#and then i can't quite recall if you need to wait for like a week or if they can print it for you whilst you wait. it's been a long time.

[racke7]

Fun things today, I called a repairshop about a replacement key and it was valued at around 4k SEK. Talked to my insurance-company and they said that I had "full cover, but not for that".

Complained to my dad about my key-remote requiring me to use the keyblade as an antenna when turning the ignition (metal-to-metal contact is the only thing that seems to work). My dad responded with "if my car-key is low on battery, my car-alarm goes off when I try to turn the ignition".

The wonders of technology folks.

Came home, sat down to pay my bills. Bank said that my bank-ID was getting old, and suggested to update it. Alright. Fair enough.

"We require a specific ID-card that nobody ever requires, or a literal fucking passport".

What.

Do you fuckers know how expensive those things are? Do you? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I don't remember having to do all of that shit last time, so why the fuck do I have to do that now? What the fuck?

[cherryredlove]

☆ summer in sunspear ☆

Modern! au Gwayne Hightower x reader SMUT

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Your flatmate and best friend Rhaenyra invites you along with her group of friends on a summer holiday to Dorne. In the group is the gorgeous Gwayne. Is it the heat or is he checking you out?

Word Count: 2.2k

Themes: SMUT, very indulgent smut, rough p in v, praise, semi-public sex, creampie, content warning of alcohol, lots of fluffy love too

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

You've been looking forward to this trip for weeks, but now that it's finally here, you can't help but feel a twinge of anxiety. After all, you're flying to Sunspear in Dorne with a group of people who are practically strangers to you. Sure, your best friend and flatmate Rhaenyra Targaryen will be there, but her friends are a mix of old schoolmates, some of whom you've only met in passing. You know that, just like Rhaenyra, they're all unfairly cool and chic.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, stuffing the last of your essentials into your suitcase, when Rhaenyra bursts into the room with a vibrant energy only she possesses. Her long silver hair is tied up in a messy bun, sunglasses perched on her nose, and a grin spreads across her face.

"Are you ready for the best holiday ever?" she asks, practically bouncing on her toes. She flops onto your bed, grabbing your hot pink bikini from the bed and wiggling her eyebrows.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you reply with a giggle. "I'm just hoping I won't be the odd one out."

"Nonsense! Everyone's going to love you. Just wait until you meet them. Criston is a riot, Alicent is a sweetie, the siblings Laena and Laenor are the life of any party. Oh, and Gwayne is coming too—Alicent's brother. You remember him, right?"

Vaguely, you think. You've seen him at a couple of Rhaenyra's gatherings. Tall, handsome, with a laid-back charming demeanour that contrasts with his sister's quieter and more reserved nature. You recall his wry smile and the way he watches the room as though he's in on a joke no one else knows. There’s something about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

As you make your way to the airport, Rhaenyra rambles on about her plans for the week. She’s planned for days on the beach lounging in the Dornish sun and nights out on the town drinking. Your worries slowly dissolve in the anticipation of the warmth and adventure awaiting in Dorne.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

You step out of the airport into the sultry Dornish air, feeling the sun's heat embrace you like an old friend. The group has already assembled—Criston Cole, tall and charismatic, with a smirk and brash humour; Alicent Hightower, elegant and serene, her presence calming like the ocean breeze you can already feel; Laena Velaryon, with hair as wild as the ocean, whose laughter is contagious; and her brother Laenor, who immediately makes you feel at ease with a light hug and smile.

And then there's Gwayne.

You notice him standing off to the side, leaning against the huge rental car (thank the Gods Rhaenyra is rich), a lazy smile spreading across his lips as he catches sight of you. He has an air of effortless charm, like someone who doesn't need to try too hard to make an impression—and from the way his eyes linger on you and your heart races, it's clear that he's made one on you.

“Welcome to Dorne,” he says, extending a hand to help you with your luggage. His touch is firm yet gentle, and you feel an unexpected thrill at the contact.

“Thanks,” you manage, smiling back. “It’s good to be here.”

Rhaenyra claps her hands, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. “Alright, folks! Let’s get this party started!” Criston whoops loudly, winding his arms around yours and Alicent's shoulders, walking towards the car.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The massive beach house you’re staying in is a dream come true. Nestled on the coast with a panoramic view of the glittering sea, it has enough room for everyone, plus some. The ocean breeze filters through the open windows, carrying with it the scent of salt and orange blossoms.

Your days quickly fall into a blissful rhythm. Each morning begins with a lazy breakfast on the terrace, the laughter and chatter of your friends setting the tone for the rest of the day. Rhaenyra is the queen of leisure, leading the group in a daily swim as soon as the sun reaches its peak.

One afternoon, as you laze under the sun, you find yourself alongside Gwayne. He's reclined on a deck chair next to you, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare. The two of you have drifted into a companionable silence, occasionally exchanging thoughts about the holiday.

“Do you ever feel like you belong in a place you’ve never been to before?” he asks suddenly, turning to you. The sincerity in his voice surprises you.

You nod, considering his words. “Yeah, I do. There’s something about Dorne—it's different from anywhere else.”

Gwayne smiles, his gaze thoughtful. “I think you fit here. With us.”

The words make your heart skip a beat. You hold his gaze, the air between you charged with an unspoken understanding.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Nighttime in Dorne is a different beast altogether. The group descends upon the local beach bars, eager to get as drunk as possible on zesty cocktails.

Criston, ever the instigator, orders round after round of drinks for the group, insisting on trying every concoction on the menu. The Valyrian Blaze cocktail is bright red, spicy, and strong enough to burn as it goes down, while the Winterfell Chill is a stark contrast, with its cool minty freshness. You yourself favour the delicious Dornish wines, the Stormlands sangria taking the cake.

You find yourself next to Gwayne again, both of you leaning against the bar, both trying a drink that seems to be some unholy blend of dragonfruit and tequila. The laughter from your friends fills the air, mixing with the sound of the waves crashing in the distance and tropical music playing in the bar.

"These are dangerous," you comment, swirling the colourful drink in your glass.

Gwayne chuckles, taking a sip from his own glass. "That's the point, isn’t it? To let loose and forget about everything for a while."

His eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

"I suppose you're right," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the night wears on, the drinks take effect. Everyone is dancing now, the rhythmic beats of the music vibrating through the air. You join in, feeling the weight of your worries lift as you move to the rhythm, hips swaying, and sandals gliding across the floor.

At some point, Gwayne finds you on the dance floor, his movements in sync with yours. There's a magnetism between you, an undeniable pull that keeps drawing you closer. The music slows, and without missing a beat, he slips an arm around your waist, guiding you in a gentle sway.

The sun is setting as you and the group make your way back to the beach house. The day has been long, but the energy is still buzzing among your friends. As you approach the entrance, you hear Rhaenyra’s voice rise above the chatter.

"Right, everyone, it's surfing and a seafood meal out tomorrow!"

Everyone sounds out their approval, and plans are quickly made for an early morning departure. But for now, the night is still young, and you find yourself wandering the grounds outside of the beach house, needing a moment to yourself whilst the others head to bed.

Or at least you think you're alone until you hear footsteps on the sand behind you.

"Couldn't sleep?" Gwayne's voice cuts through the darkening sky, smooth and inviting. He steps into view, and even in the low light, you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Just needed some air," you admit, sighing lightly. "It's been a long day."

He nods, falling into step beside you. Wordlessly, his hand slips into yours and guides you towards the Water Gardens that lie adjacent to the beach house. Together, you walk through the gardens, the scent of jasmine and sea salt heavy in the air. There’s a tranquillity here that contrasts with the vibrant chaos of earlier, and it offers a quiet intimacy between you and Gwayne.

"These gardens are beautiful," you muse, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gwayne stops walking, turning to face you fully. "They are," he agrees, his gaze steady on yours. "But not as beautiful as you." His hand comes up to gently brush some hair from your face and rests on your blushing cheek.

The words hang between you, heavy with meaning. In the next breath, he closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that is both gentle and insistent. It’s a moment that feels like it’s been building from the instant you laid eyes on each other, a culmination of unspoken desire fuelled by the Dornish summer.

Gwayne pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, and you can feel the heat radiating from him like the sun you’ve spent all day under. His hands are firm on your back, anchoring you against him in a way that feels both possessive and tender.

Before you realize it, you're backing up toward the edge of the garden where a small, secluded pool lies hidden among the lush foliage. The water shimmers under the sunset, inviting and cool.

Gwayne breaks the kiss first, his breathing uneven, eyes searching yours for permission. There’s a question in his gaze, an unspoken invitation to take this moment further.

You answer with a nod, slipping off your purple sun dress as he unclothes, and with a shared smile, the two of you slip into the water. It’s cool against your sun-warmed skin, a welcome reprieve. The coolness tingles against the building fire between your legs.

Gwayne pulls you into him again, his lips tracing a path down your neck as you wrap your arms around him. The water laps around you, creating a rhythm that matches the steady pulse of your heart. His hands explore your body with a reverence that makes you feel cherished, desired in a way that’s almost intoxicating.

Gasping lightly, you reach beneath the water to feel his cock, hard and thick in your hands. He moans against your neck, standing on the floor of the pool, pushing you up against the pool wall. You instinctively wrap your legs around him, moaning as his hardness presses against your aching pussy.

He looks at you, asking if he can continue. You nod slightly, feeling a shiver of lust as his hands grip your ass tight and his cock nudges against your slickness. He pushes inside smoothly, holding you tightly for what feels like an age as your pussy flutters around him. He murmers sweet words into your hair, caressing you, cherishing you.

"You feel divine, you look divine, my angel, let me make you feel good." Gwayne rumbles against your lips. You nod desperately, feeling so full and loved.

He thrusts against your wetness, sending the cool shimmering water rippling. Your head lolls back, lips parted, as Gwayne bestows kiss after kiss on your tender neck and collarbone as his cock pounds your pussy hard in a measured pace.

His fingers sneak between your legs to touch your clit reverently. Gwayne circles your clit delicately, and whilst you enjoy his worship, you want more.

You kiss him, hard, and bite his lip, not hard but enough to make his eyes widen.

"Gwayne," you beg. "Fuck me, please. I need you to show me how much you want me." Your pussy weeps as his hips slam harder. He leans over you, eyes ablaze and a smirk curling across his lips. You mewl helplessly.

"My angel, I'd love nothing more." He snaps his hips, rubbing your clit more urgently now. You feel the warmth of an orgasm licking inside as his teeth brand marks across your neck. Your fingernails scratch against his muscled back as Gwayne moans.

The water ripples quicker now as he fucks you hard and fast, kissing across your cheeks and nose.

"My pretty baby," he rasps. "So good for me, pussy so good for my cock. Gonna cum, gotta make you cum my angel."

You cry out in agreement, hips bucking wildly as his fingers and cock draw out a searing orgasm from you. His head falls to your shoulders as he cums, thick white cum filling up inside you.

You both stay there for a while, kissing each other softly and stroking hands through each others hair. Gwayne's eyes are shining in the moonlight as you seal your lips under the stars.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The next morning, the pair of you are greeted with whoops and hollers from the rest of the group as you walk into the kitchen hand in hand. You bashfully smile as Gwayne proudly kisses your cheek. Criston pats him on the back in congratulations.

"I'll make you an iced coffee." Gwayne says, pecking your lips. Laena pretends to gag but throws a cheeky smile at you.

Rhaenyra sidles up next to you, offering you a brioche, looking far too smug. You roll your eyes.

"Glad you came now?" She asks, hip bumping you. You glance over at Gwayne, who is chatting with Laenor but looking at you reverently.

"Yes I am."

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: the way i was kicking my own damn feet writing this. it has been a scorcher in england today (at least for me lol) so got inspired to write a summery sexy fic for darling gwayne. check out my masterlist for more modern aus and sexy fun! send requests and feedback plz love u xx 🍒

[thesilmarillionblog]

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part:𝟷𝟸

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4624

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

It was quite the struggle to train with Ben for a week, especially when he took it extremely seriously and pushed you to the very limit. It was not that he hurt you; it was that in the lab you either lost your will to fight or you just got really weak.

There were moments when you stated to Ben that things might get serious about your power, but he chose to ignore you and aggravated the training, which left you worn out. But you were relieved that he could, in his own irritating way, encourage you that your strength was still there.

Ben answered, “No,” right away when you wanted to stop the exercise.

Right now, the entire home was a mess, and the hole you had made in the wall remained.

“I'm tired here, Ben,” you complained as you fell to the ground, gasping for air. You had been there exercising together since the morning, and it was nearly the sun going down. Except when you needed to eat or pee, he rarely gave you a moment's peace of mind. “I mean it. I'm done.” 

You opened your hands wide on the ground, and he looked at your body while saying, “You're a supe; you can't just feel exhausted that easily.”

You blushed as you noticed him staring at your soaked entire body and replied, “Give me some break.” There's a good chance that you were both thinking the same thing. “How on earth can you find that much energy? Even for a supe, it's too much.”

Ben stared at you and then took off the shirt he had taken off hours earlier, wiping the sweat from his muscular chest. You grimaced, knowing you probably smelled like trash. 

“It's because I am the strongest; I am not just any average Supe.” With the most arrogant way possible, he threw his t-shirt back to the ground and said, “Simply better and more powerful than anyone. But don't worry; we'll return you to the way things were, sweetie. You have my word.”

He gave you a sneaky smirk when he saw you staring at his broad, sweat-damp chest. Ben was waiting for you, literally, from above, all the time you tried to get some rest. His eyes narrowed, and you suspected his head was full of filthy stuff. 

You just muttered, “I hope so,” and avoided giving him a glance as you closed your eyes.

He sighed and went down on the floor next to you, crossing his big arms over his head. 

“Don't think about it that much. You're going to do even better than you are now. Maybe we should just do those trainings more frequently. What do you say?”

“It’s fine. I don’t have another choice anyway,” you replied, cutting it short while keeping your eyes closed. Even if you felt his intense stare on your face, you didn’t react. “What did the doctor tell you, by the way? The one who supervised Compound V's improvement for decades?”

You remembered that there was a lot of discussion following the news that Ben had killed him at his home. You kind of hoped you could have dealt with that cruel piece of shit on your own, though. He was just a monster with a white robe. He had always made an aggressive attempt to cause damage to you and showed no sympathy or compassion for anyone. You got scared and insecure when you opened your eyes, recalling the physical harm he had inflicted. 

“Fucking piece of shit!” Ben angrily exclaimed, his fists clenched over his head. “I should have killed him properly.” 

“What did he say, so you blew up?” 

“Isn't it obvious? That pussy told me how little supes are in the big picture of science, the future of the supremes, humanity, and some other bullshit. It's certain that Vough paid that cocksucker generously during all those years. He lived in luxury, torturing us, and he didn’t even regret it.”

“Did he tell you what kind of research he did on my body?” You asked as you moved your body to face him. 

Ben fell silent for a minute, enraged by what he remembered the doctor had said about you. Nevertheless, his eyes softened as he saw your expression and saw that you were excited to hear what he was about to say and that you were feeling at ease and comfortable next to him. That was all he needed. Ben recognized that if he made a determined attempt to be by your side and touch you in the way he desired, you would push him even further away and that you weren't

ready for physical contact at this time. He therefore forced himself to keep his distance from you and let you do whatever you wanted.

He just turned to face you and stated, “I didn't give him enough time to talk,” straightening his posture and sitting straight up on the floor. “He's just an animal, and he sees supes as rats for research in order to make profit. That's all.”

