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bonniepop · 5 months ago

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another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please.

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water.

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch.

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries.

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used.

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.”

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words.

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug.

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile.

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave.

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”

#osamu x you #osamu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader fluff #📝 — my writing #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu fluff #osamu angst #x reader angst #hq angst #haikyuu angst

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crispyeagleenthusiast · 1 year ago

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sheepispink · 3 months ago

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Relief

supersoldier!reader x lt ghost technicallly the 141 too but he’s the main culprit (part 4)

One Series Masterlist

cw: Reaper is reader’s callsign (backstory and meaning will be given at the bottom and thanks to @pythonmoth to help me with this :) ), nightmares, slight derealisation

pls lmk if u accidentally find any gendered terms for reader! this is supposed to be gender neutral

PREV NEXT

————-

“Lord, Ghost! Why do you think they don’t want to speak up? Look at their face!”

Soap raises his voice, louder than you’ve ever heard a sergeant before. Yet despite that, you watch in horror as Ghost shoves him out of his way, stalking even closer to you. The anger in his eyes is nothing short of fury, making fear spike in your heart and so the machines start beeping loudly, screaming in your ears. They’re not supposed to do that; your heart rate is supposed to keep steady outside of battle and serious situations—you’re breaking.

Wetness coats your cheeks as you scramble backwards, watching the terrifying skull mask grow closer and closer. You suppose you’ve taken it for granted that you never had to worry about the rumours surrounding the mask, but now you understand what every enemy had felt when they came across him, worrying that if you even so blink he’d have your heart in his hands the second your eyes opened.

You suppose he’s talking, likely yelling more curses and insults at you but you can't hear any of it, nor Soap’s voice as he reaches for you, everything swirling into an incomprehensible blur. You have to blink, your vision blurry and the next second you open your eyes his hand is around your throat, forcing your eyes to blow wide and your own breath to clog in your throat. Everything is freezing; the walls are closing in and your entire body feels strange, like the world around you has tipped entirely. “You devil—”

“Reaper!“

Your hands clench at nothing but the cold flooring of the medical room you’re in, having fallen off of the bed altogether. The heart monitor beeps loudly, having been detached when you fell, also causing the iv drip to rip off, and leaving your bare arms feeling naked and raw. Gaz crouches before you, his hands like a furnace against your frozen body, trying to ease you. “What happened? Are you alright?” You do your best to nod quickly in response, a hiccup replacing the yes choked in your throat. He’s still soothing you when heavy footsteps approach, though you know well enough that it isnt the ones you fear—well, not that kind of fear anyway.

The Captain stands in the doorway, watching as Gaz pats your back and says reassuring words to your horror stricken face, the hot tears still curving over your cheeks and thawing the ice your hands feel like. It’s not like you were afraid of him like you were with Ghost, no it was more of a… professional intimidation.

The first time you spoke to him was the day you first arrived at base, having been picked up by Ghost and then taken to meet the Captain. He didn’t do much than tell you how to contact him, and a few words about the things you’d take part in whilst you worked alongside Ghost. Even so, you had figured immediately from the getgo that he wasn’t a man to mess with, and so you avoided him as best you could. In your head, talking to him only occured when something went wrong and well, nothing should be going wrong with a weapon like you.

“I’ll take it from here, Garrick.” His voice is low, but not harsh, and Gaz slowly stands, looking back at you one more time before he steps back. The Captain moves towards where you are on the ground, your back pressed against the small cupboard and your hands flat against the cold tiles. “I’m sorry i didnt come earlier.” It’s the first thing he says, and he takes his hat off, making him look strange and yet nothing like the stern authority he represents, especially when his brows are furrowed.

“Captain— I-” Despite that, you still didnt want to be seen as weak before him. All you had done for the past three months would be for a waste if something as menial as the events of the past day caused you to crumble to pieces. You wish you could explain everything to him, beg him to believe you when you say this was all nothing. All you need is for him to walk away now, pretend he didn’t see the visible distress in your face. Then maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to move past all of this and live your life as the weapon his team would wield proudly. “It’s- I’m just—“

“No.”

The word is short, simple and stern and yet somehow it has you stilling, every nerve frozen as you stare at him.

You should’ve known that weapons don't get second chances, that the damaged soldier doesn’t survive the battlefield. You should’ve known he wouldn’t care for some weak straggler, someone who broke apart from a few threats on their stupid birthday. Even if you had led each of his missions to a swift victory. Even if his days had been spent lighter, with more free time because there were just less things to worry about when you were the equivalent to ten soldiers. Even if he had written star reports about you, even going as far as to someday wish to permanently add you to the team. Even if you held every mission you went on by it’s strings and you kept them taut— never letting go, not even for a second.

“Why’d you always call me Captain, hm? You can call me John, you know.” His voice is relatively calmer, even if it’s the same tone he’s always used for you. He crouches and easily slips a hand behind your back, nudging you forward enough to allow him to pick you up and place you back onto the military bed.

“John…” You test the word on your lips and he nods, your shaken up state not disregarded as his eyes rake over your trembling form. He quickly pulls them away to reattach the iv drip and the heart monitor before his hand carefully brushes through your hair from the front to the back of your head. “See? Slides right off your tongue.”

You realise now that you still had been breathing quite heavily, with your hand gripping the front of your shirt. Everything just felt so tight, everything around was completely fake. You’re used to having reservations about this, used to pulling away from any physical contact, or just staying blank faced. A defense mechanism perhaps, especially after you had been through torture training and they tried their best to prey on any possible weaknesses. The thought of that day makes you shiver, but still, you were too lost in it to care that you were breaking your own rules aswell now.

You look up as his thumb rubs absentmindedly at the soft skin of your cheek. It’s one of the few places untouched by the horrors of experiments and severe training, still somehow retaining that childhood chubbiness, even if you had been trying to rid that for a long time. His lips have pulled into a small smile as he looks down at you, one that seems so fond you’re almost sure that perhaps he’s laughing at you since it couldn’t nearly be possible. Then you see the guilt in his eyes, the way they flicker down every now and then, and when his hand grazes your bandaged arm, for the first time, you flinch.

“Why—no— Did..you ever want to tell me, at all?”

You nod quietly, and his breath returns, letting out in the form of a long exhale as he just nods quietly, nudging you up so he can sit on the edge of the small hospital bed. “What..made you choose not to?”

“I.. I didn't think it was that serious.. It seemed like a stupid threat.” You murmur out and despite how angry he is about the whole situation, he can't get mad at your mindset. It really isn’t your fault.

“You were scared though.” He points out, and you nod in response, his hand still rubbing your head gently. “If it’s enough to cause you of all people fear, I think it’s pretty serious, kid.”

You swallow sharply, and he notices, letting out another sigh as his eyes fill with even more guilt. “I’m sorry..about your party. I should’ve been there; Me and Ghost, and I should've bought all your things for you too.” Never in your life has anyone looked at you with guilt, especially not directed at you. “It’s fine.. I didn’t really care for the party.” You mumble out, wiping the remaining tears that had coated your cheeks.“No— kid, i mean it. I’ll make it up to you; we can have that party—“

”It was a lie- I.. I’ve never celebrated my birthday.” You finally admit, the words blurting out as you stare down at your hands, fiddling with the blankets. “I just.. I thought if one of you came then they wouldn’t have dared to try and harm me.”

John stills, staring at you so hard and his hands have frozen on your shoulder, the air growing silent. “I.. You just wanted us to protect you.”

There’s one thing you haven't been letting yourself think about. Maybe it was the fact you were so terrified by all the threats you received, maybe it was the fact that you wanted to believe you could be the one in control— maybe you just thought that after everything you’d been through you were allowed to feel that confident. Now that everything’s over, your mind can no longer push the undoubted facts out.

You’re a weapon, that’s something you’ve always known about yourself. But just like with a weapon, it can't fire on its own—it needs someone to wield it. Ghost, for example; he’d give you commands on the battlefield, whether vague or specific. Those experiments ensured you listened to him, years of brainwashing forcing you into submission only to who was your commander. And so, despite everything you convinced yourself of the last few days, you weren’t exactly all that feared, not by your comrades. Those who understood the nature of you knew you couldn’t lay a hand against them, no matter how bad it got. You were powerless without a handler, as useless as a gun with no bullets.

