#no use of yn

[preciouslandmermaid]

🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary:  It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

[angst-cravings]

birdlistening

summary: you are an avid birder, and you go birdwatching every sunday morning before matt goes to church. today you invite him out

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 1k

an: this is so self indulgent i love birds so much. only fluff. gender neutral reader, no use of y/n

cw: some mild explicit language. embarrassment about being passionate

The sun isn’t even up yet, but you are energized and ready to go. You love Sunday mornings. Matt has his ritual of going to church and confession, while you have your ritual of going birdwatching. It’s how you center yourself before every week starts. You are silently packing your bag, putting in your worn field guide, bird notebook, binoculars, water bottle filled with hot cocoa, and a pair of gloves in case things get a little too nippy. You barely noticed, but Matt had gotten out of bed and was standing in the doorway like he always manages to do before you leave. You flash him a quick smile. He looks so ethereal with the neon lights reflecting off his bare skin, and his lack of clothing always entices you to stay behind. 

“Expecting any good birds today?” 

“Well, this week is actually peak migration, so… yeah. There will be so many birds today.” You try to hide your excitement, but you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. This is your favorite time of the year, and you are constantly looking forward to it in the winter when birds are scarce.

He grins at you. “Well, I hope you have fun sweetheart.” 

You keep meaning to invite him, but he had usually only gone to bed a few hours before. However, he had taken last night off. Maybe this would be a good time?

“Would you… maybe want to come birdwatching with me?” You tentatively suggest. You were prepared for rejection. It was so early in the morning, and you didn’t even know if he’d enjoy it.

“Well, I can’t exactly watch the birds,” He chuckles, “But I can go out with you if you’d like. I could at least make sure you get to Central Park safely.”

“I think you’d like it more than you think. I can teach you the bird calls, and then you can bird listen,” You zip up your backpack, and put on a hat, “But you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

He immediately shakes his head. “Of course. Anything to spend a little more time with you.” Warmth rises in your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile.

As you two walk to Central Park, you start educating him. 

“So, you obviously know the common ones like the Rock Pigeon and Mourning Dove and Canada Goose and stuff. We’ll probably encounter some of those today but those are kinda boring. I’m really looking for warblers; they’re some of my favorite birds. American Redstart and Yellow-rumped Warblers are pretty common around migration here, so I’m expecting some of those.” You pull up recordings of the calls on your phone and play them for Matt so he can get an idea. “American Redstarts are so pretty too, they have this gorgeous orange-red shoulder area. And the Yellow-rumped Warbler is mostly gray with a yellow butt, shoulder, and head.” 

Matt is listening to you, but he is mostly enjoying the lilt of your voice. He loves when you’re excited about things. Your heartbeat always rises a little, your grin is visible in your voice, and you move your hands around a lot. He loves hearing the near-silent swish of air as you gesticulate enthusiastically. 

“You know, you’re lucky this is me. These calls sound very similar.” 

“I mean those two aren’t pretty similar. I think they’re pretty distinct.” You shrug. 

“Maybe to you and I, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hand. 

You set up the blanket on a green patch in Central Park. Matt sits down before you and pulls you into his lap. As the sun starts to rise, birds start to fly, and you point out bird calls to Matt as you hear them. 

“That’s an Indigo Bunting! They’re so gorgeous, they’re this lovely blue color. They form song neighborhoods, where in one area they’ll have one song, and in another, they’ll have a slightly different song. It’s super cool!” You gush as you follow the bird with your binoculars.

He felt lucky. He had an intelligent, passionate partner who loved him. He buries his face in your neck and smiles. The grip around your waist tightens, and he takes a deep breath. Your body wash mingles with the smell of dew and trees. You rattle off more birds to him, and he can feel you write a list of the birds you see. He felt so damn lucky. 

“So, that one I’m hearing is a… Song Sparrow, right?” He focuses on the bird in the tree near you two. Before you even respond, he can hear your heart rate raise slightly in excitement.

“You were paying attention.” A smile forms across your lips.

“Of course, I was, sweetheart.”

“I know, I just… I know you aren’t the most interested in this. Just…thank you. For doing this with me.” You tilt your head in his direction.

“No. I am interested in anything you are interested in. I love the way you talk about birds. Your voice gets a little bit faster and a little bit higher, and you ramble in the cutest way possible. And I will do anything to get you to talk more. It’s one of my favorite sounds. Don’t ever be embarrassed for being passionate. If I could only hear one thing for the rest of my life, it’d be you talking, because” He connects his lips with yours for a quick peck, “I love you. And with that, I love anything that you love too. I was actually hoping you’d invite me. You’ve been talking about this for weeks. I, uh, took last night off in the hopes that you would. Thanks for taking me.”

You shift in his lap and place your hand on his cheek. You lean in, and your foreheads touch.

“Thank you, Matt.” You whisper. You close the distance and kiss him. His lips were warm and inviting. Just like him.

[aouiaa]

NOT JUST ANYONE’S | A. ANDERSON

warnings and disclaimers, (enemies to lovers), porn w plot (yay), a word count of 15k+?!, wlw content, mean!abby, jealous/delusional!abby, mentions of reader’s hair, abby being a book wormy, abby describes the reader as a goddess (once), fluff, angst, different povs, bullying, light workplace mistreatment, SEXUAL CONTENT, mean/softdom!abby, sub!reader, semi-public sex (hospital’s office), panties stealing, spanking, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling, masturbation, usage of a vibrator (once), scissoring, squirting, nipple play, degradation, body workship/praising, overstimulation, usage of pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl, good girl, dirty girl), cum eating, mutiple orgasms, DARK CONTENT, stalking, act of stealing narcotics, cursing, jealousy, alcohol/drug consumption, mentions of inflicting harm on others, acts of frame-up.

TAPE THAT MOUTH SHUT, this is probably one of the biggest/questionable pieces of art i’ve done. though it’s FINALLY fucking done idk how to feel honestly. i just feel like i have such an emotional bind to each and every piece of work i have done. this is my baby, the full nine months and everything, and now the world will see her for her. i feel like a mother watching her baby go off to kindergarten. :”(

ONESHOT PREVIEW | ABBY ANDERSON’S MASTERLIST

PRESENT TIME

saints mary’s hospital - 2:30 am on a saturday morning

the saying goes, “it’s not about how you start, it’s how you finish.” didn’t quite apply. time seemed to move in a blur, making it impossible to piece together a coherent thought. the room filled only with the echoes of your loud, wanton sounds mingling with abby’s, far removed from anything deemed professional. however you weren't concerned with those details, not at all. with the way abby was able to extract those sounds from your throat was almost painful.

almost.

abby derived an addiction from your pleasure. each moment of ecstasy seemed to fuel her further, driving her to amplify the tempo and depth of her ministrations. as the room filled with the lewd symphony of flesh meeting flesh and intertwined heavy breaths, something stirred within abby. something unfamiliar, uncharted. normally, she would exhibit unrivaled confidence during intimate encounters, but with you, it was different—more intense, deeper. a desperate craving to be perfect, to ensure you'd never seek anyone else, but her. she’d hate to admit it, but the realization gnaws at her: the longing for you even after this is over.

"who's making you cum tonight?" abby questioned the obvious, but her arrogance tone underlined the strong need for reassurance. your moans were her only response, and while she adored the sweet sounds, she craved more. a sudden shift in her fingers’ movements made you yell out, "you, abby.” your words punctuated by cries of pleasure.

abby's fingers, now confined within your tight grip, sensed the growing tension, the impending eruption, the imminent of your orgasm. "uh-huh, come for me," she ordered, "let me hear who’s making a mess of you."

the warnings of your impending release came with fervor, each thrust hastening to the inevitable snap of the tightening band in your abdomen. then when it did, a cry rang out, loud and clear, as her name left your lips in tandem with your essence painting her features. in this haze of euphoria, you suddenly find a sense of clarity, wondering how in all worlds did you end up in this situation, in the arms— or rather the mouth of your boss?

MONTHS BEFORE

saints mary’s hospital - 3:20 am on a monday night

the staff room was still mostly quiet, the faint sounds of a few muttered conversations and the soft hum of the fluorescent bulb created a low hum of background noise to complement the bigger situation in hand. you had just finished discarding your dirty gloves and discovered that some residue had clung to your uniform, prompting a soft groan of disgust to escape your lips.

you picked up another clean uniform and quickly changed into it, your mind wandering to the series of events that led you to this moment. working in a hospital meant dealing with a never-ending slew of new problems each day, some imprinting themselves in your memory more vividly than others.

and this time was memorable—at least for the night —for an aggravating sense. it was a vomiting incident in room nine that not only you witnessed, but you were also permitted to clean up after. fun, you thought sarcastically as you trudged your way with a bucket and sponge. nonetheless here you were, the aftermath, running a hand through your uniform to smooth out any wrinkles with your other hand on the doorknob, taking a long, exasperated intake prior to stepping out.

with a final exhale, you turned the knob and stepped out into the main hospital ward. the familiar sounds of hushed conversations and the constant hum of machinery filled your ears as you walked through the hallways.

with your desk in your line of sight now, your body starts to move faster as the thought of getting some much needed rest sets in. despite that, you took a quick glance around, searching for her presence, but finding no resemblance.

a sigh of relief escaped your lips as you settled into the plush chair, the cushions embracing your tired body. hands squeezing the pads provided on the arm’s office chair, this was heaven. but satan herself wouldn’t let that alleviation last for long, she never does. not in this hospital. your body suddenly tensed up and jerked forward as the sound of a hand slamming into the surface of your desk reached your ears. fuck, you thought, your head automatically turning to see the horned asshole with the little tail stuck up her ass.

“what the fuck was that back there, huh? i’ve had people complaining left and right.” she spoke, her face contorted with anger. you knew that was a lie, only there to further embarrass you in front of everyone. the “great” abby anderson was known to make something bigger than it actually was. but you’d be lying if you didn’t say that disruption left you breathless, seemed like all and any explanation that could clear your name left you, but even if you did, would it even work? or would abby deem it as a barely acceptable excuse, or quote “a three year old can lie better than you” excuse?

you could hardly breathe, your mind racing to try to explain yourself. every mistake seemed to be met with harsh criticism, and it was taking its toll on you. your voice wavered as you stuttered out a singular word in response: “what?”

abby’s expression only hardened further, her voice mocking your supposed ignorance. “couldn’t you see the medication you gave her was gonna result in nausea?”

each word was enunciated with sharp frustration, as if you were supposed to have known better, but you didn’t know. it wasn’t stated on the patient's file that she’d react like that. you followed protocol, knowing the consequences if you didn't, and followed through based on the information in hand. you weren’t in the wrong, and you explained that to abby.

though she didn’t seem to care at all, instead her words echoed through your mind like a painful reminder; you keep it up, and you’ll end up on your ass in front of this hospital.

her threat sent a pang of dread through you, and the loud thud of her office door shutting only added to your sinking feeling. you let out a heavy sigh, bringing your hand up to your eyes and rubbing them, trying to ward off the exhaustion and anxiety swirling within you.

your thoughts were interrupted as you realized the truth behind abby’s threat. you had a proven record as a dedicated and skilled employee, and deep down, you knew abby knew it too. there was a reason she couldn’t just fire you on a whim —she needed a valid justification to complete that pesky employee termination form sitting on her desk.

as you pondered on these thoughts, you let out a resigned sigh, the threat suddenly feeling less intimidating and more like a broken record you heard over and over again.