“When we agreed to live this life as supers, Ben, we already knew that.” You said bitterly, “People in charge always wanted to play with us like we were toys. They used us as they pleased and needed us for their own good. I wanted to leave the company for a number of reasons, one of which was that I was unaware of how serious that whole picture was. What I need to learn is what they succeeded in doing during the decades we were unconscious and at their mercy.”

Ben sighed and got up to get some weed from the nearest table, just after helping you off the floor.

“I was told by that son of a bitch that he examined you to make the future supers flawless. Though I'm not really sure what he meant, it seems to me that Queen Maeve—the woman from Seven—is their new you.”

“Do you think they might have found a way to weaken me? Don't say 'no' right away,” you said in a hurry when he opened his lips to object. “It just doesn't feel right about what's going on and everything.”

Your concerns, which were constantly lurking beneath the surface, took over when you realized that Ben had remained silent. Something was off with you, you two sensed that. Although after your first training day you felt a little stronger, your weakness remained under your skin.

You pulled open a window to let some fresh air in and muttered, “If you hadn't just killed the doctor, we could have learned about it.”

Ben offered you one of the glasses and sighed as if he regretted what he had done, filling the other one with wine. “I didn't intentionally kill him. It simply happened beyond my control. But I would still murder him anyway.”

You raised an eyebrow and sat down, realizing that your tiredness was taking over. “You need to find a way to control it since your nerves are always on edge,” you said. “And also, I need to find someone who can understand all of this.”

Ben sat beside you, stretching his muscles and leaning back into the coach while he listened to you attentively. As you spoke, you noticed that your gaze lingered a little too long on his sweating body, almost making you flush. 

He studied your expression to see how you would react to his suggestion. He said, “I guess the best option is to kidnap or torture a doctor who is in charge or fuckever who's doing supe studies for Vought right now. We can use Mindstorm to look at your memories and thoughts to see whether they have hurt you in any way.”

His suggestion caused your eyes to widen with excitement, and you exclaimed, “That's actually a smart idea. But how are we supposed to find him?”

“Remember the new technology, sweetheart. Anything is possible with these phones, Bluetooth, and GPS technology. Remember how I found you very easily?”

You gave a nod to him, knowing that what he stated was right and that you would be able to reach Mindstorm with ease thanks to modern technology.

After you had your shower, you saw Ben watching the TV with a dead serious face, and you sat beside him.

As you used the towel in your hand to dry your damp hair, you inquired, “Is there any news about us? Almost a week has passed.”

“Not much,” he replied as he continued to listen to Homelander talk about the two of you.

‘They pose no threat to the United States,’ Homelander confidently stated, grinning, as he extended his arms and turned to face the screen. 'As Seven, we've been trying to find them for a week, but it looks like they are hiding pretty well,' he continued. I, Homelander, the Seven's leader, swear to you that they shall answer for their actions. It has been proven that Soldier Boy rescued Y/N, and it's very likely that the two of them murdered the hapless doctors as well as every lab employee in cold blood and without hesitation.'

You and Ben exchanged a look as Homelander continued his speech. ‘Their families and children are in agony even though our government gives them the best care they can. These two criminals are responsible for the deaths of the orphans whose parents they killed. It breaks our hearts to see them weeping and grieving the loss of their families. There are even toddlers among them. Soldier Boy and Y/N will be held liable and made to pay for the harm they caused to the United States and its citizens. They have little time to conceal; they cannot get away.’

As the audience gave him a loud applause and he flew opening his arms out like.

Ben angrily said, “Fuck that. Son of a bitch,” and threw the remote control onto the table in front of him. “They were just another piece of shits who enjoyed torturing supes, nothing else.”

“But I didn't kill anyone,” you mumbled. “We are past the point of self-justification. Homelander is basically controlling the crowds. They would never pay to listen to us, Ben.”

Ben stared at the TV and said, “I'll teach them how to listen,” in a menacing manner. “You see? It's no longer about Butcher and his useless group. It has to do with our future.”

You could have argued with him about the future, but all you wanted was to avoid getting into another fight with Ben. 

“I think such a guy wouldn't be innocent at all. We might be able to defeat the company if we can figure out how to properly express ourselves, explain to them how Vought tricked us, and show the real Homelander to the rest of the world. There isn't another way.”

 “I know, I know,” he muttered.

As you could tell Ben was becoming enraged and feeling overwhelmed, you touched his bare chest, which had a little glow to it. “Hey, are you okay?”

He responded with, “I am,” placing his hand on yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. 

“Can you please stop getting angry for a second? I can sense the heat building in your chest.” You muttered, “You're stressing me out here,” but you didn't remove your hand from his upper body. You could feel him cooling down beneath your touch once again. It was fine as long as it worked; you simply didn't know why. 

“Well,” he said, arching an eyebrow, licking his lips, allowing you to touch him, and gently tracing his fingers over yours. His powerful, slow beats were calming in a way. “It's not too bad. Is it?” 

You withdrew your hand from his sweating chest while rolling your eyes at him and making sure he was okay. 

Ben had just showered when Butcher and Hughie showed up at the house. 

Butcher remarked in a sly manner, “Glad, I delayed for an hour coming here to pick up you two,” as you and Ben got into the back of the car. “We could have interrupted something funny, judging by the all-wet hairs and all.”

“We were just finished training there!” you exclaimed, your face heated. 

“It must be very good training, indeed. The entire fucking house was damaged like hell. You two spent a whole week all showering and training while we were dealing with the shit Soldier Boy caused.”

“Sorry for that, but it's not what you think, really.”

“I thought Soldier Boy and Crimson were having a relationship. Yet life goes on, don't they? There are always new, fine chickens and dolls all around.” Butcher smirked at Ben.

You were ready to add something about Ben and you having nothing to do, but Ben became enraged right away when Butcher brought up the Crimson Countess. 

“Don't you fucking know how to stay silent and shut your useless mouth?” Butcher was obviously enjoying himself when he suddenly made Ben mad. 

“What made you so furious now? Have I said anything untrue?” 

Hughie leaned back in his seat and said, “Butcher, stop that,” sounding distressed as Ben continued to swear at them both and told Hughie to make Buther to suck him soon, so his mouth would be filled enough not to talk stupid.

“Why even do you become irate out of nowhere? After all, you murdered the poor woman.”

You looked up at Ben, asking with disbelief, “What? Why did you even kill Countess?”

The fact that Ben never brought it up startled you even more than Butcher's statement, as though it were nothing important. You were stunned and shocked beyond belief. At that point, you were at a loss for what to think. You were not sympathetic to her, though. After all, Vought used her as a cunning evil to harm both you and Ben. She was the one who paid you a visit in order to deceive you that day. 

He tried to convince you immediately, giving you a gentle look as if he wanted you to understand what he had done. “She deserved whatever I've done,” he defended himself. 

You acknowledged, “I know she did. But why?”

He looked at Butcher and then turned to face you, almost whispering, “Let's discuss this at a later time. All right?”

You found Annie nowhere to be found when you got to Butcher's home, where only Kimiko and Frenchie were inside. Kimiko watched Frenchie play with his phone, seeming bored.

“Why did it take so long for you to come here?” Frenchie inquired in an irritated manner to Butcher. “You give me too much to deal with, though you know I have things to do. Kimiko is also exhausted.”

Butcher sarcastically remarked, “Hello to you too, baby,” as he removed his coat. “I have not even once heard a complaint from her; she is an incredible Supe. She can't possibly be exhausted, right, doll?”

Ben moved you over to the edge of the coach and sat by you, resting his legs on the table, just as you were about to strike up a conversation with Kimiko. You were fine with him being close, though, so you said nothing at all. In fact, if you were honest with yourself enough, you would admit that his behavior around you somewhat comforted you. 

“Kimiko and I have spent days looking for Black Noir and Queen Maeve, but we haven't made any progress so far. It's strange that they were absent from everything for so long. You see, something isn't quite right. According to Starlight, they have vanished.”

“The fuck you mean they are missing?” Butcher asked in disbelief.

“Why would Noir would go missing? It's not his thing to disappear,” you said. You thought you were thinking to yourself, but you had said it loud.

“He must have ran away when he saw us back together,” Ben said in am amused tone. “He fucking knows I'm going to kill him too. He’s a fucking dead man.”

You told Ben, “There must be a reason,” ignoring the way he talked about taking Earving's life. Right now, you don't need to see Ben being enraged over Noir and losing his temper again. 

“How the fuck doesn't Starlight know where Queen Maeve is?” Butcher questioned Hughie. 

Hughie took his head in his hands and responded, “She thinks Homelander did something to her. Maybe he killed Maeve.”

“How about Ninja Cunt, though? He is known as Homelander's right wing. Suppose he murdered Maeve. What about Noir?”

Frenchie remarked, “That's what I'm trying to understand,” and Kimiko communicated with him using sign language swiftly. 

“All right, we'll watch out for this and see if he shows up again.” Butcher ended it quickly and continued. “Tomorrow, Soldier Boy and I are heading to New York.”

You eyed Butcher with suspicion, asking, “Why and why not me?” 

“You two stayed at a lovely house for a week, for God’s sake. Aren't all of the showers enough? Is it not possible for you to separate for even a single day? Would you really miss this cunt that much?”

As Butcher continued to make assumptions about you and Ben, your face heated. Kimiko and Frenchie turned to face you in harmony, taken aback. 

“You're just making the wrong assumptions.” You distanced yourself from Ben and explained, “It's not like that,” acting as though you had been proven guilty. Ben didn't appear to be supportive when you stared at him, yet it seemed as though he was okay with Butcher's comments. “What I want to know is what you're going to be doing here and why I have to stay here.”

“Yes, doll. To catch up with your old friend TNT Twins, we are going to join Herogasm. It's almost like we have to clear your names first. Maybe they know anything about the specifics of those events from decades ago, and they could say something that we could use against Vought. Though things might get messy soon, don't you worry, I'm going to keep an eye on your soldier so that he won't be pouding into any supe cunt there,” he said with a wicked smile.

Ben said, “Maybe we can also find a thing about Mindstorm there,” giving you a meaningful glance and a small touch on the arm before you could respond. You nodded to him. 

“However, why must I stay here?”

“Kimiko needs to get some work done, and we need more muscle to help Frenchie and Hughie here. Let's don't take too much attention.”

“Okay,” you said, acknowledging the situation and giving up on further arguments. Herogasm was something you've always detested and loathed. Ben, the founder of it, was making it even worse. Yet the one thing about Ben's inconsistent anger—the energy in his chest—that scared you was his unpredictable temper. You weren't sure if he could find a way to control it soon enough. 

You questioned Hughie, “By the way, where is Annie?” As a member of Vought and Seven, you were aware of how difficult it must be to handle the entire company's evil by yourself. 

“I don't think she'll find Maeve anytime soon, but she's doing some research in order to locate her. She seemed to have disappeared in a heartbeat.”

You figured she was kind of involved in this too, based on the way they talked about her. 

Ben abruptly stood up and stated, “I guess all the rooms are full. So, which room are Y/N and I staying in tonight?”

“Not full,” Hughie smiled in response. “I suppose there are now two available rooms since I will be seeing Annie tonight.” 

Kimiko nodded quickly as she gave a smile to you.

Ben's expression darkened as Hughie continued to tell him and Annie that they would not be staying in this house any longer, while Ben quietly cursed. He glanced at you for a moment, but you ignored him and asked Kimiko to show you the room where you would be sleeping. 

After an hour of inspecting the room and all of the furniture within, you heard a light knock on the door and knew it was Ben.

After a minute, you said, “Come in,” startled that Ben was holding back, opening the door this time without your permission. 

He whispered, “As you wish, baby,” and carefully shut the door behind him. 

In the dim light, his hair fell over his forehead, and his white t-shirt made your heart melt just a bit. Under his large arms, his t-shirt was too tight. Perhaps you weren't used to seeing him in his regular clothes, which is why you were still excited when you were around him. 

“What now?” you muttered as you sat on the bed and observed him approach you. 

He joked, “Don't get excited; I'm just here to make some conversation,” and sat down next to you right away. 

You said, almost in a whisper, “Which is about?” while he briefly studied your body.

His darkened eyes lingered on your revealing nightgown, but you remained silent, intensifying the tension in the moment. 

Ben's desire to force your body to the covers, get on top of you, take off your sweatpants, and get you ready for some post-breakup fucking was unbearable. He was well aware that you never touched yourself when you were by yourself in the house, and that really disturbed him because he knew that he was the reason for it. Ben could tell by the way you looked at him and by the beating in your heart that your body still yearned for him, but he also understood that he had to rebuild your trust in every way. He had to take care of his meat by hand up until that point. 

After sighing and searching for the right words, Ben uttered, “About the thing I told you that we can discuss later.” He made an effort not to speak about Crimson bitch right away. She was the reason your nerves were already fragile. He had no reason to blame you for it. 

As he attempted to read how you were feeling, you questioned in a cold voice, “Why did you kill her? Was it unintentional?” 

You were curious as to whether he truly intended to murder her or if this was just another unintentional incident similar to the others. You needed to comprehend it, even though you didn't know why it mattered. 

After a while, he said, “I blew up,” and when you realized he hadn't done it on purpose to exact vengeance for you, your posture straightened. 

Ben said, “I was just trying to get information about you and your location before killing her,” as soon as he saw the look on your face. “I was cautious to do anything until she had spoken about you. But I was unable to control myself when she touched my nerves.”

“Did you kill her just because she was unfaithful?” You questioned him suspiciously, attempting to make sense of his motivations. Ben might tell you the truth or a lie, but you would still listen to him even if you weren't sure he would be completely honest with you. “In the end, it's her who deceived you. Whether Vought commanded her or not is important. She was the one who brought you there so they could capture you and then transport you to Russia.”

After pausing to comprehend what you were asking, Ben responded, “I would kill her anyway because of what she had done to both of us,” as if he had no idea how to answer properly. “Especially to you.” 

You said, your eyes softening with sorrow, “I wonder what you would do to me if I were the one to trick you, Ben,” knowing that, after all these years, loyalty was what mattered most to him. “Even if I had every right to do so.” 

“I would never hurt you,” he abruptly rejected, emphasizing each word in a hard voice. “I knew I would deserve it anyway.”

“I'm not so sure of that, Ben,” you said. “You're even more dangerous considering I'm getting weaker and you're ready to blow up anytime.” 

His smile expanding, he added, “Hey, don't say such things,” took one of your hands, placed it on his warm chest, and whispered, “You have every power over me.”

Under his focused gaze, your face flushed, and after a moment, you reluctantly withdrew your hand. 

“So, you're going to Herogasm tomorrow?” you said, attempting to change the topic. “Given how difficult it was to persuade you not to join decades earlier, you must have missed it quite a lot.” 

“Are you feeling jeaolus?” he asked with a mischievous smile, and you grimaced. 

“Why should I be? I'm just saying you might have missed the chance to join the party that you organized after all this time.”

“I'm not going there to fuck, baby; I'm not interested anymore,” he murmured, retaining an arrogant chuckle. “I'm going to call you when I get there.”

“I'm not sure.” You said to quit talking about Herogasm anymore. “I might be busy to pick up when you call.” Herogasm was the world's dumbest thing, especially since Ben founded it. 

“Why may be you even busy, anyway?” This time Ben uttered serious words: “I'll call you nonstop, so keep your phone with you every moment.”

You responded with the same heedlessness, “I might.” 