Understanding lays heavy in Price’s eyes, seeing the emotions that pass through you with every twitch of your hand and flicker of your lashes. You were just a kid damnit. Sure, you were well of age, but you never knew anything past military life. You were everything he fought against and yet you were still here, under his team’s command. You don't argue when he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you in tight, and he doesn't argue when your face is pushed against his shoulder, wetting his thin shirt. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, whispering it in your ear again and again, making sure you dont only know it, but you believe it. You believe he didn’t mean it, and you believe he’ll do everything to fix this.

—————————-

10:23 pm, 3 days earlier

The tension in the room lays thick, the silence eating away at the two men sat infront of each other . Ghost was tense, muscles bulging as his fists clench at his lap, his eyes fixed onto the patterns on Price’s wooden desk. Meanwhile, the latter sat with his hands clasped, both of them with heavy hearts. “Reaper is in the infirmary; their arm took the brunt of the damage when they were protecting the fox.” He breathes out the words, suddenly wishing he has a cigar to fill the empty nausea in his throat.

Meanwhile, Ghost is only growing more furious, standing up way too fast before walking towards the cabinets. “They could’ve got killed, Capt.” His voice is stern, filled with fury that Price cant discern if placed on you or the soldiers at hand. Even so, there’s not much he can do, just sighing heavily.

“The higher ups are furious; we can’t afford for a failure in this program, and this sets us back months of research.” The glass sits in front of him, the golden liquid still inside and glowing in the low lamplight. Price steadies his words, watching as Ghost begins to pace back and forth. “They want to send Reaper back to the Scientists, brainwash any leftover fear out of their head.”

Brainwash

That word alone makes him snap, slamming his hands on the deep mahogany. “You cant be serious— We are not agreeing to that—!”

“I dont want to, Ghost.” Price reaches his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his elbows digging into the table as he tries to still the migraine that threatens to form.”But I can't deny them when we have nothing to disprove that Reaper’s state will only grow worse. We have to find out what happened, why they never told us about the threat—“

“So we have to coax it out of them? What, wait for them to feel all comfortable to tell us why they didn’t open their bloody mouths?!” He knows it’s more than that, he knows if it was that easy this never would’ve even happened because if you only functioned by orders, you wouldn't even be a person in the first place. Yet still he argues, because he knows this is all his fault. He chose to disregard the signs, he chose to hate you, he chose to push you to limits you didn’t even know you had. It’s his fault and he can't handle it.

He just couldn’t understand, why were you the one the team needed? It started off just testing if you’d handle the role you were destined for, a path you didn't know you were chosen to take once the time grew right. But then it grew deeper, a need to strain your limits, see if you could survive the cruelties he did. An abnormal urge and yet never too far, never over the edge. Just sheer of it.

Now look at what he’s done.

————————

4am. 5 days after the incident.

Another nightmare. You breathe heavily; for once no one is rushing to your room to check on your condition. Weirdly enough, Price had moved you to his barracks whilst he used a mattress hastily put together on the floor. Sure you had your own room, but with how frequent you managed to fall off of the bed because of recurring nightmares it was better to keep you here. Besides, this was far more comfortable than any sterile white hospital room which the rest of the 141 quickly realised hit a bad nerve with you. Your chest is tight, but it doesn't hurt, your lungs just feel pressured and yet you’re not short of oxygen either. It’s a strange feeling to say the least, and you just feel so, so exhausted.

Slowly you creep out of the bed, the bandage still tight around your upper arm and for once you’re wearing pajamas rather than the uniform you usually end up sleeping in to stop wasting time on changing. Disgusting perhaps, efficient regardless. Your feet creep into soft slippers Gaz brought you, hand sinking into your signature fox plush that Soap made sure to tuck in beside you. Quietly you slip out of Price’s room, the man snoring quietly on the mattress as you head down the corridor to the common room. They’ve let you use it now, like it’s actually yours too and that you belong there. Even if you know you dont.

It’s at the end of the hall, and you have to pass all their rooms to reach it. Gaz’s first, quiet inside, then Soap’s where you can hear a soft rustle— likely him rolling over. Your eyes linger on Ghost’s, the door shut and deadly silent. Ironically enough, he was sent on deployment the day after all the chaos went down, leaving radio silence on his part. It was strange, knowing your handler was around without you, going on a mission you would’ve probably been on too. All because you hadnt spoken up.

But would things really have changed?

You break your gaze away from his door, slipping into the common room to pour yourself a glass of water. “Hm? What ye doing up?” Soap is clearly tired, yawning all the way as he follows you over to the counter, pouring himself a glass of water aswell. “Thirsty..” You mumble, deciding to not let the idea of the nightmare linger much longer. Although, it seems like Soap’s already figured you all out, an arm lazily around your shoulder as he chugs his glass. “Nightmare, hm?”

You nod in response, and he lets out a small sigh, looking at you with softer eyes than usual. “Did ye tell Price?” He watches you shake your head, making him chuckle in response, a smile growing on his face as he lifts a hand up, ruffling your hair. “ ‘Course ye didn't, rascal.” It’s one of the few times anyone has been playfully mad with you before, the first being a nurse which accidentally just further reinforced your fear of medical staff. You never let that show though; it only came to light because of the trauma of the day. Soap and Gaz had been teaching you a lot of things, first of them being actually having a normal breakfast. You’ve joined them every morning now, well at least when they can make it, and it feels great but strange. They had immediately denounced your notions of “earning your breakfast” too, letting you have access to the actual food that was given at the normal breakfast times.

“Yknow, me and Gaz were thinking..” He hums, one hand still carding through your hair whilst he looks curiously at your arm for any sign of further damage. “You never celebrated in the end, did ya?” He watched you shake your head, teeth grazing your lips.

“No, i didn’t. I never wanted to though, i’m sure Price told you it was only a fib.” You respond, trying to downplay the situation. It’s not like you’d take much joy in celebrating now, even after all these years it felt better to just let the notion of it die in the trenches with your innocence.

“I know, I know.” He sighs, taking both your glasses and placing them near the sink for later. “Maybe we could do something small? Bit of cake, a movie. Nothin’ more.” You just shrug and nod, not sure what people even really do for their birthdays, and he gives you a smile, a hand on your back to lead you down the hall again.

You’re almost at the room when he stops you, his eyes almost locked onto you like he’s searching for something. “Do you wanna.. talk about the nightmare? It helps, I promise. You dont have to go in detail, but it’ll be good to know what you keep dreaming about.”

You debate his offer, staring back at him just as curiously. He wouldn't be mad if you didn't, even though you’re pretty sure the entire team is just anxiously waiting for you to speak. For someone whose silenced most of the time, it sure is weird.

“It was.. Ghost. I dream of when he yelled at me, except in my dreams he doesn't stop, he pushes you to the side and grabs me by my neck..” It’s straightforward and to the point. Well, maybe a little too much because Soap’s eyes have widened, pity swirling deep in his pupils. “He didnt— He was just angry that day, you know he wouldn’t do that.. right?”

There’s a rustle inside the room behind you, Price having woken up by your talking outside. You step towards the door, unsure what to respond to Soap’s question. “I…I know, .”

You disappear back into the room again, the door quietly shutting behind you again, leaving him standing outside and very worried.

——————

10am, the next day.

Gaz walks alongside you as you step through the forest, the morning air biting at your cheeks as he complains to you about whatever paperwork he had to finish last night. You’ve been at this for a while, the frosted leaves crunching beneath your boots and you dont feel the cold much thanks to his gloves.

“Through here.” You know the way and yet you follow him through the forestry, down the path, and towards the cabin up ahead. The floor is trampled, tire marks from when you were rushed back with blood trailing down your arm. Even Gaz looks a little tense at the small splotches on the ground but chooses not to comment on it, taking your hand as the ground becomes a little more uneven.

“Inside.”

