moments of having you. When he did pull out, it left you feeling empty, yet satisfied. 

Knowing that you were feeling weak, Simon carried you to his bed and laid you down. You were surprised when he crawled into the spot next to you and pulled you into his chest like he was holding a lover. Was that what you two were now? Lovers?

“Like I said before, you’re perfect.” Simon praised and kissed the top of your head.

You two were definitely lovers. All the doubt cleared as you listened to his heartbeat. 

[hauntingrabbits]

Batman my little pony AU. Part 2 here, Part 3 here

More info on these under the cut!

1. Sundown Mane/Batpony (Bruce Wayne)

His backstory & general situation is pretty much identical to every other batman out there so I wont get into it.

Other notes:

-His cutie mark is a masquerade mask that I tried to make vaguely bat-shaped. The general public sees his Cutie Mark through the lense of his reputation, and he leans into it heavily to obscure the truth. In interviews, he presents it as being tied to hosting galas (it’s the reason he started hosting those huge masquerade balls in the first place) and/or his fashionable looks, but in truth it’s far more representative of his stealth and disguise capabilities, as well as his masked night time hobbies as a whole.

-He’s not an actual bat-pony in any way, the bat wing appearance is just the costume (intentionally designed that way for intimidation, battle, and obscuring his identity further). Though most citizens assume he’s a true bat-pony, other rumors range from him being a vampire, to an Earth pony with false tech-based wings, to a magically disguised alicorn, to a spirit of the night.

-If Batman were actually to be a pony I think he’d 100% be an earth pony, because his big thing is relying on skill and tech rather than power and he has the whole “normal guy amongst gods” thing going on. HOWEVER. There are actual bat ponies in this show. How am I not supposed to utilize that somehow for the guy whose name is BATMAN? Also with Sundown I think being a Pegasus just fits the playboy personality front he puts up. I don’t know why, its just vibes.

-I think he just doesn’t fly much while patrolling as batpony, instead using his wings for extra jump or for intimidation and cover like with his cape. They’re probably steel-tipped or something too. He doesn’t rely on flight for advantage and trains entirely grounded because he doesn’t want to be dependent on flight and find himself lost if his wings are ever incapacitated.

2. Apollo Honeyscales/Two-Face (Harvey Dent)

Fascinated by the Equestrian legal system and craving a more organized society than what was offered by his generally disorderly and solitary fellow Chimeras, Apollo moved to Gotham to pursue higher education. Unfortunately, ponies are often intimidated by, if not downright terrified of Chimeras, so though Chimera cultures usually give each head equal social weight and three individual names, Apollo quickly adapted to instead try to present himself as pony-like as possible. He used a singular name and pronoun for his whole body, presented the less intimidating, herbivorous-looking goat as his “main” head, and eventually even took to having a faux Cutie Mark applied for media and court appearances. Prior to the attack, the lion and the snake head were never seen talking in public, and even in private the only ponies to have heard them speak were his close friends Sundown Mane and Glider Gold.

After being attacked with acid in court, Scales succumbed to injury and had to be amputated, while Honeybite was left alive but severely scarred. With this event, Apollo’s and Honeybite’s already fragile mental states from years of pony society othering them, the weight of their job, and personal repression finally snapped in their grief and anger, leading Honeybite to fully take the reins and create the criminal persona of Two-Face. Attempts from both Sundown and Glider and to reach out since have been unsuccessful.

Other Notes:

-According to the wiki only one chimera shows up in the whole show so. I made stuff up. -Chimeras typically being solitary is based on the fact we only ever see one in the show. This solitary nature would make it hard for them to have a widespread legal system at all, let alone to enforce it; thus Apollo’s original fascination with the foreign pony legal system. The Chimera in the show also has individual names for each head, each with a slightly different style (the goat following pony name conventions with the name Pumpkin Cake, the tiger following a slightly more violent version of pony name conventions with the name Sweetkill, and the Snake bluntly just being named Snakey). I tried to follow similar conventions for Apollo. I was most happy with the name Scales, because it followed the blunt snake naming convention while also sort of doubling as a scales of justice reference. Apollo is just a reference to Harvey’s nickname in some of the comics, and Honeybite is just for fun.

-His perfectly split coat is unique even among other chimeras, and as Apollo he was generally considered attractive and “exotic” by Equestrian media outlets.

-The temporary Cutie Mark application was done professionally. (Surely ponies have perfected this art, right? Like this has to be something pony society does and has services for, right? Ponies covering up embarrassing Cutie Marks, blank flanks covering up an embarrassing lack of a Curie Mark, Ponies getting Cutie Marks done for costumes, theater, movies, etc… you get it.) Apollo’s choice of a faux Cutie Mark is meant to serve as both a way of further integrating himself into pony society and a proclamation of his legal skills.

-Apollo was a genuinely great lawyer. Ponies on defense were often so preoccupied at the terror of having a lion and a snake silently stare them down that they wouldn’t realize it was actually the goat they should’ve really been afraid of until their entire case had already been ruthlessly torn to shreds.

3. Glider Gold (Gilda Gold)

Even prior to their relationship and subsequent engagement, Glider had long been Apollo’s closest friend and confidant. She saw the way his job and keeping up his image was tearing him apart long before the acid attack, and she deeply regrets not trying harder to get him the help he needed before it was too late. Multiple news outlets have been trying to get an interview with her and their efforts only increase every time Two-Face shows up in the news (despite Sundown’s efforts to dissuade them). She hasn’t been the same since the attack and Apollo’s disappearance, losing interest in her work and finding her friendship with Sundown heavily strained as they both feel the weight of Apollo’s absence.

Other notes:

-I wasn’t even going to draw Gilda originally because she’s such a minor character in Batman stuff but as I was writing out Apollo’s background she nudged her way back in. I like her too much.

-This version is based on her very first iteration where she was a sculptor. Her green coat is a reference to that version’s accompanying Two-Face (also his first iteration), who had green scarring.

- The choice for her to be a pegasus was mainly just to go with her silly name, but I do think being a pegasus would be beneficial to a sculptor. No ladder required to work on high details just fly up there.

-I am not immune to the bruce/harvey/gilda agenda

[walkingstackofbooks]

A 9-year-old Julian Bashir who has had nightmares about evil doctors in an alien hospital for as long as he can remember. He doesn't tell his parents though because "he's a big boy now" and nightmares are for little kids, so he knows he should deal with them alone. And even if he'd like a hug sometimes, his mum only gives him hugs for doing well, not for doing badly, so he figures there's no point bothering her

A 15-year-old Julian Bashir who realises that the nightmares he used to have were based on the apparently very real alien hospital his parents had taken him to as a kid, and spends hours trying to figure out what were real memories and what his mind had made up over the years as he slept. The nightmares come back with an intensity, but they're nothing compared with how he's feeling when he's awake, and pretty soon they become a normal background noise of his life.

A 19-year-old Julian Bashir who's finally been moved into a solitary room after his third roommate in as many weeks complained about the almost-nightly screams. His advisor asks if he wants to speak to anyone: he claims they're just night terrors and he doesn't actually remember them. Besides, even if he could talk about what was in them, he probably wouldn't, because he's fine - he's used to them by now.

A 24-year-old Julian Bashir who gets woken from his nightmares by warm hands and gentle kisses, and learns what is like to be soothed back to sleep by the soft voice of Palis Delon

A 32-year-old Julian Bashir who has a different nightmare every night. The last year's been difficult. But then, it's been difficult for everyone, and he knows he's far from the only one to be suffering from nightmares at the moment.

A 34-year-old Julian Bashir who can't stop dreaming about the torture he went through four weeks ago, who's missing Ezri and who Miles is increasingly concerned about. When the O'Briens offer him their spare room for a while, he warns them multiple times about his nightmares, and is pathetically grateful when that doesn't change their minds. "We have nightmares too, Julian," says Keiko. "We can cope with yours."

A 34-year-old Julian Bashir who is confused when, three days later, Miles remarks, "You are having a bad run of those nightmares, aren't you?"

"They've been better than usual, actually," he replies awkwardly. "It's been really nice being able to go back to sleep afterwards, for once -- you and Keiko have been so generous in coming and checking on me."

"Course we're gonna come and check on you," says Miles gruffly. "You woke up terrified. We're not letting you do that alone."

"I'd be fine, Miles," Julian reassures. "I'm hardly going to expect one of you to come in every night."

Miles pauses. "...How long are you expecting to have them 'every night' for?" he asks, with some concern. "I mean, after a thing like this, how long does it usually take them to settle down?"

Julian stares at Miles. "I... have nightmares, Miles," he replies, frowning. "Just like you. Nightmares happen every night."

"No, they don't," says Miles, equally confused. "Don't get me wrong, they can do: after something big then sure, they're like that for a few weeks - a couple of months, even. But eventually they fall down to once, twice a week..."

Julian is looking at Miles incredulously. "That might be how it works for you," he says. "I guess my brain's different to yours. Mine don't stop, they just... mix. Change. Get confused with one another, eventually. I've had more dreams about being genetically modified by Sloan in the Dominion camp than I care to remember, you know?"

Miles' concern has turned into abject dismay. "You're saying you've had nightmares every single night since the Dominion took you?" he exclaims.

"Well, maybe not every single night!" retorts Julian, a little unsure what Miles is getting so het up about. "I do have some days when I don't... But yeah, pretty much. I've had nightmares most nights since I was fifteen, it's just how my brain processes stuff."

"Fifteen?"

...

A 34-year-old Julian who finds out that having nightmares every night for two decades is, apparently, "not normal" and something he should be seeking help for.

If Ezri comes back alive, he supposes he might take it up with her.

[bluegiragi]

I'm not sure how I found your account but I have loved all of your creations. They have fueled my hyper-fixation for Call of Duty.

When it comes to your Monster au, are there any characteristics from the team that you see them having that you haven't been able to draw out in a storyline?

that's such a good question omg...it'd probably be all the ways that the 141 grew up.

(warning - lots of reading under the cut)

Price is a dragon hybrid, which means that historically his kind has not had amazing relationships with humans or each other. Close-knit dragon communities are still really rare, since instinctively they're extremely territorial and require space to themselves and a way to assert their own strength and hoard. But, sort of by government mandate, dragons need to keep within designated areas in case they accidentally torch a human city y'know. So he did grow up in a colony, but all the families there tended to keep to themselves, exempting mating season and the occasional territory fight. He left to join the military when he was pretty young, all things considered, and I think he did it mainly out of boredom. They were happy to have him of course - dragons are massive powerhouses with long lifespans, and very rare in their ranks (they dislike being ordered around). Price would like to think he's destined for a quiet life, but his job really let him wreak havoc and he took pleasure in indulging that primal urge of his. He grew out of that destructive phase though - nowadays, his priorities consist of taking care of his team.