FIVE DAYS LATER

saints mary’s hospital - 11:01 pm on a saturday night

there was a newfound sense of comfort that accompanied your realization. although abby’s words still stung and cut deeply, you now had a silent reassurance— a knowledge that her threats were ultimately empty, that mere words could do nothing. your mind was now at ease, knowing that despite her harshness, she couldn’t truly harm you. the thought gave you a strange sense of power, even as she spewed her usual cruelty.

with your profound resilience, you found yourself feeling more lively and vibrant than before. you no longer fretted over every small mistake or worry constantly about doing your job wrong. your once reserved and introverted self now blossomed, making connections and building friendships where there had been none before.

amelia, the colleague who sat beside you for a year, but whom you had never truly spoken to, was now a friend, and the two of you formed a bond beyond just work-related interaction.

“darling, it’s wishful thinking that the inferno herself would let you off so easily,” amelia teases, the soft pads of her fingertips dancing along the keys of her keyboard. her familiar british accent rolls off and into your ear, making you scoff.

“it’s just for a day.” you mumble, your hands flipping the page to the never-ending paperwork waiting for you. you stop and look at amelia who’s now reclined in her chair, arms crossed with a knowing smirk.

“oh love,” laughed amelia, her playful jab at your wishful thinking only making her more endearing. “i’d love to entertain your rather ludicrous idea, but in doing so would be criminal!”

her words stung a little, you knew she was right, but hearing her say it out loud had you clenching your jaw slightly. abby would never agree to letting you take a day off from the hospital, it seemed like the whole place would fall apart without your presence.

and while it felt like an honor— at times. you longed for just one day off, a single day to rest amongst the countless days spent diligently working at the hospital. how criminal could that be? as amelia called it, you felt your shoulders sag and nodding quietly in resignation. your features must have betrayed your disappointment, as amelia swiftly noticed and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

amelia smiled sympathetically, her eyes soft as she saw your frustration. “cheer up, darling. it was just a quip.” she said softly, her tone filled with comfort.

you tried to hold back your tears when you spoke, your voice faltering as you looked up at amelia. “It's not that. i just… work my ass off, and don't even get the recognition i deserve.” your words trailed off as you let out a frustrated sigh. “and it's not like i’m just looking for that.” you pause to mend the right words together. “just some sort of break from it all.” you quickly sniffle, attempting to hide the tears that had escaped from your eyes during your confession. your embarrassment was evident as you turned away, trying to compose yourself. “god, i’m sorry for this.” you sighed heavily, reaching for a tissue to wipe away your tears.

amelia pats your shoulder, her voice filled with understanding. “no, no, i get it, darling. you need a break as much as anyone does in this bloody facility. perhaps more than hamburger-munching samson over there.” she quips, referring to a less than efficient employee.

you let out a tearful laugh, your grin still tinged with sadness. “yeah.” you agreed, your voice heavy with resignation.

amelia smiled warmly at your smile, her hand giving your thigh a comforting pat. “go ask her, and if she doesn't oblige, tell her i'll cover for you.”

her sweet words of offering to cover for you had you fighting back tears again, determined to not further burden her with your crying, and managed to let out a shaky chuckle.

you try to protest, feeling a pang of guilt for potentially inconveniencing her. “you don't have to do that.” you say softly.

however, amelia is resolute, dismissing your objections with a firm, yet gentle push. “no darling,” she replies firmly. “i don’t, but i want to. now go on.” her insistence is unwavering, and you can see that she will not take no for an answer.

with a resigned sigh of “okay”, you straighten your shoulders and approach the entrance to abby's office. a quick glance back at amelia sees her raising her thumbs in a gesture of encouragement to go ahead. you return a grateful smile before turning back around and lifting your hand to knock on the door. but before your knuckles make contact, the door swings open, revealing abby.

you freeze in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of abby before you even had the chance to knock on the door. you realize you must look like a fool, standing there frozen with your arm raised in the air. feeling a sudden pang of self-consciousness, you quickly lower your arm and bring your other hand up to cup it gently, almost as if you could somehow conceal your awkward position.

abby’s smile catches you off guard, surprised to see her display such genuine happiness at your surprised arrival. "oh—there you are.” she says.

you stand there, slightly confused by her unexpected demeanor. her next words, spoken calmly, further perplexed you: "come in." this gentle tone is unfamiliar coming from her, as she's never used it with you before, reserving it only for the presence of supervisors.

she leaves the door open for you, a silence gesture for you to enter before taking her seat at her desk. "i was going to call for you, but it seems like you heard my call telepathically." she quips, chuckling at her own joke.

you internally scoff at her stupid joke, quietly shutting the door behind you as you enter her office. "well, don't just stand there, sit." she instructs, her smile still uncharacteristically cheerful— almost eerie. you can't help but wonder if this is all just an act, a facade that will undoubtedly crack like it always does, given abby's fiery nature. however, you comply silently, watching her sift through documents on her desk.

you struggled to keep yourself from asking what she was searching for after you caught a glimpse of it being the employee files. your heart began to race as an oppressive silence enveloped the room, fueling your nerves. was she looking for your file? was this gonna be the moment when she’d reveal the anticipated reason to use on that dreaded employee termination form? your mind swarmed with questions, each more pressing than the last. how much more can you deal with this suspense looming over your shoulder like the grim reaper.

you attempt to speak in a firm tone, but your voice betrays you, wavering at the edges. “why are you so happy?” your own curiosity battling with a sense of reluctance to hear the answer.

“and why are you so gloomy?” she taunts with a smirk, chuckling. “put a smile on that face for me, yeah? you’re gonna do me a big favor.” she admits, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she mentions the word “favor.” finally finding the paper she had been searching for, she slid it across her desk in your direction. the paper contains the resume of someone you’re unfamiliar with, and your curiosity piqued.

"this is cassidy mcclair," she pauses. "and you'll be her mentor for the week. she's the new replacement nurse after what happened to poor old sadie." a pang of irritation stabs at you as abby uses a condescending tone when mentioning sadie. her untimely demise still weighed heavily on your mind.

you inadvertently let out a scoff as you cross your arms, immediately regretting the impulsive action. abby glances up at you, arching her eyebrow before speaking.

"is there a problem?" her question rhetorical, signaling her indifference to your potential objection. however, you're determined to express your feelings, regardless if rhetorical or not. you werent gonna give some half-ass smile and nod. after all, it wouldn’t be the first time your opinionated mind got you into trouble, as abby so often reminded you.

you respond with a defiant tone, your words clearly expressing your dissatisfaction. “yeah, there is actually.” you retort, your arms remaining defiantly crossed. “you’re supposed to do this. not me.”

abby chuckles at your boldness, her expression growing serious as she responds, “that was rhetorical, surely anyone with a hint of common sense would catch on. frankly, i don’t give a fuck if it is.” she dismisses your argument, beginning to organize the documents on her desk, grabbing the paper in front of you without sparing an eye, her attention now focused elsewhere. despite your differences, you remain silent, yet seething within at her dismissive response.

“be here at eight pm sharp on monday.” she adds, ending the conversation on her terms.

so much for a day off..

AN HOUR AFTER

hospital’s break room - 1:17 am on a sunday morning

after your unsolicited meeting with abby, your emotions were overflowing and the need to confide in someone was at an all time high. though the term 'confide' may be a stretch, considering you practically unloaded your frustrations to the mere mention of "hey, heard you had a meeting with the boss?"

“she didn’t even let me speak, once!” you exclaim, frustration seeping through each and every word, punctuating your sentence with lifting your pointed finger.

talia responds with a sympathetic tone, saying, “she tends to do that..” her words trail off, and you can almost feel the strain in her voice, knowing that she’s the unsuspecting recipient of your pent-up frustrations.

“right! god, she’s so fucking…” you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe her. “infuriating!” you say louder than anticipated.

she looks up from the coffee maker, surprise etched on her face as other heads turn towards you, startled by your outburst. you sheepishly mutter an apology before letting out a dejected sigh. trying to lighten the mood, you force a smile and lean against the counter. "so, have you had to do any of abby's dirty work too?" you quirk an eyebrow.

the long haired girl chuckles at your antics, her gaze fixated on the coffee maker as it slowly fills her cup with the dark, yet energizing substance. she turns her attention back to you, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "yeah, actually.” she replies, her voice filled with good-natured sass. "but she made the task sound much kinder when she assigned it." she jested.

you jokingly say, "oh, fuck you," to which she responds with a playful eyeroll, but then curiosity takes over. "but really?" you ask curiously. "how'd it go?"

a dreaded sigh escapes talia’s lips as she recounts her memories of being assigned to mentor a new employee. the mirth vanishes from your expression as she begins to share her experience, the once lighthearted atmosphere replaced by a sense of foreboding.

“oh, terrible," talia responds through the sigh, her laugh edged with strain before looking back at the coffee maker, which is about a quarter away from being done. "sometimes, i wondered what would be inside her head if i were to cut it open. a brain made out of putty, or no brain at all?" her words make you wince as you begin to imagine what your own experience might be like. the idea of being a mentor to a complete idiot was less than appealing.

talia takes notice of your nervousness and quickly tries to reassure you, saying, "but i assure you, your experience won't be like mine." she offers a nervous smile, hoping to alleviate your concerns.

you respond with an uneasy chuckle and a reluctant "yeah.” not truly convinced by her reassurance. you know that only time will tell if her words will hold true, and so you find yourself resigned to the fact that you'll have to impatiently wait until monday to find out.

THREE DAYS LATER

your home - 6:03 am on a monday morning

the incessant blaring of your alarm felt like background noise for the past three minutes, though you've been wide awake for about ten minutes prior to its start. last night, sleep eluded you, as anxiety and exhaustion plagued your thoughts. you had hoped that your previous activities on your day off would tire you and help you sleep, but unfortunately, that was not the case. you had laid awake for an extra hour, struggling until sleep finally took over.

your anxiety, semi-dissociative state can be attributed to your "big day" ahead, as abby had nicknamed it. the thought of the unknown had you sweating bullets. not to mention, your boss’s words that stayed with you like crazy glue, stubbornly stuck in your mind. with reluctance, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom.

as you turn on the faucet, the soft meows of your kitty-cat, charles, reach your ears. your face lights up with a smile as you turn and spot him. you kneel down, showering him with a few gentle pets as he responds with a pleased purr. "hey, buddy," you whisper, planting a kiss on his head. you then stand up to check the water temperature, only to huff in frustration when it doesn't meet your desired level. turning to the kitty by your side, you murmur, "i know, bud. lemme feed you while i wait for the water."

the kitty yowls eagerly and paws at your legs, anticipating its food. you repeatedly tap the can's bottom against the bowl until the food finally falls free, landing on the plate. the cat's excitement escalates as it watches you kneel down to place the plate on the ground. chuckling, you observe the kitty pounce on the food as soon as it touches the ground.