He hums, unlocking the cabin door which has been tightly secured since the incident. You walk past him, stepping inside to hear an excited yip, the fox bundling towards you with joy. For once you smile out of relief, crouching down to pet the excitable creature that nips affectionately at your trousers. “Good to see you too.” You hum, hand running down his head and ears. Now that you can see it in the light, you realise they’ve cleaned it up properly, bandaged its dodgy leg and it looks noticeably happier.

The fox licks at your hands as you sit on the small bench, feeding it the occasional dried meat strips which it takes happily, tail swishing from side to side. Gaz sits beside you, one hand on the back of the bench and his arm grazing your shoulders.

“We called the wildlife centre for him. They’ll take him in the next few days, keep him safe and put him with some other foxes. He’ll be happier.”

Would you be happier though? When you look at the scrawny thing, all you really see is yourself. A known predator, a hated species, and yet just trying to survive like everyone else on this damn world.

“You’re right, it’d be better for him.”

—————————

Sleeping is increasingly difficult for once; usually you’re knocked out in seconds but today it’s like the concept of rest refuses you altogether. The reason behind it is Ghost’s return; you had heard the soft whispers between Soap and Gaz, the awkward tension as the day grew nearer. So you had resigned yourself to your room, left alone with your thoughts for the remainder of the day. However, now you were restless, unable to sit still with the threat looming down every corridor and through the vents. Your nails claw at the sheets– they feel sterile and uncomfortable no matter where you sleep– and so you slide off the bed, forcing one foot in front of the other. You need a break.

Somehow they had left you without surveillance tonight, which isn't surprising since you had promised you wouldn’t go out on your own. Oh well, you know two men who broke a promise to you. The air is cold as it blows on your face, slowly less frosty as winter begins to fade, and you walk past the track, planning to just walk through the other entrance and return to your room again. You wouldn’t dare go back the way you came– not when Ghost is around now.

It’s a rush of warmth when you reenter the building, the change making your fingertips tingle and your lashes flitter, mouth threatening to yawn. Thankfully, the hallways were clear, unlike your hazed mind. It was like swimming underwater, every thought swirling around and voices muffled by the water above—wait, voices? You pause infront of a door, immediately stilling when you recognise a voice too familiar.

“I’ve been gone for two weeks– how are they not stable by now?” You swallow, the roughness of the voice enough to make your teeth scrape against eachother nervously. It’s him.

“Reaper’s not doing well, it’s obvious—“

”So what? We’re just going to send them back? To those stupid scientists-”

You don't hear the rest, those words enough to make something in your brain snap. All this time you’ve worked tirelessly, day and night, after every mission and every near death experience. All to be sent back where you came from, like what, some broken toy? The thought of it makes anger brim in your chest, a fury that tips the scales enough to make you actually want to break something. Your feet stumble and for some reason you're running, somewhere, anywhere. It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad idea, a tempting one even— to actually lash out. What’s the point in anything if your life will be a full circle?

What is the point of all the pain if you’ll only relive it again?

Change has to come, even if you grapple with the chains at your neck and leave rope burns on your ankles.

You’ll die trying either way.

“No; we wont. Reaper isn’t going anywhere, ever again.” Gaz speaks up, having just closed the door after seeing a glimpse of someone walking past. They really shouldn't leave any doors open for anyone to hear their conversation. “Their performance outweighs the struggles. We have the time to make things right.”

Ghost’s expression hardens, listening to the words of his teams. Of course he knows what that means— he’s the one who has to make this right.

***************************************

NEXT CHAPTER buy me a coffee! Series Masterlist

CALL SIGN: REAPER— Grim reapers dont choose who dies, they’re told. The victims time has come, similar to how reader has never killed someone of their own accord, only through the orders another has given. They’re merely a tool.

Taglist:

@mellohimmku94 @rafaelacallinybbay @fasoaurore @starfish-sandwich @arael-asuka @pinkpickle @toxicgutz69 @pythonmoth @harmonycricket @sneezypandu @ctrlofurheart @ssc7514 @terrifiedanimegirl @rayrayyio @silas-aeiou @uhhevie @enfppuff @sirbonesly @nobodycanknoww @bitchyzombienacho @justdamnpeachy @harley101399 @w1theredr0se @whoisnthere @lexi2005 @nnsissys @el-salt @ttznlettt @thebumbqueen @thriving-n-jiving @fluffysmiko @vioxsoo @alex1011sdzfgh @honestlymassivetrash @defronix @eclipsedcherry @thatpersonnamedrook @mortem-writes @2bdamnedmadnesscombat @harley101399 @princessiris147 @taylorrrig

#simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod angst #simon riley x reader #simon riley angst #simon ghost x you #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x gender neutral reader

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livwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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inspired by a nate bargatze sketch

Eddie’s least favorite thing people say when they find out he’s gay and married to a man is when they ask who the “man” of their house is, because…it’s fucking stupid and wouldn’t be funny even if it didn’t rely on patriarchal bullshit that Eddie didn’t buy into even before he and Steve had three daughters.

The thing is though…there definitely is a man of their house, and it’s Steve.

And if Steve isn’t home, it’s their oldest daughter, Moe.

Eddie knows this is true because there’s someone coming to their house to work on…something. All Eddie caught when Steve brought it up was, “We’ve been in this house for almost twenty years. I’d rather deal with it now than wait until it’s causing problems.”

So it’s either the roof, the water heater, or the furnace.

(He thinks).

Every once in a while Eddie gets frustrated enough about this to want to get more involved – he helped Wayne out with this shit all the time when he was a teenager, and he worked as a mechanic well into his twenties (up until he got his first book deal and was able to quit and write full-time). It’s not that Eddie can’t understand all that stuff – no, it’s Steve insisting that he take on all that kind of stuff in their life together so that Eddie didn’t have to that did it, and now it’s been so long since he exercised that part of his brain that it’s basically gone dormant.

The nail in the coffin is when Steve says, “If he shows up before I get back – do not engage. Get Moe. She knows what this is all about.”

She totally does, is the thing, so Eddie just replies, “Got it,” and prays that Steve gets home from the hardware store before the contractor arrives (is he a contractor? Eddie doesn’t think he even knows what a contractor is).

Naturally, not even five minutes after Steve pulls out of the driveway, a dark blue van pulls in.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie mumbles, and then he calls upstairs, “Moe. The guy Pop was talking about is here.”

Moe calls something incomprehensible back (hopefully it’s I’ll be down in a second) because by the looks of it this guy is already halfway to the front door.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Moe is not down in a second and he ends up in a conversation about water heaters with…not a contractor, he’s pretty sure. A plumber, maybe? Doesn’t matter – just a guy who’s gonna fix – or maybe it’s replace? – their water heater…for some reason.

“So where’s the heater?” the not-contractor-maybe-plumber asks.

“Uhh…” Eddie hesitates, and thank Christ, Moe appears at the top of the stairs.

“Basement,” she says, “Anode rod was replaced three years ago but the rest of it’s been there since we moved here in ‘04.”

The guy launches into a whole water heater spiel, and Eddie realizes halfway through he’s not trying to engage with Moe at all. He’s directing it all at Eddie as if Eddie is hearing anything more than Charlie Brown-esque phone call mumbling. He concludes with a question about…something related to tanks maybe? Or maybe it was tankless. Eddie has no idea. Moe answers it because she knows what the hell this guy is talking about, but still this asshole is looking at Eddie for confirmation.

“Dude, I dunno why you're looking at me,” Eddie tells him, and then he points at Moe, “My daughter works on airplanes. I write books. I'm telling you – you're better off listening to her.”

#moe does indeed work on airplanes at this time #after two years she decides it’s not challenging enough and goes to law school instead #eddie is terrified of her #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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waliminium · 3 months ago

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Hey! I love your stories about Harvey, you write him incredibly well. Could you write one in which he is really sick but still goes to work, despite reader telling him that he deserves rest. So, at the firm, he starts getting worse and worse until mike or donna have to call you to take him home and look after him. You can add anything you wish like fever, vomiting and so on. Also, make it as long as you wish/can. Thank you for reading!