--

Soap is a werewolf, which is a monster that subscribes to the 'it-takes-a-village' kind of mentality for raising a child. The Mactavishes are an average werewolf pack, with Soap, his parents, his grandparents, and his two sisters (one older, and one younger). Wolves are social creatures, but the older generation likes to stay within their own kind, if only for safety reasons. Soap's always been a go-getter though, so joining the military for a chance to see more of the world just made sense to him. Full-blooded werewolves are pretty sought after in the ranks, but they're a relatively newblood kind of monster. Superiors will often do their best to tame wolves and bring them to heel, with differing levels of success. If you win their loyalty, they're yours for life, but do them wrong and the pack will turn on you. Because of that danger of mutiny, officials will tend to keep it to one werewolf a team, despite them being stronger together.

--

Harpies are typically solitary and aren't very present parents, since they'll raise their children until they're 16 then dump them somewhere and tell them to survive. It sounds ruthless to most, but it's just how their culture is and it's how Gaz grew up. He's a resourceful type, and joined the military as soon as he could. Harpies are actually one of the more common monsters used in the forces, since their eyesight and wings make for pretty amazing scouting forces/snipers. In saying that though, there's no automatic comradery to be found between two harpies on the same team - in fact, they'll usually be combative at worst and cold/distant at best. Historically, harpies have found pride in their own independence, so being forced to interact/work together can be seen as an insult. Gaz himself is pretty charismatic and cool-headed, but even he'd get irritated if he was forced to share space with another harpy. He was shipped around between teams a lot as a lead sniper before he got promoted and met Price.

--

Simon is a wraith, but before that he was a normal human, if a bit freakishly strong. His time in the military was an escape from his home life, and after he became a wraith, that distance between himself and the human world only grew. Not a lot is known about wraiths, because the only way you'd be able to study one is if they let you and wraiths are inherently extremely private creatures with a tendency for extreme bursts of violence. They're also almost impossible to catch/imprison, so Simon's an asset the military is determined to hold onto.

[homiesexuallaj]

Request: Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård version) introverted loner, meets Shelly who helps bring him out of his shell. Its love at first sight for Eric😍🖤

Pairing: Eric Draven x reader

Warnings/Genre: heavy au, fluff, rehab, troublemaker Shelly, Shelly makes you into a troublemaker, you and Shelly are like besties, shy Eric, reader flirts with Eric a tad, drug mention, mention of cigarettes

A/N: Okay yes I did read the ask wrong but in my defense I was blinded by the god of “x reader’s” and somehow my brain added that shelly introduced the reader to Eric, but hopefully you still enjoy it!

--- --- ---

You'd been in rehab awhile now. At least a couple months. You didn't have many friends, or any really. You had a few acquaintances that you got along with but no one that you had a true bond with.

Every day became the same for you. Shower, get dressed, breakfast, group therapy, afternoon outside time, lunch, one-on-one therapy, evening outside time, dinner, sleep, and repeat. It was tiring with no change. Until a certain duo started to cause some ruckus.

You didn't know who they were. The noticeable things were that they both were severely tatted up and that there seemed to be a whole foot of height difference between the two. The girl of the duo seemed to cause the trouble and disruption, dragging the poor, tall boy into her shenanigans. After getting in trouble for the umpteenth time, the boy disappeared and you came into view.

The girl, who's name was Shelly, popped herself right down at your table during lunch time. She had such a wide smile that her usual wide eyes turned to crescents. She twirled her hair as you two talked.

You two seemed to click almost instantly and Shelly quickly brought you out of your shell, dragging you into mischief. Mischief like sitting with boys Shelly thought were attractive, causing food fights, sneaking around after hours, escaping through the narrow windows in the laundry room, and giving each other stick-and-poke tattoos.

Shelly really did bring the troublemaker out of you.

Three weeks went by before Shelly's male companion was released from solitary confinement.

Shelly quickly flew back into his arms, dragging you by your hands. And here, you finally got a good close-up look at the man.

Compared to before solitary confinement, the man has black, crow-colored hair. Throughout the weeks here, his mullet had grown out, the tips of his hair curling up and peaking out from behind his neck. His eyes were a muddy green, brown flecks turning golden in the sunlight. His black tattoos were a stark contrast against his pale skin. And up close now, the man really was tall. So tall that you were face-to-face with his chest, his very broad chest.

Over the next few weeks of troublemaking, you learned that Shelly's male companion's name was Eric Draven and that Shelly often took the lead in troublemaking (with you being announced as second-in-command). Eric was rather shy and was often dragging in your's and Shelly's troublemaking. And he wasn't lookout, oh no, Eric was dragged down right into the middle. He often hoisted you girls up into places where your heights wouldn't allow you to reach.

At the moment, it was just you prancing through the halls. Shelly was off playing with one of her boy toys. You weren't looking for anyone in particular but when you came upon an open door on the second floor you couldn't help but peer in.

The room was messy. The mattress was overturned and the sheets torn off. There were papers everywhere, practically covering the tile floor, and a couple sheets of paper were thrown out into the hallway. In the middle of the room, picking up some of the papers, was Eric. He seemed irritated, probably because the care staff had ransacked his room. You shrugged, picking up the papers that led from the hallway and into his room.

"Well well well," You started, leaning against the doorframe. "What do we have here?"

"Oh um," Eric seemed to jump a bit at your presence. "Just some sketches."

You hummed, "You mind if I take a peak?"

"Not at all," Eric responded, swiping aside a couple papers so he could out his mattress right side up.

You flipped through your hand full of papers. Eric's drawings were good. Many were of the outside forest that surrounded the rehab building, others were of people around the common areas, and a few more caught your eye. There were some drawings of Shelly, mostly closeups like poses or while she was doing something nearby. The rest were of... you. Most from afar, drawn from across rooms or from different floors (as the angle suggested). The drawings were innocent enough, but one or two were you drawn in your undershirt and sweats with a hint of your nipples poking through the thin material. You blushed and cleared your throat.

"You like women with tight clothes, don't you?" You teased, watching as Eric put the sheets back on his bed.

Eric stood and looked down at your hand, seeing the slightly provocative drawings. He blushed heavy, spreading out across is cheeks and down his neck.

"Sometimes," He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact.

You only hummed in response and nodded, setting the papers down on a nearby table. You sauntered over to the taller man, causing him to drop his sheets that he was attempting to wrap around his mattress. You stood as tall as you could and wrapped your arms around Eric's shoulders, pulling him down to you a bit.

"What do you like to do for fun, Eric?" You practically purred, standing close but yet not close enough.

Eric looked between your eyes, nervous but there was obviously something else ticking in his mind. From the corner of your eyes, you could see his hands twitching. It was like he was itching to touch you but wasn't sure if he was allowed.

"I'll-I'll show you," Eric told you and made a motion to stand at his full height.

You pulled away from Eric and watched his movement.

Eric moved around you and peaked out the doorway of his room, looking for wandering staff. Once the coast was deemed clear, Eric grabbed your hand (almost on instinct) and lead you down and around the hallways.

The white walls twisted and turned. Wherever Eric was leading you, it got dimmer and dimmer. After another look around, Eric opened a door that he lead you two to. It squeaked loudly and you both cringed. Before you could have a look around, Eric pulled you into the dark room. The door shut behind you and you were befallen into pure darkness.

Eric let go of your hand and you could hear him shuffling around. He knocked into a couple things, cursing under his breath. A metallic creak and a groan were heard and the room was lit up from the ceiling. A ladder came down from the square opening. You stared at it, wondering what Eric had gotten you into.

"I'll go first," Eric muttered, already climbing up the ladder.

You followed a few steps behind.

Eric disappeared into the light. You followed and peaked your head up into the open air.

You were on top of the rehab building, rocks covered the entire roof. It was all flat, save for the three-foot-tall border around the roof to keep people from falling off. There were a few machines up here, like for air conditioning and stuff. It was all white up here, with the texture of gray from the rocks.

A tattooed hand interrupted your looking around. You followed the arm up to the face of the person. Eric was giving you an amused look. You rolled your eyes and grabbed Eric's hand, allowing him to help you the rest of the way up.

"So how did you learn to come up here?" You asked once your feet hit the rocks.

"The staff only come up here during certain times of the day," Eric answered, leading you to some metal duct-work that laid down on the roof. "If you watch it's not hard to learn their routines."

"Ah," You responded, now realizing how much Eric really watched his surroundings. "So this.. is what you do for fun?"

"Kinda boring, right?" Eric chuckled, sitting down on the duct-work and fishing a couple thin, white objects and an orange lighter from between the rocks.

"Why this?" You asked, avoiding Eric's question.

"It's just nice to get away from people sometimes," Eric lit the thin object, a cigarette, and took a hit. "It's loud down there. Out here is quiet."

Eric blew the smoke away from you and offered you the cigarette.

"No thanks," You held a hand up. "I don't smoke."

Eric nodded, keeping the cigarette to himself now.

It was quiet now. You couldn't help but side-eye Eric, admiring his smoking form. His long fingers kept the cigarette held in place, you noticed a slight tremor in them.

You could help but scoot a bit closer to the tall man, still eyeing him to see his reaction to you testing the waters. You saw him side-eyeing you back. You switched your eyes to the forest ahead, watching the swaying trees. Slowly, you leaned over towards Eric and laid your head atop his shoulder.

He tensed for a moment but relaxed, taking another hit from his cigarette.

"You're right," You muttered. "It is quiet up here."

--- --- ---

A/N: My askbox is open for Eric Draven! Feel free to drop one in!

[kyseya]

The octopus

The octopus-hybrid Octavious

This octopus hybrid was born in the large aquarium he called home. It’s all he’s ever known. Despite the vast variation in plants and spacious tank he lives in having been built with an octopus’s natural habitat in mind, he has no clue how it is in the real ocean. Is it the same? Or is it much different. He wouldn’t know.

However, he can’t help but wonder. Sometimes he catches himself drifting off to somewhat macabre scenarios in his mind. He’ll think about whether he would be able to survive in the sea as he is now, or would he easily get eaten by a much larger predator. He tries not to delve into the latter scenario.

As octopuses are mostly solitary creatures the aquarium decided to put him in a tank of his own. From what he can recall(and heard from the workers of the aquarium) he has many siblings- none he was close to of course. They were taken to other facilities right after hatching. Perhaps they also sit in a watery tank contemplating their existence. Or maybe they’re dead. Octavious can say for sure that his mother is dead though. When an octopus female lays eggs, she stops eating and dedicates the rest of her life to protect her eggs.

Octavious doesn’t let that fact rule his life however. Just like with his siblings, he didn’t ever get to know any of them.

In the first years of his life he never found the solidarity uncomfortable. It was quite the opposite. He enjoyed his alone time. He was fed and he was safe, that’s what mattered the most. Too bad he’s the aquariums only octopus hybrid. The visitors often want to take a look at him and get impatient whenever he doesn’t show himself. He wish he could ask them how they would feel about getting gawked at everyday. If that were the case, they would also hide away in their privat cave.