“eat up, spud.” you give your feline friend one last pat before walking away to the bathroom. you undress and check the water's temperature once more, finding it to your liking. with a satisfied nod, you step inside, letting the hot water wash over you and momentarily rinse away your worries for today.

AN HOUR AND HALF LATER-ISH

saints mary’s hospital - 7:28 am

what was meant to be a calming shower had obliterated your sense of time, leaving you in a scrambling to finish your morning routine. with a start, you realize it was nearly seven-thirty, and sprung into action, throwing your clothes on at an almost superhuman speed. you had never dried your hair this quick before in your entire life. yes, abby had mentioned to be there at eight, but you knew that translated to "be there before eight."

you arrive at the hospital just before eight, clutching your coffee like a lifeline, knowing all too well that you wouldn't make it through the day without it. you quickly exit the elevator, stepping into the lobby to find abby engaged in conversation with a red-haired woman.

the ginger had her hair braided, resembling abby's but with more volume. her fair complexion was adorned with freckles, resembling a sky full of stars. like many others on this floor, she wore a blues-and-white uniform, with a small cat pin attached to her shirt pocket. her colorful keys hung around her neck, and her radiant smile oozed an infectious energy, effortlessly drawing a reciprocating smile from you as you approached.

your smile momentarily falters as you overhear abby's sarcastic, yet condescending tone. “oh, there's the princess!" she exclaims, closing the distance to you with the woman following suit behind. this must’ve been the woman abby was talking about, leaving you feeling increasingly anxious, your eyes locked on the girl behind her. however, abby manages to draw your focus as she speaks up.

“this is cassidy. the one i told you about the last time we spoke.” she says firmly, bringing her hand up to her shoulder and beckons her toward you.

“hi.” you say shyly.

cassidy reciprocates the greeting with a wave, her expression a mix of nervousness and surprise. however, before she can respond, abby cuts in, with a tone of sarcasm. “i trust you won't be as late as our little princess here was," she says, referring to you, causing cassidy to nervously laugh and answer with a tentative "no."

your frustration peaked as you clenched your fists, your anger evident. It was clear what abby was trying to do once again, to twist the truth and make you appear worse than you actually are. she smirked, seemingly enjoying your irritation, before patting cassidy on the shoulder and wishing her good luck.

with the condescending smirk, abby leaned in to whisper in your ear, her tone different, dripping with sarcasm. "good luck, princess." and with that, she walked away, leaving you to face the challenge ahead.

"cunt," you silently say to yourself in annoyance, sending a glare at abby's retreating form. after a moment, you plaster on a forced smile and turn your attention to the ginger girl in front of you. you extend a hand and saying, “hi, i’m y/n."

"hi, i’m cassidy, but you already know that," she laughs, taking your hand in hers and shaking it firmly. after releasing her grip, she absentmindedly begins to stroke her braid with the same hand, a subtle fidget that seems to be her go-to anxiety coping mechanism.

you smile, genuinely impressed by her hair color. “yeah, i love the color of your hair, by the way. it's beautiful.” a hint of bashfulness washes over cassidy's cheeks as she responds, "thank you, it's my natural hair."

you let out a soft "cute..." as your eyes dart over her vibrant locks before gathering your thoughts. "well, let's get to work," you sigh, beginning to walk over to your desk. cassidy quickly follows, and upon reaching your desk, you set down your things and greet amelia with a friendly smile. you then turn your attention back to cassidy, clipboard clutched in your hand.

“alright, just follow me this way.” you lead cassidy through the hospital floor, providing her with a tour of the different departments. while the tour starts off awkwardly, you and cassidy manage to strike up some small talk. despite her quiet demeanor, she proves to be a hard worker, efficiently tending to her tasks. you can relate to her reserved nature, knowing firsthand how it feels to be somewhat introverted.

FEW HOURS LATER

hospital’s break room - 12:40 pm on a monday afternoon

after having cassidy follow you around like a lost puppy, occasionally taking notes on her little cat shaped notepad when needed. you both sat in a corner, eating in comfort silence. amongst the normality, you couldn’t help but notice her lunchbox also in a cat-like shape. a soft chuckle escaped you, causing cassidy to look up from her food, her chewing briefly stopped to ask, “what?”

you point out the box which promptly makes her look down, mouthing “oh.” cassidy chuckles nervously, her cheeks tinted with a hint of embarrassment. "i suppose i’m a cliché," she admits, her smile widening. "it’s no secret now that i enjoy girly things.”

you nod, a smile playing at the corners of your lips in response. "i think it's cute." you utter with a slight smirk.

cassidy grins, a hint of self-consciousness in her expression. "you don't think it's too silly?" she asks, seeking validation.

"nope," you reply sincerely, “everyone has their own interests. who am i to judge?" you shrug, emphasizing the point.

cassidy chuckles again, playfully teasing you with her next words. "i'd beg to differ." she pauses for a moment, before continuing, "dr. anderson seems to be quite interested in you." her tone implies a hint of a tease, suggesting that abby's fondness for you may be noticeable to the people around you.

as soon as cassidy suggests that abby has a soft spot for you, you sputter and cough, practically choking on your food. between gasping breaths, you manage to exclaim, "what?! you definitely need your eyes checked!"

cassidy's eyes widen with concern, and she begins to pat your back to help you through your coughing fit. after regaining your composure, you nod, trying to play it cool as she asks if you’re alright. your voice is still strained when you speak, "i’m fine, but what makes you say something like that?" you ask, completely bewildered.

once she's assured that you're okay, cassidy begins to chuckle lightly and leans back in her chair, arms crossed in a confident stance as if she solved the equation pi in her one sitting. "i’ve seen the way she talks to you," she says, low and soft, smirking.

“yeah, she talks like she has a stick up her ass.”

your blunt comment about abby having a "stick up her ass" makes cassidy erupt into laughter. "yeah, that's—that’s definitely true," she concedes, still giggling, "but there's also… a passion behind it." she pauses before continuing. “It's like she does it out of love or something," her eyes fixed on you.

you let out an amused sigh and roll your eyes, responding with a playful retort, "yeahh, I don't know about that." you can't help but chuckle as you continue, "but, that’s definitely crazy talk." you tease, a hint of mirth in your voice.

cassidy laughs, feigning surrender by holding her hands up in a playful gesture. "hey," she says, a toothy grin plastered on her face, "i know what i'm seeing." she retorts.

you continue to eat, a scoff escaping your lips as you try to dismiss her earlier accusations. "you saw a bunch of nothing.” you remark, keeping your tone nonchalant. cassidy responds with a soft scoff of her own, but the silence that follows is strained, uncomfortable, well at least for you… you think.

your mind drifts back to all the times you've interacted with abby, a strange feeling beginning to grow inside you. there were no signs, no hint of anything more than anger and hatred, right? no itty bitty details so unmissable to others, but you? no, it couldn’t be, that’d be ridiculous, hell, every it'd be a synonym in the book ridiculous! there were never any crossovers besides hatred, a mysterious hatred, but hatred nonetheless. come to think of it, you never really found out why she hated you so goddamn much. was it envy? fear? if so, of what exactly?

whatever the case was, it doesn't matter. because you would fucking pay to see her at your mercy. beneath you with a look of hopelessness glistening in her eyes, for it to be her to struggle to utter a simple explanation, only for you to completely demolish the right of speaking. to watch that stupidly neat braid disheveled and her oh so infuriatingly muscular arms that seemed to taunt you, begging to be popped like a balloon.

yeah… you definitely hated this woman.

SIX MONTHS LATER

front desk - 1:30 pm on a wednesday afternoon

gathering any loose strands of hairs from the nape of your neck with one hand, you create a makeshift ponytail, struggling to keep a straight face as cassidy’s stifled laughter resonates nearby. you playfully chastise her, trying to suppress your own laughter.

“stop laughing,” you admonish, your attempt at a stern tone is undermined by your own stifled giggles. “you’re gonna get us caught!”

as luck would have it, you and cassidy had bonded over an unexpected shared interest— a love for plants. and they say that a mother’s life is over when they have kids. quite literal bullshit if you ask anyone with a brain. cassidy, besides being nature’s supporter, was also incredibly humorous, her wit and humor made work a little more bearable.

over a few rounds of cold beers, she had discovered abby’s mysterious hatred for you. her curiosity knew no bounds, weaving theories on why, but never truly connecting the dots. from that point on, she couldn't resist teasing abby when she erupted into her typical outbursts—episodes she jokingly dubbed "hissy fits." just a few weeks ago, she had been assigned to work the counter beside you after amelia went on maternity leave.

"check this one out," the red-head chimes, tilting her phone towards eyes’s view to reveal a piece of media from abby’s instagram. cassidy, as if being a FBI agent was her second job, didn’t break a sweat looking for abby’s entire life online the moment it was plausible.

now, knowing who to call, you glance to see a photo of the blonde with her usual serious expression. the framing itself is taken from an awkward angle. “she’s so stiff, like a damn statue.” she laughs.

you let your hands fall once successfully securing your hair in a bun, a chuckle escaping your lips. "not a bad-looking statue, though," you remark casually, shrugging your shoulders. a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you added, "maybe she should start a new career as a model. the 'stiff but stunning' look could be all the rage."

cassidy quirks an eyebrow your way, a mischievous gleam in her eye as she teases you, “oh, am i sensing something here?”

you respond with a scoff, hastily denying any such notion with playful push. “god, no!” you exclaim, feigning offense, your laugh mingling with her own.

amidst the laughter, your moment is abruptly interrupted by the overwhelming waft of a potent perfume that assaults your senses. immediately, you recognize the scent and dart your gaze towards its source—abby’s new assistant. wearing a top brazenly too small for her ample cleavage with an extravagant makeup job tailored for a circus clown, it's painfully obvious whom this performance is intended to impress.

fucking ‘asshole’ anderson. It’s a pity really; she’s a decent-looking girl, but a relentless ass-kisser. everyone in the hospital picked up on her antics pretty quickly, constantly trying to win abby’s favor. rumors speculated, suggesting they did more than just work together, but hey, they’re just rumors.

“you should be working, abby wouldn’t like this.” her grating voice rings out, dripping with unwarranted confidence.

“we’re on our break, alexa.” you reply coolly, not bothering to mask the distaste in your expression.

she theatrically glances at her watch and purses her lips, stating smugly, “not anymore.” her gaze flicks to you, a smirk playing at her lips. it takes every ounce of restraint you possess not to grab her by the hair and slam her head against the wall. instead, you listen as she adds, "i should be informing abby about this,” she emphasizes with her hand, going in a circular motion towards you and cassidy before finishing. “but she's requested your presence in her office right now."

you stare at her, bewilderment etched across your face. abby? needing you in her presence? the confusion can’t linger long when she impatiently snaps her fingers.