A/N: Thank you for the sweet words! Here's your request I hope you like, if you'd like any adjustments, I can always tweak things! :) Down for the Count Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: Illness/fever, quick mention of a razor Word Count: 903

Harvey Specter was a force of nature. He didn’t slow down, didn’t take breaks, and definitely didn’t let something as trivial as a fever keep him from working.

That’s why, when he woke up feeling like he’d been hit by a freight train, he ignored it.

You, however, did not.

"Harvey, you have to stay home today," you said, arms crossed as you leaned in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him sluggishly shave. His movements lacked their usual finesse—there was hesitation in the way he dragged the blade across his jaw, and the hand bracing himself against the sink was gripping way too tight.

"Can’t," he muttered, rinsing the razor under the water. "I’ve got a meeting with a client, and I need to prep Mike for his deposition."

"Mike can handle it. And Donna exists for a reason. She can reschedule the client meeting."

Harvey let out a slow breath through his nose, shoulders visibly tensing. "I’m fine."

You stepped forward and pressed the back of your hand to his forehead before he could swat you away. His skin was burning.

"Yeah," you scoffed. "You’re totally fine. Just radiating heat like a damn furnace."

Harvey sighed, tilting his head back slightly as if it would somehow lessen his exhaustion. "I don’t have time for this."

You softened. "Harvey, listen to me," you murmured, touching his wrist. "You never take a day off. If anyone deserves to rest, it’s you."

For a second, it looked like he might give in. His jaw clenched, his shoulders sagging. But then, he shook his head.

"I’m going to work."

And that was that. He finished getting ready at half his usual speed, but still managed to leave with the same smug parting kiss to your forehead. You stood in the doorway watching him go, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable.

Because no matter how stubborn Harvey Specter was, he was still human.

And he would crash.

By noon, Donna called.

"Your idiot is going to drop dead on the office floor if you don’t come and knock some sense into him."

You grabbed your coat immediately.

When you walked into Pearson Specter Litt, the atmosphere felt different. It wasn’t the usual buzz of high-powered attorneys running the show—it was quieter.

You didn’t even need to ask where Harvey was. You just headed straight for his office.

Mike was standing outside, arms crossed, shaking his head. "He’s bad."

"How bad?"

Mike sighed. "He can barely sit up straight. He’s all flushed, and he keeps rubbing his temples like he’s trying to force his brain to work. He’s already shut Donna out twice, which never happens."

You didn’t wait for more information. Pushing open the door, you found Harvey sitting behind his desk, head in one hand, the other gripping a pen like it was the only thing keeping him upright. The usual sharpness in his expression was dulled, replaced with pure exhaustion.

"Hey," you murmured.

His tired eyes flickered up to meet yours.

For a moment, he just stared. Then, his lips quirked into something resembling a smirk. "Took you long enough."

You raised an eyebrow. "I shouldn’t have had to come at all."

He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. "I just need—"

"You need to go home, Harvey," you interrupted softly, stepping closer. "Let me take you home."

He sighed, looking like he might argue. But as if the universe was trying to make a point, a harsh cough wracked his body, shaking his frame. His grip on his pen slackened, and his breathing grew labored.

You didn’t wait for his permission.

"Alright, that’s it." You moved beside him, placing a steadying hand on his back.

Harvey made a weak noise of protest as you coaxed him up. "Don’t—m’fine."

"Sure you are."

The second he was on his feet, his balance wavered. His usually sure footing faltered, and he swayed into you.

Mike stepped forward instinctively, but you shook your head. "I’ve got him."

Harvey let out a low breath, his forehead lightly pressing against your shoulder for just a second before he straightened.

He didn’t fight you after that.

By the time you got him home, he was running hotter than before. His skin was damp with fever sweat, and his breathing had grown uneven. You guided him straight to the couch, where he sat heavily, immediately leaning back.

You crouched in front of him, brushing a few strands of damp hair from his forehead.

"Harvey," you murmured. "How bad is it?"

His eyelids fluttered. "Bad."

You sighed, pressing the back of your hand against his cheek. His fever was climbing.

"Stay here," you said gently, standing up. "I’ll be right back."

You grabbed a cool washcloth, some medicine, and a glass of water. When you returned, Harvey had slumped further into the cushions, his head tilted back, his breathing shallow.

You knelt beside him, pressing the damp cloth to his forehead.

"Take this," you murmured, handing him the medicine and water.

He took it without argument—probably too exhausted to fight you.

You let out a quiet breath, brushing your fingers over his temple. His eyes cracked open slightly, gazing at you through fever-hazed exhaustion.

"You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?" he muttered.

You smiled softly. "Not a chance."

His lips twitched, just barely.

"Sleep, Harvey," you whispered. "I’ve got you."

And this time, he didn’t argue.

#harvey specter #harvey specter fanfic #harvey specter imagine #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter x you #suits imagine #suits series #suits tv

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beenbaanbuun · 1 year ago

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sick w/ addams!matz

whilst i’m busy writing part two to opposites attract, here is just some silly fluffy stuff!!

——————————————

you’re sick. flu, by the feel of it. with your heavy head, sniffly nose and permanent fatigue, there’s very little else it could be. it’s unfortunate, but nothing you couldn’t deal with by yourself. a few days bed rest and you’ll be fine.

your lovers don’t quite agree. all it took was for the word ‘fever’ to leave your lips and suddenly all hell broke loose. you should’ve known that the second you brought it up to seonghwa it would be blown entirely out of proportion. the man is level headed about a lot of things; you are not one of them.

it had been a military operation with him the second the word ‘fever’ dropped from your lips. for three days now, you’ve been under strict instruction to not leave their bed, trapped there like a prisoner with hongjoong watching over you like a hawk. if you step a toe out of line, you get a sharp slap to the back of your thigh and a quick scolding. its hardly enough to keep you in check, especially when your regular punishments are so much heavier, but hongjoong is also under his husbands strict instructions to be as gentle with you as humanly possible.

it’s boring.

of course, you love talking with hongjoong when he has the time to join you in bed, but he still has to work. laying for hours at a time just staring at the back of your daddy’s head as he writes letters to his clients is nothing short of dull. he expects you to stay silent so he can concentrate on what he’s writing. you thought it to be a silly rule until you disobeyed on the first day and he moved himself and his work to the armchair out in the hallway; he could still listen in for any sign of you trying to escape the confines of their bed, but he could finally get enough peace and quiet to concentrate on his work. those few hours were so boring that you quickly made the decision that you could manage silence for a few hours if it meant that you weren’t alone.

sometimes seonghwa would come and visit you in the room, although with you being sick, you found that he had far less free time than usual. in between working in the greenhouse and cooking up cold remedies in the kitchen, he found that he actually got to spend very little time by your side. he trusted hongjoong to follow his very specific instructions on how to take care of you (make sure you’re drinking fluids, make sure you’re always warm, replace the cloth on your head every 1-2 hours) but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be more active in your care routine himself.

its the morning of the 3rd day than seonghwa finds his wish coming to fruition, and unfortunately his time being stretched even thinner. of course, he doesn’t blame hongjoong for having to leave the house for work—antiquities don’t source themselves, after all—but he can’t help but feel a little stressed with the notion of adding ‘caring for darling’ onto his already long list of tasks. from what he’s heard from hongjoong, you still like to push your luck even when your head feels like a furnace and you’re coughing your lungs up. he hardly has the time to guard you like hongjoong does, so as he tucks your still sleeping body into the almost empty bed, he decides that he’ll just have to hope that maybe today you’ll see sense and behave. it’s a long shot, but he’ll just have to trust you for today.

ten minutes later, he finds that trust being broken when he hears a bump from the bedroom. he sighs, closing his eyes in frustration as the sound of a door creaking open echos through the house. the slapping of bare feet against a slick wooden floor soon follows and before he knows it, you’re coming down the stairs. it’s a good job that seonghwa isn’t an angry person, finding it an ugly emotion that doesn’t reflect well on anyone. you’d be in for a hellish day otherwise.