He really, really disliked the humans pressing their face to the glass, trying to sneak a peek at him. He’d probably say he has an antagonistic view of every human.

That is, before he met you. You were one of the new caretakers hired by the zoo and that was obvious by how you messed up and clumsily moved about in the beginning. At forst he believed you to be another annoying human but you proved him wrong. You were so kind and patient. You never got mad when he refused to show himself whenever it was feeding time. You never tried to force him to interact with the visitors.

It took a while before he felt ready to talk to you. He had imagined you frowning and scurrying away because of how he ignored you during all you previous encounters. But you didn’t. Instead you smiled and greeted him cheerfully. The two of you spoke every chance you got and slowly you scene an irreplaceable part of his life.

He realised he didn’t simply like you as a caretaker or a mere friend; he wanted more. He wanted to be your mate.

He understands that there is a whole ‘you live on land and he lives in water’- thing but he is able to stay above the surface for a certain amount of time, plus he also has his own private cave only he can access. It’s above water so you can be there and be completely fine. It’s not a big problem.

Octavious often dreams about you staying in his cave with him. You could talk forever without anyone interrupting and you could cuddle and play to your hearts extent. There would be no one to take away your attention from him. Being someone who usually shies in the opposite direction of attention, this is really confusing him.

But he doesn’t mind it, no. He loves you after all! Octavious will do anything to be your only mate.

[yandere-daydreams]

oh daydreams, please bless us with your opinion of what kind of Hybrid the JJK men would be

my takes are hot and controversial. y'all will never know how much self-restraint it took not to pull an 'oops all catboys' and actually give this list a little genome variety.

gojo satoru would be a gyrfalcon. he's an absolutely huge, constantly looming bird of prey with grey-speckled feathers and a wings so long, it only takes one to wrap around you entirely. most hybrids hybrids are at least a little stand-offish, but he's laid across your lap nearly every night, clicking happily while you preen him. if it wasn't for his wings, his piercing eyes, you'd think he was a canine-hybrid - just based on how unwilling he is to ever leave your side.

geto suguru would be a black panther. graceful, elegant, stronger than he has any right to be - ironically, the only things that don't add to his air of mystique are the rounded, twitching ears on top of his head and the sleek, black tail that's almost always brushing against your legs. he's not as clingy as gojo, but if you ask politely, he might let you comb your fingers through his hair (you're dead if you ever try to call it 'petting') as he purrs and kneads at your chest. there's a good chance you'll be left with more than a house-cat's worth of scratches after your informal grooming session, but don't worry, he'll be more than happy do run his rough tongue over your injuries and pretend he doesn't notice that his pointed teeth are just making the damage worse </3

fushiguro toji would be a grizzly bear. his coat is much darker than that of the standard bear hybrid, but once he stands to his full height and throws you over his shoulder with all the effort it would've taken to lift an empty cardboard box, your doubts are miraculously cleared away. he's got hands that can wrap around your head and a jaw that can bite through through steel and he's going to take every possible opportunity to drape himself over you and wonder allowed just how good you'd taste if he ever decided to take a bite. his bark is worse than his bite, though. scratch his adorable ears for a few seconds, and he'll be roughly five-hundred pounds of putty in your hands.

nanami kento would be a spotted jaguar. he'd prefer to be something plainer, like a panther or a cougar, but he wears his spots well. jaguars are largely solitary animals with little need for socialization or companionship, but with enough pestering, he might let you hover around him and fawn over his vibrant coat and extremely kissable pink nose. he's more reserved than most of the other hybrids on this lips, but he'll show his affection through the occasional grooming session and, if you're lucky, the occasional slab of (store bought, thankfully) meat left where he knows you'll find it. he says he prefers to be alone, and yet, he's stilled curled around you every night, purring happily and nuzzling into your neck. he's just a big softie, at heart.

sukuna would be a red fox. it's not enough for him to be a predator - he has to be the one predator known for its intelligence. he's got an ever-present kitsune's smile, his white-tipped tail constantly curling and swaying as he flaunts his strength, and he's got no shame when it comes to unabashedly proclaiming himself your superior while you comb out his thick fur for the nth time that day. he's cockier than gojo (somehow) and obsessed with the idea of proving himself as a mate (without ever admitting he'd want a worthless human as his mate, of course), which means you're going to have a very jealous, very smug fox at your side at all times, no matter how difficult that might make your daily, probably not extremely fox-centric life. try not to hold it against him, he's just trying to impress his future mate <3

[tezzbot]

I've seen quite a few people say that Branch was left alone to raise himself after his grandma died but, like, I really doubt that, because with their living situation there must have been hundreds of parents and primary guardians taken when their children were still young.

So I headcanon that there must have been a sort of, everyone was in charge of raising the kids as a collective type thing. It was just that Branch really had connection with pretty much no one outside of his family and had lost just so much already, and with him turning grey he wasn't able to bounce back like other kids his age might have been.

I imagine there was meal times he sat quietly away from everyone else, kind of picking at his food. He probably wouldn't have participated in any activities with the other kids. He just slowly isolated himself until eventually he was just left alone by other kids. Leaving any adults taking care of the groups he was in to simply worry about him, but still keep him fed and making sure he got outside at least once a day.

Maybe, like a lot of quiet kids, he took to reading. Sort of teaching himself how to survive (on paper lol). It was probably a "Well at least he's doing Something." for the caretakers lol

Then, on the night of the escape, someone would have had to have gone and got him, helped him through the tunnels, made sure that he got to the place that would become pop village, house him while he grew and began creating his bunker.

Then eventually he would become a snappy teenager, learning the the moodier he was, the more that other trolls, no matter his age or not, would begin just leave him alone.

Well GOOD, alone was what he really wanted.

...Wasn't it?

He would grump around outdoors sneering and barking things angrily at others and have his panic attacks and plans in the solitary saftey of his bunker... which Could be even safer, maybe if he just dug it down a little deeper... ten stories might just be enough... For storage that is.

He isolated himself. He made the village roll their eyes and turn their backs on him. Confirmation bias is a hell of a thing. Yes, as long as he was the one making people leave him on purpose then it was his decision not his fault

But there are likely some older trolls in the village that probably still wonder if they could have done more to prevent Branch from becoming so suddenly hateful and rude and miserable

[kai-anderson-whore]

Temptations (Kit Walker x nun fem reader) smut

Requested by @mrsmarch64 thank you so much for this request sorry it took so long to write 🥰

Summary: reader is one of the sisters at the asylum and has the hots for kit which leads to something else

Warnings: smut, kit being accused of crimes, asylum, sex, oral reader receiving, virgin reader, Christianity, religion, getting caught, punishment, solitary confinement

Taglist: @spill-the-t @iluwmycats @lili-tate @evanpeterswifeyy868 @jademunson @evanpetersfansblog @howtobesasha @lustforeverrrr @fand0mh03

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•. .•°˚˚°

Working in the asylum was hard you didn't like the hard punishment the patients get expecially one person in particular kit walker. You knew from the get go he was innocent you saw it in his eyes when you would have discussions as part of his treatment.

As the months grew you began to have feelings for kit, he didn't know until he caught you giving him lingering glances in which he gave you a smirk in return. You knew you shouldn't feel such feelings towards anyone the feelings of lust, desire, neediness. But that all changed when kit came along.

You and kit were in the kitchen he was helping you make bread for the local bakery. You were kneeding the dough whilst kit was cleaning up some of the dishes that you weren't using anymore. "You know sister y/l/n I still don't get why your the only one of the nuns and workers that is nice to me why" kit's voice broke the lingering silence between you both.

You were caught off guard you stopped kneeding the dough you breath hitched in your throat. You didn't know how to approach this or what to say, "well I could tell you were innocent from the moment I saw you kit I saw it in your eyes and in your time spent here you never laid a finger on anyone only spoke your innocence and truth".

Kit watched you closely noticing you haven't moved from your spot your eyes focused on the dough in front of you. "Sister your the only one who believes me here I can't thank you enough" kit whispered you hadn't realised he was right behind you, "you don't have to thank me" you whispered back the heat rising through your body.

You knew you shouldn't feel this way you made a vow to God you knew it was wrong to even feel this way. You felt kit's hands on your arms his mouth closer to your ear feeling his hot breath on your neck the scent of his last cigarette still lingering almost bringing you to your knees.

"But I want to sister, I saw the way you look at me it's definitely not how the lady of the cloth should look at someone" he chuckled his hands rubbing your arms your breath hitched feeling like shocks of electricity through your body.

"Kit we can't what if we get caught and plus I'm a woman of God we simply can't it's a sin" you whimperd feeling his erection against your back making your mind cloud with lust. You wanted to desperately just let him take you then and there but you had it drummed in your head that it was sinful and in this places eyes it was probably the worst thing to to give in to your sexual desires to a patient.

"I mean with the things that happen in here I think this is the last of anyone's problems sister" his breath tingling on your skin sending shivers down your spine but you knew it was right plus you couldn't fight it anymore you wanted him and he wanted you. You turned around now pinned against kit and the counter. Kit's arms on the counter shielding you in a devilish smirk on his lips his eyes scanning you like prey making you weak at the knees.

His eyes bored into your nervous ones, you could see the lust in them how they darkened as he thought about all the unholy things he wanted to do with you right now. You swallowed a lump in your throat trying to speak but before you could even get a word out kit crashes his lips on yours. Filled with hunger and passion your eyes wide open in shock before slowly closing them responding to the kiss.

You hands on the back of his neck holding him close the worry of you not being a good kisser in the back of your mind. Kit's hands on your hip pulling you closer till his erection poked your thigh, he pulled away from your lips traveling to your neck sucking and slightly biting on the exposed skin. "God I want you so bad" he groaned you couldn't help but let out a small moan a sound that never left your lips before turning your cheeks a flush pink shade as kit continues his work on your neck.

Your hands pressed against his chest as his own went to the back of your thighs guiding you on the counter your uniform bunching up revealing your bare legs to him. His lips pressing up your leg till his head was under your dress placing a kiss on your clothed clit an audible gasp leaving your lips. Your skin burning with desire while kit's fingers hooked your underwear peeling them off your legs and onto the floor.

"You ready sister y/n?" He asked looking up at you through his long lashes the sight made you even more wetter. You nodded your head unable to let the words leave your lips. "I'm going to need you to use your words sister" kit softly chuckled a small smirk tugging on his lips seeing the effect he had on you already. "Yes kit please" you whimperd pushing your thighs together desperate for some sort of friction.

Kit slotted himself between your legs kneeling down placing his lips on each of your thighs one last time before pressing a sloppy kiss on your clit. A loud gasp leaving your lips, your head pulled back, jaw slack the feeling overwhelming yet so good. Kit kitten licked your clit stimulating you hearing the sounds of your moans fill his ears.

"You know sister your gonna have to keep quiet" he teased yet warned.