Ben smiled playfully and narrowed his eyes. “Since you too need to take care of yourself, it will actually be good for us to be apart for just a small amount of time.”

You naively asked, “About what?” as though he would make a crucial point. 

“You might as well relax on this bed while I'm away because I’m pretty aware of you're not touching yourself, knowing I'd hear you in a second, huh?”

You became the deepest shade of scarlet in your cheeks and murmured, “I can't believe you.”

“I'm not making fun,” he declared with seriousness. “It is also a bodily necessity. You don't have to reject playing with yourself a bit. Being the reason is something that irritates me a lot.”

“I don't feel ashamed of taking care of myself because of you or anything else,” you immediately argued, ignoring the heat on your cheeks. “I have no problem touching myself while you're here. It's not all that important.” 

Ben arched an eyebrow at your quick, brave, “If you say so,” followed by a sigh. 

“I'm serious here, Ben,” you continued, growing agitated by his haughty demeanor and enormous ego. “I'll prove it.”

He studied your figure and growled in a low voice, “I won't promise that I won't focus on you or listen to the way you sound.”

“Then don't.”

Next Chapter

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A/N: Comments and reblogs are appreciated very much.  They keep me going. ♡˚.

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[kneelingshadowsalome]

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place. 

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional. 

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind. 

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book. 

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you. 

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below. 

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously. 

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." 

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out. 

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her. 

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet. 

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him. 

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness. 

"You're awfully quiet," she tries. 

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave. 

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right. 

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams. 

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed. 

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?" 

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus. 

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room? 

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug. 

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?" 

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately. 

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice. 

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull. 

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders. 

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time. 

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman. 

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met." 

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo. 

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea. 

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist. 

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this. 

It's her. 

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris. 

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck. 

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv. 

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.  

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin. 

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain." 

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust. 

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her. 

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..." 

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are." 

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier. 

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs. 

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine. 

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck… 

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex. 

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…" 

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this. 

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..." 

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering… 

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…" 

"Yeah? I know." 

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength. 

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?" 

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

[stupidlovergirl]

TL;DR He's HOT! In which you get caught gushing about how into them you are, by them

Feat. Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan,Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor Dateables Version not edited

"What do I like about Lucifer?" you repeat back. "What is there not to like? He has a pretty good fashion sense, a mature vibe also-" you kept rambling, naming qualities you like about the eldest demon, from his physical qualities to his personality. 

He honestly couldn't believe his ears. He had just come to drop off some documents and ask questions. He didn't suspect that you and Diavolo would be talking about him, much less what you supposedly liked about him. The list must be quite great, as you have barely taken a breath and kept chattering off things.

"To sum it up, Lucifer is one the hottest men I've met. Mature with the just right amount of playfulness. Not to mention easy on the eyes" you finish, love sick look in your eyes

He stopped and waited before appearing a little while after. Diavolo could tell he heard, by the smug smirk he wore. You felt awkward, I mean you were literally JUST singing the man's praises. Giving the documents to Diavolo, Lucifer chatted a little before saying goodbye.

You immediately got called to his office after you came home. Man literally started quoting what you said as you rotted away in the chair in front of his desk. Don't worry, he's just having his fun before he tells you the feeling is mutual.

Mammon catches you talking to Asmo about him on one of your spa days. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop! Honest! You were just kinda loud and he could hear all that you were saying about him through the door.

“Have you SEEN his eyes Asmo? They are the prettiest shade of blue! Ugh, and his hair is so freaking soft. I have never been so in love. He can rob me blind as long as he just keeps smiling. I am so down bad. AND ANOTHER THING-!” you said, going on another tangent. 

Mammon is blushing sooo bad. He is so pumped you like him back! As you should, he IS your first man!!! He has no preservation instincts, so he yells in victory, fistpumping the air. Asmo gets on to him and they have an argument about how he needed to learn to stop that. You, on the other hand, are trying to hide.

Mammon kidnaps you (against all of Asmo's protest) and tells you that you should feel that way about him! He is the Great Mammon after all, your first man! He also stutters out that he likes you too. 

Leviathan does not know how the stars aligned, but he heard you and Beel talking in the kitchen. Well, you were talking as Beel scarfed down the entirety of the fridge and pantry. (He's hoping that his rainbow pizza is a survivor).

"He is just so dreamy, Beel. I don't know how he doesn't see it. His sunset eyes, his devotion to his games? Ugh, and when he goes on his nerd rants? Be still my beating heart!!" You exclaim dramatically. 

Through a muffled mouth of food, he hears his younger brother reply 

"Just tell him. I'm pretty sure he likes you back" 

"He's like a wild animal! Can't approach him to fast or he will run away!! Ugh, but I wanna kiss him so baddd"

He squeaks at that comment, quite loudly. The two of you come out of the kitchen, but Levi is GONE. He might have given away someone who was listening in, but he will not get caught.

Later in the week, he invites for an anime marathon, and makes it very obvious he knows. Just tell him there, he'll freak out, but accept anyways.

Honestly, it was your fault for talking about Satan in a library, especially quite close to the mystery novels.

He was looking for a novel, when he heard you and Mammon talking. He recalls that earlier in the week you two got in trouble for low quiz scores, so you must have been forced to stay here for so many hours.

"Ugh, he is so cute. I love him sooo much. He is so cute when he plays with the cats in the street. He looks so at peace and comfy I lose my mind. Not to mention, his ability to remember things? Iconic. He is the only reason I pass history. I have never felt this way before! I think Satan is, like, my perfect match."

"Good for you. Did you find a cheat sheet online?" Mammon replies boredly.

"I don't think Lucifer would appreciate you not even attempting the work, Mammon" Satan replies, startling both of you.

"Satan!" the both of you yell, in shock.

"H-how long have you been there?" You ask nervously. Oh, how cute is all Satan can think.

"Long enough"

He ignores it till Mammon and you finish your work, with his help of course. He tells you the feeling is mutual, and that he appreciates all the compliments.

Asmo was running late. It was usual, beauty takes time you know! It's also tasteful to be fashionably late, keeping suspense up. He does feel a little bad, as it is Solomon and you kept waiting. It was a cute new café that he had seen all over Devilgram, and just knew that the three of you had to go together.

He was about to yell out for you two, but he saw you passionately talking about something so he decided not to.

"He is just so pretty, Sol. Do you ever think he would be into me? He is completely out of my league, but maybe there's a small chance?? I could be, like, his funny little significant other who hypes him up!! I think Asmo would appreciate that, don't you?"

Solomon, who had noticed Asmo approaching, just shrugged. 

"I dunno, you ask him" is all he says, pointing at the object of your affections with a smirk.

Asmo is soooo happy!!!!! You and him are gonna be the prettiest couple to ever exist, and he tells you that right then and there. He announces that you're dating right on the spot, as you and he both obviously want to. You three have a good day out, and when you go home, Asmo spoils you as you both talk about how the other one is prettier.

Beel had just gotten out of a shower after a workout. He, you, and Belphie had a movie night planned. Aka, Beel gets snacks, Belphie sleeps through the entire thing, and you get to see something you have wanted to for a little bit while hanging out with the twins. It was a perfect win-win -win for all three of you. You and Belphie we're doing prep(you were while Belphegor slept the whole time) for when he came back in their room. So, when he heard you giggling in their room, Beel couldn't help but smile.

"He is so perfect, Belph! He cares so deeply for everyone, and is so kind. I dunno if I ever met such a sweetheart before. I think I should go for it, but I don't know. I figure I should ask you how he feels since he is your twin"

"Go for it" is all Belphegor replies with, sleep obvious in his words. He hears you laugh again, and then decides to open the door.

You look a little pale, and Belphie looks a little smug. He probably heard him coming down the hall, with his better hearing.

"Hey! So I thought-"

"You really feel that way?" Beel ask.

"Oh! You, uh, heard that. Yeah, I really do"

Ecstatic, he smiled so big when you said you were serious. Puppy boyfriend aquired baybee!!!!!!! You two watch the movie while holding hands and cuddling as best you could. Belphie appreciates you two being together but he's not giving up the best cuddle spot to indulge you two.

Belphie, Satan, and you had a scheduled Anti-Lucifer League meeting. The plan was to move everything in Lucifer's office half an inch to irk him. Belphegor had fallen asleep, so he came in a little later than you two. 

"He is so cute when he sleeps Satan! He literally acts like a cat! When he snuggles his head into my stomach I lose my mind!!! I might be reading into it too hard, but I think he might also like me back? Maybe I'm delusional, but it seems like it! I like Belphie so much, he makes me crazy"

"Criminally insane, crazy does not fully describe how in deep you are" Satan replies boredly, like he had heard this rant time and time again.

Belphie, is of course, happy. You like him! Him! Oh man, this is such a good day. He obviously acts like he doesn't know anything when he enters the room. You look awkward, and Satan is tired. After a day or two, he brings it up. He wanted to make you feel like he hadn't heard you. He makes fun of you for being so down bad, but accepts your feelings and tells you he feels the same. He might not show it, but he is also so into you it almost hurts.

[nolita-fairytale]

did you ever end up writing the phone call blurb?? i am STRUGGLING to find it and im so desperate 😭😭😭

called you again (extended)

a/n: ok so i never got to writing the actual phone call that transpires between carmy and reader, that gets her to chicago in the first place. and if i recall correctly, @cool-girl-is-hot was also patiently awaiting this phone call. since i'm doing the follower celebration, what a perfect time for me to bring this back, @bunnywritesmarvel.

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little. 

And it’s as if a fog clears, like you've been waiting to hear it for a long time.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft, yet hesitant.

You're met with a long silence on the end of the other line as the two of you dance around whatever it is Carmy called to say. There's a part of you that wants nothing more than to spill everything, lead the conversation like you always do, but after months of radio silence, you know you can't do that. If Carmy wants to reconnect, then he's got a whole of groveling to do considering he pretty much ghosted you since he moved back home.

"I uh. I heard," he finally says, in reference to your recent change of employment.

"Oh," you sound, your voice higher in pitch than you imagined it would be as you scramble to find a better word than 'oh.' "I... um. Yeah. My heart wasn't in it anymore."

What you want to say is, my heart moved to Chicago and forgot how his fucking phone works.

"Yeah," Carmy replies, and you can practically hear him pacing back and forth as he searches for something to say.

You share another silence, this one much more tense than the last, like a hot pot of water about to blow its lid off in pressure, as you wait for him to ask you something -- anything. How hard could it be?

How are you? What's been going on? Sorry I haven't called.

But he doesn't say anything of these things. Instead, when he finally speaks again, all he says is:

"So listen. I uh-, I got this guy. He’s- he’s self taught but he’s got a lot of potential,” Carmy explains, his delivery becoming more and more confident as he hides behind the work.

“He just needs a good teacher – someone to inspire him – give him some of the foundations he would’ve gotten in culinary school. I think uh, I think you'd like him.

So after four months of no contact he... needs something from you? You can't help the feelings of anger and disappointment that grow inside of you.

Was he upset that you quit the restaurant -- here to talk you into going back -- now that he needed a favor? A stage?

“Just for a week, maybe?" Carmy suggests, his voice going up at the end, almost as if it's a question.

"I can’t pay you much but uh, well we’ve got a little money, which is a whole other story, and I can talk to my brother-in-law. He can put you up somewhere… you know… if you want to. If that helps.” 

Oh.

He's asking you to come to Chicago.

While it feels like it changes things, you're still ambivalent and you certainly don't want to get your hopes up.

"Carmy..." you trail off on an exhale. "I don't know."

"Sure," Carmy nods, chewing on his lip, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious about asking you in the first place.

He wants to take it all back, tell you it was a stupid idea, and apologize for even saying something in the first place. But he doesn't. He can't. Because after working himself up to call you for the last few hours, there's no way he's going to back out now.

Let it rip, Bear.

"I uh... well, I understand. If can't-. Don't want to. Maybe I shouldn't've uh..." Carmy stammers through, the heat rising to his cheeks.

"It's just uh. Tim told me... you might be looking for some inspiration."

Right.

You pause before asking:

"Can I... Can I think about it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sure," Carmy is quick to answer, because he really wants to make this okay for you.

For the both of you.

And because hearing your voice for the first time in four months feels better than he ever could've imagined.

"Okay. I'll uh... I'll think about it," you drag out, because you know you'll need some time to process this.

"Listen, I uh. I'm late to meet Liz. But I'll let you know. Either way."

"Yeah, okay. Okay," he answers, nodding eagerly.

"Okay," you reply, listening to Carmy bid you a soft spoken goodbye before ending the call.

"Holy shit," you hiss, putting your phone down on the table, your hand folded over your heart as you can feel it race.

Well, you've got quite the decision to make.

[keilanana]

𝑻𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆

ɪɪɪ. sɪʙʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴄǫᴜɪʀᴇᴅ

You get a new addition to your family, and all is right with the world.

(Hopefully nothing from the next chapter ruins this for you haha.)

Watching Mum trip over herself to follow Mother around and tend to her every, little need was pretty funny at first.

But now you (unfortunately) have no right to laugh anymore, because as it turns out, learning that you're going to be an older sibling in just a few months really puts certain things into perspective, and now you're basically doing the same thing (although you at least had the dignity to be a lot more subtle about it, Mum.)

You don't know why, as you can't recall ever acting like this when your siblings from your first life came along, but everything just suddenly seems like a threat. For every sharp corner Mother passes by, you're quick to reach your hand over to cover it in case she gets close enough for contact. When you catch her going up or down the stairs, you're already rushing to her side to offer out a hand in support.

Yes, Mother of course laughs at all of this, and makes sure to tease you for doing the very things you laughed at your Mum for, but you can tell from the fondness in her smile and the bright twinkle in her eyes that she genuinely does appreciate all of the effort you and Mum were putting in to ensure her and the baby's comfort and safety—even if the measures Mum took could be pretty ... excessive.

("I can understand sanding down the corners of our dining table, but there is absolutely no way I'm letting you put carpets over the walls. I think Mother would actually kill me if I let you."

"You weren't there when it happened, [Y/n]! What if the next time she bumps into a wall, she pushes her baby bump back in?!"

"Mum of mine, I do not believe that is physically possible."

"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!"

"MAYBE BECAUSE ONE OF US WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO INHERIT THE INTELLIGENCE I CLEARLY DIDN'T GET FROM YOU!")

Yeah, just thinking of all the times you've had to be the voice of reason between you and your Mum despite being the actual child between the two of you was enough to give you a headache. And the more Mother's stomach grows, the worse it gets.

At this point, I'm starting to believe that someone's gonna have to hold Mum's hand when the baby comes.

The thought makes you pause, ponder for a bit, and then cringe.

Poor nurse.

Other than Mum's (and admittedly, yours) overprotective tendencies, though, you're happy to report that Mother's pregnancy is going fairly well. From the visits your little family makes to the hospital every now and then, your younger sibling seems to be developing fine, and has been repeatedly reported as quite healthy, to your family's relief, pride, and joy.

What gets you all feeling really joyful, however, is the doctor revealing that the baby's gender can finally be determined.

"Wait!" Mother stops him before he can say anything else. "Don't tell us just yet! I want it to be a surprise!" she insists.

"Wha—a surprise?" Mum repeats, clearly confused. "You didn't want it to be a surprise last time!" she complains.

Penelope rolls her eyes at the childish tone in her wife's voice and takes her hand. "I know, which is why I want it to be a surprise this time," she explains. "Besides, you wouldn't want to turn down a cake, would you?"