"chop, chop, she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” she prompts, her tone dripping with condescension.

fucking bitch.

"you said you needed me?" you inquired, poking your head through the door’s open crack.

"yes, shut the door and take a seat." she affirms, witnessing firsthand the intentitive— almost obsessive behavior driven by a need to be perfection itself. her eyes don’t move from the paperwork at hand, but there’s no need for her body language and demeanor is a revelation on its own.

her stoicism matched almost flawlessly, as if they had been meticulously practiced in the mirror—akin to a morning ritual, like a cup of coffee. and her physique? it’s a memoir to resolution, sculpted from the divine hands of a deity, making you wonder: how could a person be so flawless? is she a forsaken angel, once god's favorite, now cast away from grace?

her voice, now with a hint of a crisp clear edge, breaks the silence, stating firmly, "i need to discuss something with you." her arms are now visible, resting on top of her desk, hands neatly folded together, an action that seizes your attention like a magnet. was this beautiful “angel” of a woman merely toying with you, masquerading as a jester with deceptive tricks?

nervously, you lick your dry lips and nod, responding with a strained voice, "yeah?" she picked up on that.

her eyes narrow with curiosity, and she leans forward, her voice laced with suspicion as she queries, “tell me,” she begins, letting the question linger in the air for a moment. “why do you still waste time with cassidy?” her tone carries a note of mild disdain. “she’s a bit.. odd, don’t you think?”

within the span of a moment, a wave of frustration surges through you, compelling you to argue your case. however, you find yourself inexplicably entranced by her features, unable to break the spell that has woven its way around your thoughts. nodding without conscious thought, your gaze is transfixed on the magnificence standing before you— the artistry of her face and form.

the sun's warm glow streams through the windows just behind her, casting a radiant light upon her as if nature itself were emphasizing its own masterpiece. every detail of her appearance is meticulously crafted, like a tempting apple dangling in front of the unsuspecting. a loose strand of hair falls gracefully in front of her face, accentuating the fine features of her facial structure. the angular lines of her nose seem to carry the weight of her sharp-edged spectacles, and her eyes, often lacking warmth, rarely seek solace in anything but themselves.

the sinew, a testament to the muscularity of her arms, even beneath the loose confines of her doctor’s coat, as if they were destined to stand out, to be admired. the way she held her pen moments ago makes it seem almost insignificant in comparison to her thick fingers, wrapped around it like a vice. her penmanship is impeccable, smooth and faultless, as if her hand is a perfectly calibrated machine.

god’s greatest gifts bestowed on its worst creation alive.

"are you even listening to me, right now?" she questions, her jaw setting tight.

startled, you snapped out of your reverie, blinking to moisten the dry eyes that had forgotten to blink in their fixated state, you confirm. “yes.” no.

“i asked you a question.” she snaps, her voice stern.

“what was the question?” you stammer, feeling flustered under her intense scrutiny.

“why—forget it.” a sudden shift in her expression indicates a change of mind. it seems the words didn’t sound as smart when she voiced them aloud.

“what?” you stutter, leaning forward in your chair. “what were you going to say?”

“i said, nevermind,” she replies, her tone firm and dismissive. “you’re free to go.” she averts her gaze from you, redirecting it towards her paperwork, as if you had suddenly become unimportant and unworthy of her attention.

you’re left dumbfounded, what was that about?

FEW HOURS LATER

your bedroom - 3:20 am on a thursday morning

your sharp gasp and the tension in your body were palpable, confined to the bed where your body lay cushioned. a hand ran through your hair before tugging it tightly, adding to the pleasure that coursed through you. the serene hum of your vibrator, nestled between your legs, was a poor substitute for the fantasies that danced through your mind.

your guilty pleasures, your secret desire.

“oh, abby!” you moaned, the broken syllable laced with longing. images of her flashed through your mind, your body yearning for the warmth of her fingers instead of the cold, mechanical pleasure your toy provided. the thought of being stretched by her strong, capable hands was all it took to push you over the edge.

a wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body shaking as you orgasmed, the fantasy of abby's touch more potent than the reality. the intensity of your pleasure left you breathless, even as you knew it was only a fleeting escape from reality.

as your mind snaps back, an overwhelming rush of realization washes over you. you toss aside the vibrator, sitting up with a sigh. you can’t help, but feel shame towards yourself. the thought of your boss—the one person who makes your life a living hell—occupies your thoughts. how could you even entertain the thought of her?

a fallen angel, huh?

SAID “FALLEN ANGEL”

abby anderson

she was fucking on one today, and in return she thought you were too. her mind was consumed by you. even the morning coffee, always a comfort, tasted bitter and cold. she didn't even acknowledge the usual flirtatious advances from her assistant when she greeted her this morning. instead, she simply asked for her requested files and retreated to the sanctuary of her office, locking the door behind her.

it was always you, stirring up trouble by merely existing near her. cassidy mcclair, that braid-wearing copycat bitch, had you wrapped around her serpentine fingers. and you? you should have known better than to waste your precious time with people like that, but there you were. in fact, compared to these idiots you had to call coworkers, you were leaps and bounds above them.

you were just making a mistake, a mistake that was costing her sleep— more than she already doesn’t get.

she silently fumed as she stood in front of her office door for her daily check on what everyone was doing, over the years making mental lists of the flaws of each employee. amelia, didn’t know if she was bleating or laughing, and those killer front teeth— literally. one glance and someone’s head would be off. then there was samson, who seemed to do nothing, but shove burgers down his gargantuan throat. she was convinced he never even bothered to chew.

it was laughable, and she could go on and on about the flaws each one of her employees had. but you, well, not a single flaw could be attributed to you. not one mentioned on any list of the many she had. in essence, you were the embodiment of a boss's dream employee—quick on the case, a good sport, but until now, there was one flaw that had eluded you: the habits of hanging around the wrong people.

granted, it's not like cassidy was forcing drugs down your throat, but it was clear she was trouble. competition, that had to be eliminated. but one might wonder, why? why did abby have such a deep-seated grudge against you? why did she feel this burning urge to take you down? just like a pack of wolves, having her sights set on the weak link, ready to pounce.

deep down, abby didn't fully understand her intense feelings towards you. each attempt to articulate her emotions only led to frustration as they were often misinterpreted in the delivery. you made her nervous in a way that was both understandable and utterly perplexing, leaving her with feelings uncharted. in a desperate attempt to maintain control, she decided the best course of action was to keep her fondness for you hidden. surely, as long as you remained oblivious to her affections, there would be no complications, right?

she’d pledge that promise to the death, do everything to her power to keep it this way. there would be no vulnerability, no broken hearts to be on the mend, even if meant being cruel. but when cassidy came and first laid her eyes on you. oh, how she wanted to claw her eyes out just for even staring at you for a millisecond long.

it infuriated her to see how easily cassidy could evoke laughter and smiles from you, things that abby denied herself. many long, self deprecating nights filled with overflowing ashtrays of spent cigarettes and a collection of empty whiskey glasses were becoming too often to be called a casual drinker.

the day she requested your presence in her office, and sat across from her as she filled out the paperwork to transfer cassidy to another floor was a moment of triumph. however, her satisfaction evaporated rather quickly—leaving her dry to the bone. throughout the entire conversation, you appeared to be dazed, barely registering a word she spoke. had she been too late? were you already so smitten with cassidy that you couldn't even comprehend a word coming out of her mouth?

was it already too late?

after you had left her office, abby found herself lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. alone with her musings, her mind raced, and suddenly, all her thoughts aligned. if the two of you were indeed in a relationship, as it seemed so obvious, then separating the two of you would create an irreversible ripple effect. like two peas in a pod, together you were a force to be reckoned with, but tearing one away and crushing it would change everything.

if cassidy wanted to stoop low, she could go lower.

ANDERSON’S ESTATE

4:54 am on a sunday morning

due to the convoluted approval process, the transfer paperwork would likely take weeks, if not months, to be approved. there was no way abby could allow that to happen. by the time the transfer was accepted, you'd be off in dubai for a honeymoon with your apparent soulmate, sipping margaritas without a care in the world. no, she had to find a way to expedite the process, and it had to be done by the end of this overcoming week.

so she found herself in her office, nursing a few glasses of whiskey and indulging in chain-smoking cigarettes, a habit she could never partake in one without the other. surrounded by the solace of her private liar, the alcohol and nicotine fueled her thoughts, as she brainstormed list after list of ways to get rid of cassidy. patient abandonment was one option, but it ran the risk of tarnishing her own reputation as well. however, she was past the point of caring about the repercussions of her actions. all that mattered was taking down cassidy, one way or another.

feeling a mixture of an uncomfortable unfulfillment and disoriented, she runs a hand through her tousled mane. with a groan, rubs her eyes and gets up, smoldering the glowing embers of the cigarette in the overflowing ashtray before trudging off to bed like a pouting toddler.

In the comforts of her bed, shafts of dawn gently seeped through the curtains, with her loyal puppy, alice, sleeping at her feet, whining occasionally as she glanced up at her owner. abby couldn't help but wonder if the dog was attempting to communicate with her, as if offering a cautionary message. was it the effects of the whiskey and cigarettes playing tricks on her mind, or was her canine companion genuinely trying to warn her of impending consequences? these thoughts swirled through her muddled mind, yet the idea of it actually seemed far-fetched.

it’s a thing to think of, and another to do.

ONE DAY, MONDAY

cheshire cat grin

“and i want you all to be more aware— if you haven’t been already.” the firm voice snapped abby out of her reverie.

a weary sigh emits as her body slumps into a loose crescent shape, the strain of sitting in an ass-numbing chair for hours was finally taking its toll, and listening to her supervisor drone on and on about the same old report on employee performance wasn’t helping either. however, one particular statement caught her undivided attention.

the rise in unauthorized narcotics.

the report revealed that there had been a 3% increase in the number of supplies used compared to the usual amount. this increase caused considerable stress for the superior, who advised—no, demanded that all doctors on each floor find the culprit.

with mounting irritation from the current predicament, the overseer noticed abby’s expression and prompted her with a question. “is there anything you’d like to say, abigail?” she inquired, presumptuously.

as the superior fixed a firm gaze on her, abby’s initial instinct was to reply with a simple “no.” but then a new thought took hold. she sat up straighter, straightening her normally confident demeanor even further, and responded with a question of her own. “hypothetically speaking, if i do uncover the perpetrator, what measures will be taken in response?”

the woman’s scoff conveyed a dismissive tone, as if the answer was lingering in the air. she smugly responded, “well, hypothetically, they’d be fired on the spot, and all hospitals in the county would be notified never to employ them again.” there was a brief pause before continuing with that same overly confident demeanor, “so, they’d have to move just to find another job.” eyeing abby as if searching for even the slightest hint of nervousness.

under normal circumstances, abby’s temper would have flared at her superior’s condescending tone, but in that moment, everything was perfect. a polite smile abby offered held more than the naked eye could see.

the jigsaw pieces were falling into place.