All you did was nod trying to keep your mouth shut in fear you would get caught. Kit continues his work on your throbbing heat the pleasure unbearable for you since this was the very first time you did anything of this sort. Kit then darted his tongue in your entrance his nose brushed over your clit adding a whole new pleasure to the mix. You had to put your hand over your mouth to block out the moans leaving your lips "Oh god" you moaned against your own hand as you felt yourself close to the edge.

Kit never missed a beat bringing you to your first orgasm keeping your hand secured on your mouth tears brimming your eyes completely overwhelmed of the feeling of euphoria. Kit went back to licking you through your high your legs slightly shaking from overstimulation. Licking up your arousal kit pulled away from your heat standing straight licking his lips. You went to jump off the counter to return the favour but kit stopped you before you could even get off.

"What you doing?" He asked his brows furrowed, "returning the favour" you said feeling slightly embarrassed kit smiled shaking his head. "Nah you don't need to worry about that this is about you right now I want to make you feel good" he stated kissing your lips again letting you taste yourself on his tongue. freeing his painful erection kit lined up with your entrance you took a deep breath squeezing your eyes preparing yourself for what's coming next.

You felt the pain as he slowly pushed into you. "I'm gonna need you to relax I know it hurts but I promise it will go away" he reassured you peppering your face with his lips distracting you from the pain. Before you knew it he bottomed out staying still letting you adjust to the foreign feeling. Kit stretched your walls perfectly as you told him to move once the pain turned into pleasure.

Thrusting into your wet pussy, your hand holding him close by the neck your breathing was heavy the sweat building up as he thrusted into you with a passionate pace. The thought of getting caught and the fact you gave yourself to god left your mind all that occupied it was kit and the way he made you feel.

"Your so beautiful" he whispered against your lips making you want those plump lips on yours.

"Kiss me" you said kit smiled before giving in to your need for his lips. Kissing you with the amount of passion his hips gave into you. It felt more than a quick fuck meaningful if you will. Kit swallowing your moans feeling that knot form one more time until.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE!"  A voice startling you both heads snapping to the person who caught you. Your heart dropped seeing sister jude standing there in horror kit pulled out of you quickly fixing yourself dreading what's to come next.

"Sister jude I'm so sorry" you pleaded making your way over to her. "My office NOW you too Mr walker" she said coldly your heads hung low following your boss into her office for your punishment.

Standing behind the chair sister jude sat on her own eyeing you both up clearly thinking about the punishment you both will receive. "You sister y/n I expected more from you not to give into the temptations of the devil" the disappointment oozing in her tone. "I'm sorry sister jude I know I shouldn't have but I'm only human I just wanted to see what it would be like just once" you whimperd the tears brimming your eyes.

"No sister jude it's all my fault I came onto her please don't punish her" kit pleaded with jude who scoffed at you both. "You are both equally as guilty" you couldn't even hear anything anymore everything else was a blur all you remembered was the backs of your  legs stinging and you were sent to your room as well as kit you were also punishment in some sort of solitary confinement in your room for a week.

All you could think about is kit and the whole kitchen situation late at night. You missed him already you wondered if he regrets it since it got him into trouble but you wouldn't find that out till you were out of punishment.

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously

parings -> riki nishimura x reader genre -> non-idol au, school au, hyrbid au warnings -> n/a word count -> 2.4k

abstract -> he's perfect how he is... but can maybe change for her.

y/n’s perspective

“Niki, we always do this” I whined as he locked himself in the bathroom. I needed to get him ready for tonight’s party. If I didn’t have to go I wouldn’t… but with my family pushing me into choosing a major in business, they're making me befriend other kids who are from wealthy families. 

“Please… I don’t want to go alone” I begged but he didn’t respond. It was running late and the driver was gonna be here soon… so I might have to go alone today. 

I gave up trying to convince him and I went to do the final touches. Grabbing a jacket, fixing my makeup, and grabbing everything I needed. 

When I left my room, I couldn’t help but smile. 

“You’re gonna go with me?” I asked and he nodded. “I can’t let you go on your own” he muttered and I chuckled. “Besides, look at how forgetful you are,” he said as he pulled my hair roller off my bangs. “Oh,” I said genuinely forgetting as he laughed at me. 

“Do you–” “Yes, I have my tail ring on. I’m ready, now let's go before your dad starts calling”

Riki Nishimura was a stray hybrid I met when I was a kid. We were on a vacation trip to Japan when I saw him. I offered him some food I had on me and he took it from me to eat it like he was starved. 

My parents were already wanting to get me a hybrid so I begged them to keep him. In which they reluctantly agreed. However, when we found out he wasn’t a normal black cat hybrid they agreed. 

He was a panther hybrid and has been with me for years. We grew up together… However, my parents never liked how rowdy he was. Even now they tell me to get another hybrid, one that could join me in dinners, parties, and one who is overall more well-behaved. 

I wasn’t gonna let them replace him. He was my best friend, my number one confidant. Besides… who needs a fancy and well-behaved hybrid? Niki was way more fun!

niki’s perspective

It was the same old party they threw with the same kids as their rich human parents and new collectibles. They liked to collect new hybrids where they’d show them off and then throw them away… but not y/n. 

Without her, I probably would still be mistaken for an overgrown cat hybrid on the street. It doesn’t mean I liked being gawked at and set a price on what they’d trade her for me. Of course, she’d never let them... I’ve seen how annoyed and angry she gets and it made me happy she cared so much. 

I cared for her too… She was clumsy and an idiot so she needed someone to take care of her. So I'm here… at a stupid party filled with spoiled rich kids. 

Not to say she isn't spoiled… she is. However, I never questioned that she loved me. She always makes that clear with everything she does for me. 

“Oh! You’re y/n right?” I heard and I saw a girl behind us with what smelled like a bird hybrid. “Mmhm… have we met before?” she asked why I didn’t think so… I would’ve recognized her and her hybrid. “My name–”

I didn’t care what she had to say… I just didn’t like how her hybrid kept on staring at me with those eyes of his. What was his problem?

I was cut off from my thoughts when suddenly the topic of discussion became me… 

“He’s really pretty and exotic too! I just haven’t heard good things about him, you know?” she said and I had to refrain from growling at her. Who was she to talk right in front of my face about me? And to y/n?

“Jay here is well-behaved! He’s from America you know–” Is that supposed to make him impressive? Congrats bird you’re a pet! “–it's just a shame you know. I wanted a bunny or maybe a cat hybrid” she pouted and I could see his disappointed expression. 

“Oh, Niki is really sweet but he’s solitary–” “You should invest in a social hybrid you know?” she cut her off to say. Rude… why would she need another hybrid when she has me?

“I like the way he is, he’s been with me since we were kids so there's no way I could ever replace him like that,” she said and I felt proud. 

“I heard about how much you care for him. I guess rumors were true” she said and I knew she was amongst those who talked about why she couldn’t get a nicer and social hybrid who smiles and dotes on her. I do dote on her… and I’m only nice to her. Everyone else was pushing it. 

“What is he if I can ask?” she said and y/n only sighed while looking up at me. “He’s a puma hybrid from Japan,” she answered. “Woah! I heard puma hybrids were rare! I thought he was just a cat… makes sense then for how tall he is.” she said as she got closer to me. 

“Oh please don’t do that. You’ll make him uncomfortable.” y/n said as I went behind her. 

“You should take him to the training you know. It's for the hybrids who need manners… they are opening classes in your university for hybrids'' she said… she stalked y/n to know what university she was in? She needs a life. 

“Oh… I know of them. I think he is just fine the way he is” y/n said and she bowed. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said and we walked away from the pair. “She was a bitch” y/n muttered and I laughed.

“Calm down, you have an act to uphold,” I said and she sighed. “y/n?” I said and she looked at me with her eyes filled with determination to answer to give me anything I asked for. “Why didn’t you tell me your uni is having hybrid classes?” I asked and she sighed. 

“They're mainly about etiquette. She said how to take care of your owner… how to behave in a social setting, etc” and I nodded. 

“I want to go,” I said and her eyes widened. “But you're perfect–” “No, I’m not… I caused you a lot of trouble. I heard your dad get mad again this morning. He didn’t want me here because of last time” I said and she shook her head. 

“Yah! Don’t do that!” she scolded and I smiled softly. 

“Please? You said you would give me anything I asked for. I want to be a better hybrid for you” 

“I can’t believe I'm agreeing to this,” she said and I smiled. “Thank you for letting me do this,” I said and she sighed. “I hate that the class requires collars though. I would’ve rather you had the tail ring instead” she complained and I chuckled.

“You’ll do great in your midterm, okay? Don’t worry about me” I said as I kissed her cheek. “After we’ll go for some Japanese food,” she said and I grinned. “Takoyaki!” I yelled and she chuckled. “I’ve been craving some curry udon,” she said and I nodded. 

“I’ll do my best for you,” I said and she smiled. “You already are. Don’t change, okay?” she asked and I nodded. I just wanted to improve for her… 

When I entered I was immediately overwhelmed with the many scents of hybrids. I ignored the stares of the familiar scents and went down into the big lecture room. 

I sat down in the middle of the third to first row, not expecting others to approach me. “Ah! I’m not late!” I heard as I saw a Golden

A Retriever hybrid suddenly entered… he didn’t have a collar nor the scent of a domesticated hybrid. He grinned at me and I suddenly regretted staring… “I’m Jake, and you are?” he said as he approached me and sat next to me.

I heard the laughs around us, probably of me socializing with another hybrid. “Riki,” I said and he nodded. “I think your collar is cool!” he said and I chuckled. “Of course it is, I chose it,” I said and he looked confused. 

“Your owner must be kind,” he said with a wagging tail and I chuckled. “Hey, isn’t that miss l/n’s hybrid?” I suddenly heard a bunch of whispers and I sighed and slouched down to my chair. 

“Oh? Do they know you?” he asked and I scoffed. “Don’t get it mixed up, they know OF me, they don’t know me” I said and he nods 

“They seem to know your owner,” he said and I scoffed. “They don’t know her…” I muttered. “Is she nice?” he asked and I laughed. 

“She’s perfect” 

y/n's perspective

“I thought you were going home after?” I heard and I saw Wonyoung with Seonghwa. I nod, “I do, I just need to pick up Niki, he’s taking etiquette classes,” I said and they both froze. “Your dad is making him take classes?” Wonyoung said and I chuckled. 

“No, he wanted them for whatever reason. I tried to convince him otherwise but he insisted” I said and they both looked at each other. “Oh shut up the both of you,” I said and they chuckled as they caught up with me. 

“He’s so spoiled if you just fold like that,” Seonghwa added and I scoffed. “You do spoil that cat a lot” Wonyoung teased and I rolled my eyes. “Have you told Hongjoong–” “He would kill me in my sleep if I ever brought it up” Seonghwa cut me off and I chuckled… that's true. 

We finally made it to the building where the hybrid classes are taking place but I didn’t see Niki… I saw the hybrids out already so where was he? 