When Mum only answers with silence, it's pretty easy for you and the doctor to guess who won.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three weeks of anticipation later, the gender reveal cake is delivered on your doorstep in a white box by a teenage girl with short, curly brown locks.

"Hope you folks like it," she says with a wink once the package is placed into your arms. "It took a whole lotta effort keeping it in tact, driving it all the way out here."

Her words cause a semi-guilty smile to grace your features. "Right. Sorry about that," you say, and you really do mean it; you couldn't imagine having to deliver a cake somewhere so far out in the country, especially with only a rusty old vespa as your noble steed.

The girl only laughs good-naturedly and ruffles your hair. "No need to apologize, kiddo. Hope ya'll enjoy the cake!" she says.

With that, she turns around to leave, but not before throwing back a quick, "Congratulations!" over her shoulder in reference of who exactly the cake was made for.

Thus, with the cake now in your possession, you bring it into the dining room, where Mother and Mum are already waiting in their designated seats at the table.

"She seemed nice," Mother comments, obviously referring to the delivery girl you'd just spoken to.

You hum, telling her, "She was," before setting the box down and opening it.

The cake is, as the delivery girl said, indeed in tact, and covered in frosting and all sorts of fruits to keep whatever flavor the cake itself was hidden.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" Mother says, clapping her hands with a giddy smile on her face. "Anyone already have any guesses?" she asks, looking over to her wife.

Mum hums and holds her chin in thought for a moment before eventually settling on: "Strawberry."

Nodding, Mother then turns to you and lifts her brows expectantly.

With an amused huff, you sit down in your own chair just as Mum rises out of her own to grab three plates and a knife. "You know what? I'm thinking strawberry, too," you decide.

Tilting her head curiously, Mother leans back in her seat and begins to caress her stomach. "May I ask why?" she inquires.

You shrug. "Just a feeling, I guess," you answer.

The conversation ends after that, as Mum is finally prepared to cut the cake.

"Alrighty, then," she begins once yours and Mother's attention is fully on her. "Here we go."

Setting the knife down for only a moment, Mum pulls the box's walls all the way down—not just to make cutting the cake easier, but to also give you and Mother a clear view of it from your positions, as well.

With that said and done, Mum picks the knife back up and inhales deeply, obviously hyping herself up for what's about to come. It feels a little silly, getting this anxious over a cake, but there's still this sort of tightness in your chest that makes it only a little hard to breathe. Is it anticipation? Dread of the inevitable? A mix of both?

In the end, it doesn't matter, because then a knife is slicing right through frosting and—

"Strawberry," Mum breathes, a triumphant grin slowly beginning to overtake her face. "Looks like we're gonna be welcoming a little girl into our family next."

You and Mother throw your hands into the air and cheer.

(Later that night, the bakery your cake had come from gets a call from you to let your delivery girl know that you folks did, indeed, enjoy the cake.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It is midnight when Mother's water breaks and Mum practically throws you into the car to drive you all off to the hospital.

It is about three in the morning when you get to leave the waiting room at last and see the labor (pun intended) of your Mother's work.

The baby is small—probably the smallest person you've ever seen—and, unlike you, takes a lot after Mum with her dark skin and soft tufts of platinum blonde hair.

"Oh," you say out loud without meaning to, eyes wide as you take in the infant held in Mother's arms. I'm an older sibling.

You knew you would be one for a while now, of course, and actually were one in your previous life, too. But ... there was just something about this moment: about seeing the little person that's been growing in Mother's stomach finally out and about in the real world, her eyes closed and her face all scrunched up, that had your chest exploding with an overwhelming warmth and your eyes threatening to flood with tears that you were desperately trying to keep in.

(Spoiler alert: you fail. Badly.)

"Hello, little love," Mother says, sounding so exhausted but still so happy at the same time. "Would you like to hold your baby sister?" she asks.

Still in shock at the sight of her, you can only manage a nod and then stare dumbly as the baby's handed over to rest in your arms.

"Um." You blink, mouth slightly agape. "Oh, wow."

(Across from you, Willow snorts.)

You watch, absolutely captivated, as the infant's chest rises and falls with each breath she takes. But then her face twitches, and your eyes automatically lift to watch as it scrunches up. It awes you, almost, the way she seems to struggle simply opening her eyes, but then her stare meets yours and it's like a puzzle clicks into place.

"Hey there, little sister," you greet, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so happy to meet you."

Your sister babbles, unable to properly respond, obviously, and reaches up. Almost instinctually, you lift her higher, allowing her to reach your face and pat her small palms wherever she can, still babbling like you can understand every noise and gurgle.

You laugh and nod along anyway and pretend not to notice the tears you'd failed to hide.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're gonna rule the world someday."

Your newly acquired sister, Odette (named after one of Mother's favorite stories, Swan Lake) looks up at the sound of your voice and tilts her head. It's been two months since her birth, and in those short months, you've learned that although Ody (the nickname you proudly bestowed her with the moment you thought of it) takes a lot after Mum, she is most definitely every bit of Penelope's daughter just as you are without a doubt Willow's child.

While you had inherited most of Mum's, er ... impulsiveness, Odette had the good fortune of inheriting Mother's patented Stare of Judgement™, which you had the honor of seeing it in action yourself ... because Odette had focused it on you and Mum when you both attempted to do something stupid that was very safe, creative, and fun.

(That's what you tried telling Mother, at least.

She didn't fall for it for even a second and the two of you got sent to timeout in the living room again.)

Odette babbles, snapping you out of your train of thought, and you smile down at her as you start running your hand through the platinum cloud that's been growing atop her head.

"Man, look at all this," you say, curling a strand of Odette's already curly hair around your finger. "At this point, your hair's gonna end up bigger than your head," you joke.

Odette babbles again in response and takes your free hand in between her smaller ones to play with your fingers, making your smile grow into a grin.

"Oh yeah; definitely queen of the world material." You nod. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to be there with you every step of the way. Who else's hands are you supposed to play with?" you ask.

"Ababa?" Odette blinks up at you.

You nod once again. "Exactly!"

She stares at you for a moment, as if processing your words, and then looks away to return her full attention to your hand. You chuckle, amused by just how much personality Odette could convey despite not knowing how to properly speak yet.

"Man ..." Turning your head to gaze out the window, you smile as you watch the trees dance to the wind outside. "I didn't think it'd be possible, Ody, but I ... think I'm more than a little used to this life now, y'know?"

The infant blows a raspberry.

You laugh. "A wise queen, too!"

(Outside, the wind howls, and as it does, a single orange leaf falls to the forest floor.

So it appears, the seasons have finally begun to change.)

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[russellsppttemplates]

Promise (Lewis Hamilton)

The season has kept Lewis so busy he hasn't been paying attention to you in the way you needed

Note: english is not my first language. After a long time on hold (since april), I'm finally posting this one. The timeline is a bit bent to fit what I already had written for what was requested, so I hope you don't mind it too much! Hopefully the person who requested this is still around and reading this ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions loss of friendships, curse words

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be able to make it. Lew already asked me to go see him race that weekend, I have booked the flights and managed to clear my work schedule too", you said to your friend after she practically ambushed you into have a coffee with her after work, "c'mon, I don't even feel like we've seen eachother recently. You're either at work or with Lewis. It's like you don't have time for me, or rather don't make it", she groaned and you frowned. You met up with her not even 10 days ago, and while you couldn't see her everyday, you managed to text her back with reasonable timing everytime she had any issues or needed some comfort, so hearing those words and accusations for what you recalled the third time over the last few weeks threw you off. Was it really something you deserved? You wondered, maybe you really weren't being the best of friends given everything happening in your life.

"It's been hard, my schedule has been all over the place. I've been quite tired and I honestly just want to relax at home when I get back from work, we've had a lot of clients, which has been good for the business, but there's also been a lot more effort in making everything work smoothly", you tried to offer her your point of view, knowing yourself that there were days you could barely answer your boyfriend back simple questions, both of happy and content to either just cuddle when he was home or have a quick videocall whenever he was away, letting you get your deserved rest.

.

"Do you have everything, darling?", Lewis said over the phone as you fastened the zip on your suitcase, "yes. Angela said that she could come and meet me with my passes. Apparently there was an issue with printing them, my name or something, I'm not sure, but she said they were good now", you recalled, looking back at your boyfriend on the screen while he smiled, "I can't wait to have you here with me", he admitted, making your heart soft, "it's been really difficult, the car and all, and I know having you here will be good".

The next day, like you had arranged, you met up with Angela at the entrance of the GP, greeting her with a smile before she noticed it, "was your flight that bad?", she wondered, "you look a bit off, dear", she explained herself better, "it was okay, just had trouble sleeping because of this crazy schedule", you tried your best to brush it off. You had looked at yourself in the mirror, and had noticed the eye bags, the veins around your eyes much stronger and, truly, you knew no one would believe you were okay, but you guessed trying wouldn't be hard, and despite feeling like Angela caught on, she decided to drop the subject, handing you your pass and grabbing your suitcase once you reached the hospitality so she could store it in a safe place.

"Hey, Y/N", George smiled, greeting you as you both walked down to the garage, "Lewis mentioned you'd be joining us today", he said, opening the door for you before following you by your side, "the flight was delayed a little, and there was traffic here, or at least my driver said it isn't usually that busy, so I got here to the sound of the engines already", you pouted, grabbing a headset for yourself from the wall.

"I'll be in there with Toto and Mick, we'll speak later, okay? Carmen is also travelling tomorrow night", George said as he walked up to sit with the rest of the team, sitting this session out as they had chosen to have Frederik drive this session on his place.

The free practice sessions did not go all that well, especially considering how you knew Lewis and the whole team would have wanted them to go, so when Lewis came out of the last session, the team allowed them a few hours so they could rest up a little and get re-energised before debriefing.

"Hey, gorgeous", Lewis said as he walked up to you, "I'm so happy you're here", he mumbled against the thin skin on your neck, taking in your scent and presence as your arms wrapped around his torso.

"Do you want to talk about it?", you asked, running your fingers on his back as the slight scratch from your nails soothed him as you walked to sit on the sofa, "I can't bring the car to the front, it's like I can't do it. We've worked so hard on it, the team has come up with so many improvements and yet it still isn't reaching the front, there's no comparison", he let it put, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "and I can't do it either, it's my fault too, I just want to make us a competitive team again, having fights every weekend for the P1, and yet, here we are".

Kissing his knuckles, you looked up at him through your lashes, "it will all add up, my love", you caressed his skin, "there's no way your efforts won't be rewarded, you just have to keep going, keep fighting, keep rising", you smiled, seeing the corner of his lips move upwards, "one day at a time, all will be well, you just have to keep going, we just have to keep going with those we love most", you muttered, joining your foreheads so they could touch.

.

Silverstone always had a big buzz around it, so you always took the week off, "remember last year? Your friends also joined us for the party", Lewis recalled as you sat in the hospitality. Media duties had long been taken care of and Lewis wanted to hang out in the meal area in case anyone needed him before you retired to his room.

"Yeah, it was a good time", you mumbled, reliving the memories in your head. You had had dinner and partied until early hours of the night with some of your friends, who were that at the time.

The previous week, your friend had been very assertive when she called you to show her displeasure of your lack of effort to meet up with her, telling you how much you had changed and how it wasn't fair that you could only meet up once or twice a month, "it's not fair to us or to our friendship, so unless this changes, I don't see how we can carry on". The accusations were not false, you recognised that you couldn't be as present as much as before, but the premise she was holding it on seemed wrong to you. And as much as it bothered you and pained you, calling it quits was the best decision in the long run. You had enough things on your plate, and having to reassure her that you were still there for her despite all the mean comments and accusations she would throw at you, wether they were about how much time you spent working or how Lewis wasn't the right person for you, was not something you wanted to endure for your own well-being.

"How is she, by the way?", Lewis questioned as he drank his water.

"We are not friends anymore, things just didn't work out", you offered quietly, not wanting to dwell much on the topic or have your boyfriend worry about one more thing.

"Y/N!", Lewis heard Carmen call, seeing his teammate's girlfriend approach you, warmly greeting him as well before he left you two alone for some catching up, "call me if you need anything", your boyfriend said, kissing the top of your head sweetly before leaving you two to speak and moving to the table where Angela was sitting.

"Is she feeling better?", Angela asked him, nodding over to you with her eyes and smiling as you spoke to the spanish women, the genuine easiness radiating from you.

"Y/N? She's been well, I think...", he said, unsure of his own answer. You hadn't talked much about how you were feeling, and he definitely wanted to follow up on what you had just been talking about when you were comfortable, but other than that, he had no clue. Work had been busier as you received more clients and you needed a little more time to rest that usual, and you had been tagging out of plans family and friends tried to make with you. Maybe Angela was right and there was something going on.

"You should talk to her, see how everything is, Lewis. I know she has a habit of bottling everything, and while I figured she'd talk to you and bring it up, and that it would help, I'm not sure it's enough", she patted his back as she allowed him to process the situation.

Later that night, back in your hotel bedroom, you had just come out of the shower, grabbing your toiletries' bag so you could moisturise your skin, propping your leg on the bed so you could rub the product into the skin as you heard Lewis walk around the room.

As you moved to adjust your towell while you put on your underwear, you felt Lewis' hands on your shoulders before his lips pressed kisses to your clean skin, his touch so soft and tender that it melted you inside.

"Can we talk about something, darling?", he asked, moving to sit in front of you, taking his place on the bed as Roscoe joined him.

"Sure, love. Are you okay? Is something wrong?", you promptly offered, ready to be all ears to his worries as Roscoe found his perfect spot on the comforter.

"It's about you, actually", he said as you pulled your top on, leaving the towell on the bathroom before coming back to sit on the bed, "what about me?", you asked, unsure of the topic was.

"How have you been? And I don't want to hear 'I'm okay' or 'just tired from work', because that's most definitely not the truth", Lewis began, holding your hand in his, "I've been so blind to all of this, and I only noticed now just how much you're being affected, and I want to know what it is and how I can help you", he gulped, "I've been so caught up in my own things and I've missed this, I'm so sorry, Y/N", he looked into your eyes.

You knew you had been unable to hide it. And now, you couldn't escape it.

Taking a deep breath, you traced the tattoos on his hand, the seamless way the ink flowed mesmerising as you allowed yourself to become vulnerable to him, opening up about your friendships and how everything at work was both the thing that has been keeping you sane and afloat, but also buried in doubt.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry I didn't notice this", Lewis apoligised, "I've been so absorbed in getting the results we need for the team, and-", you interrupted him, knowing the wasn't the one to blame.

"Lew, I didn't want to burden you with this, it's my own doing, too", you admitted, wanting to stop the whole blame spiral going on between both of you.

"Still, I should've noticed", he tsked at himself, holding you in his arms as you cuddled into his chest, "you shouldn't have to go through that alone, no one should. I want you to tell me anything that bothers you. My career is not above us, it will never be", he said as he looked into your eyes, "and, for all that matters, the decision to end the friendship was for the better. And I know you know this, and it still hurts, and that's okay. Roscoe, buddy", he called, "come give mummy a big, big cuddle", he smiled as the dog attended to his request.

"I'm sorry, too", you said as you petted Roscoe, his snores showing you he was enjoying them, "just wanted to be a happy and cheerful partner, and support you", you reiterated.