TWO DAYS LATER, WEDNESDAY

surprise!

the days melded together, each one weighed down by a stack of endless papers and an incessant, desperate assistant who was over her shoulder, relentlessly nagged for her attention. in those moments of exhaustion, she started regretting ever giving them the slightest bit of her attention in the first place, justifying the brief lapses in her focus as mere 'moments of weakness'.

in obeying her supervisor's advice, she had been carefully observing everyone, with a heightened level of scrutiny directed towards cassidy, intentionally growing increasingly “suspicious” of her. with a fierce determination, she wrestled hard to suppress the many outbursts that threatened to spill over simply due to the sight of you and cassidy together.

even as a child, abby had a knack for fixating on unimportant details, down to the intricate nuances of color. her attention to detail had grown into a deep obsession, enabling her to familiarize herself with an object or being within days. with cassidy, she had approached it like disassembling a game of jenga, meticulously analyzing her every action, carefully calculating her plans. all she needed now was the opportune moment to set everything into motion.

just as she was about to execute her plan, a sudden, unexpected event occurred, as if on cue.

with newfound courage bolstered by a glass of whiskey and a cigarette, she rose from her chair, only for the shrill ring of her phone to pierce the tense atmosphere, and she glanced down to see a rarely-seen name on the screen— her grandmother, susana. an unyielding, meticulous woman, had been a source of inspiration for abby as she grew up, shaping her into the determined individual she had become.

susana, was a renowned fashion designer based in paris, a demanding professional life that had left her with limited time to spend with her beloved granddaughter. with a huff, sitting back in her office chair, abby picked up her phone and pressed it against her ear, preparing for their conversation.

"oh, my darling abigail!" the sound of her grandmother's sweet, melodic voice filled abby's ear.

a subtle wince crossed her face, and a forced smile tugs at her lips, almost as if her grandmother could see her through the phone.

"hi.” she responded, prompting her grandmother to lightheartedly tease, "oh, darling, why so timid?" her chuckle echoed over the line.

abby responded with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "sorry, gam-gam, I'm just a bit stressed." she confessed.

her grandmother replied with a lighthearted hum. “well, in that case, meet me at the cafe down the street for a little whine down.” and with a click, the line went dead, leaving abby scarcely a moment to protest.

with a heavy sigh, she tossed her phone aside, muttering, "damnit." frustrated, she ran a hand over her face.

in the reserved confines of their booth, her grandmother inquired with a casual tone, "so, did you receive my letter?" she pierced a strawberry with her fork, taking a bite.

abby responded with a nod, her thoughts momentarily astray to the brief moment earlier when she'd seized the opportunity to execute her plan on cassidy's unattended bag during your lunchtime in the break room. she knew such an opportunity might not present itself again anytime soon, as cassidy was set to be away until friday.

“and the book?”

abby paused, strawberry mid-air on her fork, perplexed by her grandmother's question. "what book?" she questioned with a full mouth, confusion lacing her voice.

her grandmother sighs, explaining, "the book didn't arrive?" she grumbled about the subpar mailing service. "doesn’t matter," she continued, "we can just head over to the bookstore after and replace it." her interest piqued as her grandmother added that it was another mythology book, a favorite topic of hers.

abby's eyes sparkled with excitement. "awe, sweet! i’ve been meaning to go." she responded enthusiastically.

the older woman chuckled, observing, "old habits die hard, I suppose." she then posed a question that seemed to ignite her interest even more. "tell me, have you managed to swoon any girls with your extensive library of knowledge?" her grandmother's smile grew wider at this question, her genuine wish for abby's happiness evident. how could abby possibly ruin her grandmother's happiness?

abby wasn't one to lie, but she felt compelled to do so, especially since the truth was more difficult to share. a gentle smile tugged at her lips, and a blush appeared on her face as she played with the blueberry on her plate. though it was a lie, it was an effortless one. "well, there's this one girl at work," she began, her voice growing more softer. "she’s incredibly sweet, and I think she likes me." the rosiness in her cheeks deepened, adding a touch of authenticity to her fib.

“awe, sugarplum, who is it?”

“her name is y/n.”

ANOTHER TWO DAYS LATER, FRIDAY

the final act

after two days of being completely immersed in the book, abby managed to force herself back to reality. cassidy had reappeared, prompting abby to resume her daily observations. she diligently watched over you and cassidy, particularly monitoring the red-head’s interactions.

she had arranged a private conversation with the supervisor, raising concerns about “suspicious” behavior involving cassidy. the supervisor guaranteed action before six pm that afternoon. all she needed to do now was secure her bag alone before then. abby set an alarm on her watch, stashed the narcotics in her pocket, and exited her office, determined to carry out her plan.

she closed her door and was immediately greeted by the familiar sounds of chatter and movement, the distinctive scent of the hospital filling her nose. as she inhaled, it was as if she was breathing in the purest air. but then, the explosive sound of a voice abruptly shattered her moment of comfort. she jumped in surprise and turned her head to see a nurse.

"sorry, doctor," she apologized, her smile tinged with nervousness. "i—uhm, have documents for you to sign for a discharge." she extended the clipboard, waiting for abby to take it.

still feeling discombobulated, abby nodded stiffly as she accepted the clipboard and signed it. “are… are you okay?” the nurse's question caught her off guard, prompting her to look up. "yes—yes, I'm fine.” she replied, her voice somewhat strained.

saying a brief goodbye, she walks down the hallway, and sees cassidy getting dressed in the staff room. abby smirks, and walks inside just as she’s gonna leave. the initial door opening scares, making her jump back, and she sees it’s abby, she greets her with a smile, and quick hi, trying to exit. but abby isnt gonna let her leave so quick.

abby says a brief farewell and proceeds down the hallway, catching sight of cassidy dressing up in the staff room. she stops with a grinch-like grin saunters into the room just as cassidy is about to exit. the sudden door opening startles cassidy, making her jump back. she quickly greets abby with a smile and a casual "hi," attempting to leave. however, abby is determined not to let her go that easily.

"hey, wait." abby halts cassidy in her tracks with a firm arm grab, causing her to stop.

cassidy looks up, bewildered, and clutches her bag close to her shoulder, waiting to see what this was about. abby’s eyebrows furrowed, it’s been truly a long time since she stood by her self-proclaimed enemy. she didn't seem to have changed much— not that she cared to notice, except for the new pin on her shirt— a small pride flag, cute.

abby scoffs, chuckling which prompts cassidy to raise an eyebrow. “what’s so funny?”

in response, she shakes her head dismissively, replying with a hint of mischief, "nothing, just a joke i remembered." adding slyly with a cunning smile, she continues, "how do you like working here?"

cassidy swallows, her nerves becoming visibly apparent as she nods in agreement. "it’s good," she reiterates, adding, "yeah, i love working with the children."

abby hums in response, laughing. "well, don't let me stop you." she promptly opens the door for cassidy, eliciting a smile from her in response, and as she begins to pass through, the taller blonde adds. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

as she watched cassidy leave with her bag in hand, abby's emotions were divided. she felt a sense of sheer satisfaction, empowerment, her lips twisting into a muscle straining grin as she watched the bag recede into the distance, carrying her ticket goodbye. and she didn’t feel an ounce of regret because she did warn her. to enjoy it all, her time at the hospital to its fullest, and she meant it. true to her nature, abby prided herself on consistency, even more so in her efficiency, like a stealthy ninja.

in and out, no flaws, no witnesses.

no window for the light to shine through.

THE LIGHT

cascading over your form was from the now straining lamp above. your head ached, overwhelmed by the events of the day. but one interaction stood out as particularly odd— an event you didn't take part in, rather witness instead.

it seemed under every blue moon that cassidy and abby would interact, despite working on the same floor. there were no crossovers, so when a hand broke that line. there was something unsettling about the whole interaction, especially the invader's body language. her movements were mechanical, unnatural even, making it all hard to ignore.

a chill runs down your spine as you consider the implications. you know what you witnessed, but it feels almost unbelievable. just as with notorious serial killers, you struggle to comprehend the thought processes behind such heinous acts. perhaps this lunatic in particular requires her own account to explain her motives and actions.

you arrived at just the right moment, only a few seconds before their conversation ended. fortunately, you had come in time to witness abby casually slipping something into cassidy's bag while she was turning away. the object had a distinct pill bottle shape, subtle enough to avoid attracting unwanted attention, but enough to pique your interest.

the rumors of stolen narcotics had been circulating, and a mysterious culprit was being gossiped about behind closed doors. you and cassidy had spent some time discussing the topic, sharing silly theories, though nothing more than just pure hearsay.

your eyebrows furrow in thought, though it wasn't helping. instead, only intensified the now throbbing headache, slowly morphing into a full-blown migraine. with your hands holding your head up, you look down at long forgotten paperwork that was meant to be done from the comforts of your own home, but considering the distressing state you’re in. it was far from comforting now.

with a frustrated sigh, you flick off the lamp and abandon your paperwork, ready to rise from your desk. suddenly, your phone rings, jolting you with a spike in heart rate. you glance down at the caller ID.

you immediately answer the call, only to be met with cassidy's hysterical voice. through her sobs and gasps, she reveals that she was fired due to stealing narcotics. your worst fears were confirmed; it was no longer just a mere theory. you had indeed witnessed abby slipping something that resembled a small pill bottle into cassidy’s bag.

as you try to console your friend, a whirlwind of emotions begins to roil within you. some of that emotion directed towards yourself, but strongly towards abby. it was true, you saw it with your very own eyes, and yet chose to wait. you hated the fact that it took you so long to come to your senses, and a wave of guilt consumes you for not marching straight to the supervisor moments after witnessing it.

even if it was too late for your friend, it wasn’t for abby.

the lobby, now shrouded in dimmed lighting with very few sources of illumination, seemed like something straight out of a horror movie. paying no mind to the eerie ambiance, you quickly make your way towards abby’s office door, knowing she typically uses this time to prepare the employee’s schedules. the reasoning behind why she does it in her office is unknown, but frankly, not your biggest concern.

your knuckles collide forcefully against the wood, channeling the full extent of your anger’s strength. the door swings open, revealing a slightly taken aback abby. she utters, “what—what are you doing here?” her tone seems somewhat off.

you don’t waste any time, no words, and cut straight to the chase. “what did you do to cassidy?”

she raises an eyebrow in confusion, responding, “what are you talking about? are you on something, y/n?”

without hesitating, you push past her into her office. turning your head at neck breaking speed to set your hardened gaze onto hers. your voice takes on a more firm tone: “am i? are you?!”

you repeat your question with unwavering determination. “what did you do to cassidy?”

with a scoff, she crosses her arms, feigning innocence. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” she denies.