‘you’re supposed to stay in bed, little lamb,’ he hums as you show your face in the door to his greenhouse. you look wide eyed and bewildered, your brain still clearly muddled by sleep. it’s cute, and he finds himself smiling though his annoyance. you hobble towards him wrapped in the black knitted bedspread he’d lay over you not moments before, and he finds himself unable to control the chuckle that bubbles up within him. he lays the watering can down on the table and spreads his arms for you to topple into. ‘tell me why you’re flaunting my rules so carelessly, darling.’

you bask in his warmth for just a second, feeling safe and happy in his lithe arms. he’s so much gentler with you than hongjoong is; even when you’re sick your daddy likes to manhandle you to be exactly where he wants. it’s not like you’re complaining, though. you like the way it makes you feel when he treats you so helplessly.

‘woke up alone,’ you mutter into seonghwa’s chest. the lace of his blouse was scratchy against your too-hot face, but you can’t seem to pull yourself away from him. you just want him close, even if you have to sacrifice your comfort for the sake of it. ‘hongjoong wasn’t there and you weren’t there and i’m lonely.’

any frustration that resided within seonghwa slowly melts away with your confession. you’re just too sweet for him to stay upset with, especially when you’re so dopey and reliant on them.

‘hongjoong had to work, lamb; your daddy can’t stay at home all the time,’ soft fingers lace themselves into your hair, gently petting you like you’re some sort of kitten. he supposes you do rather look like one when you’re wearing your collar. you’re just so sweet and submissive when you sit by seonghwa’s feet at he puts it on for you. it’s a shame you’re too sick for that right now, your skin too sensitive and the collar too tickly; it would only serve to irritate you. ‘and you know that i have to work as well. i have to take care of the house, the plants and cook an unheavenly amount of chicken noodle soup for you. i wish i could stay in bed with you, but i can’t.’

and you understand, of course you do, but that doesn’t mean you’re happy with it. you want hongjoong to be home, and you want seonghwa to have less to do. you want to be stuffed between them from the moment you wake up to the moment you sleep, doted on and cared for by your two lovers. the notion of that not being possible just doesn’t seem to compute in your fever-addled brain. you whimper into seonghwa’s chest.

‘oh, my precious little lamb,’ he coos, resting his chin on top of your head, ‘hongjoong will be home in a few hours, and i’m sure i can take a short break from my errands at some point. it’s hardly like you’re going to be alone for long.’

‘take a break now,’ you insist, ‘just for a little while…’

it’s a trap, seonghwa knows that. the moment he crawls back into bed with you, you’ll find some way of making him stay there until hongjoong gets home. either you’ll crawl onto him and refuse to let him go, or you’ll use your adorable charm to manipulate him into staying with you. still, he can’t find himself able to say no to you. he hums in agreement and pulls away from you slightly.

‘okay, little lamb,’ your face lights up and he grins. even with your sweaty forehead and slightly grey skin, he can’t help but think you’re the prettiest creature to walk the earth, ‘lead the way.’

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #matz x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #poly ateez #poly ateez x reader #opposites attract universe #hongjoong fluff #seonghwa fluff

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furnacerepair7 · 8 months ago

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Heating Repair Near Me

Heating Repair Near Me: Finding the Best Services for Your Home When the temperatures drop and the chill of winter sets in, having a reliable heating system is essential for maintaining a warm and comfortable home. Finding the best heating repair services near you ensures that any issues with your heating system are addressed promptly and efficiently, preventing discomfort and potential damage…

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crimisin · 8 months ago

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bad news friends.

I need a new furnace

Furnace guy is here and he has to do a 1k repair before he can even finish diagnosing the issue.

I'm gonna puke actually

#to be fair I might not *need* a new furnace #it's just that as soon as he replaced the 1 part the very next part in the sequence (also like $800) was also borked #the tech thought there was a possibility of widespread water damage and further component failure #so he suggested I get an estimate for a replacement furnace #rather than potentially ship of theseus-ing my current furnace #there is a possibility that's just trying to upsell me #but he had a kind face so I am choosing to trust #also it's par for the course for something in this house to work perfectly until #catastrophic failure that makes trades professionals wonder how it was working at all

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breadbrobin · 11 months ago

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blanket hog

tim drake x reader — dc / batfam

[gn!reader]

summary: you’d never been close with tim, but now you were sharing a bed—too close. far too close—and you didn’t know what to think

warnings: light swearing, sharing a bed (ONE BED TROPE MY BELOVED), idiots in love, kissing, is my writing good? idk anymore

word count: 1.7k

(this was meant to be in two parts but it’s way shorter than i thought it was when i was writing it lmao. anyway happy birthday tim drake!)

—————————————

if tim drake was a magnet you were his polar opposite. that much you knew for sure. rather than draw you in, he repelled you backwards, unfazed by his ceo smile and somehow perfect hair. it was his unnerving ice-blue eyes that seemed to look through you and his fumbling words that pushed you back. there was something in his stare, and it made your cheeks burn and your heart race, and you didn’t like it. if you could’ve stayed away, you would have.

but fate was a fickle thing.

and when blankets were hogged, you’d fight tooth and nail not to freeze to death.

it had been an easy decision to share the queen-sized bed. the hotel room was small—a bed, a dresser and a bathroom alone—and none of his siblings had wanted to share with him. steph and cass took the only other double room in the small-town in, leaving you with no choice. there wasn’t even any floor space.

“we can take shifts?” tim had suggested, his cheeks uncharacteristically pink.

you’d told him not to be ridiculous, and then you’d had to practically tackle him into the bed to get him to sleep at all.

finally, the room was filled with only soft breathing as you drifted off, warm and cosy in the surprisingly soft sheets.

and then you were cold.

what?

your sleepy eyes blinked open and you frowned. did someone open the window? your sleep addled brain hadn’t put the pieces together just yet. your fingers tightened around the blankets you had pulled against your—ah. that was the issue.

you frowned and rolled onto your back, reaching around to find them. where did they go?

there! you connected. how did they get there? no matter.

you pulled the blankets loosely, but they barely budged. you frowned again. what the hell?

you blinked in the darkness, peering at the shape in the bed next to you. it came rushing back. tim drake. typical. you had to be bunking with the blanket hog.

you pulled the blankets harder, to no avail. you gritted your teeth and dug your heels in (metaphorically), pulling with all your might and hoping they wouldn’t rip. sure, bruce could pay for the replacement, but you’d feel bad.

finally, the blankets came wrapping around you. you rolled back onto your side as you pulled them tight to your chin. then an arm was around your waist. then there was a warm breath on the back of your neck.

oh.

tim’s chest was pressed loosely against your back. he was still gripping the blankets too, obviously dragged by your pulling. you shifted for a moment, but his grip on you only tightened. fabulous.

your heart raced—why did your heart race?—and your palms sweated slightly. it wasn’t hot, but you felt all warm and fuzzy, like you’d just had a big cup of tea. it was tim. even if he wasn’t like a furnace, you realised he’d warm you like this. finally, you let yourself relax into his embrace.

you’d deal with that in the morning, and just hope no one came in before you woke up.

the morning was warm and cosy. you didn’t think too hard about why. there was sunlight streaming onto your body through a gap in the curtains and the blankets were warm and—what was that?

it felt like a breath of air against your skin. you opened your eyes and immediately slammed them closed again.

oh. right.

tim.

throughout the night, you’d clearly managed to roll in his grip until you were face to face. his arm was loose around your waist, hand tangled slightly in your sleep shirt. your legs were tangled with his. your stomach lurched with something unknown, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

you opened your eyes slowly, tentatively, and—

oh.

you were thinking that a lot lately.

it was rare to see tim without a tense frown on his face. it aged him, made him look more stressed and intense. but now… his face was soft with sleep, lips parted just so. oh god, your stomach fluttered.

maybe that was why you’d never been able to be comfortable around him. were you…? no. surely not, right?

as if your thoughts were probing into his dreams, tim stirred slightly. the arm around your body tightened for a second, and his eyebrows twitched. your breath caught in your throat and you snapped your eyes closed again. you really didn’t want to look at him when he woke up, but a soft sigh came from his lips, then a gasp, and he retracted his arm like he’d been burned. you felt instantly colder as he jerked backwards.

you looked up him as he sat up abruptly.

he had a shell-shocked look on his face. scandalised, even. his eyes—startlingly blue—met yours. “i’m so sorry.” his voice was soft and rough with sleep.

you had to swallow tightly before you could reply. “it’s okay.”