“How long is it gonna take for him to come to you?” Wonyoung asked and I didn’t know. I looked at my phone, and the class should’ve already ended by now. “Why’d you even allow it?” Soenghwa asked and I sighed. 

“Cause he wouldn’t let go of it. He begged and begged… I couldn’t keep denying it” I said and they sighed. “She’s whipped for him, that's the answer,” Wonyoung said and Seonghwa nodded. 

“Oh? y/n!!” I heard as I saw the girl from the party again with her hybrid. What was her name again?

“You’re Wonyoung and Seonghwa, right? I’m e/n” she said. “I’m glad to see you’re having Niki taking this class,” she said and I sighed. “His name is Riki,” I said and she looked confused. “Oh? But you call him Niki?” she asked.

“That's a nickname that she only calls him, he will glare or even scoff if he hears you call him that,” Seonghwa said and it was true… I've called him that since I was a kid and yet he never let anyone else call him that. “This class should teach him otherwise,” she said and I had to refrain from scoffing. 

“Oh, you should look into a secondary hybrid,” she said and I glared. 

“I wouldn’t get another one,” I clarified. “Riki would get too jealous,” “Or he’d kick the other hybrid out himself,” Wonyoung and Seonghwa added. 

“But if you were to get one he’d have to comply with her. She’s the owner,” she said and I shook my head. “Well, I was thinking of something cute… maybe a fox? Ooh or a pretty cat!” she said while looking at herself in a pocket mirror fixing her lipstick while her hybrid looked at her with a sad expression.

“I wanna go home” I suddenly heard. Niki? 

“Why do you have scratches on your face? Are you okay?” I asked and he avoided eye contact when I grabbed his jaw to look at his wounds. He nodded, “I wanna go home” he repeated and I sighed. 

“Ok, just let me take this off,” I said as I took off his collar and took out his tail ring. “Riki!! You forgot… Oh. Please don’t be mad at him! He was only defending me!!” I saw a dog hybrid yell while he held Niki’s backpack. Seonghwa grabbed it, holding it for me. 

“Please, it's all my fault. Don’t abandon him because of me!” he pleaded and even bowed. I looked at Niki who looked away. “Why would I abandon you? Niki, what happened?” I asked and the other hybrid soon stood up but looked down to my hands. His collar? I sighed and turned Niki around when I clipped his tail ring. “Thank you for caring about him but he’s not in trouble. You should find your owner, they must be worried about you–” “He’s a stray” I was interrupted by e/n.

A stray? “Did you see? It's why they make the hybrids wear collars because they need to know by the end of the class who is a stray and who is owned. It's a mixture of people like us who pay and hybrids of low status who need major help like him. He’s probably also a runt” she said suddenly in disgust as she stepped back.

“Thank you for looking after Niki,” I said and he nodded with a small smile. I grabbed the backpack from Seonghwa as I looked at him and I saw his worried eyes. “Come on, I'm hungry,” I said as I dragged him away from the lecture hall and everyone else while I heard Wonnie and Seonghwa complain about me abandoning them…

“I still want that udon curry,” I pondered and he sighed. He grabbed his backpack and clipped his collar there as he walked silently. “Did you fight for him?” I asked and he nodded silently.

I smiled. “That’s very kind of you,” I said and from the corner of my eye, he looked at me confused. “What were they doing to him?” I asked and he sighed. “Called him a runt… a stray… useless. It was all when the teacher left for a break and I don’t know why I did but I fought for him” he said and I smiled. 

“That was very brave of you. I’m proud of you Niki!” I said with a grin and he smiled softly. “The teacher gave me a warning cause he said if he told you that you’d return me,” he said and I chuckled. “We’ve been together for years! I could never do that” I said and he nodded. 

“Still want takoyaki?” I asked and he chuckled. “Always!” he yelled as he ran ahead of me. 

“HEY!! NO FAIR!! YOU HAVE LONGER LEGS!!”

taglist -> @ilovecheese09 @gudkc @nikisvanillaccola @blossominghunnie @mheretoreadff @k1ttylvr

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[thevalkyriesshadow]

@freyjas-musings - A drabble for you! Inspired by a couple Gwynriel bathroom headcanons of mine as well as this steamy Instagram reel

💖 Enjoy 💖

The House was quiet as Azriel entered the dining room. No one was in the sitting room. No one lingered in the halls. Though as he neared his room, he did hear the distinct sound of water running in the baths situated between his room and The House's newest inhabitant -- Gwyneth Berdara's room.

And of course after two days of her being here, the personal bathrooms went on the fritz -- well, just his and Gwyn's.

The House, the clever structure that it was, created a new bathroom between their rooms as it worked out it's own problem. (Don't ask how or why The House was able to produce a new bathroom instead of just fixing the old...it vexed Azriel to no end.)

Not that he minded having to share a bathroom, but he did like the solitary usage of his personal one...

As he passed the bathroom to get to his room he heard another sound amidst the trickling of water; something he hadn't heard coming from the shared bathroom before.

Singing.

And it was ethereal. Beautiful.

Was that Gwyn?

He stood outside the door for a moment, letting the sound carry over him and wash away the tension in his shoulders. His jaw unclenched and he took a deep breath. Music was often a way to unwind and shake off the stress of a job, but this singing was...transcending, divine.

There were no words as the voice carried through the wooden doors. Just 'oohs' and 'ahhs'.

That had to be Gwyn right? Nesta wouldn't use it. She had her own bathroom.

Then the voice dropped an octave, and words began pouring out. A language he didn't recognize, but a voice he knew.

The acoustics of the bathroom amplified Gwyn’s voice. Her cadence ebbed and flowed.

For the first time in three days since he left for his mission, Azriel felt...calmed.

He may not recognize the language she sang in and the power of its words, but he yearned for the sensation that flowed over him -- through him -- serenity. Stillness.

No anxious thoughts pervaded his mind. No fears or worries.

Only peace.

And as he listened to her belt out the words at the top of her lungs, not a care who heard, Azriel felt a squeezing in his chest. A tug.

Her singing faded into the steady stream of the water. There was a loud squeak, and the water stopped.

The silence broke his reverie. Azriel hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes. Hadn't realized he'd leaned against the door as he listened and lost himself in teal blue eyes. Lost himself imagining how her mouth might move as she sings. Imagining what it would feel like to sing with her....

Not wanting to be caught lingering outside of the bathroom when Gwyn emerged, Azriel hurried off to his room to change and gather his own things for a shower.

---

Gwyn thought she'd finally be getting her own bathroom moving into The House, but of course, fate seemed to have it's own ideas.

Fate or The House was pranking her.

She wrapped herself in a towel as she got out of the shower, looking forward to putting on the silky, light blue pajamas The House provided her. She had an exhausting day of training the new Valkyrie recruits, assisting in the Library, and conducting research for Rhysand. She wasn't tired, tired, so she would probably be staying up to rearrange her books - again -

When she had moved in a couple weeks ago, she had only ten books to her name. But every day since she'd moved in, she would return to her room at the end of the day to find The House had dropped a pile of new books for her onto her bed. Some books she'd never even think to read, like ones about dagger making and types of rope knots. There were books on the history of Prythian. Another titled Espionage and You: An In Depth Discussion of the Moral Code, and of course, lots and lots of romance and adventure novels.

Gwyn slipped into her pajamas, ate the small plate of cookies The House provided her, then grabbed her toothbrush and headed back to the bathroom.

She had just put the toothpaste on the brush when the door to the showers opened. A billowing cloud of steam and shadows poured out.

Gwyn balked as Azriel emerged from the mist, a towel slung low on his hips. His shadows darted out, twirling around Gwyn’s hair and toothbrush.

Azriel froze in the doorway as he spotted Gwyn. Water dripped from tendrils of inky black hair. It ran in little rivulets down his neck and shoulders. Some of the water pooled into the little divet of his clavicle. Other streams continued over the tattoos on his chest and trailed down...down...

Her eyes darted back up to his.

The smallest of smirks tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Gwyn, by some unexplained reason, continued to brush her teeth while casually staring back at him. She waited for him to say something first.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched his shadows dance around her before joining her at the counter. His tore his gaze from hers, only to catch it again in the mirror as he picked up his toothbrush and began his nightly bedtime routine.

She tried, and failed then, to ignore Azriel’s reflection.

But gods damned those muscles as he moved his arm to brush his teeth....

It was like they were purposefully tormenting her, begging her to watch them as they tensed and flexed with every movement he made and --

Her gaze caught his brilliant hazel eyes watching her watch him in the mirror. The golden flecks amidst the green hues sparkled with amusement as a blush crept across her cheeks.

Gwyn peeled her eyes away from him, focusing on her own reflection.

Damn. She didn't realize how cropped her shirt was, or how noticeable her nipples were as they poked through the thin fabric. Maybe Azriel didn't notice.

She chanced another glance.

Oh, Azriel definitely noticed.

His eyes were currently sweeping over her in the reflection before he bent forward and spit into the sink, rinsing away his discarded toothpaste with a quick twist of the faucet.

It was his turn to blush as his gaze met hers in the mirror, knowing full well he'd been caught checking her out.

So...Gwyn held his gaze for a moment, then lowered it, unapologetically, taking in the lithe muscles of his shoulders and chest, the way his body sloped to a tapered waist.

A sensual warmth spread from her lower spine and pooled deep within her.

Her gaze certainly lingered longer than it should have on the smattering of hair that extended above the low hanging towel perched on his waist.

She spit her toothpaste into the sink and looked over at him. Not in the mirror this time, but at him directly.

The Shadowsinger was already looking over at her, brushing his teeth lazily, as if his mind momentarily forgot what it was doing until she caught his gaze.

Normally, when Azriel stared at someone, it was with an icy coldness.

But never with Gwyn.

With Gwyn, Azriel looked at her with reverence.

A rare softness fell over his features.

Then he drooled toothpaste and was pivoting to the sink to spit it out. His blush spread further across his cheeks and ears as he hastily finished brushing his teeth.

Then Azriel, the terrifying Spy Master of the Night Court, tapped his toothbrush on the sink, dropped it into the holder, and with a wink and a devilish smirk Azriel finally spoke.

"You have a lovely singing voice, by the way," he said, his voice dark and husky. The sound sent shivers down her spine.

Gwyn's eyes went wide, and something in her chest hummed and tugged as she watched Azriel saunter past her, willing her to follow him. Her gaze dropped to the dimples of his lower back, reveled at the way his muscles moved as he twisted back around to flash her another more sheepish smile before ducking out of the doorway.

Forget reorganizing her bookshelf. Tonight, Gwyn was going to pick up the juiciest romance she could find from her new drop today and indulge in a little self-care.

[m00nsbaby]

Clumsy.

Marc Spector + Steven Grant x F! Reader. (Ft Jake Lockley) Next part to Sleepwalking. (Or "Already over" part 3.)

Final part. Clumsy II.

Tags & warnings. Sensitive themes, mentions of emotional distress, mentions of mental health, angst but not as bad as the other parts lol.