“oh, don’t play dumb,” you retort, your gaze unwavering. “you know exactly what i’m talking about! tell me, what was it that you threw into her bag?”

she nervously swallows, her composure faltering for just a moment before she regains control. this reaction was all you needed to confirm your suspicions.

"that’s confidential.” she repeats assertively, making her way behind her desk.

"confidential, my ass!" you yell in response. "i know damn well what i saw!"

she stops in her tracks and turns her head to face you, a look of indignation on her face. “what did you just say to me?”

ignoring her interruption, you push on, demanding answers. “what did you do to her? what did you say?!” your fist clenched tightly.

for the first time, she drops her facade, maintaining eye contact without hesitation, as she admits. “i gave her a little parting gift.”

the intensity in her eyes makes your blood run cold, trying to gather a sense of what her cryptic response implies. you stammer. “what—what does that even mean?”

she suddenly realizes the gravity of her confession—how she inadvertently revealed her actions, but anger clouds her morality. "just drop it.” she grits out through clenched teeth, patience wearing thin.

the fire in your eyes flares up, brimming with anger and defiance that refuses to let you back down. "no!" you firmly retort. "you’re going to tell me!" frustration seeps through your voice as your patience wanes. you’re tired of her smug superiority, the audacity to act as if she had everyone under her command.

her lips curl into a smirk, her voice oozing with sarcastic scorn. “oh, i’m gonna tell you?” she taunts, scoffing. “tell you what? about your little friend?” her tone carries undertones of something against your mere friendship with cassidy.

the mention of something more regarding your friend sends a pang of defensiveness coursing through you.

"what?" you breathe out, taken aback. "what does that even mean, huh?"

she takes a step forward, each breath heavy and labored. her voice betrays her impatient nature, a predator preparing to pounce. “oh, you know what that means,” she retorts, scoffing internally at how dull you’re being to an obvious situation. despite the tension in the room reaching a high, it’s abby’s intensity that seizes the moment. you half expected to see her licking her lips with anticipated hunger, like a ravenous beast.

it sends a rush of conflicting emotions coursing through you—an alluring mixture of curiosity and trepidation. the encounter itself feels like a high-stakes game of chess where you struggle to predict your opponent's next move. as you step back, your confidence falters, and your voice softens into a small whimper.

“i don’t...”

abby catches onto this, pouncing on it like a hungry lion sensing weakness, further igniting her motives.

you gasp as your back meets the cool, solid wood behind you. in an instinctive movement, your eyes flick briefly behind you before darting back forward. only to find abby’s overbearing presence suffocating your personal space.

"oh, i think you do." she rasps, tilting her head to the side, a chuckle escaping her lips. her faltering gaze lingering to your lips for a fleeting moment before pulling away. her tone seethes with anger, words biting as she scoffs.

“you think you’re so damn slick, huh?” she paces back and forth, a fierce intensity in her stride, causing you to wince in response.

“you act like i wouldn’t catch on to your little games, as if it wasn’t painfully transparent to everyone around you!” her frustration builds, and she raises her arms, unleashing a frustrated sigh before bringing them down forcefully to slap her thighs. "as if i wouldn’t notice!”

you couldn't understand where this anger was coming from. sure, she had always been an asshole, but lately, her outbursts and irritability have seemed to reach a new assholery. and it seemed to have started around the same time you had become friends with cassidy. It was almost as if your newfound friendship had awakened something within her, something darker and more volatile. perhaps jealousy?

abby’s anger blazes brightly in her eyes, her words sharp. "god, you’re infuriating," she says, her voice laced with hostility. "like some fucking prodigy, you think you know everything, don’t you?!" she emphasizes with lurching her body forward, her hands slamming down on the desk either side of you, effectively trapping you in place.

your breath hitches as she draws nearer, her proximity sending an intoxicating wave throughout your body. the intensity of her anger is palpable, every labored breath brushing against your skin like a gentle caress. her lips are tantalizingly close to yours, separated by an annoying invisible barrier that could be shattered at any moment if she so desired. just one push.

"fuck you, abby!" you hiss, your voice faltering for a moment before hardening. "you always had a goddamn bone to pick with me, you piece of shit!" your words linger in the air, carrying years of built-up resentment directed at abby. but the shock of her unexpected confession wipes away your outrage, replacing it with astonishment.

"because i love you!" she yells, her voice ringing out louder than intended. her revelation hangs in the air, rendering you speechless. as those words sink in, your breath catches in your throat. "what?" you manage to croak out, hardly believing what you've just heard.

you observed a flicker of vulnerability in her expression that's quickly replaced by a hardened composure. there was no turning back, the cat was out of the bag, and so she only pressed forward with determination.

her voice descending to a low, sultry tone, she says "you think watching what's mine prancing around like a slut at her own workplace doesn't make me livid?" each word drips with possessive anger and suppressed desire.

your voice comes out smaller and fragile than anticipated as you muster the words, "i’m… i’m not yours." you struggle to meet abby's intense gaze, your body tensing subconsciously as you push yourself against her desk, attempting to create some space between the two of you. the air is thick with tension, the room practically vibrating with the weight of abby’s confession and your denial. you felt trapped, your body practically molding into the desk behind you.

"do you believe that?" she inquires, raising a brow in challenge. she lifts a thumb to slide across your bottom lip, her touch firm yet almost teasing. she pauses for a moment before letting out a gravelly chuckle, further probing into the tension. “i don’t.” she admits with a light shrug. her movements felt taunting, yet calculated as if she’s trying to catch you in a lie, and to fess up.

abby was frustrated, bordering on infuriated, trying to make sense of the situation. her mind was a tangle of emotions, and she felt like she was grasping at straws, trying to connect the pieces in her head. she had the mental board laid out in her mind, each string connecting to a different thought, all pointing to one central question: you and cassidy, and the enigma of your poorly hidden relationship. this uncertainty fueled her anger, and you weren’t making it any better. she wanted to do something— anything— to show you that you weren't just anyone's; you were hers.

"what about alexa, huh?" you ask, gaining a peak of confidence, your words snapping her attention back.

“what about her?” she questions truthfully, amused by your presumed jealousy. “you jealous?"

caught off guard and exposed, you feel the equilibrium shift, upending the chess pieces in your mind. "i’m not jealous," you insist, realizing the power her words hold. it’s as if she has cornered you in this game, check. mate.

“oh, sure you aren’t." abby steps closer, her body pressing against yours, trapping you between her and the desk. her words take on a dual edge of ire and yearning as she smirks. "i should’ve known with the way you’ve been acting, you’re practically begging me to put you in your place.” she murmurs, chuckling gravely. "to fuck you until you can only say yes, doctor anderson." she feigns a high pitch moany tone, a lewd and terrible, yet obvious admit of sounding like you as she says “yes, doctor anderson.”

she laughs before humming, seeming to enjoy that fantasy as she lets herself become lost in the idea for a moment before continuing.

abby’s features lean in closer, the heat from her breath caressing the apple of your cheek as she murmurs against your ear, “tell me, do you let cassidy make you her personal pocket pussy?” her words send a shiver down your spine as her hand moves to caress your cheek, pausing to let you feel the weight of her question in the air before inquiring further, “to bend you over anywhere, anytime, and you’ll just take it like a good girl?” her words laced with a lewdness that sends a thrill through your body, despite the fact that you know you should reject the notion. the question itself was filthy, taboo, and utterly intoxicating. but you couldn’t deny the existence of being drawn to it, deep down knowing more than ever if you ever were to think of that fantasy, you’d want it to be her, not cassidy.

“no, no, it’s not like that.” you attempt to defend yourself, trying to find the right words, but abby interjects before you can say anything else. she scoffs at your attempted denial, her grip on you tightening, causing you to wince. her voice lowers into a dark laugh, her disbelief evident. "oh really? you really expect me to believe that bullshit?"

her name escapes your lips in a gasp, but abby cuts you off yet again, her eyes darkening as she speaks.

"lemme tell you what it's like," she begins, her tone husky. “i think you'd like it. hell, you pray that it does happen because you're nothing but just a pathetic girl who wants some attention. is that what you want? attention?" abby inquires, licking her teeth in an almost predatory manner. your heart races in your chest as her words cut through you.

the tension in the room is palpable, thick with unexpressed desire and emotion. you find yourself unable to hold back any longer, your voice quivering as you voice your deep-seated need. “i want your attention," you confess, your words almost inaudible, they're so faint.

even if faint, she heard all of it, dissected each syllable. it’s all she ever wanted, no, needed to hear from you. “yeah?” her voice falters into a soft whimper, tilting her head to the side and grabbing your cheeks with her large hands, only now focusing on your lips. “i’ll give you all my attention.” she promises, swiftly pulling your face, smashing yours onto hers.

your body trembled from the conflicting sensations, a clash of cold and hot, a maelstrom of warring emotions. years without her touch had left you craving her embrace, and her lips on yours sent heat coursing through your veins. though the kiss stood unspoken, there was no need for actions that spoke louder. both hatred and desire intertwined, two sides of the same coin, fueling this volatile gesture. your hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and contour, as hers did the same, desperately pulling you closer, kneading your flesh like clay. your hands finally found a resting place on her shoulders, gripping her like a lifeline in the storm of sensations swirling around you.

your movements, your gasps and sighs, fueled the fire within abby, and with a determined strength, she hoists you up onto her desk. the sudden change in position elicits gasp from you, pressing your body against hers with an arch, and abby seizes the moment, slipping her tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth with a fervent passion. it was a dance both familiar and new, a moment of fiery connection that consumed you both.

her breath ragged, lips tingling from the passion of the kiss as stares down at you, her eyes dark and filled with hunger as she murmurs her confession. "i've always dreamt of this… having you," her fingers roaming over your body slowly as she says this, relishing in the way you react to her touch. she presses her forehead shading yours, her dilated eyes reflecting the depth of her desire. her cold thumbs find their way underneath your clothes, tracing slow circles, sending a shiver through your body. "having this feeling of your skin under my fingertips."

your voice quivered as you call her name, and for a moment you think your plea to have her lips on yours again are answered, but instead, she finds her new focus, your neck. her lips fall, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites. the sound of your whimpers only spurred her on, her hands gripping your hips possessively as she continued to mark your skin, leaving a trail of hickeys.

abby was in her element now, and your desperate tone only fed her desire. she wanted more, to hear you call her name even more. with a smirk, she lifted her head, eyes burning with amusement. "yeah? you like the sound of that, pretty girl?" she muses, her hand suddenly landing a sharp smack on your thigh, making you jump. in response, she chuckled at your reaction, her laugh sent tingles down your spine, a mixture of amusement and desire. her grip on your thighs tightened, pushing them higher up, and drinking up the sight of you, spread before her with your feet on the desk sent abby's desire spiraling out of control. she couldn't help but lick her lips, taking in the full view of your flushed skin and parted legs. you couldn't hold back a squirm, feeling so exposed— though you weren’t — under her intense gaze.