“i don’t—“ he shook his head and rubbed his face. “i shouldn’t have—“

“you kinda grabbed me when i pulled the blankets back last night.” you admitted quietly, sitting up too.

“oh.” he said dumbly.

“yeah. blanket hog.” you shot him a small smile.

that seemed to break the tension. he smiled back. “shut up.”

“does koala fit better?”

he groaned and flopped back down onto the bed, covering his face. “i said i was sorry.”

“and i said it was okay.” you shot back immediately, watching him with a small smile. you didn’t quite know what it meant, but you did know that there was something different between you now. it was like you’d broken through the previous tension to discover something more. worse? better? you didn’t know yet.

he opened his eyes and peered at you between his fingers. “you’re not upset?”

“why would i be? it was cold. you’re like a furnace.” you shrugged, deciding to play it cool.

he sat up again and pushed his hands through his hair. it fell back in front of his face. your fingers twitched like you wanted to push it back again. “right. yeah.”

you found yourself studying his face. when he wasn’t looking stressed or exhausted, he was actually really pretty, you realised. obviously, you objectively knew that—the tabloids did a great job of describing how pretty he was (not that you read them, no way)—but you’d never taken the time to see it yourself.

he shifted under your gaze. “what?”

“nothing.” you said sharply, turning your head away. you leaned back against the rickety headboard. he followed suit.

there was silence for a long while. you fiddled with your fingers, not looking at him. you could feel his gaze on your profile, probing and studying and examining you like you were a piece of evidence at a crime scene.

finally, you let your eyes dart back to him.

he wasn’t looking at your eyes.

there was a rush that went through you as his piercing eyes flashed between your lips and eyes. your breath caught and you looked away again, before you could do anything stupid.

“why don’t you like me?” he asked softly. “i mean… you act like you hate me. why?”

“i don’t hate you.” you said softly.

he scoffed. “yeah, i know that. why do you act like you hate me?”

you were silent for a moment. you could feel tim’s gaze on your face again. “i don’t know. i think it’s because…” you swallowed your pride. “you always look like you want to say something to me, but you never do. i think i felt like you didn’t like me.”

“i do.” he said in a rush, the words spilling out of him. “i do like you. i don’t know why i can’t seem to talk to you like a normal person, but i just…”

you looked over at him with a small smile. “you’re doing a pretty good job right now, for a boa constrictor.”

he groaned and laughed a little, shaking his head. “you’re terrible.”

“seriously i think you cut off my circulation.”

“very funny.”

“i’ll sue you for my medical bills when i have to amputate from the lack of blood flow.”

“i’ll pay them anyway.” his voice was soft. it sounded like a confession.

your heart fluttered. “so you admit guilt?”

he nodded slightly. his eyes weren’t so piercing in the warm dimness of the hotel room. they were warmer, softer, more gentle. or maybe that was just the way he was looking at you. “and i’d do it again.”

yesterday, you would have laughed at him and kept joking. today… you bit down a smile. “i think i’d allow that.”

he didn’t hide his smile. “yeah?”

you let yours show a little too. “yeah, i guess.”

“and if i were to maybe kiss you? would you allow that?” he asked softly, barely above a whisper. his eyes dropped to your lips again.

your heart climbed into your throat and did a little dance. you nodded. “yeah, i suppose i could allow that.”

for a moment, you wondered if this was a good idea. if this would backfire on you. if this would result in pain and loss and not to mention hours of teasing from steph about getting her ‘sloppy seconds’. if this would end terribly and ruin your entire dynamic with the bats, who you’d only just started working with.

and then tim’s lips were on yours and your mind went blissfully blank.

you sighed into the kiss, your hand coming up to his chest.

the kiss was brief, but as his lips pulled away from yours, your hand tightened on the collar of his shirt and pulled him back to you.

after all that time not understanding what these feelings were, you finally got why your cheeks burned and your heart raced and why he could never talk properly around you.

god, it all made sense, and his fingers in your hair and cupping your jaw were exactly where they were meant to be. the knock on the door only drew you back to reality for a moment before his lips were on yours again, and again, and again, and you realised you could stay there for a lifetime. you’d be happy to.

#tim drake #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin x reader #batfam #batman #dc

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thehistoriccemetery · 1 year ago

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Honestly I’d beg for prompt 4. Is Tav the one in bed? What’s the vibe lol

BG3 x GN!Reader : “Stay in Bed, Please?”

I try to make the vibe a little bit different for all of them. There are certain characters who definitely sleep later and certain ones that are consistently up before sunrise.

Featuring Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, Minthara, and Jaheira

I’m really feeling this prompt right now, as it is impossible to get out of bed and go to work so early when the weather is so cold and the bed is so warm.

Shadowheart

You really do try and make as quiet an exit as possible. Shadowheart is a light sleeper.

Regardless, you don’t even make it off the mattress before you hear her precious little whine.

She turns over, sleepy eyes barely opened, looking into yours. Her hair is down and you almost giggle as it covers large parts of her face. “Stay in bed, please?”

It’s a tempting offer, you must admit. But you promised Lae’zel you’d train with her this morning.

You kiss her on the forehead and tuck her back into the blankets. “Go back to sleep, princess. I have to go.”

“My lady gives us a few more hours of her precious moonlight. You would take her gift for granted?” She teases, still not satisfied with your answer.

You roll your eyes and chuckle. “Well, I suppose I don’t want to upset your goddess.”

“Then you best crawl your way back under these blankets, lest you face her wrath.” She lifts the blankets, beckoning you back underneath.

You sigh, curling up back under the sheets. Looks like Lae’zel will be training alone this morning.

Shadowheart curls up into your chest. You feel the smug little smile grow on her face.

Lae’zel

Beg and whine as you wish, Lae’zel is not staying in bed.

She’s got shit to do, people to kill, laps to run.

She’s always up before you are. She sees the time as crucial training hours. By the time everyone else is up she’s already ready to go.

Some mornings she’ll have you get up with her. She has some really interesting of waking you up though.

Most of the time she just stares at you and slowly moves her face closer to yours until you finally stir.

As much as you love her you explain that awaking to someone bent over staring at you isn’t your ideal morning.

Her other methods include holding a knife to your throat, or pouring water onto your face.

One day you’ll learn the importance of these crucial morning hours.

Karlach

It isn’t impossible to sneak out of bed with Karlach, as long as you’re quiet and you replace your place in her arms with a carefully arranged Clive.

You think you’ve succeeded, lacing up your boots sitting on the edge of the bed�� until you feel a tail curl around your waist.

You gently stroke the tail, coaxing her into letting you go. It only makes her tighten her grip and pull you closer.

“I know you’re not about to try and sneak out of here before the bloody sunrise,” she mumbles groggily.

As she pulls you closer to her body, you feel the warmth radiating off of her.

How could anyone be expected to subject themselves to freezing winter morning when they have a comfy furnace of a girlfriend begging them to stay in bed?

You sigh, kicking off your half-laced boots and burying yourself back into her embrace.

She yawns and stretches, pulling you back against her chest as she relaxes.

You used to be a morning person, but gods be damned if you’re ever going to crawl out of bed before sunrise again when this is the alternative.

Minthara

Minthara only trances for a couple of hours, so it’s very rare that you get to spend time sleeping, cuddled up to her.

She manages to sneak out of bed impossibly early, and settle down across the room to read a book by candlelight.

She hardly notices when you get up, all groggy and still wrapped in blankets and ask her to come back to bed.

“You can bring your candle and your book and whatever. It’s just so empty over there without you.”

She stares at you a moment before closing the book and grabbing the candle.

You smile and jump back into bed. You were honestly kinda shocked that it worked.