Word count. 3.2k

Summary.

I flew too close to the sun, Fell back to earth like a stone. I got too high on myself, Too young and stupid to tell. I was bound to make a mess of things, Mixin' fireworks and gasoline, Never meant to make you fall with me.

Your definitive breakup with Steven marked a point of no return for all three involved in the situation.

Marc had to force himself to learn to live without crossing a word with Steven, and his solitary life suddenly felt emptier than it had ever been. All of a sudden, it felt as if there was a void in his chest that nothing could fill, not alcohol, not Layla's occasional company, nor missions that put his life at risk.

Marc's biggest fear came true when he realized he had lost his routine completely. His life had taken that 360-degree turn he never wished for.

"Steven?"

"Mhm?" He didn't even raise his gaze from his book to look at him in the mirror's reflection in front of him; he simply turned the page slowly.

"Did you tidy-up?"

"No."

The only thing that broke the silence for a few seconds was Steven's page turn, while the other observed the apartment that seemed slightly tidier.

The topic wasn't discussed further. In fact, nothing else was talked about, and Marc silently observed, as he had for the past month, wondering if he was going crazy, if Steven was lying to him for the sake of it, or if his chronic depression was clouding half of what he did during the day.

That day, he didn't claim the couch; as it started to get dark, he chose to 'disappear' rather than spend another night listening to Steven's sobs as he clung to the scarf you had forgotten in his apartment, the one that no longer smelled like you.

If broken hearts had a scent, it would probably be what was impregnated in the yarn of it, Steven's tears mixed with his own cologne.

And a hint of whiskey, from the nights when Marc would steal the garment while asking himself over and over again, 'What have I done?'

The next day, to the surprise of neither of them, more things seemed to have changed during the night. Steven had woken up wrapped in his bed's covers, not on top of them, wearing his favorite pajamas, and your scarf neatly folded on the nearby piece of furniture.

More organized books took their place on the bookshelf where they belonged before Steven had started piling them up on the floor.

"Steven?"

"No." His head remained on the pillow, his eyes still closed. He was tired of answering Marc's questions, which, in his eyes, never made sense.

Who cared if a book was here or there? He didn't even remember what he had eaten for breakfast the day before, if he even had breakfast at all. With even less reason, he would remember if he got up in the middle of the night to rearrange things in the apartment.

Steven didn't take long to fall asleep again. The only slightly bearable aspect of this situation was that, for the first time in their lives, both Steven and Marc were starting to sleep more, enough hours at night and a few extra in the afternoons. It turns out life becomes more tolerable when you're not aware of what's happening around you.

Even counting the vivid dreams, the constant dissociation that was nothing new for them, and the lost time that could be used for anything other than sleeping.

You were... better, all things considered, as it had been exactly 26 days since your breakup with the person you would forever consider the love of your life.

Of course, you still cried at night… and sometimes in the afternoons, rarely in the mornings when the sudden realization of what had happened struck. But taking care of a pet proved enough to keep you distracted for most of the day. Thanks to your little ball of fur, you managed to get up in the mornings and took constant showers just to go out for walks with him.

The only contact you maintained with Steven was once a week when you sent him a photo of the kitten. You always picked the best one for him, and he patiently waited to ask you a thousand questions he knew wouldn't really have answers.

No matter how desperate he was to have you back, he would always respect your decision to want space. He'd sooner die than make you feel uncomfortable, and he genuinely preferred anything over risking the only contact he had with you. So, he never pushed much further, although he never forgot to make it clear how much he missed you.

He's beautiful! Looks so much like his mom. (You) How's he doing, apart from being really cute? How are you? I hope you're doing incredibly well because I'd hate it if you weren't. I miss you so much, and I know Marc does too. Do you think it's possible for us to talk one of these days? If not, I understand. It's not a problem for me to wait if you change your mind at any time. I'll always be waiting for you. ❤️ Have a great week.

Unfortunately, in every moment you assured yourself you were moving on from Steven (and maybe even Marc), you found yourself smiling at his messages, even when you weren't willing to reply.

Marc ended up losing his last remaining shreds of sanity when a month and a week had passed since he last saw you. He was doing his best to reassemble the pieces of his life that had fallen apart, but unfortunately, every time he tried to put a fragment back together, another seemed to crumble.

When Layla welcomed him, she didn't kiss his lips as usual, and mentally he thanked her for it. Physical contact with her hadn't felt the same for a while.

It's funny how at some point in his life he had found himself deeply in love with his wife's small but strong hands. Now, he could only think about how rough she felt touching him and how they didn't compare to your hands when you used to play with Steven's curls.

It was torturous realizing that there was nothing that didn't remind him of you.

"We need to talk," she said, turning her back to him. All Marc could see as he entered the apartment were her curls.

"What's going on?" He knew exactly what was going on, of course. He had been waiting for this for a while now.

"We can't go on like this, Marc."

In a horrible déjà vu, he could swear you had told him something similar, or maybe it was Steven, who was attentively observing the scene from the headspace.

"What do you mean, Lay?"

"You know what I'm talking about." It hurt him to realize his tears no longer had an effect on him. When did he stop loving her? "You're not the same after what happened."

The upside was that this was the most they had talked since they started their relationship, without shouting or either of them storming off.

"It's like you're not here. You come, we have sex, and then what?" There was that irritated look, filled with resentment that maybe he deserved. He had seen it in you, in Steven, and now in Layla.

Marc was so tired of fighting that he had no strength left to keep his pride up. He nodded silently and decided to take whatever she had to offer. Maybe receiving a bit of the pain he had distributed among different people would be enough to heal one of the million wounds inside him.

"Is it because of her, huh?"

'It's not about her, it's that I'm falling apart inside.' He thought.

After denying it for so long, he never thought that the first time he would acknowledge his feelings for you would be to Layla.

He nodded.

"You're broken, Marc." And he was, there was no denying it. "You're so shattered that you hurt everyone who tries to get close to you." If she only knew the pain he had caused Steven, she might turn the metaphorical knife she was stabbing him with. "You're going to end up alone, Marc Spector, completely alone."

When did she start hitting his chest accusingly? No idea. He had disassociated after hearing the word 'broken' from someone other than himself.

"Marc?" Steven's soft English accent called his attention from the other side of the room. His tear-filled eyes couldn't locate which reflection he was calling from. "Let's leave."

And that was another stab right in the heart. After all he had done to hurt Steven, was he still trying to protect him?

Maybe he really was the awful person life was trying to prove him he was.

"I'm sorry." It was the only thing that came out of his throat, his voice nearly inaudible due to the painful knot within.

Layla laughed at him, as was logical. How foolish he had been to think that saying sorry was enough to fix such a huge mistake.

"Let's leave." Steven's voice was so reassuring it gave him the strength to move his legs that seemed rooted to the ground.

"You understand that I'm breaking this up, right? I don't want you to come back here."

He felt like he was running out of breath when he nodded. He barely managed to clumsily leave the place; he was so confused. What hurt so much? As curious as it might sound, the breakup wasn't his main problem.

Maybe it was realizing everything he had caused through his mistakes, that everything could have been resolved if he hadn't been so stubborn.

The pain in his knees momentarily brought him back to reality. His body was giving up, and he could swear he was about to throw up in his now ex-partner's building. He didn't want to forcibly trigger a switch with Steven, but when the flashes of white and black appeared in front of his eyes, he knew it was better to just let it happen.

A week later, your hair was dripping as you rushed to open the apartment door, having just stepped out of the shower. You expected to find your upstairs neighbor, that sweet elderly lady who occasionally stopped by to ask for things like sugar or eggs. It was the highlight of your week, as it often resulted in desserts gifted to you a few hours later.

Ah, and she adored Sekhmet, who was already by the door acting as a second doorbell, eager for you to open up.

"You better not run off, silly," you said before swinging the door open.

You almost screamed curses until your lungs gave out when you found him on the other side. Holding a bouquet of yellow flowers and wearing black leather gloves you'd never seen before.

"Steven?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him, and almost immediately shook your head. He didn't have Steven Grant's perpetual shy or embarrassed expression.

Nor did he have Marc Spector's eternally furrowed brow, a look of constant stress. Although, right now, without any knowledge of what was going on, he was your best guess.

"Marc?" The only sound for several seconds was the purring of Sekhmet, rubbing against his legs repeatedly.

What a traitor.

He seemed just as surprised to see you, as if he hadn't been the one knocking on your door. You furrowed your brow when he offered his free hand.

"Jake." You took his hand to shake it. "Jake Lockley."

"Are you kidding?" That was all you said, not even annoyed or scared, just confused.

When he shook his head, you accepted that answer because you knew your boys well. Neither of them would joke about something like this. But what the hell was going on?

"Come in." You did your best to smile as you stepped aside to give him space when you noticed his intention was to enter your apartment.

"Ah, I… These are for you." He extended the flowers, and your chest tightened. It was like seeing Steven on your first date, but with an extra dose of confidence. "The yellow flowers are for an apology. They symbolize hope for a quick reconciliation."

You took the flowers in your hands and looked at them closely for a few seconds. They were beautiful.

"And why would you have to apologize to me, Jake Lockley?" You closed the door behind him. Being disoriented helped you take in this situation better because if it weren't for that, you'd probably be in the middle of a crisis.

You cleared your throat as you leaned your back against the apartment door. You studied him closely, and there was no doubt in your mind.

That wasn't Marc, and definitely not your Steven.

"Marc's foolishness," he commented. The yellow suited your complexion. He noticed when you brought the bouquet closer to smell it. When you closed your eyes and took a deep sigh Jake thought he fully understood why Marc and Steven's lives were now in pieces.

He would be too if he had lost you.

Thankfully, they had their protector, the one who didn't give up at the first obstacle, luckily for Marc since Steven seemed as persistent. And he seemed to have watched enough novelas to have the smooth talking of a 90s casanova.

His plan was trying his best, though, you were the first girl in Jake's life. And considering the circumstances, probably the only one.

"Marc is forgiven," you smiled with a weight on your chest as you placed the flowers on the central table in your small living room. The cat wouldn't leave Jake alone, and you knew it was because, to him, Jake was Steven, the one he missed so much. "When Steven and I…"

His gaze refocused on you. He wanted to let you know his full attention was fixed on you.

"Shouldn't you explain your presence first, Jake Lockley?" You questioned with that same smile that revealed how emotionally and physically exhausted you were. Still, he nodded, running his fingers through his curls to put them back in place.

An action that made you audibly swallow.

The hours passed quickly. It turned out that Jake spoke about everything that Marc and Steven seemed to keep to themselves. He knew very well that based on the memories of both boys, there was no one better than you to understand his situation.

You learned that Jake was a protector for both of them, and neither Marc nor Steven were aware of him until now. His priority was the two of them, and he knew you perfectly from both of their points of view.

It was surprising to you, but somehow comforting to know that there was someone to take care of Steven when you couldn't. Jake confirmed your theories that he was as hurt as you were by the breakup, that he missed you as much as you missed him.