"i love seeing you like this," she murmured, her voice thick with arousal. she steps towards you again, nestling herself in the newfound space. her lips return to your neck, greeting the previous bruises plastered on your neck with soft licks and kisses. "so desperate and needy."

her hands leave your thighs as she lifts herself up to meet your gaze, taking in your already disheveled state. with a hum of satisfaction, she asks, "who gets you like this?"

you manage to respond with a barely audible, "you, abby." she hums at your whimperish respond, a smirk crossing her lips at the confirmation, "yes, not that bitch, cassidy. me. and only me, right, baby?" she gives a slight nod, as if she’s responding for you.

the blonde brings her hand up to your lips, watching as you open your mouth to invite her thumb, which she eagerly accepts.

she let out a low, guttural groan as you suck and lick her pad of her thumb, enjoying the sensations that your mouth causes. she couldn't resist the urge to voice her thoughts, her words thick with possession and desire.

"hm, such a dirty girl." she paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before amending her statement with a husky tone, "my dirty girl."

you release her thumb with a pop, humming a tone of satisfaction, and licking your lips to savor the lingering taste of her. a chuckle escapes abby's lips as she watches you, her eyes roaming your body yet again. the desire to rip your clothes off and shut you up has been building since the moment you walked into her office, "take this off, baby. you’re killing me with not showing me what's mine," she growls, her words tinged with need and possess. "need to see it, feel it. need." she mumbled against your skin, completely submitted to her delusions. you don’t fight this time, barely able to remove each article of clothing with abby eagerly kissing and licking every available inch of skin. but stops at your bikini line, encountering a setback— your underwear — cockblocking her.

her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, looking up at you with an almost comical expression of frustration, and offense. as if being unable to take off your underwear because of her was a you problem. “funny.” she retorts, tone dripping in sarcasm, but nothing on her face shows amusement. “real fucking funny.” she remarks, punctuating her words with a sharp smack to your hip, kneading at the red skin roughly, making you wince. “you fucking tease.” she continues, her voice laced with a mix of desire and irritation.

"i should punish you for that little stunt," her fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, intending to pull them down herself since you’re incompetent to do so. “but, fuck, look at all this.” she relents, sliding them off your legs— and pocketing them for later — to reveal your core, practically weeping for her. “all this f’me?” she pants, eyes flicking up to yours.

a whiny moan of her name slips past your lips, but she shushes you gently, her voice softer now. "i know, baby, i know." she cooed, her large hand running comfortingly up and down your side. as she spreads your quivering legs further, exposing your drenched folds, abby feasts her eyes upon the sight before her. her lips curve upward, "fuck," she breathed, her eyes never leaving your pulsing core. “look at this pretty pussy. this is prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen—this has to be mine.” she leans down, her warm breath ghosting over your clit before she pressing a tender kiss there, savoring your reaction to her smallest touch, and now wondering what other reactions she could get out of you.

you weren't prepared for what came next, not one bit. expecting her to take things slow, you were completely caught off guard as abby gripped your thighs and, in one swift motion, separated your slimy folds, lapping any sweet nectar waiting for her. you tense from sudden sensation, letting out a loud, unapologetic moan as you arch off the desk. your hands instinctively tangle themselves into her steady braid that soon unravels from being used as reins.

encouraged by your fervent response, abby delved deeper, her skilled tongue tracing a path to your engorged nub. enclosing it between her lips, she whispered her praise, "you taste better than i thought." her voice trembled, mingling with your own moans.

as her teeth gently nipped at your sensitive bundle, you cried out, your thighs involuntarily squeezing her shoulders. a wicked smirk graced her lips as she basked in your reaction, taking immense pleasure in your submission.

the unexpected pinch sent jolts of shock through your body, your limbs twitching and writhing in a frenzied dance. in response, abby repositions her left hand on your abdomen, gripping tightly to anchor you in place. each sound that escaped your trembling lips fueled her hunger, her throaty hums resonating against your flesh. with a devilish gleam in her eyes, she teasingly traced circles near your navel with her thumb, heightening your anticipation.

a groan rumbled in her throat when your fingers gripped her hair, the sensation only spurring her on. her mouth fastened more insistently around your swollen nub, sucking harder as you cried out her name. the strain in your voice confirmed her suspicions: you were on the cusp of your release, and she was eager to push you over.

abby's fingers joined the fray, sliding in and out of your slick folds with practiced ease. her relentless assault on your clit continued, her touch sending shivers through your body and causing your breaths to come in ragged gasps. the sight of you, quivering and exposed before her, stoked a fire within her, a determination to send you flying over the edge.

abby derived an addiction from your pleasure. each moment of ecstasy seemed to fuel her further, driving her to amplify the tempo and depth of her ministrations. as the room filled with the lewd symphony of flesh meeting flesh and intertwined heavy breaths, something stirred within abby. something unfamiliar, uncharted. normally, she would exhibit unrivaled confidence during intimate encounters, but with you, it was different—more intense, deeper. a desperate craving to be perfect, to ensure you'd never seek anyone else but her. she’d hate to admit it, but the realization gnaws at her: the longing for you even after this is over.

"who's making you cum tonight?" abby questioned the obvious once more, but her arrogance tone underlined the strong need for reassurance. your moans were her only response, and while she adored the sweet sounds, she craved more. a sudden shift in her fingers’ movements made you yell out, "you, abby," your words punctuated by cries of pleasure.

her fingers, now confined within your tight grip, sensed the growing tension, the impending eruption, the imminent of your orgasm. "uh-huh, come for me," she ordered, "let me hear who’s making a mess of you."

the warnings of your impending release came with fervor, each thrust hastening to the inevitable snap of the tightening band in your abdomen. then when it did, a cry rang out, loud and clear, as her name left your lips in tandem with your essence painting her features. in this haze of euphoria, you suddenly find a sense of clarity, wondering how in all worlds did you end up in this situation, in the arms— or rather the mouth of your boss?

it’s rather short lived, quickly fading into a hazy blur. you threw your head back as her eyes closed, savoring the taste of your ecstasy with a hum, helping you through your orgasm until your body laxs.

withdrawing her fingers, abby admired the sight of your juices clinging to them, a testament to her efforts. a satisfied smile stretches across her face as she reveled in the knowledge that she had brought you to such heights.

she licks them clean, feeling a rush of gratification that only you can provide. releasing her fingers with a soft pop, her lips make way and pave along the curve of your hip, leaving a trail of wet, sticky kisses behind as she moves up to stand before you. “such a good girl..” she mumbled against your skin. you lift yourself up with your elbow, taking a moment to catch your breath, your body still quivering from the intensity of your orgasm that has left you momentarily speechless. you couldn't help, but notice abby’s disheveled appearance as well. untangled, her hair strays from its famed braid, now flowing around her face like a cascade of waves.

but before you could comment on the sight, she claims your lips in a tender, sweet kiss, her hands cupping your face. the connection was brief, and when she pulled away, a grin lit up her features. without another word spoken, she unclothes herself, revealing herself in all her glory. you knew she worked out, but goddamn, did she work out! the determination to achieve the physique showed immensely. in your admiration, you felt the apple of your cheeks warm up, causing you to look away.

"don’t go shy on me, babe," she chided playfully, repositioning your face to meet hers. she seals the deal with another kiss pushing you down gently onto the desk. "lay back f’me, ‘kay?"

with a nod, you comply, watching as the corded muscles in her arms flex as she moves into position, lifting your leg. a grin tugged at the corners of your lips as she placed a tender kiss on your ankle, making her soft chuckle fill the air in return before she securely set your leg on her shoulder.

the moment your wet folds connected, a guttural moan escaped her lips. the sensation was everything she craved, wasting no time in starting a vigorous grinding motion. as she ruts back and forth, she can’t help but mutter curses under her breath, lost in her own pleasure. "fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good." she hisses, throwing her head back. the raw intensity of her emotions written clear as day on her features.

her concentration nearly falters when she glances down, and the sight that met her eyes threatened to make her cum on the spot. the image of your hair spread out across the desk, your bouncing breasts with every upthrust combined with the feeling of your warmth against hers drove her to near insanity.

abby swore she had to be on the edge of a near-death experience, or some type of dejà vu as she gazed upon you in awe, swearing that you resembled a goddess straight out of a mythology book she had once read. though the memory of the goddess’s name was just out of reach, abby couldn't shake the feeling that she had personally seen a painting she once visited come to life in front of her very own eyes.

your hair, freed from its usual up do, was now cascading around your head and spilling off the edge of the desk like an ebony waterfall. your body, unrestrained, was a breathtaking display of femininity. each heaving breath caused your breasts to sway gently, your nipples hardened in anticipation. the way your skin glistened with a thin film of sweat only added to the captivating tableau.

in that moment, abby could almost imagine you as a divine muse from an ancient myth, a vision of beauty and desire. if she didn't snap herself back to reality, the mere sight might have been enough to send her hurtling toward an orgasm. but she had other plans, and she was determined to make them happen.

without warning, abby leaned down, her left hand resting beside your head to brace herself. as her mouth wrapped over one of your taut nipples, her tongue danced over the sensitive bud. simultaneously, her free hand kneaded your other breast, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. your hips bucked involuntarily, meeting her thrusts, and for a moment, it stuttered her pace, a low moan escaping her lips.

"fuck—baby, don't—don't do that," she pleads, filthy groans slipping pass her lips as her hand slides down to your hip, holding you firmly in place as her engorged clit pulsated with building intensity. she was determined to make you cum before she did.

your whispered invocation of her name caused her to glance up at your flushed, disheveled appearance. the sight was a temptation she couldn't resist, and crashed her lips against yours, the feverish kiss mirroring the urgency of your coupling. the closeness and ferocity of both embraces unconsciously synced your movements, hips rocking in unison.

"fuck! abby, i’m gonna cum, please!" your gasps grew heavier and staccato, your forehead pressing against hers as her pace quickened, breaths entwining. normally, abby would step in and reprimand her employees for behaving too freely when seemingly having too much fun. however, in this moment, she actively encourages it, the atmosphere brimming with an intense hunger for it.

"i know, baby, i know." abby's hand found your cheek, stroking it soothingly as if trying to appease your mind to allow what’s inevitable. "cum for me—cum with me," she pants, her pace faltering as she reached her zenith. her arms enveloped you, her hair acting as a curtain around the two of you. guiding you through your release, the slick of your shared pleasure coated your entwined bodies.

once over, abby’s rhythm ceased, and she collapsed on top of you, utterly spent. the weight of the night's passionate encounters bore down, leaving the two of you entwined in the afterglow.

in the act of catching your breaths, it gave abby post-nut clarity. her cheeks reddened, overwhelmed with shame for her past behavior, guilt gnawing at her insides as she realized how much of an ass she had been. it makes her get up, promptly making you sit up, confused.

with a shaky breath, she pushed her hair behind her ear, an expression that was nothing like her usual confident self. "look," she began hesitantly, her voice strained as she struggled to find the right words. unable to meet your gaze, she continued, "i’m sorry for everything. i've been having these feelings, feelings i-i don't even know how to process about you, but i... just wanted to say that i'm sorry for being such an asshole. it was pathetic."

finally, she looked at you, her lips laced in a pout. her confession took you by surprise, leaving you speechless. it was a side of abby you never saw, apologetic.