"From now on, promise you'll tell me anything that bothers you?", he assured as you smiled, kissing his lips as a seal of your promise, "I promise".

"I love you, Y/N, and it's me, you and Roscoe against the world", Lewis said.

"Agains the world and the rest of the paddock?", you joked, "just about, yes".

[twstowo]

Chapter 1-2 [Sorceress!Yuu x OB!Characters]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: Wanting to help the collared people you follow Che'nya's plan and infiltrate the castle to befriend Riddle.

♡︎ Warning: None just Riddle being cute

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The plan was simple: get inside the castle, befriend Riddle, and try to change his mind about the collared people. But nothing really seemed simple to you, especially when you were expected to befriend a tyrant.

So, there you sat, perched on a chair, patiently waiting as the trio rummaged through outfits to find the perfect disguise for your role as the new palace architect. Che’nya, with a mischievous grin, mentioned the disappearance of the actual architect, leaving you with a nagging feeling that the details were best left unexplored. You couldn’t help but wonder how Riddle wouldn’t immediately recognize someone he had recently collared. Ace, unperturbed, dropped a blond wig onto your head, bearing an uncanny resemblance to your own hair, just a different hue—an inquiry you dared not voice. Deuce, on the other hand, overwhelmed you with volumes of the Queendom’s architectural styles. Days stretched into a week, your nose buried in dusty tomes, absorbing everything to brace yourself for whatever Riddle might demand. Amidst your studious immersion, you longed for the day this charade would come to an end.

Grim slept next to your books, he looked so peacefull as you reached for his head giving him some pats, brushing his fur with your fingers. At least someone was having a good time.

"What do you mean I, the great Grim, can't go with my Human?" Grim's voice reverberated in protest as he pointed an accusatory finger at Che’nya. The four of you sat sipping tea before the planned departure, and Che’nya had insisted that Grim couldn't accompany you. The rationale given was that Grim might cause disruptions that would compromise the entire plan. Initially, you had reservations about separating from your feline companion, having never ventured anywhere without him. However, Che’nya’s reasoning began to resonate.

"I also believe it’s for the best, Grim," you said, trying to pacify your betrayed friend. "Your help is crucial here." But Grim's disappointment was evident as he refused to meet your eyes.

"Fine. Go without me. But if you need help, don’t even think about calling for me!" With that proclamation, Grim stormed off, leaving you alone with Che’nya.

"How are you feeling? Tomorrow is the big day," he said, flashing a broad smile that did little to ease your nerves. You'd spent a lot of time contemplating what could go wrong—whether Riddle might recognize you, discover that he had collared you, or find your true intentions.

"Nervous, but I think I can handle it," you replied, attempting to project confidence.

"That's what I want to hear, nya!" He rose from his seat, offering a gentle smile that seemed to reassure you that everything would turn out okay. And you trusted him.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

In front of you loomed the gates of the castle, towering above you like monumental giants. As nervous thoughts raced through your mind, you couldn't help but chuckle, recalling these particular gate styles from one of the books you had studied. Oddly, this recollection gave you a surge of confidence. When the guards ushered you inside, you encountered Riddle once more, this time greeted with a warmer reception. Surprisingly, he seemed pleased to see you. Perhaps your initial encounter had simply been an anomaly, or perhaps he saw you in a new light now.

Riddle took your hand and bestowed a quick kiss upon it/gave you a quick handshake in welcome. "I've heard quite a bit about you, an architect of considerable renown," he praised, elevating your spirits even though these praises weren't intended for you. "But, pardon my frankness, I had envisioned you differently." His comment made you widen your eyes, and you felt a sudden shiver run down your body.

"I hear that often," you replied smoothly, trying to maintain composure. "Before we discuss the building plans, I'd love a tour of the palace, just to gather some initial inspiration. If that's possible." You glanced around the entrance, taking in the surrounding rose-filled bushes.

"Please allow me to escort you around." Riddle's company led you through various rooms and halls within the castle, each adorned in shades of reds and whites. The floors boasted a chessboard pattern in black and white, a pristine and luxurious atmosphere entirely distinct from the dusty tower you once called home. After an extensive tour, Riddle guided you outside, revealing the verdant gardens and a sprawling rose labyrinth, meticulously tended by the royal gardeners. Finally, your journey concluded at a collapsed building.

"Several months ago, the collared peasants rebelled against my mother's regime and destroyed this beautifully crafted building," Riddle spoke, a hint of disdain evident in his voice as he referred to the collared people.

"Rest assured, there's nothing beyond my ability to build. I'll create something that will please the Queen's desires and more," you assured him with a smile, earning visible satisfaction from Riddle.

"Very well." Some guards approached, and Riddle turned to leave. "I entrust the rest to your capable hands," he stated before departing.

With a sigh of relief, you released the breath you'd been holding. Everything was proceeding perfectly, just as you'd hoped. Gazing at the ruined building, you found the guards and workers awaiting your instructions. "I need some paper and a pencil."

Swiftly, you sketched structures inspired by the palace's designs, blending in elements from other styles that harmonized well. After several hours immersed in the drawings, you raised your head to find all eyes on your sketches. A twinge of embarrassment hit knowing they'd witnessed the entire process. However, the awe and admiration in their expressions reassured you that your work was appreciated. Rising from your seat, you began directing everyone around, bracing yourself for the tasks ahead. This month would be demanding, but you were prepared.

Lying on the bed, you relished the comfort of the room Riddle had assigned you. It was quite spacious, and it struck you that Riddle seemed particularly fond of this architect. It dawned on you that you knew so little about this person—if Riddle asked you something, you’d be completely at a loss. Determined to remedy this, you resolved to locate the palace library the next day and educate yourself about the architect.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You wandered through the palace walls, groggy from the night before, in search of the library. After a long walk, you finally found it and stepped inside. The sheer size of the place left you in awe. The bookshelves stretched like the halls themselves, laden with books of various sizes and hues. Everything was meticulously organized and devoid of any dust. There was so much to read, and yet so little time. For now, your focus was on learning about the architect. You hurriedly looked through the books about this strange figure. Fortunately, their face was never shown, signifying their desire for privacy. Most of the works were stunning, intricate creations, teeming with details you'd never encountered in the books Deuce had provided. You made mental notes about these, realizing that diverging too much from what Riddle envisioned could raise suspicions.

As you returned the books to their places, one peculiar volume caught your eye. It bore your last name, prompting a moment of confusion until you plucked it from the shelf. Inside, you discovered a book chronicling your parents' journey. It vividly portrayed snowy landscapes and recounted how they had earned their place as landowners, working their way into prosperity to establish something in their name. Memories from your childhood flooded back—moments with your mother, interactions with villagers, and the constant presence of a childhood friend who was always by your side. Everything seemed blissful, which made you wonder why they had locked you away in the tower. Questions swirled in your mind, but a strange, unsettling feeling urged you to cease your inquiry, casting a shadow over your thoughts.

Reluctantly, you returned the book to its spot, unwilling to dwell further. With a heavy heart, you moved toward the exit, your head bowed in contemplation. However, just before leaving, you noticed someone else in the library—a surprise visitor. To your astonishment, it was none other than Riddle.

You pondered whether engaging in conversation with Riddle was a wise choice. He appeared consumed by work and potentially quick to collar anyone deviating from his desires. However, before you could depart, your eyes met, and you found yourself captivated by his stunning blue gaze.

“Y/N,” he greeted you warmly, rising to meet you, and you were jolted out of your daydreaming.

“Forgive me, I just—”

“No need for apologies. In fact, I would love your company if you permit,” his tone unexpectedly tender. Was this the same person who had erupted when Grim landed on his head?

“Of course. How may I assist?”

“I’d like to hear your thoughts on my designs.” He gestured toward his table, displaying the most intricately detailed building plans you’d ever seen on paper. Your reaction was instinctual, you had to stifle your amazement. If he saw the design you'd given to the construction team, he might have certainly collared you.

“This looks—” You paused, realizing you were playing the role of a distinguished architect whom Riddle admired. You couldn’t merely fawn over his work. “Pleasant.” Despite the underwhelming choice of words, Riddle’s eyes widened with pride.

“I’ve been studying your designs extensively, attempting to draft the building myself. But my efforts could never compare to the real artist.” He regarded you as if you were his shining star, leaving you to wonder if he realized you weren’t the actual architect.

“I’m glad you appreciate my designs. It’s always nice to find a fan.” You offered a smile, and he reciprocated, clearly pleased with your words. Yet, even as he smiled, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, indicative of fatigue. “Have you been overworking yourself?” You posed the question, realizing afterward that it might not have been the most appropriate thing to ask.

“Well, I have my duties as the future king of the Queendom of Roses. I can’t simply set them aside,” he responded, a glimmer of happiness shining through as he realized your concern for him. On your end, you grappled with the situation. Your intention was to grow closer to Riddle to facilitate removing the collars from everyone, so you needed a way to break down his barriers.

“How about baking some strawberry tarts?” you suggested, sporting a cheerful smile. He looked at you with a quizzical expression, seemingly ready to dismiss your idea. “If you need to leave midway, I can finish what we started and bring you the tarts when you’re free. So, no need to worry about a thing.” You offered solutions, trying to convince him, though he seemed puzzled by your eagerness to spend time with him.

“If you insist, I could permit it,” he agreed, adjusting his tie in a nervous gesture. “But everything must be done precisely! And the kitchen must be perfectly cleaned afterward,” he stated, almost as an order. You nodded in agreement.

“Follow me, Riddle!” you exclaimed, taking his arm and guiding him to the kitchen, causing him to widen his eyes at your bold actions.

In the midst of baking the tarts, Riddle meticulously followed the culinary book's instructions, determined to use precise measurements. Any deviation seemed to stress him, and he'd restart if things didn't align perfectly. As he focused intently on each step, you couldn't help but feel frustrated by his strict approach.

“Riddle!” you called out, finally voicing your exhaustion with his rigidity. Startled, he dropped the spoon he was holding, his face flushing with a mix of emotions, perhaps anger or embarrassment, you couldn't discern. But you persisted, “This is why your designs aren’t perfect! Things like this aren’t meant to be perfect, they’re meant for the fun of it!” He seemed to freeze, absorbing your words. “When I come up with new designs, I don’t aim for perfection, I draw what I find fun at the moment,” you elaborated. His mouth opened and closed, as if struggling with your point. He rubbed his chin, lost in thought.

“So… I need to have fun? Stop trying to make my designs perfect?” he murmured, almost to himself, but you caught every word. You nodded, handing him the dropped spoon. He hesitated but then swiftly scooped flour, bypassing the measurements this time. You saw him gulp, battling his instinctual need for precision, yet he bravely added the flour to the batter.

“See? You’re getting the hang of it!” You clapped your hands, prompting a deeper blush from Riddle, who let out a sigh but continued to bake. You sensed that he had relaxed, gradually enjoying the process of making tarts with you. Despite his attempts to maintain a pristine kitchen and occasionally strive for perfect measurements, you noticed a significant change in his behavior, and that was what mattered most.

As you grabbed a large bag of flour, you lost your balance and tripped over your own feet, sending the flour cascading onto the floor and covering you both in its powdery embrace. Panic surged through you, as you slowly glanced at Riddle who also had been covered in flour from head to toe, you anticipated Riddle's reaction to the mess, believing that now even Che’nya could not save you from this one, but unexpectedly, he burst into a hearty laughter. You froze, stunned by his unanticipated response. Instead of anger, his laughter filled the room, and he even walked over, extending his hand to help you up from the flour-covered floor.

“I haven’t laughed like this in such a long time,” he chuckled, his cheeks tinted pink from the flour. His laughter was contagious, and you couldn't help but smile back. However, amidst the chaos and his laughter, you noticed something about him that felt strangely captivating, even covered in flour he seemed to have this angelic look to him, wait, what did you mean with angelic? Did he always look this nice? You shook off the thought, dismissing it as a trick of the moment.

“Sorry, I will clean all of this!” You hurriedly searched for a broom, but Riddle placed a hand on your shoulder, a warm and friendly gesture.

“I used to visit a friend of mine when I was young,” he reminisced, an unfamiliar softness in his tone. “One day, he tried to teach me how to bake. That day, I dropped a full bag of flour. I never heard the end of it from my mom, but it was such a nice moment…” His words trailed off, and both of you stood there, flour-covered but sharing a moment of connection. His hand lingered on your shoulder for a moment before he withdrew it, seemingly realizing the gesture's duration. “Sorry…” His demeanor shifted slightly as he began to look for a broom. “We should clean all of this,” he suggested, and you nodded in agreement, grateful for the lighter atmosphere between you both.

The rest of your free time was spent enjoying the tarts and tea, chatting about various topics. It became evident that Riddle was gradually opening up to you. Even if it was initially part of the plan, you couldn't deny that you enjoyed his company.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

After a long day, you finally returned to your room, feeling exhausted. The building constructions were progressing smoothly, even better than expected. As you made your way towards the closet to change into your pajamas, a strange knock caught your attention. It seemed odd for someone to visit at such a late hour, but you decided to investigate. Upon opening the door, no one was in sight. You shrugged it off, thinking it might have been your imagination until the same knock echoed again. This time, you scanned the room, even checking the windows, but found no one, until your gaze shifted to the mirror in your room.

“This is the first time we get to talk properly,” the strange woman in the mirror addressed you, her lips moving in sync with her words, yet she remained motionless, fixated on you. You felt frozen, a chill creeping over you—did ghosts exist? Were you so fatigued and sleep-deprived that you began to see apparitions? “I was expecting this reaction, but relax, I am not here to harm you. Quite the contrary, I want to help you.” Her voice, despite standing next to the mirror, sounded distant and echoed faintly.

“Who are you?” You approached the enigmatic figure cautiously.

“I am you from another universe. I believe your friend Che’nya has already explained most of it.” The revelation stunned you. She had been the one to free you from the collar. Hearing Che’nya's tale of being cursed to live inside a mirror, unable to experience the outside world, evoked a pang of empathy. Having been locked in a tower yourself for so long, devoid of interaction and exposure to the outside world, you could empathize with her isolation.

“How do I set you free?” Your directness caught her off guard, her head bowed to conceal her sorrow. It felt surreal—her facial features mirrored yours, almost like watching your reflection cry.

“Only someone with an immense amount of magical power can release me,” she replied, raising her head to fix her gaze on you.

“But is there anyone out there with that kind of power?” You questioned the possibility. While many powerful wizards existed, like Riddle, you doubted they could intervene in such a situation.

“You,” she responded, and your eyes widened in surprise before adopting a more skeptical expression. “I can grant any wish, but with each wish comes a curse that consumes the wisher, slowly eroding their sanity and driving them mad. Strangely, it also bestows a certain strength upon them.”

Your astonishment grew; the thought of losing your mind over a wish you were still uncertain about was daunting. Sensing your concern, she offered crucial reassurance. “Given that we are the same person, this curse will affect you differently. Your sanity will deplete at a slower rate.”

“Why does it affect me differently, and what happens if I completely lose my mind? What then?” You felt the weight of the seriousness setting in, wondering if helping her was worth such a dire situation.

“This is our curse. It works like poison—the more exposure you have, the less impact it will have over time.” She paused, extending her hand toward the mirror’s surface. “If you do succumb, I’ve discovered a way to undo the curse during my confinement here.”

“And what’s that?” You inquired, intrigued.

“A true love’s kiss.” The two of you stood facing each other in an awkward silence. What did she mean by a true love's kiss? You hadn't found someone who made your heart skip a beat, and as you began to voice these thoughts, the image of Riddle laughing, covered in flour, flashed into your mind, reddening your face.