Oh, and in the same vein, you understood that he had felt the need to take control more in the last few days. It seemed Marc wasn't in the best condition either. Ironically, you could believe everything Jake said, even though you had only known him for about three hours. But Marc remorseful? That part sounded like a fairytale to you.

"I'm here because I need…" He cleared his throat, his fingers playing with each other. A while ago, he had gotten rid of his gloves. "I would like to." He corrected himself. "I would like for you to give Marc a chance to talk to you, hermosa."

You wondered if he was trying to sweet-talk you or if the endearing nicknames rolled off his tongue so easily because he still shared a body with Steven and Marc.

"I can't do that right now, no, I hope you can understand why." You cleared your throat. Your nerves stood on edge when Jake got up to sit on the couch next to you.

He offered you his hand, and you looked at it doubtfully.

"Jake, no."

"Please."

Those stupid gigantic brown eyes were fixed on you, and beyond the expressions that differentiated Jake from others, all you saw was Steven's sweet gaze.

Your Steven.

You swallowed hard and reluctantly gave him your hand.

He cradled it between his palms.

"Marc is devastated." His fingers gently tightened around yours. "And don't get me started on Steven. I can see that you're not well either."

His voice was so soft. Velvety.

You allowed yourself to be fragile in front of him because how could you lie? You were breaking apart, and the loneliness, not having someone to tell every night how much you missed the love of your life, was killing you.

A pout formed on your lips slowly.

"Please, I need you to listen," he whispered as he leaned down to meet your sad, wounded gaze. "Would you do that for me? I'm begging you."

Your eyes were brimming with tears as you looked at him, for the third time, forced to face this awful situation. Once again, it was your responsibility to be reasonable and tolerant, to swallow your pride, and worse, trample your dignity.

For Marc, again.

"I can't. I won't."

He drew your hands closer and gently kissed them, your fingers, your knuckles, the back of your hand. All while maintaining eye contact.

"Hermosa? You don't have to do anything." You were breaking his heart. "Just listen to him, okay? Not now."

When you hesitated again, he knew he had to play a low blow,

his last card.

"For Steven, could you?"

With a sob, you nodded, and Jake didn't hesitate to encircle you with his arms, pressing you against his chest.

"Shhh, hermosa." You didn't have memories of yourself in this situation. You were usually the one offering comfort, not receiving it. It felt good, for once, to have support and companionship.

It didn't last long before you decided to regain your composure. With a red nose and teary eyes, you straightened up, and Jake let you go without protesting.

"Do they know you came?"

"I told you, they don't know about me, darling." He covered his hand with his jacket sleeve and wiped the tip of your nose. In any other situation, you would have refused and said that was gross, but at that moment, the gesture just made you smile childishly. "I'll call you, okay? So you and he can meet and… talk."

By this point, it seemed like a work arrangement, but you had no choice but to accept it. You nodded in silence and did your best to smile at Jake, who looked at you with compassion, although mentally you were confusing it with pity.

"I have to go; they think… they're sleeping." He elicited a very slight laugh from you. If you were confused, you didn't want to know what it was like for them. You just nodded and opened the door for him to leave.

You said goodbye with an almost awkward hug because while he wondered why his arms clung to you as if they were Steven's, you questioned whether this was just a formality for Jake. Whether he just wanted to go back to his normal life, and that's why he was doing this. Either way, you appreciated the gesture, or whatever it was. At least the company in the afternoon had been nice.

You had a lot to think about, clearly. Nothing was stopping you from ignoring Jake for the rest of your days and never clarifying the darned conversation he wanted you to have with Marc. However, deep down, you did want to lay everything out when it came to him.

Needless to say, you cried all night, confused, hurt, sad. Just like the previous nights, with Sekhmet in your arms, meowing because he missed the smell of Steven.

Just like you did.

i know i know this feels like we got nowhere but i have to get you ready for the end of this, ok?? from now on everything depends on marc so lol good luck for y'all

LOVE YOUUU thanks for following this thing that was supposed to have just one part lol the next one will finally be the end >:)

[bi-disaster-yn]

Tread Carefully

Pairing: neighbour!Peter Parker x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is used to being led on and then let down in love which leads to her not quite believing just how much Peter likes her.

Set after the events in No Way Home! As always, Peter is aged up to be in his early-mid twenties.

A/N: This one goes out to the all the girls who have been made to feel crazy when they’ve been led on by someone who suddenly loses interest. You are valid and you deserve so much better (and someone like Peter in this fic <3)!!

Feedback & reblogs are always appreciated <3

Whilst others seem to fall into love quite easily, for you it was always like trying to catch fire in a jar. Never successful, getting burned in the process and eventually the jar melting with all the exposure to further render your attempts useless.

Such carelessness with your emotions had led you to a solitary existence. The mere suggestion of reciprocated feelings had made you strategic and forceful, putting pressure on every encounter with a prospective lover in hopes that one day you might secure love.

Naturally, the pressure would snap any cord of bond you might have with someone and there you were, left again without any recourse. A scorned woman.

This wasn’t always your fault. Often, you’d bestow your emotions upon someone unworthy. Gaslighted with a promise of something real, you’d pursue these people only to be bitterly disappointed with a frank conversation where they confessed that you were great but all the same, not good enough.

Enter Peter Parker, your sweet neighbour who moved in next door a few months ago and brought with him a little spark that had you giddy.

The day he had moved in, he just seemed so out of his depth and alone. With the door open, he’d stood in the middle of his apartment looking round at the admittedly small number of boxes he had. Nevertheless, he looked entirely overwhelmed and frozen, struggling to even take the first step to open any of them.

You’d just finished grocery shopping as you walked past, peering in quickly when you came across the open door. From where you were standing, viewing his slumped shoulders and helpless face, it looked like he was going to cry. He looked so lost and you were sure that your help was exactly what he needed.

So, you came to the rescue. Announcing your presence, you offered your help which he reluctantly accepted. One by one, you worked your way through the boxes and worked together to set out his things the way he’d like them. At first, he was wary of you but grew more comfortable as you took things at his pace, never pressuring or hastening him.

You cooked him dinner, noting that his fridge hadn’t been stocked up yet. He asked you for coffee the next day as a thank you.

Coffee dates became dinner dates which naturally slipped into taking turns to make dinner for each other every night. He was so convenient being next door and had explained being new to the area that he had no one else really. Naturally, he gradually began to intertwine himself within your plans until you had become inseparable. Not that you minded, you hadn’t been this infatuated in a long time.

You did everything “right”.

You nurtured your feelings, trying to keep them on a leash to prevent them leaping out of control. You were calm and collected around him, allowing yourself to freak out about him after you said goodbye for the night. You made allowances for him in your plans yet didn’t hedge your bets on having to actually plan around him.

Yet, you still expected him to let you down. Some dark, twisted and nasty corner of your brain still told you that you were holding on to false hope. You had let people in before only to have them ridicule you for ever thinking that something could happen. For all you knew, Peter could be - and probably was - just the same as the rest of them.

Although, surprisingly, he hadn’t let you down to date. He always turned up on time when he said he would, except for that one rare exception that he had to cancel. Even at that, he was following up with you to reschedule and even planned and paid for the whole date because he felt so bad about having to miss your plans.

He let you touch him and he allowed himself to touch you. When your thighs lingered as you sat next to each other, he didn’t move away or sit in clear discomfort. Contentedly, he’d continue his story while you sat, completely mesmerised by the fact he’d allowed you a crumb of intimacy with just a simple gesture.

When this inevitably went downhill, it was going to kill you.

***

Winter had taken over the city. The restaurants and shops below your apartment had started to decorate their storefronts with festive lights which teamed up with the streetlights to create a cosy light in a cruelly cold and dark night.

It was Peter’s turn to cook that night. He stood at the stove making mac and cheese in plaid pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt that although oversized, still managed to show his muscular shoulders.

You sat on his couch flicking through Netflix to find a suitable Christmas movie for your night in. As the snow began to fall outside, you wrapped the blanket round you tighter and excited yourself with the idea of cuddling up to Peter to keep warm. Peter hummed as he plated up the food; it was his Aunt May’s recipe and he’d raved about it for weeks, insisting he would make it for you.

You tried not to read into the fact he was letting you into something he’d shared with his aunt who had been more like his mother. Nor did you read into the fact that the blanket wrapped round you was one you hadn’t been able to stop touching in the store because of how soft it was. He’d bought it so he could see the big grin on your face as you smoothed your hands down it.

“You really love that thing, don’t you?” Peter commented with a sweet smile as he handed you the plate.

“It’s just so soft! How did they make it so soft?” You beamed in response.

“I don’t know, but you look really cute with it wrapped round you.” He smiled, facing the TV and taking a bite before saying the all too familiar yet equally dreadful sentence.

“I think we should talk.”

It was so out of left field and so unexpected. The horrible yet familiar feeling of dread sat deep in your stomach and destroyed your earlier appetite for a home cooked meal. Setting your plate down, you took a deep breath in anticipation of what he was going to say next. You had to give it to him, ending this over his beloved aunt’s recipe was a new low in your experience of rejections.

“Sure.” Was the only response you could muster without it sounding like you were dying inside at the very notion Peter could end all of this.

“Well, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now, right?”

Oh God. This really was it. Now was the time for the usual chat. He’d come out with some drawl about how even though you had spent every day together, ate together, slept together, treated each other like boyfriend and girlfriend, that it was of course, casual and you were irrational to think anything different. In the heat of the moment, frenzied by embarrassment, you’d agree and tell him you’d even prefer to be friends. Then over the coming months, the dejection would slowly eat away at you as you’d overanalyse the memories and consider what you should have looked for to ascertain that this would never be a serious relationship. Good enough for a fling, but not quite enough for a substantive commitment.

It was going to be a long and lonely winter.

“Yeah, two and a half months to be exact.” You stated, as if for a court record to build your case on just how much of your time he had wasted before he was about to throw this genuine and beautiful connection away. Peter merely chuckled at your matter-of-fact manner, oblivious to your serious tone.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to be my girlfriend?” He asked nervously, watching you with a hopeful smile.

Admittedly, your reaction was in fact, irrational.

“Sorry, WHAT?!” You yelled back, so taken aback by the question. It was what you wanted to hear but not at all what you expected.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Peter tried to explain, clearly self-conscious by his choice of timing and now considering what seemed to be a real possibility of you rejecting him. “I just thought that I really love what we have and I wanted to make it official but if you feel differently then-“

You cut him off before he could go any further by lunging over and wrapping your arms round his neck tightly. You held him like he would disappear if you let go. The longer you held on, the more tangible his question became and the more likely you were being validated that this whole thing wasn’t just a one-sided and bittersweet liaison, doomed to fail from the beginning.

Peter chuckled, managing to set his plate down on the coffee table, despite you clinging on to him like a koala. He settled back against the couch, rubbing his hand up and down your back soothingly while you sat still, completely incapable of letting go.