Minthara sat against the headboard, allowing you to rest your head against her stomach and wrap your arms around her thighs. She rested the book on your back and continued reading.

You feel safer and more comfortable than ever as you drift back to sleep. Maybe if you ask really nicely, she’d let you do this more often.

Jaheira

You manage to catch Jaheira before she can get out of bed. You wrap your arms around her, clinging to her and preventing her escape.

“I must go cub, the sun is rising. But you may rest for a little while longer.”

You know she would not put up with your whining, and she’d probably make you get up now if you started. Still, you couldn’t help but at least try to plead your case.

“Just a few more minutes?” You ask, looking up at her with the most endearing eyes you can muster. You keep your mouth and nose buried in her stomach.

She smiles and strokes your hair. How is she supposed to resist that precious little face?

“A little while longer and you get up with me,” she bargained.

“Deal,” you agreed, pulling her back into bed. It was no fun to be in bed without her anyway.

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seat-safety-switch · 10 months ago

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Getting rid of things is harder than you'd think. Sometimes it's more work than it's worth, as it was so many years ago. When my landlord replaced the furnace in my house, he had to run a different kind of intake pipe to the other side of the basement. What did he do with the old one? Just kinda taped it up and shoved it off into the corner, as you do.

There's no reason to remove old parts from a house, really. As long as it's not getting in the way, it's less effort just to leave it alone. It's not like the house is going to the drag strip on Friday evening and has to cut out as much weight as possible. Just be chill about it, and spend the time you'd otherwise spend swearing in order to clear out five feet of unusable ceiling space watching TV.

This idea has some true merit to it. Unfortunately in my case, he forgot to remember that the other side of the intake pipe was also connected to something: the outside fucking world. Out there, it can safely be said, is Nature Herself, including many little denizens and friends. Even with the intake grate present, some of those little denizens had used the pipe to build a new home in my home.

I first noticed that I would hear an intense buzzing from time to time while throwing some old differentials in the basement storage room, where the old intake pipe runs through the ceiling. Strange, I thought. Must be the wind. Soon, it was getting louder. I noticed that the pipe was beginning to sag under some kind of weight, its outer shell deforming.

"Hmm," I thought, and hit it with a stick. Very angry buzzing happened, and the pipe began to vibrate in the ceiling. I considered hitting the pipe with the stick again, more out of an urge to confirm for myself the impending horror than anything else. My senses returning, I decided it would be best for everyone to simply leave the angry insulation-and-plastic tube full of bees alone for now.

I'm happy to announce to you that my friend, Beekeeper Bethany, dropped by to steal my tube full of bees. Did she take the tube with her? Absolutely not. That shit is too much like work. I'll probably get around to removing it one of these days, or put a cap on it or something. Winter's coming, that'll take care of the whole problem.

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simp4jungwonn · 1 month ago

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This fic is for @enhaxhypen (I hope you don’t mind me tagging you and I hope you like it)

Biker jungwon

The night air is thick with the smell of tar and gasoline as you swing your leg over Jungwon’s red and black motorcycle. Headlamp off, Your leather jacket creaks softly as you settle behind him, thighs pressed to his hips. His engine purrs like a predator at rest, but you know he’s anything but calm.

His gloved hand slips around your waist, fingers splaying under your ribcage, pulling you flush against his scorching back. You feel the heat through your own leather his body a furnace you crave. “Hold tight,” he whispers against your ear, voice low and rough.

When he kills the engine, silence crashes in. You turn in his arms helmeted head to bare neck. He tips your chin up with a calloused thumb. “You’re mine tonight,” he says, eyes dark beneath his visor when he lifts it. His stubble grazes your cheek as he leans in.

One arm wraps around your back as the other yanks your zippered leather pants down in a single, bold motion. The cool breeze snaps at your exposed hips, and you gasp. His fingertips trace from your hipbone down to the curve of your ass, then slide under the lace of your panties, tugging them aside.

He presses a single, flat kiss to the top of your thigh right where the metal meets flesh before dropping to his knees on the rough asphalt. Your fingers dig into his worn denim, tugging him closer. His mouth opens on your inner thigh with a wet, hungry sound, tongue flicking long strokes that send shivers racing up your spine.

You arch, heel pressing against his shoulder blade as he parts your lips with one hand and dives in. His tongue explores you like a map triangles and circles, teasing the nub of your clit, then plunging deep inside of you. You whine, your hips rocking involuntarily. When he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard, you shudder, voice lost in a raw moan.

His free hand snakes to your back, unzipping your jacket so it falls to the ground. Jungwon’s mouth never leaves your center as he presses two fingers inside you, curling to brush your G-spot. Every stroke matches the rhythm of his tongue. Your world narrows to the feel of him wet, warm, relentless.

When you’re finally trembling on the edge, he pulls back with a pop, slick fingers glistening. He stands, yanks off his own leather vest and jeans, revealing his hard, glistening cock. He spits onto his palm and rubs the slick over his length, then positions you against the bike’s cool tank, legs spread open, back arching, hands braced on the polished metal.

He lines up, heavy base pressing at your entrance, and pushes it in all at once. You gasp, nails scraping the tank as he goes deeper inside of you. For a second he stays buried, just you two, the bike, and the night.

Then he pulls out and slam thrusts back in, a brutal, bone-deep rhythm. The engine’s silence is replaced by the slap of leather and flesh, the echo of your moans, the hiss of the night’s traffic. One hand grips your hip, the other finds your throat his grip is firm but controlled and his voice is a whisper: “Say my name.”

“J-Jungwon,” you pant, He groans and accelerates long, powerful thrusts that press your breasts against the tank’s curve, one hand fumbling for your lace bralette and yanking it aside so he can knead your nipple, thumb rolling until it pebbles.

Your vision spins as you near your release. He senses it, he drags one thumb down to your clit in vicious circles. You cry out, back arching, body trembling as you shatter around him, muscles clenching in frantic spasms. He doesn’t slow down instead, he leans forward, mouth at your ear: “Come again for me.”

And you do, hitting a second, hotter peak with your nails digging into his shoulders. He follows, hips stuttering, roaring as he spills deep inside you,warm, pulsing, claiming.

After a final, shuddering kiss against your neck, he pulls away and collapses beside you on the bike seat. You slide down into his arms, both of you slick with sweat and gasoline residue, chests heaving.

He wraps you in his arms, pressing a final kiss to your forehead. “Next ride,” he murmurs with a lazy smile, “we’re taking the highway.”

You close your eyes, fingers tracing the scuffed leather of his jacket, already craving the wind in your hair and his body once more.

#enhypen #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #lee heeseung #sim jaeyun #smut #kim sunoo #park jongseong #park sunghoon #enhypen scenarios #biker jungwon #jungwon smut #jungwon hard thoughts

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whereispearlescentmoon · 5 months ago

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@hermitshell first off, love your drawings, second off, this ended up being uh… a little long for a ficlet. And by long I mean it’s 2 thousand words. I wrote a fic not a ficlet. Because I love the Nosey Neighbors. Oops.

BigB couldn’t find his teammate anywhere. It wasn’t the weirdest thing, Pearl had the same tendency to wander off and do her own thing that he did. Part of what made their partnership work was that neither of them insisted on staying together, and neither of them really questioned what the other was planning on doing unless they were asked to go along. She had an uncanny sense for knowing where he was anyways, which made him feel like she might be following him sometimes. Normally, he would find it a little grating to have a teammate that close by, but it was something he was grateful for after the incident with Jimmy.

In this kind of downpour, BigB just wanted to be sure that Pearl was okay, and not caught out in it. She could take care of herself, but even if he wasn’t always the most reliable teammate in other series he still knew that a good teammate keeps the other safe. He had done his best in alliances before, even if they were temporary or if he hadn’t been entirely contained to one. Cleo’s warning from the beginning of the series for Pearl stung, even if he had shrugged it off. And Pearl was different anyways. Maybe it was the space she gave him, maybe it was some guilt left from what happened at the Box, but she was easy to want to be loyal to. Easy to care about and to want to keep safe. She did the same for him, he knew. Her insistence on getting him the win despite his own ambivalence towards the idea proved it.