“W-what? S-so, that means you’d just kiss all those guys you cursed?” You blurted out, still rattled by thoughts of Riddle. As soon as the words left your mouth, both of you seemed to stutter, embarrassed like two high school girls gossiping about their crushes.

It took a while for both of you to calm down and realize the gravity of the situation. Sighing, you took a few steps back and settled onto the bed, facing the sorceress. Emerging from a tower, only to be thrust into this chaos, you wondered if things were spiraling further out of control with each passing moment.

"Can't I just wish for you to be free?" you asked her, as this seemed to make the most sense.

"The power of the wish is connected with the magical power of the wisher." She looked at you with a sad expression. "And for now, you don't possess enough magical power. The only way for you to get stronger is to wish for smaller things for now." You nodded, annoyed with the revelation. Of course, things couldn't be as easy as you wanted them to be. How foolish of you. As you thought about any wish, with nothing coming to mind, you watched as she slowly started vanishing from the mirror. Some sort of magical dust slowly made your reflection show in the mirror as it used to. As you heard a strange voice in the back of your mind, "If you ever feel like asking for a wish, repeat these words.”

“Wish and want in sacred verse, Grant my heart's desire, universe.”

That was an incantation. You rushed to grab some paper before forgetting it, but as you started jotting it down, you realized it had ingrained itself in your mind. It seemed intentional, as if you couldn’t erase it even if you wanted to. You relaxed, lying back on the bed, letting your tired eyes close. Tomorrow promised to be a long day.

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[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 4 thoughts

i thought this episode sounded interesting! the plot was kinda: wasn't it fucked up when the vietnam war happened? and i was sitting here like, yeah, quite famously it was pretty fucked up. still, an interesting exploration into trauma and the american role of imperialism

the first thing i wrote was "a lot of people in this show fall asleep watching the tv but personally i have never done that". am i immune to the Curse or something?

so this guy who is a sleep doctor sees a fire and he calls the fire department right away, and everyone is evacuating, and we see a dude in the hallway with a suspicious smile and an even more suspicious scar across his neck. i am used to the episode structure by now, so i knew this was our mystery man of the week.

but the firemen get to the burning fellow's house and there is no fire! despite it looking so real to him that he actually burned to death... it's not there! well huh! must be our mystery man can psychically project fire

cutscene to mulder's place and it again looks like an entirely new set for his apartment. again, i ask, i'm not crazy, right?? can someone else confirm that this is an entirely different space than what we saw before?

(i hope we don't see scully in a new space as well- i thought her apartment was so cute in s1)

he gets a newspaper and a tape of the call dropped off at his door so he runs to skinner and begs with his big sad wet eyes to please let him take the case. and skinner is like maybe. but go transcribe a bunch of wiretaps first. so THAT is why he's always listening to weird stuff!

BUT WAIT! who enters our fair scene...? but a NEW CHARACTER? he is a guy who looks like he crawled out of a frat house where he majored in lacrosse and business... he introduces himself as alex and says that this is HIS case... mulder is PISSED he's all "i work alone >:(" but he can't shake the dude off... hmm.

(i recall seeing a post about people slash shipping mulder with a character in s2- i saw this post way before i started watching the show, so i only noted it in my passing interest of fandom history- and i'm wondering if this is the fellow they were referring to. in the same post i saw mulder in a speedo which i guess we'll get to in time)

scully's back at the academy!!! teaching another autopsy class! boy they must have a steady stream of bodies coming in for this. but an urgent call is coming from a "george hale" and she leaves class to go answer...

and it's mulder!!!!! he has a code name!!! he asks her to fly up to new york and do an autopsy and she's like "i'm in class til 4:30" and he's like "that's fine, we'll wrap it up for you and you can come up at 5!" and she sighs and. agrees.

now. again. this was shocking to me. mulder cannot have anyone else draw his blood or do an autopsy it HAS to be his friend scully. and she WILL get on a flight and do it. this is SICK and TWISTED how she will do anything for him.

mulder was being a real jerk to alex and alex said "i don't appreciate being ditched like a bad date" and to my shock and dismay i found myself agreeing with this new character... mulder WAS being unreasonable... i mean we knew he's been moody lately but this was downright hostile

(mulder walks in while scully puts an organ into a scale) "spleen or pancreas?" "stomach" <- LMAO his ass did NOT pass anatomy!

and they're all so smiley and happy to see each other when. scully sees this man behind him. and her smile fades SO fast.

(he tries to shake her hand but given that her hands are covered in stomach she wisely brushes him by. it may have seemed like a diss but i assume he doesn't want gore on his hands)

alex is GAGGING over the body (me too) so mulder gets realllllll close to scully to block out his amateur hour buffoonery...

(y'all need to not be that close and looking at each other in such a manner in front of a dead guy... or do it more for my sake)

she's whispering that it seems his body believed he burned to death despite there being no burns on him!

we see another guy with a same scar on his neck as the first!!! he knows the first guy and it seems initially that their reunion is wholesome... until preacher (scar man one) admits to killing the sleep doctor... and then things get... wild

"holy fuck", i mumbled to myself while also writing down the same phrase in my notes, as a blood soaked family appeared in the room, shooting the character we just met for his crimes. that escalated with an extreme quickness. it was clear that whatever traumas he had inflicted upon others in vietnam were being returned in equal measure via the psychic force of this preacher character

then we go back to mulder and alex, who i thought was handling mulder's hater energy quite well, all things considered. but little did i know what was to come...

so sleep doctor, the guy who just died, and preacher all knew each other... interesting... they were stationed at basic training together...

we get a visual on mulder's new source after deep throat's passing! he says he has no desire to be there, and that their mutual friend deep throat died for what he believed in, which he does not want to do. which is of course totally fair. at the end of the day the FBI is just a paycheck for some of these folks.

the sleep doctor was revealed to be doing experiments to make super advanced soldiers who don't need sleep so maybe that gives you the power to kill people magically. we can't really rule it out.

preacher then makes two cops kill EACH OTHER with his sorcery

back to scully cam <3 she's got her glasses on at the computer <3 she's got little yellow earrings in that look like flowers <3 and she thinks its so cool that they cut part of this guy's brain out and now he hasn't slept in 24 years... nerd

they're on the phone with each other and it is SO SAD because why. why can't they just be together! it's not fair. she says it sounds like his new partner is working out and he's like yeah he's okay...

"must be nice to not have someone poking holes in all your theories" "yeah, no idea how i put up with you for so long" and they're smiling into the phone while saying this

now, i won't lie. this scene, of all the scenes, was the first to bring tears to my eyes in the course of my streaming this show. because now we have seen what they'll do for each other and they're TAUNTING me by dangling it in front of my face. and i cannot stand it. i feel sick at the thought.

anyway back to mulder and his new partner. who i feel is too good to be true because he's willing to believe spooky mulder's theories. but they found another guy who also had the sleep surgery and he tells them that they went on a rampage committing atrocities in vietnam which was. very heavy for the alien show. but it is something that americans often pretend just didn't happen so i thought it was interesting that the idea of accountability was being explored in fiction.

so there's one more guy involved with the sleep surgery, and he's coming into town, so alex and mulder have to sprint down to the station and try and find him. they're really giving it a sprint, too. mulder is a track star. don't think i've forgotten

and mulder does see the guy they're looking for but preacher is behind him and shoots mulder! he falls to the ground! no, i yelled to my screen! not another bullet in mulder!

... but he gets up. the whole thing was a trick of preacher! it never actually happened!

alex is like dude wtf. and this is where he says "i want to believe" and this where i made the very astute note "i don't trust this guy, sorry"

so finally they find preacher still alive, and mulder tells alex to help out his victim, while mulder runs off to find him. mulder sees how much pain he is in, and tells him that maybe his pain can lessen if he testifies about what was done to him, and it seems they've come to an understanding...

until alex enters, pulls his gun up, so preacher also pulls his gun up, and alex and shoots him! preacher is dead

mulder looks deeply upset by this. he tells alex that he did the right thing, but you can tell he doesn't believe it in the slightest. i would venture to guess that this is when all the trust he had begun to place in alex vanishes. he seems entirely deflated at the unnecessary loss of life.

he goes back to the car and notices someone stole the secret files that his informant gave him, and he punches the car. this is simply too many L's for one day, and i sympathize.

but scully's freaking out too, because her office was broken into and all her stuff looked through! so what in the name of hell is going on here?!?!? ah, i realize, it is this alex fool... "i know ur related somehow" i wrote ominously in my quotes

and boy, i was right! the narrative the writers were going for was not lost on me! because remember skinner's old sidekick the cigarette guy? and how they had a sort of breakup moment? well, alex is reporting to him, and they have the file he stole from mulder!!!!!

alex says that scully is a "big problem" to which i say: keep talking like that, you overgrown varsity jock, and you're gonna have a big problem with my fucking hands catching your throat

anyway, interesting episode. i didn't want to like alex and then i did because i felt bad for him for being subjected to mulder's attitude and then i hated his guts by the end and reluctantly admitted to myself that mulder's crankiness was justified. i hope he won't stick around for long but i have a feeling he will.

also, they need to stop taunting me by dangling a real mulder and scully reunion in front of my head and then ripping it away. i had TEARS! in my eyeballs! i was sighing wistfully! it was sick!!!!!! this is my free time i'm spending here pining after these fools! it's me, the fan, asking for fan service!!!

[crusty-chronicles]

hii! i really love your airhead s/o series!! especially that ging one, perhaps can you make a part 2 of airhead s/o x ging? i really love it😭😭

You know what, why the hell not. There simply isn't enough of this stinky man out there and I truly do love him. He's cute in the feral rat kinda way 🥺

BONUS AIRHEADED S/O HEADCANNONS: Ging part 2

Like a thorn in his side, you simply won't leave

He doesn't recall how exactly he met you, but he does remember what he said that started all this.

"Keep up with me if you can."

And keep up you did. A little too well. And now he was stuck with you.

Buys plastic plates and Styrofoam cups because you can't break them.

Seriously, every good dish he had is shattered in the trash somewhere.

No plastic spoons or forks though

He tried that once and you had broken them, unawares that the extra crunch to your cereal was plastic

Is amazed and a little curious to find out you set the sink on fire.

Like honsetly, what the fuck???? Should he be impressed or scared.

Ging is a lazy stinky man

He has you in one of those backpacks with leashes when you go out in crowded places.

Cannot be bothered to go looking for you, so the next best thing is to leash you so you don't wander far.

You'll see something you think is cool and rush off, only to be stopped by a small tug pulling you back.

"Can you focus for one second?"

And for the first time he actually looks the part of a parent as he tugs you back towards him.

"Quit running around, pup."

God forbid the leash is detachable and you find out how to get free

"Yes, I need some help. My idiot got loose and I can't find them."

"Sir this is a Mcdonalds."

The one thing he made sure to tell Gon atop the Great tree, was to make sure he found somebody who always kept him on his toes.

"Why?"

"Life is better when the person you're with makes it interesting." Completely unaware you were only a few branches down listening.

Panics when you leave for hunter business because of that one time.

"Pick up your phone, idiot!!!! Damnit! How many times have I told you not to go by yourself!"

Waits for you like an upset parent that just caught their kid sneaking back in

Arms crossed, sitting on your sofa style

Waiting impatiently as you bump into the vase by the door after breaking the lock to get in.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

And you stare up at him with puppy eyes holding out a small box.

"I got you a souvenir." 🥺

And it's most likely broken but he appreciates it anyways.

All great hunters are liked by animals.

You get adopted by nearly all the apex predators you come across

And Ging is distressed because 'That is a fucking lion, Y/n. You can't just cuddle it.'

He tries to take you away from it, only for whatever creature had you hostage to growl at him.

Then it continues licking you and eventually whines when you get up to follow a very perplexed Ging.

(He secretly thinks it's cool)

Ging knows you're stupid, but that you're not an idiot

He knows you get lost on missions frequently and for the life of you can't not break something for five seconds.

But he also knows that you can tell when people are lying and being disingenuous

You hate Pariston for a reason

That and he lied to you once about something which resulted in you refusing to talk to him for weeks

He totally didn't care

Totally didn't try to send you a message only to see you'd blocked his number (how you accomplished that, he'd never know)

Totally didn't ask Kite to check up on you and make sure you hadn't died or something

What him? Never

And he also totally didn't swing by your apartment to leave a box of your favorite snacks on your doorstep

Couldn't be him 🙄🙄🙄

Yeah, he never tried to lie to you after that.

He refuses to baby you, but if someone makes fun of you for not being able to do something, he's kicking their ass

Makes you teach Gon some of your nen tricks

Just because he knows you're capable enough to do so

You're not a two star hunter for nothing.

Plus it means you two get to bond. Which is something he'd deny to his grave

Him, wanting his partner and son to be close???

You're delusional, he doesn't care 🙄🙄🙄

Yes he does and what he lied to you about was having a kid in the first place.

He just knew you'd spill the secret on his whereabouts is all

Gon thinks you are the coolest person he's met so far.

Alluka, who can grant wishes? She's cool

You, who took him fishing and caught an alligator by wrestling it????

You're his idol 🤩🤩🤩

And Ging is so damn proud because the next day his son brought home this huge sea monster he caught with your help.

"Why wouldn't I settle for a capable partner," is the biggest compliment he'll give.

He is a man child who fights for your attention with anybody. Not even poor little Gon is safe 😞

The barista's hand brushed against yours while handing you a drink?

Ging is dragging you out by your hand, glaring behind at the confused worker.

You're catching up with an old friend?

Okay, but they're clearly not that interesting if you ditched them for him. So quit wasting time and follow him to this cool thing he just found.

Gon wants you to teach him and his friend a new ability?

It's a family event now

Physically cannot say he loves you

He's just not used to it

And he can't even hint to it through romantic gestures because you don't understand subtlety

But, he's more physical with you than with most people

You get to jostle him around in your excitement and pull him everywhere you go

Doesn't mean he won't complain about it

He just won't push you off

"That's enough, pup. You'll make me dizzy."

"But I haven't seen you in a while, don't be all mean."

And he regrettably lets you keep your arms tight around him

You can't read maps and he's so surprised you accomplish anything that requires travel

Showers

He showers with you or he doesn't at all

He just wants to make sure you don't fall in there okay. 🙄You already trip on dry land, so imagine the wet tile.

It's because he likes the way you're so gentle when you wash his scalp. And because you always have the best scented soaps.

Kissed you one time and collapsed from embarrassment

Like a real kiss, not the little forehead ones he gives when you've been good.

Red in the face and unable to look at you properly

All because he said he stole your favorite sweet and taunted you for it.

You'd tackled him down and kissed him, swiping your tongue on his lips.

And he was 😳😳😳

And when you pulled away with a triumphant smile on your face, he actually did faint.

You were so confused because he didn't taste like your candy??? Did he lie to you again???

Gets flustered if Gon asks him when he's gonna marry you.

Like c'mon kid, don't say things like that!!! They're literally right there!

(Doesn't want to marry you because he couldn't take it if you decided you couldn't stand him after all. But he also really does because you keep his life interesting)

"I want what I can't have."

Didn't know he wanted an idiot until trying and failing so many times to get you to see he actually does care

MASTERLIST

[valeriefauxnom]

Another Stealth Edit in Dragalia Lost!