“So… is that a yes?” Peter asked with slight concern in his voice as he tried to measure how long you had been silent for.

“Of course, it’s a yes! I thought you were going to end this!” You confessed. Peter frowned at your response, unsure where you could ever have gotten that idea from. He had tried so hard to not be one of those asshole guys and not lead you on. He started to question whether he should have done anything differently.

“Why would you think that?” His question came with a sweet kiss to your temple. Despite you holding him hostage with a cuddle, he seemed quite content.

The heat of embarrassment claimed your cheeks causing you to nuzzle your face into his neck. This should have been a really happy and carefree moment between you both, and hopefully the beginning of many years together. Yet, your insecurities and past emotional injuries had tainted this.

Perhaps, sharing your intense fear and feelings was going to be too much for Peter. Still, if he was going to be in a relationship with you, he ought to know the truth.

“I just…” You began, sitting back to look him in the eye. “I just never get asked that question.”  

Peter looked at you with a mixture of surprise and sadness. His eyebrows furrowed in contemplation and he let out a silent “oh”. At first, you thought he was pitying you but then you came to realise that he was just appreciating how big of a deal this was for you.

“I always seem to be the practise run or the casual fling. I never seem to be enough to be the girlfriend. You know?” At this, Peter nodded silently and reached his hand out for you to hold which you gladly took.

“And with you, I’ve been trying so hard not to get overexcited or put too much pressure on you but I really like you, Peter! I’ve been terrified that you’ve wanted to end this for a while now.” You explained further, watching him get confused.

“What did I do that made you think that?” Peter mumbled, his own fears and guilt setting into him. He had been trying so hard to let people in and to think that he was potentially failing was more than a tough pill to swallow.

“Nothing.” You said simply, because it was the truth. He had done nothing wrong.

“It’s just, I let you into my apartment, which was supposed to be just mine. I talked to you about Aunt May, which was really hard for me but I trusted you with it. I… I fell asleep on you. I felt safe enough with you to sleep soundly. I just don’t think I could have done anymore to let you know I was interested.”

The lump in Peter’s throat was evident with his words. This poor, sweet boy had no idea that this was so much bigger than him. It was an injury to your very being that had attached itself to you for all time coming. In truth, Peter had opened up to you and had let you in. On the other hand, all of those boys had done the same thing. They fed you with private and emotional insights then cut off the supply when you dared tried to establish a deeper emotional connection. How were you to tell the difference? 

“Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just, not all guys are as genuine as you. They mess with our heads and then call us crazy.” You explained calmly, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles lightly. The words took purchase in Peter’s body and he nodded at you, slightly embarrassed.

“I am sorry you’ve been through that. I just really liked you and wanted to let you in. I have meant it all and I’d really like for you to be my girlfriend.” He smiled, reaching his other hand out to caress your cheekbone. An excited and surprise giggle escaped your lips.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Peter.” You leaned in and kissed him deeply, putting your hands on his cheeks. His hands found your waist, pulling you to sit on his lap. You gladly obliged, not once breaking the kiss. It wasn’t catching fire in a jar. Rather, it was gathering water that easily streamed into the jar – filling it up and adapting to the shape of its keeper without any threat of burning or melting; secured simply with a screw top lid. It was different, fresh and easy.

“Okay,” Peter chuckled as he finally pulled away from the kiss. “Can you please let me know if I made a good job of dinner?”

“Sure thing, boyfriend.” You grinned, giving his lips one last peck before leaning back and retrieving your neglected plate from the table. It was starting to get cold but that didn’t matter. You were going to give it a glowing review anyway.

You draped the blanket over the two of you and cuddled into him, no longer afraid to show him just how keen you were. He hummed happily at this, turning to gently kiss your temple. Your mind and body relaxed, content in the knowledge that you need not tread carefully around your Peter.

Finally, someone genuine.

[yasmindifference]

IMMEDIATELY asking for jason’s pov of the fake dating fic for the prompt meme. literally first and only thing that popped in my mind. i don’t have a specific scene in mind, any you want would be amazing

oh and i forgot to say happy belated birthday!! you don’t have to reply to this separately lmao

Thank you very much! I've always kind of wanted to write Jason's POV of the hickey scene in chapter two, so I hope you enjoy ♡♡

It probably made Jason a bad person, but how could he resist the opportunity when it was right there?

“You might not’ve noticed, but I’m a possessive kinda guy,” he said in extreme understatement. “When I own something—or someone—I make damn sure everyone knows. You need more than this if you’re gonna be mine.”

It was a lie. A shameless, shameless lie.

Was Jason the kinda guy who marked up his partners as much and as often as they’d allow? Yes.

Was there a single solitary person in Crime Alley who was gonna look at Red Hood’s boyfriend long enough to even realize he had hickies, let alone count them? Absolutely fucking not.

So it was a lie, and Jason knew it. Knew that Tim would be lucky to get eye contact as long as he was undercover, because nobody would want to be the moron caught staring at Red Hood’s boyfriend. Jason had never dated anyone as his crime lord persona before, so they wouldn’t know what kinda punishment he’d lay down for staring…but he was sure they could imagine, and it would keep all of their gazes firmly averted.

But the excuse was right there—right there like the hickies he’d left before, scattered across Tim’s neck and just begging to be joined by some friends—and who was Jason to ignore it?

Tim hadn’t answered. Jason felt like that was a good sign; better hesitation than an immediate ‘no.’

“So?” he asked. He couldn’t resist the urge to apply a little pressure to the mark below his thumb, treasuring the way Tim’s pulse jumped in response. “More, yes or no?”

Tim’s pulse evened out immediately, and not in a natural way. No, that was Tim applying Batman’s lessons in controlling his heartbeat. That was Tim needing to control his heartbeat, because Jason was absolutely getting to him.

“Sure,” Tim said casually. “Knock yourself out.”

“Great,” Jason said, matching Tim’s casual tone. Not easy, when the jealous, possessive thing in his chest was nearly purring in satisfaction. He’d had so much fun marking Tim up the first time and couldn’t wait to do it again.

…But half the fun was flustering Tim, and Jason was pretty sure Tim had a strength kink. (It would explain his baffling and infuriating affair with the super clone, for one, and also Jason was like seventy-five percent sure Tim had checked him out the last time he took advantage of the Batcave’s weights.)

So he took the excuse of their height difference to lift Tim right off his feet and put him on the kitchen island. Without asking. With no visible effort. (No effort required, it’d be so fucking easy to just pin Tim to the wall and hold him there while Jason fucked him—)

Tim was blushing. Fuck yes.

He also wasn’t asking why Jason had done that, which was an even better sign, Jason thought. Still, for the sake of appearances—

“You’re too short,” he offered in explanation. Tim didn’t so much as roll his eyes; another good sign.

He wanted to keep teasing Tim, see if he could get that faint blush darker and more obvious, but the other half of the plan called. They had a date to go on.

So he stepped up between Tim’s splayed legs and gripped his hips, yanked him to the edge of the island, and went to town.

Tim’s skin was soft beneath his lips. His shirt rubbed distractingly against Jason’s chest. And the quiet, hitching breaths he kept taking were driving Jason out of his goddamned mind.

He was obviously trying so hard to stay cool, to play it unaffected like he wasn’t bothered all by Jason’s attention, and he was failing. Calm, cold, unflappable Tim was being really fucking flapped by Jason giving him a few hickies.

It was hot as fuck—and, more importantly, it gave Jason hope. Hope that this plan might actually work after all. That he might walk away from this not only with his traitors dealt with, but with Tim finally being his as a bonus.

And if not…well, at least he’d have this memory: Tim’s stifled moans, the taste of his sweat, and his visible struggle not to arch up into Jason’s touch.

It wasn’t everything Jason wanted, but it was a damn good start.

[amundsenxcook]

okay so because of who i am as a person i obviously have not stopped thinking about the ellsworth poem since i have learned of it. this one:

some things to note:

• "skoal" is norwegian for "cheers". so he‘s literally toasting him with this poem. also it shows that they were very familiar with each other and ellsworth took an interest in amundsens culture and mother tongue.

• it is dated september 3, 1928. a couple of months after amundsens disappearance. this is as much a toast as it is a eulogy. this is probably a good indicator of when ellsworth considered amundsen no longer missing but dead. feeling great and normal about that.

but i wanted to know more!!! in the hopes of finding more context for this poem i tried looking it up but i couldn‘t find anything in relation to ellsworth and/or amundsen. so i tried to find the poem itself. and i did.

ellsworth didn’t write it, it is by none other than famous romantic poet william wordsworth! but this is not where my search ended. because the part that ellsworth quoted is not the full poem.

you see. the full poem is titled „Lines written by Capt. James upon his leaving Charlton Island, where many of his Ship's Crew had died during the winter, which they passed there A. D. 1631-2.“

so of course the question arises: who was this captain james who overwintered in charlton island in 1631-2?

captain thomas james was a welsh captain and explorer and in the years 1631 and 1632 he set out to find the northwest passage. he did not succeed and had to turn back. he wrote a report on it which you can read here on the internet archive.

wordsworths poem was inspired by this tale (some say the ancient mariner was inspired by it as well) and clearly ellsworth put a lot of thought into his choice. chosing a poem about someone looking for the northwest passage to dedicate it to the guy who found it!!!!! man

conclusion: ellsworth did not write the poem for amundsen, but he did carefully choose one that fit him so perfectly, choosing as well the lines which are the most touching and personal.

anyway, here‘s the whole poem below the cut because it’s actually really good and makes me very sad:

I were unkind unless that I did shed

Before I part some tears upon our Dead:

And when my eyes be dry I will not cease

I heart to pray their bones may rest in peace:

Their better parts, (good souls) I know were given,

With an intent they should return to heaven:

Their lives they spent to the last drop of blood.

Seeking God's glory and their Country's good.

And as a valiant Soldier rather dies.

Than yields his courage to his enemies,

​

And stops their way with his hew'd flesh, when death

Hath quite deprived him of his strength and breath;

So have they spent themselves; and here they lie,

A famous mark of our Discovery.

We that survive, perchance may end our days

In some employment meriting no praise,

And in a dunghill rot, when no man names

The memory of us but to our shames.

They have outlived this fear, and their brave ends

Will ever be an honor to their friends.—

Why drop you so mine eyes? Nay rather pour

My sad departure in a solemn shower.

The winter's cold that lately froze our blood.

Now, were it so extreme, might do this good,

As make these tears bright pearls, which I would lay

Tombed safely with you till doom's fatal day:

That in this solitary place, where none

Will ever come to breathe a sigh or groan,

​

Some remnant might be extant, of the true

And faithful love, I ever tendered you.

Oh! rest in peace, dear Friends, and let it be

No pride to say, the sometime part of me.

What pain and anguish doth afflict the head.

The heart and stomach, when the limbs are dead.—

So grieved I kiss your graves, resolved to die,

A Foster-Father to your memory.