Once he was back in the tower, he quickly headed up the ladder. The bottom floor with it’s tall stone walls was drafty and cold, water seeping in from the door and into the gravel to create mud. Somewhere, deep below the ground, was Pearl’s cat. It would live past any of them down there.

Their bedroom was far warmer and far better insulated despite the open windows. He shut them quickly anyways, cursing the fact that they hadn’t seen the rain coming this morning. The furnace was going in the corner, smelting up some iron. Pearl had to be around here somewhere then, and had probably just gotten back from a mining trip. The furnace’s heat was welcome as BigB untied his bandana and took off his shirt, replacing the shirt with his normal blue button up and placing the wet clothes by the furnace to dry. His own iron gear came off, the metal freezing cold from his walk.

“Pearl?” He called out, looking around. It wasn’t like there was anywhere she could be in their tiny space. Both of their beds were empty, and there wasn’t really any other space. Maybe he had missed her downstairs, or she was under the base? “Where are you?”

“Up here!” The response came, unexpectedly, from above him. He could barely hear it through the closed windows and the pounding rain.

“On the roof?” BigB questioned, incredulous, “Are you crazy?”

He flinched back after asking. Maybe not the right words. The barely healed wounds of last series still stung for her, he knew. She had admitted as much late at night after the amnesia incident, that she was afraid that she was losing her mind for real, or that she had already lost it and everyone had been right about her.

“Maybe!” She seemed good humored in her reply, but it was a little hard to tell. She may not be crazy, but she certainly got an unhinged tint to her when she was red. It was a little scary, to be honest. “It’s nice up here!”

“There’s no way! You’re gonna get sick!” His voice was starting to hurt from having to call up to her.

“We’re only alive for a little bit more! How badly sick could I get?” He laughed, the reminder of their impending deaths somehow making him giddy with adrenaline. Maybe someone else would feel dread, but BigB wasn’t everybody.

“I guess you’re right!”

“So come join me!” He shook his head, but laughed. May as well. Like she said, it’s not like they were going to get sick enough for it to matter in the week or so they had left.

He grabbed what little leather they had and made some more water resistant gear. Looking around he could see Pearl’s iron gear laid out on her bed, meaning she was probably out there in her normal hoodie and shorts. Like he said, crazy.

It wasn’t all that hard to clamber onto their roof, but the rain certainly made it more difficult. BigB struggled to get a proper hold on the ledge, the wood slick under his hands.His heart beat quickly. A death right now would be a fourth of his time. Just as he was afraid he was going to slip, a slim pale hand caught his. With a shocking strength given how slight she was, Pearl pulled him up next to her.She grinned at him, her red eyes meeting his own, and her smile was kind despite the mildly unsettling edge that came with last life bloodlust.

Just as he suspected, Pearl was wearing her hoodie. The normally bright color was darkened to a crimson, and he was sure it was incredibly heavy with how soaked through it was. Her shorts looked nearly black and he cringed at the idea of wet denim. He was glad to not be wearing his own jeans right now, and to have his clothes covered by the leather gear. He would have offered her some, but she didn’t always react well when he tried to give her things. More than anyone else in these games, BigB understood the need to take care of yourself in this sort of situation. He had been doing it since before Pearl joined the series.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She asked him, pulling him out of his thoughts and gesturing out towards the rest of the server. She handed over a spyglass, this was a true opportunity to Watch, Her eyes glinted purple for a second, in a way that was familiar for both of them. Evo had left a little bit of itself in all of them.He was sure his own eyes were doing the same. They weren’t Watchers, but they were allowed to Watch and even sometimes to Listen.

He looked out at the landscape and couldn’t help but agree with her assessment. Despite the darkness, it was nice to get a good look at everything when everyone else was inside. There was no noise other than the rain, no movement other than the mobs that were spawning. Occasionally, a flash of lighting lit up everything. Light curved around the Mean Gils’ hourglass, it outlined the Clockers’ tower, it reflected on the flooded pool below the Bad Boy’s Bread house. Sometimes it struck the very top of TIES’ base, and he was sure the four of them must have their hair standing on end.

Some distant part of him worried about how high up him and Pearl were, lighting being attracted to tall places and all, but Watching tended to dull such feelings. The two of them were extending themselves to places that they shouldn't be able to actually see. He wondered if Grian would want to join them, or Martyn or Jimmy. All five of them had it in them, even if only Grian and Martyn tended to use it. The rest of the server probably didn’t even know there was anything odd about the way BigB and Pearl Watched them, unless a teammate had told them.

The rain had slowed by early evening, though a light rain kept up. The lighting was gone at least, and some of their server mates began emerging from their bases. Like BigB, many of them were wearing leather, though the most paranoid stuck to their iron and diamond. With everyone on red, he understood the urge. He pulled back his Eyes and began to peer at them normally through the spyglass. The gasping breath beside him told him Pearl was doing the same. It was standard procedure for them, as Watching people was too invasive unless you really needed to. Spying normally? That was just a bit of fun.

He could have kept observing forever, except that Pearl’s breath turned into a huff, and her teeth were audibly chattering. At some point she must have drifted closer to him for warmth, and the drenched fabric of her hoodie was soaking wet and trembling with her.

“We should head inside. I don’t know about you but I’m chilly,” He suggested, putting his spyglass away. His gear had kept him warm and dry for the most part, though his hair was soaked due to the no helmets rule. He lied, however, for her sake. A quick look saw that her long hair was soaked even under the hood, the cloth only holding so much water before it started to leak through, and her lips and fingertips were tinted blue.

Pearl, he had learned, had very little sense of temperature, hot or cold. It was a consequence of last series, she had explained. Whatever tolerance she hadn’t built from her powdered snow escapades and the resulting frostbite, she had gotten from the dead tissue left by Scott blowing them both up. Burn scars went up her legs to the knee, and up her arms to the elbow. Once, when she was yellow, she had leaned against a furnace while it was cooking and he had to pull her arm away when smelled something burning. She hadn’t even felt it, but she had a bandage wrapped around the area where it had left a mark on her bicep.

Maybe it was a winning thing, BigB thought. He didn't have any visible scars from previous games, and certainly no lasting tolerance for anything except maybe pain and fear. He almost wished he had gotten to keep more than just the memories from these games, some proof of pain. Then again, the way Pearl cringed when she traced her scars told him that it would probably be more painful than anything,

“Yeah, inside then. Don’t want you freezing,” She clapped a hand on his shoulder before swinging down, easily and casually. He could hear the thump of her landing on the floor inside.

BigB’s own descent was slower and more careful. He had less time than her, he couldn’t waste it by falling. He had none of her grace, but it was still an impressive feat of strength to watch him lower himself slowly back onto their window ledge.

Before she could lay down, he stopped her.

“You should change, it can’t be comfortable to lay down in those clothes,” She tilted her head to the side at the suggestion, almost dog-like. It was like she hadn’t even considered the idea. With a shrug and a toss, her hoodie joined his own wet clothes by the furnace, which he restocked to turn some wood into charcoal, if only to keep it hot now that the iron was done. BigB turned to look outside while she removed her other clothing to do the same. “You done?”

“Yeah,” He turned back around at her response. Unlike him, Pearl actually brought pajamas to the games. She had proper pajama pants, moon and stars pattern and all, and a tank top. BigB didn’t see a point in it, the t-shirt he normally wore under his button up and the shorts he had on for his red life this season worked just fine. It was still a little chilly, and he shivered as a draft came through the tower. Pearl reached under her bed and grabbed her regular navy hoodie. “Here, you look cold,”

He would have pointed out the irony, her lips were tinged blue, but there wasn’t a point. She probably didn’t even feel it. He just took the hoodie, grateful that Pearl wore one that was oversized because it just about fit on him.

“Alright then, dinner time?” He suggested. A hot meal would do them both some good.

#pearlescentmoon #bigbst4tz2 #nosey neighbors #limited life smp #fic #reblog welcome and encouraged :)#regularly scheduled nosey neighbors hours

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