So, as I unfortunately cannot find the vocal lines for, Leonidas was known in his Gala to have a vocalized line that said the name 'Euden' whereas before Dragalia went to hell and back to obscure any mention of his name despite the obvious fact that it is his name. Whether it was with "Your/His Highness" "Prince" "Turkey" or "Brother", they were quite creative in monikers to avoid saying Euden.

They, predictably, changed it incredibly fast to 'my brother', but the original line, was, if I recall, something like "Whatever awaits in North Grastea, I am certain Euden will find his way to the truth of things". They just substituted 'my brother' for Euden and then voila! No more 'Euden' vocalized.

But oh, I remember.

I, however, just happened to notice another stealth edit today, though, that they did similarly quietly.

Where? The Blood that Binds, you know, the story where most the fam teams up to kick the Replica(-aaaaaaaaaa!) Alberius' butt?

It's in the second part of the story, where not!Alberius nearly murders everyone before they're saved by Euden and Zethia finally arriving to provide some much-needed reinforcement as Euden goes toe-to-toe with Alberius as Zethia heals.

When the twins show up, however, Alberius comments this, per the wiki:

Indeed, I found this line captured in several videos of people recording the event as an archive.

However, others (and I do mean plural, this isn't just one person), instead recorded a different line Alberius says at this exact interval!

The line in question?

Now, when I first saw this, I thought maybe that this was the original line and that they changed it just to again keep any mention of the Forbidden out of Dragalia and appease the great Nintendo on high. The former feels a bit more awkward, even if one can still kinda see the air of 'ugh, how many more can there be?' attitude to the sheer number of descendants trying to fight him. To me, I honestly thought it would be the changed, the hurriedly slapped-in edit as ordered to keep Dragalia that much Purer.

But when I looked at the dates of these uploads, I found something curious. Those that had the first line where actually updated earlier than the ones with the later line. Unless several people all got their recordings earlier than the others but then somehow chose to wait a week-month to upload their clips, the second line is the edited version!

Which means that the Dragalia translation team slipped in a comment from Alberius' replica expressing the sentiment of, 'damn that dude had a lot of sex'. Color me surprised!

What's funnier is the implications, because this replica knows Alberius' memories. He's the most capable person 'alive' in any sense to be fully capable of commenting truthfully as to what Alberius got up to, even if it is through his own lens corrupted by the Progenitor.

However, it's also a bit of a logical fail. The replica also knows Alberius lived 300 years ago, and yet seems surprised and annoyed with how many descendants there are. Even if Alberius only had one kid, 300 years is more than enough time for the blood to multiply into the size of the family there is today. Additionally, Alberius himself seems to intend to have multiple children:

...And yet he's personally attributing the fact that there are 7 heirs in front of him to Alberius. Perhaps he thought he woke up to a world as if Alberius were Genghis Khan, bloodline incredibly far-reaching where it seems you can't throw a stick without hitting one of his descendants?

To that, I'd like to just claim the comment's because of the potentially lacking knowledge of this replica. Sure, he may know how to fight, Alberius' life, all that, but that doesn't necessarily mean he has the best grasp on how quickly natural reproduction in humans can boom a single bloodline's number. A silly little goof much as the dragons make goofs regarding human lives and their qualities, like Zodiark failing to realize that humans cannot fit in a chamberpot or that they do not eat raw meat. I still wonder what drove the translators, though, to make that change.

Whatever might have driven that comment, though, that doesn't change the fact that the replica of Alberius flat-out said that his original was, ah, busy, which was not the new lore I had intended being able to be found in Dragalia!

That just leaves the question as to whom, since Dragalia also had a severe allergy from discussing any of the queens in Alberia's history. Myriam, of course, died alone before Alberius ever created a kingdom. The only other character of note in Alberius' vague shipping world is Midgardsormr, as long-joked about in the fandom from both comics and stories, but he doesn't exactly complete the apparently-full love story either, with Alberius having at least one descendant. It's too bad, since the only other note of relevance about the subject at all is Midgardsormr expressing severe doubts of his dating prowess:

...Did Midgardsormr end up being a wingman to Alberius? If so, what did that look like?

"Hey, how are you doing?" (cue massive, revered dragon landing behind him)

"Why are you running, aren't dragons cool???!"

Listen, I've just opened up a whole can of worms unintentionally here, because somehow Dragalia decided to say of all things that Alberius had a storied love life, shall we say.

I wonder how many other little changes the devs might have made over the years, if they're willing to tweak things like this. Does anyone know anything else about little stealth changes the team tried to sneak in without anyone noticing?

[ponyosmom35]

Nightmares

bittersweet chapter sixteen

steve harrington x fem oc

synopsis: Indie is having nightmares and Steve grows worried about her.

warnings: nightmares, barb's death, grief

link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

Two weeks later 

It had been nearly two weeks since Indie's life changed forever. Two weeks since she found out her sister was dead. Two weeks since they fought a demogorgan. Two weeks since Steve Harrington had decided to be her 'new best friend'. Which thus far had been true. He'd begun picking her up and driving her to and from school, eating lunch with her in his car, and studying together. Indie was incredibly grateful for his presence, he made her harsh reality a bit easier to handle. The unyielding support he'd offered her was heartwarming. Steve had begun to need Indie just as much, she was a light in the darkness as he grappled with the existence of monsters and alternate dimensions along with his breakup with Nancy Wheeler. The two needed one another. 

After class, Steve waits for Indie by her locker, casually leaning against the wall. When she finally reaches him, he gives her a concerned look. Steve glances at her face, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, and his frown deepens.

"Hey, you look exhausted. You didn't get much sleep last night, did you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

Steve nods, his expression filled with concern. "Were you up all night?"

"Yeah, I was studying," she lies.

Steve narrows his eyes, not quite believing her. "Studying? Really? You sure that's all you were doing? You didn't have... other things keeping you up?"

"I have a test today," she lies again.

Steve crosses his arms, his expression turning skeptical. "A test, huh? And you had to stay up all night studying for it? Sounds a little excessive. What class is this test in?"

She looks up at him, trying to think but not having the energy. "Fifth period."

Steve continues staring at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Fifth period... Okay, so you have a test in PE?" he says, recalling her mentioning having PE as her last class of the day.

"Yup."

Steve nods slowly, still trying to figure her out. "Right, so you've got a PE test, and you felt the need to stay up all night studying for it? What exactly do you study for a PE test anyway?"

"I was studying the rules of... soccer we're playing this week, and I'm not exactly an athlete, so I was trying to learn the rules."

Steve cocks an eyebrow at her response, still not entirely convinced but willing to let it slide. "Okay, so you were up half the night studying the rules of soccer. That explains the dark circles under your eyes and the exhaustion, huh?"

"Yes," she nods.

"Indie, what's going on?" he asks gently. "You can talk to me."

"It's nothing."

Steve frowns, seeing the hint of a lie in her eyes. He steps a little closer, his voice soft and gentle. "It's not nothing. You can't have stayed up all night just studying for a PE test. You're hiding something from me. What's really going on?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," she says, her voice firm but unconvincing.

Steve studies her face for a moment, searching for any signs of truth. Finding none, he lets out an exasperated sigh. "That's bullshit, and you know it. You're not fine. So don't try to feed me this 'nothing is wrong' bullshit, alright?"

"This isn't your problem, Steve. I'm just tired today, that's all."

Steve raises an eyebrow at her dismissiveness and shakes his head, a mix of disbelief and annoyance on his face. "You seriously think I'm just gonna let this go? You're my friend, Indie. Your problems are my problems. And you're not 'just tired'—you're completely exhausted, and you look like you haven't slept a wink. So don't brush me off."

Indie looks over her shoulder to make sure nobody is around and clutches her books to her chest. "I've been having nightmares about Barb."

The change in Indie's demeanor instantly grabs Steve's attention. His expression softens, the annoyance replaced by concern. "Nightmares? That's what's been keeping you up all night?"

"Every time I sleep, I have the same dream, and I don't want to watch her die every time I close my eyes, so I've been trying to just stay up."

Steve's heart aches for Indie as she opens up about her torment. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, his voice filled with empathy. "You can't keep going on without sleep; it's gonna destroy you."

"I'll be fine," she promises. "You don't have to worry about me."

Steve lets out a frustrated huff, shaking his head. He's not buying her promise for a second. "Don't give me that 'I'll be fine' crap. You're not fine, and I am gonna worry about you whether you like it or not. I can't just sit back when you're clearly struggling."

"I appreciate that, Steve, but this is something I need to work through myself."

Steve huffs again, clearly not happy with her dismissive response, but he knows that Indie can be stubborn when she wants to be. "You don't have to go through this alone, you know. You don't have to fight these nightmares alone. You have me, and I want to be there for you."

"How about this? I'll let you know if I need your support, friend," she says with a small smile.

Steve looks at her, still not entirely convinced by her reassurances. But he knows that pushing too hard would just make her shut down. He sighs, reluctantly agreeing to her terms. "Alright, fine. I'll back off for now. But you better promise that you'll come to me if you need help, got it? I don't want you suffering silently just because you're too damn stubborn to ask for help."

"I promise," she says.

Steve eyes her for a moment longer, searching her face for any hint of falsehood. Finally, he nods, accepting her promise.

Indie’s nightmare begins the same way it always does, with her standing in her living room, everything around her feeling oddly familiar yet terrifyingly wrong. The walls seem to breathe, the shadows dance, and the air is thick with a sense of impending doom. She tries to move, but her feet are glued to the floor, an invisible force keeping her rooted in place.

She hears her sister Barb's voice, faint at first, calling her name from somewhere in the house. Panic seizes Indie’s heart as she desperately tries to call back, but her voice is trapped in her throat, silenced by fear. The room grows colder, the temperature dropping rapidly until her breath fogs in front of her face.

Suddenly, Barb appears at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide with terror. Indie watches helplessly as Barb’s gaze locks onto something behind her. The dread in her sister's eyes sends a shiver down her spine, and Indie’s body begins to tremble uncontrollably. She tries to scream, to warn her, but no sound comes out. 

The demogorgon emerges from the darkness at the end of the hallway, its grotesque, flower-like mouth opening wide, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Its growl reverberates through the house, a sickening sound that makes Indie’s skin crawl. Barb backs away slowly, but there’s nowhere to go. The creature advances, each step deliberate, as if it knows that Indie is powerless to stop it.

Indie’s heart pounds in her chest as she struggles to move, to do anything to save her sister, but her body is paralyzed. The demogorgon lunges at Barb, its claws slashing through the air. Barb screams, a sound so filled with fear and pain that it echoes in Indie’s ears, a haunting cry that she knows she’ll never forget.

The monster’s claws sink into Barb’s flesh, dragging her to the ground. Indie watches in horror as the demogorgon begins to tear into her sister, the sound of ripping flesh and bones snapping filling the room. Blood splatters across the walls, painting the scene in a gruesome shade of red. Barb's screams grow weaker, turning into desperate whimpers, and all Indie can do is watch, her vision blurring with tears.

She tries again to move, to shout, to do anything, but she’s trapped in her own body, forced to witness the horrific scene unfold. The demogorgon lifts Barb’s lifeless body, its mouth opening wide to devour her. Indie’s breath catches in her throat, her heart shattering as she sees the last remnants of life leave her sister’s eyes.

Indie wakes with a start, her body drenched in sweat, her heart racing as if it’s trying to escape her chest. She can still hear Barb’s screams echoing in her mind, still see the blood, the terror in her sister’s eyes. She’s trembling uncontrollably, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

Her phone is on the nightstand, just within reach. She grabs it, her hands shaking so badly that she almost drops it as she dials Steve’s number. The moment he picks up, she doesn’t even give him a chance to speak.

"Steve," she whispers, her voice trembling, "Can you come over? Please."

There’s a pause on the other end, and then his voice, warm and reassuring, comes through. "I’m on my way."

Minutes later, Steve is at her door, still in the clothes he wore that day, worry etched into his features. Indie lets him in, her hands still shaking as she leads him to her room. She can’t bring herself to speak; she just climbs back onto her bed, pulling the covers around her like a shield against the horrors that her mind conjured.

Steve sits down on the edge of her bed, watching her closely. He can see the fear in her eyes, the way her body is trembling beneath the blankets. Without a word, he pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her trembling frame. Indie buries her face in his chest, trying to hold back the tears, but they spill out anyway, soaking into his shirt. Steve doesn’t say anything; he just holds her tighter, his hand gently rubbing her back as he tries to soothe her.

"I’ve got you," he murmurs into her hair. "I’m here. You’re safe."

She clings to him, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. Steve stays with her, holding her until the trembling starts to subside, until her breathing slows down to something resembling normal. He doesn’t let go until she starts to pull away, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice hoarse from crying.

Steve shakes his head. "You don’t have to thank me. I’m here for you, always."

Indie manages a weak smile, but it’s fleeting. The nightmare is still fresh in her mind, the images of Barb’s death still playing behind her eyes every time she blinks. She looks at the floor, her voice barely a whisper. "Can you… can you stay?"

Steve nods without hesitation. "Of course."

He grabs a spare pillow and blanket from the foot of her bed and sets up a spot on the floor. As he lays down, he looks up at her, his eyes filled with a determination that almost makes her believe she can get through this. 

"I’ll be right here, Indie," he says firmly. "I’m not going anywhere. And I promise, I’ll make sure you stay safe."

Indie lies back down, her body still shaking slightly, but the weight of Steve’s promise eases some of the fear that clings to her. She listens to his breathing, steady and reassuring, and eventually, the terror begins to fade, just enough for her to close her eyes and drift off to sleep.

Steve stays awake long after she’s fallen asleep, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, making sure that Indie’s breathing stays steady, that she’s not dragged back into the nightmare. And even though he’s on the floor, uncomfortable and tired, he doesn’t mind. Because right now, keeping Indie safe is the only thing that matters.

[unpredictable-probabilities]

The Comforts of Us

Summary:

Hob and Dream go on a picnic date, and Hob is more than happy to show his pouty boyfriend how to have fun in the sunny outdoors.

Word Count: 1,452

Notes:

For Dreamling Week Day 5: Midsummer

---

Hob shifted in his sleep, slowly being woken up by sunlight glaring through his eyelids, but he didn’t much feel like being fully awake yet.

A shadow fell across his face, blocking out the sun.

“Are you well, my beloved?”

Hob blinked himself awake at the voice and saw that Dream had his hand up to keep the sun from reaching Hob’s eyes.

Hob smiled, taking Dream’s hand and kissing his palm. “Sorry, love, must have dozed off.” He got up from using Dream’s lap as a pillow, still sluggish from sleep.

“I do not mind. You worked late at your pub last night; you needed the rest.”

Hob sat cross-legged on their picnic blanket and brushed off the leaves that had fallen on it. “Ah, yeah, summer crowd’s like that. School’s off so people stay later than usual. Still, it’s a bit rude to fall asleep when the Prince of Stories himself is telling me a story, eh?” he said playfully.

“I may be the Prince of Stories, but when we are together I am first and foremost your lover, and your well-being is my primary concern.”

Hob chuckled and looked down, feeling his face warm. They’d been together for months now but he still wasn’t used to how Dream could be so straightforward sometimes. He wasn’t complaining, though.

“Shall we move indoors where it is not so warm?”

“Nah, the point of picnics is to enjoy the outdoors. You could dress more for the weather, you know like I suggested beforehand?” Hob raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that black coat’s helping at all with how warm you’re feeling.”

Dream made a face that Hob liked to call an endearing pout, to Dream’s constant denial. “If we were in my realm, I would be able to control the weather to the best of our comforts.”

“We were in your realm last night, it’s my turn to arrange the date now,” Hob reminded him. “Here, let’s have some ice cream.” He reached into the cooler and got two ice cream sandwiches, passing one to Dream.

“But we had already eaten earlier,” Dream took the snack with furrowed eyebrows.

“Yeah, because we were hungry. Now we’re gonna eat for fun.” Hob tore open the plastic wrapping and took a bite of the chocolate biscuits with a vanilla ice cream filling.

“Ah, I see. Partaking in cold food is a recreational activity during summertime. What else am I to expect on these summer dates?” Dream smiled and opened the plastic wrapping of his sandwich.

“Well, there’s the beach,” Hob said thoughtfully. “But if you’re already suffering from the heat here, I can't even imagine how you'll be at a beach,” he teased. But unfortunately it turned out that he could imagine it quite vividly; images of Dream sunbathing in nothing but beach shorts sprung up in his mind, Dream’s pale skin glowing under the sun while he lay back on the soft sand.

Hob took a bottle of soda from the cooler and drank, feeling a little warm himself.

“Hob.”

Hob looked over and saw Dream lying on his side, propped up on one elbow with a half-eaten ice cream sandwich in hand. He had decided to remove his coat, after all.

“If you wish to see me half-naked, you know you need only ask.” He took a bite of the sandwich and licked a smudge of vanilla ice cream off his bottom lip, never breaking eye contact.

Hob swallowed. His traitorous brain chose that moment to recall all the times he had seen Dream more-than-half-naked, both in the Dreaming and Waking. And judging by Dream’s smirk, he was well-aware of it.

“You are going to get us arrested for public indecency.” Hob finished the last of his sandwich and stood up, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “Come on, let's go to the lake.”

Dream tilted his head curiously. “What for?”

“For a swim. You said you were warm, right?” Hob walked ahead to the nearby lake without waiting to see if Dream was following. He needed to cool down for several reasons now, and if his boyfriend was going to continue flirting, it might be better if Hob was submerged from the waist down.

There were already a few people in the lake, laughing and swimming and playing games. The day was particularly hot, and it was a common sight at this time of the year.

Dream appeared beside Hob, staring at the water with a subtle wrinkle of his nose. “There are people in it.”

Hob smiled in amusement. “It's a public park, love. There's still more than enough room for us to swim around.”

He removed his shoes and waded in the lake, then he dove under and swam a short distance away before swimming back and resurfacing, enjoying the refreshing water after being under the sun for so long.

“Come on, love,” he called out to Dream. “The water's great!”

Dream didn't look any less displeased. “I shall take your word for it. I prefer to remain here.”

Hob sighed and waded back to the shore. “Fine. Just help me up,” he held out a hand.

Dream crouched down and grabbed his arm, pulling him effortlessly out of the lake. As soon as Hob stepped on land, he turned and shoved Dream as hard as he could into the water.

Dream gave a cry of surprise and fell in with a loud splash.

Hob was still laughing when Dream resurfaced, glaring at him with his hair sticking to his forehead.

Before Dream could say anything, Hob jumped back into the water, creating another splash that sent water up in Dream's face.

“Hob!” Dream wiped water from his eyes in exasperation. “How dare you trick me in this manner?”

“Oh, you love it,” Hob grinned, gently brushing the hair away from Dream’s forehead.

Dream narrowed his eyes at Hob, but there was a fond smile on his face. He put his hands on the small of Hob's back and pulled him closer. “I love you. Insolence and all.”

Hob's breath caught in his throat, and he found himself pressing a kiss to Dream's lips, his hands holding onto Dream’s shoulders. The kiss was soft and lingering, giving Hob a warm feeling in his chest that made him sigh.

“I love you,” he whispered against Dream’s lips. He took a step back and smiled. “Now can we swim? You do know how to swim, right?”

Dream furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully. “I have never attempted it, not in this human form. I suppose we shall see,” he smiled.

It turned out that Dream could swim pretty well, after getting used to doing the motions that Hob showed him. They swam around for the better part of an hour, with Dream diving and swimming underwater for long periods of time with the advantage of not needing to breathe.

Hob splashed him with water several more times, until Dream fought back with his own attacks. Hob was pretty sure that Dream was summoning water from the Dreaming at some point; there was no way that he could make those big waves if he wasn't using magic. But it didn't matter, because they were both laughing, and Dream's face was brighter than any sun.

They made their way back to the picnic blanket eventually, lying on their backs and letting the sun dry their clothes that were stuck to their damp skin. A few clouds had appeared, and they made a game of coming up with stories from the shapes of the clouds that passed by. Dream’s voice had a soothing quality whenever he told a story, no wonder Hob could easily fall asleep to it.

Hob finished his story about a fluffy rabbit chasing a wheel of cheese, and he realised that Dream had been quiet for a while.

He looked over and saw that Dream was staring at him, a soft smile on his face.

Hob was always rendered speechless whenever Dream looked at him like that, like he hung the sun and stars in the sky and Dream was staring in open adoration.

“Thank you for today, Hob. It has been wonderful.”

“Even with the hot sun and the noisy people at the lake?” Hob raised an eyebrow teasingly.

Dream nodded once. “Any day that I get to spend with you is a perfect one.”

Hob fell silent and smiled, gazing into those blue eyes that he now knew so well.

Dream moved closer and rested his head on Hob’s chest.

Hob wrapped his arms around Dream, and they lay there telling each other stories even after their clothes had long since dried under the softening rays of the sun.

---

(Dreamling Week Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

this was supposed to be longer but i got tired (and realized maybe this wasn't such a good idea) so i kinda bs'd this to just finish it up. sorry it doesn't look all that good lol

transcript of my shitty handwriting + more rambling under cut

panel 1:

len: rin, just leave him—

rin: NO! i'm not going to give up now—

len: i know you're upset, but all you're doing is—

rin: HE'S NOT GONE YET!

panel 2:

rin: i know he still remembers, he has to...

panel 3:

rin: kaito-san, it's me; rin. you tried singing one of len and i's songs the other day. you got the melody right, remember? meiko-san's birthday is soon. remember her? a few weeks ago you said you needed to buy her a present. what were you going to get her? do you remember? tell me.

---

aight yea so this is what yall get for picking that ❄️📺❔🕚💾🪦 option on the poll (which btw was related to this drawing)

i'll just keep it simple: basically kaito gets dementia (or i guess the robot equivalent of it??). yeah.

not sure if this takes place on the cusp of v3 happening and just this specific kaito v1 module was unable to be updated for some reason? or if they're all still stuck in v2 and v3 hasn't happened yet/will not happen for a while... but i do know its def before v4 happened, so people like fukase and una don't exist yet

anyways though as you might expect, it pretty much sucks all around for everyone involved. not just the other 5 cryptonloids watching their close friend so previously full of life deteriorate into a husk of his former self, but for kaito himself too. he suddenly can't remember things like where he is or who the people around him are, and its incredibly frustrating b/c he knows he did have the memories at some point, its just as if they got misplaced... there's random bits of recollections that do come sometimes but as much as he tries to hold onto them they flicker and fade away just as quick as they appeared. left sinking back into a feeling of hopelessness that then becomes pure emptiness, as you can feel how you're losing yourself but there's quite literally nothing you can do

visually the static is used to represent a lot of that "foggy" feeling as things become more and more unclear, and given the robot/android nature it makes sense i guess? it's not really seen here but just as an actual machine might be when breaking down, his visual + audio processors begin to malfunction, causing a literal static overlay on his vision with faces/objects he can't recognize occasionally glitching out as well as constant white noise in his hearing and the sound of people talking to him becoming garbled and unintelligible. as time goes on he also loses his own ability to synthesize speech so aside from becoming withdrawn and quiet out of fear he'll say something that makes no sense, he then literally just becomes incapable of responding at all

again (as you might expect), the other cryptons aren't doing very well as this is happening. rin and len see kaito almost like a father, so watching one of your parental figures slowly march towards death is... not great. rin (as seen here) is still trying to hold on, because she swears kaito has had a few good days where he does recall more, where he seems much more like his old self, and maybe, just maybe if they wait a bit more he'll get better [tbh she's speedrunning the 7 stages of grief but goes between being stuck in some of the earlier stages its... not good]. len's grief on the other hand is manifesting itself in a way more similar to meiko's: he's not as distant as her, but he has already recognized that there's pretty much nothing that can be done and just wants to minimize kaito's suffering. len's just as shattered as rin though, but he's not showing it openly, figuring he has to accept it, as fighting against the grief like his sister won't help anything.

i just mentioned meiko so speaking of her: this is also probably extremely difficult on her, as, yknow, the counterpart v1 to kaito. she's withdrawn herself away from kaito, as she doesn't want to cause him pain in case he happens to recognize her, remember something about their relationship, but not comprehend what it means and just become confused/distressed. at least, that's what she says; it's more or so she can't bear to see him in this state, as he slowly loses more parts of himself, so she isolates herself in hopes the pain will be somewhat less when its all over, for having seen him less and not having false hopes of his recovery. that being said though she has definitely still been around him and tried to keep her composure... from kaito's pov, in moments of recollection, its disheartening seeing your wife close friend suddenly ignoring you, almost like she's mad or sad about something, but you can't remember why. did you forget to do the laundry? is it something unrelated? you want to ask her but she won't tell you; why? did she already and you just forgot? why...

miku's usual cheeriness has also crumbled, as even with rin's attempts, she can't find anything to be optimistic about in this scenario. she just feels this immense guilt, that she should've done something about this; she has influence as the most popular of the entire group, surely she could do something to make it all better. but aside from the arguments and indecisiveness regarding ethics and not wanting to do something without everyone's collective decision, she does know deep down its not her fault. maybe someone like one of the technicians or programmers would be more at fault, but she doesn't want to blindly throw accusations either, because surely they hadn't foreseen this happening either; nobody would intentionally throw in such a cruel fate for someone, it was an unfortunate system glitch that they were working to fix, but even if they did come up with a patch for it, it would be far too late for kaito at that point. she doesn't want to dwell too much on the logistics of it, miku just wants to be there for everyone else, because she knows how deep in despair the others are—she is too—and doesn't want their whole group to fall apart after such a devastating event.

as for luka: i would assume we're kind of actually seeing everything from her perspective, so as an audience lens she'd be more objective about presenting everything as it is without putting too much of her own bias/thoughts into it. but she's not completely unfeeling either. she tries interacting with kaito quite often, despite some of the others warning her about doing that too much. she tries talking to him about random things, not necessarily aiming to get him to remember anything in specific, though if any of his memories do surface in conversation she'll def address them and ask if he recalls anything more (and if not that's alright too). on some occasions she's been accused of being insensitive, but she doesn't want his death to be this huge tragedy, she would want him to be somewhat happy in his last moments. after everything that's happened, he deserves to leave in peace, in her opinion.

i've mentioned death a few times and there's a literal gravestone in the original emoji combo so safe to say, yeah, he dies. unfortunately the damage to his hardware is beyond repair from the critical/fatal errors and glitches, and it's decided that it'd be best to ultimately just deactivate him and delete all his files to not prolong any pain he might've been in for any longer. not exactly sure what would happen afterwards (aside from an obvious aftermath of the grief): if this is before/on the verge of v3 happening, there's the situation i thought about of them receiving a new replacement v3 kaito module, which has its own angst w/ it: its almost like seeing a fucking ghost, but it's not the same one they all remember, nor does it have all those memories. and this v3 kaito himself experiencing conflicted feelings as someone who was brought in to try and give back happiness to this group, only to seem to cause more despair for being so similar to someone long gone that he'll never truly replace. again though i'm not sure if i'd actually have that happen for the sake of everyone involved's sanity but it is something interesting to think about

i've been typing this for like 3 fcking hours now and i have no idea if this makes any goddamn sense lolol uhhh. like all my things it sounds way better in my head than when i actually put it on paper 😭 but congrats if you actually went thru the effort of reading all this. i might do more explanations like this of my things if anyone's interested, like of the other poll options, but we'll see

[willsimpforanyone]

Hiii, I’m rather new to your page but I love your writing. I know you already have quite a lot of requests so feel free to ignore this one. If you choose to write it though, I’d be happy.

Connor Stoll x daughter of Dionysus!reader. Maybe like him comforting her after her dad gets recalled as camp director cause she’s super upset due to her dad being one of the main reasons she stayed at camp, and him just trying to make reader who he has a major crush on feel like she’s important and she matters? And maybe if it’s not too much of a bother he sings her the song Our Future Days (I believe it’s by Pearl Jam) because she loves music, and it actually makes her feel a lot better and she listens closely to the lyrics and they end up together?

Just like pure fluff, I feel like this would be really cute.

i might not do the song but i can definitely do connor comforting reader! it's a little bit angsty but then connor appears and its all okay

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

I sniffed as I looked over at the porch in front of the Big House, still half-expecting Dionysus to be there, drinking some sugary crap out of a can. Of course, he wasn't there, hadn't been there for a week now.

Sighing, I continued walking, not particular destination in mind. It had been hard, my dad leaving. I didn't have another parent, or not one that wanted anything to do with me, so Dionysus was the only family I had outside of Pollux. And now he was gone.

It was hard not to feel abandoned, when I'd chosen to stay at camp for him. I loved my half brother, but we weren't that close, sticking together only so we could protect each other when needed. I was tired of crying, tired of missing my dad...

An arm slung itself over my shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

I looked up to see Connor, a bright smile on his face that dimmed slightly when his eyes found the tears that welled up in my eyes. I leaned into him, sighing and sniffling slightly.

"Y-yeah, yeah, I'm good, Con, thanks."

He used his arm around me to stop me, holding me back from continuing to walk away. "No, you're not." He frowned at me even as I plastered on my best fake smile. "Don't look at me like that, you can't fool me."

"Like what?" I said brightly, filling my voice with artificial sunshine. "I'm fine, I totally don't miss my dad and wish he were still here or feel completely alone in this camp, everything's good!" To my credit, Connor laughed a little at my overly optimistic tone.

He turned us so he was in front of me, hands on my shoulders. His head ducked down so we were eye to eye.

"You're not fine." He decided firmly. "C'mere."

In a moment, I was wrapped up in Connor's arms, head buried into his neck and arms around his waist with his arms around my shoulders. I felt my knees wobble and held on tighter, willing myself not to cry in front of the guy I was a little bit in love with.

I took in a shuddering breath, inhaling his scent and letting it relax me. I felt him mumble into my hair.

"You don't have to be okay, you don't have to pretend." One hand came up to cup the back of my head. "Not with me, okay?"

Pretending really hard I wasn't crying, I laughed wetly. "Not with you, huh?"

Connor pressed a kiss to my head, catching me by pleasant surprise. "Nah, never with me." He pulled back, hands slipping to hold my cheeks and grinning. "I can see right through that shit, okay?"

Nodding, I blushed red and grinned back. "Okay, then everything sucks, I'm lonely and I miss my dad. How's that?"

"Much better." Connor nodded in satisfaction, unconsciously stroking his thumb over my cheek. "Now I know what you need help with, see?"

Rolling my eyes, I kept my arms round his waist, unwilling to pull away. "And how are you gonna help, huh?"

He shrugged. "Don't know yet." Connor smiled softly at me, going bright red before kissing my forehead. "I just know that I want to."

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

i hope you like it, thank you so much for waiting patiently!!