“asshole is an understatement.” you finally say, laughing softly, an attempt to alleviate the tension in the air, yet it brought no amusement to the receiver. with a quick gulp to clear your throat, you question, “what kind of feelings?” tilting your head to one side.

abby's mouth forms into a tight smile at your lighthearted comment. "they're romantic feelings," she confessed, taking a step forward. she knew the likelihood of your response, but nonetheless continued. "i wasn't lying when i said 'i love you’… but if you don't—" she let out a shaky exhale, the next words stinging. "I'll understand."

unable to suppress an oncoming smile, you take the sight of the usually tough-as-nails abby anderson, now a softie. taking for a moment before responding with a soft voice that leaves abby confused, "you look pretty like this.”

"what?"

"yeah, you should wear your hair down when we go on a date."

PERMANENT TAGLIST, @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @les4elliewilliams, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @marsworlddd, @bready101, @abbysleftbicepp, @airenaa, @caraphernellie, @astralnymphh, @whore87, @kaiilectric, @sapphicontherun, @mikellie, @nihilisticangelbby, @be3flow3r, @ppuussyyy, @clairoscharm, @lvlymicha, @brackishkittie, @loveyru

ONESHOT TAGLIST, @st4r-b3rries, @h0pe-scotch, @grey-jedi12, @lucidfairies, @luvmily, @sarahduke, @sc0ttstre3ted, @lonelyfooryouonly, @4pascal, @rew1nds, @viswifetotallyreal, @giuliaexe66, @andersonfilms, @ankle-biter69, @ellieslovr, @wakeupitsdawn, @lavdia17, @donalesaa, @xayn-xd, @brunaedn, @fatamoangana, @drunkonnatasha, @freesmbdy134, @sincerely-forest, @mytwoseater, @starrywilliams, @pinkygirliee

[soupdweller]

day 3: googly eyes!

[semisolidmind]

I'd like to ask for a family photo of Angel with their found family. Kissy and Poppy included if you please.

a photo found on the bedside table of an upstairs bedroom of a long abandoned house in the woods. the owner was a recluse who supposedly died on the property.

it's strange... what are those things? like old toys that were popular a long time ago, but; they look too... alive to just be toys.

[drewsephrry]

Drew Starkey the man that you are!!

[andreaheartscats]

Imagine going to the pool with Ellie.

imagine seeing her in swimmsuit for the first time, and her seeing you in one for the first time.

imagine her not being able to take her eyes off of you.

imagine her pushing you into the pool (lol)

imagine her laughing like she never did before while splashing you with water and having fun

imagine her hugging you from behing in the pool.

imagine her noticing how you were hiding yourself under the towel cause you felt insicure and then she kissed every part of you that you felt insicure about and told you how beautiful you looked in that bathing suit

imagine her getting a sunburn and then coming to you and crying like a little kid

imagine her falling asleep in the sun next to you

imagine her bringing water guns and having a fun little water gun fight with you.

live laugh love Ellie Willams

[cassyxox]

𝒞𝒽ℯ𝓇𝓇𝓎.

𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝘢 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝘴𝘩𝘦'��𝘭 𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 ..𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤．

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬！, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘳！,

(𝘳！𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨), 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝟭𝟴+𝗺𝗱𝗻𝗶.

u could say u were in a very glum mood. getting all dressed up for your girlfriend to not even notice—or compliment you.

but instead here she was stuffing her face with her third—no fourth chocolate muffin..you had made them for her..well for you both.

You glanced over at her. watching the way the crumbs fell from her mouth. so messy. and she wouldn’t stop groaning.

𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗺𝘂𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱?…

just as she was reading ur mind. mumbling out a small “god..” before finishing off the rest of the tasty batter.

“babe I swear..you always make the best deserts f’me—never fuckin’ miss.” she gritted. licking the chocolate off her lips. 𝗼𝗵.

offering her a small smile u nodded—“mhm..”

you couldn’t help but stare at the way her tongue flattened against her lips.

𝗴𝗼𝗱 𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿—

“babe?..” her voice pulling u out of the nasty daydream.

“yeah el?—sorry.” u spoke. hoping she didn’t sense the way u were shifting around on the small cloth.

she gazed a look down at ur wrists..watching as they hugged the cloth so tight. she could see the grass peeking through.

she brought her hand to ur thigh. slowly rubbing up and down. “what’s wrong babe?..”

u sighed lowly. not meeting her eyes.

“uhh—nothin’..”

𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻𝘁 𝗯𝘂𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘁.

“(y/n)..” she squeezed ur thigh ever so gently.

“nothing el—it’s 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜..” u frowned.

how were u supposed to explain she was getting u all needy and tense just by eating a muffin.

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙮.

“yea ok.” she huffed. letting go of ur thigh. reaching for the picnic basket.

“fine you don’t wanna tell me cool—I’ll just eat another muffin.”

u tensed. watching as she grabbed her fifth one?! 𝙟𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙨.

“I hate you..” u quietly muttered—well u thought u did.

next thing u know u heard a plate rumble and 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙣 fumble onto the ground. a very angry ellie moving her way into ur space—𝙤𝙝.

“what’d u say?” her voice was low. 𝙖𝙡𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙮. her eyes a dark fade. glaring into ur closed ones.

“huh?—open ur eyes and look at me” your eyes widened. only because her voice sounded so stern?—no.

“see?..wasn’t so hard was it?” u gulped. shaking ur head. ur panties felt too tight..𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧.

her ragged hands reached ur face gripping ur cheeks tightly.

“now u wanna tell me why ur acting like a baby—hm?..”

“I’m not..” u mutter. playing with the bracelet on ur wrist.

𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚’𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙛𝙘.

“not what?” 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙙𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜.

“not being a baby..your one to talk tho—you’ve been teasing me since we got here ellie.” u admitted.

u watched as a little smirk came upon her face.

pushing her hands away. “it’s not funny at all..”

𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙪𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙪 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠. 𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙖 𝙗𝙤𝙬𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙖𝙥. 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙬𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪 𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙬. 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.

she was in mere thought before she spoke. a small shrug appearing.

“not my fault u can’t control yourself around me when i eat.” u froze.

𝙚𝙭𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙢𝙚? 𝙞 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙪𝙩..

“ellie it’s literally all ur fault…my panties are so wet just from watching you eat a—fuckin’ muffin..”

she tried to hold in her laughter from ur weird confession. attempting to get ahold of herself. 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙤 𝙛𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙮?

“..you done?” u paused waiting on her response. she glanced at you again. not even two seconds later a startled laughter filled the air.

“ugh—el s’not that funny!…seriously” u whined. pushing her back onto the soft cloth. she had grabbed ur arms pulling u with her.

letting out a small “𝙢𝙥𝙝..” landing right on her chest.—𝙤𝙝.

pushing urself up. u were met with a cheesy faced ellie. her hands came up to grip the back of ur leg under ur shorts.

“well isn’t this a sight..” she squeezed the fat. 𝙨𝙤 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢. “—mhm..” u softly groan.

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚.

Ellie was just teasing u even more. she didn’t move an inch. except for her 𝙨𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙮 hand. reaching up under ur shorts to feel the outline of ur cunt—through ur 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨.

“ellie..” u whined. gaining her attention. “hm?” her fingers now rested on ur behind.

“want more please” u pleaded with her. the way she wasn’t even touching on ur cunt anymore. but she still had u 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 was insane.

𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩.

“yea?..my baby wants s’more?” she spoke. ghosting her fingers 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 over ur outlined cunt.

u nodded letting out a small—“𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚.“

she leaned up. ur weight being pushed into her lower lap. “lay back for me—and take ur panties off.”

u swiftly turned over getting ready to pull ur shorts down—“ellie what if somebody see’s us?” she smirked. pulling ur shorts the rest of the way down ur ankles. “let them.”

𝙞 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠.

she had u on ur 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 now. thighs parted as her fingers were abusing ur cunt so good. u had 𝙘𝙪𝙢 2 times already..𝙜𝙤𝙨𝙝.

pulling her fingers out she had took notice of ur wet slickness glistening with a little 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚— glow. “such a pretty sight—your so pretty.” she rubbed at ur folds wetting them up even more. “god just…look at it—it’s so greedy for me..look.” she gripped ur neck with her unattended hand. pulling u up to make u watch as she rubbed her fingers through ur folds. letting out a low chuckle as her fingers accidentally slipped back inside u from how wet you were. “so wet I love it..”

u were a moaning mess. and a nervous wreck. 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙠𝙚! anybody could walk by seeing the image of Ellie’s hand 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 between ur upper thighs. 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜.

“wish I had my strap on me..𝙝𝙢 ur so lucky.” she growled. “I need to actually tear this perfect cunt apart” u whimpered from her words. gripping her wrist. “el—please put them back in me..”

𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙣𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙗𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣. 𝙪 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤 𝙘𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙨..𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙤𝙣 𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚.

“keep ur eyes on me—wanna see when I..” she paused with a falter. as she buried her middle and ring finger back inside you.

“oh my—el!” u were humping into her hand. the pace of her fingers adding to ur despair.

“yea?..feels s’good?” she hummed. ur warm walls making a mess around her. 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙙 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.

“god—𝙢𝙥𝙝 ‘think i can feel ur little cunt breaking my fingers..”

𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙪 𝙨𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙯𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧. 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨.

“she’s so greedy” u heard her chuckle. “wish I could put a baby in you—I swear to god.” a low whine left ur lips. 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙥𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪..𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙪 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧.

“els—𝙖𝙝𝙝𝙝” she pushed her hand down on ur stomach. “yea..would be right here.” she mentioned with a slight push of ur belly. the feeling made u clench roughly around her.

“please..𝙢𝙢..-wanna have ur baby s’bad..” crying out. u squeezed ur thighs around ellie’s wrist.

u were so into the feeling not even noticing ellie humping the fuckin’ ground. her jeans getting covered in the moss from the dark grass. her boxers were damp. so wet with her slick.

“yea gonna get you pregnant babe..”

“wanna 𝙘𝙪𝙢 inside you so bad..” she kept muttering lowly. voicing her desperation to 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙 you.

she was close. u were close.

“ellie it’s coming again—𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠—𝙣𝙜𝙝..”

𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙖 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖.

she reached over into the basket full of snacks. pulling out the box of cherries from earlier.

“don’t let go yet..” she warned. pulling her fingers out. a yearning ache filled you.

“ellie what are you—“ “-open ur mouth.”

you were confused. why does she have a cherry in her hand? 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙, opening ur mouth.

“chew it you better not swallow it.”

“but els..” she narrowed her brows. causing u to silence urself. “good girl.” she put the cherry inside ur mouth. her fingers rested on ur tongue for a couple seconds. u bit down on the tasty fruit. the juice swallowed down by your throat.

u let out a soft hum at the taste.

“yummy right?” u looked up at ellie. her gaze connected to ur lips. watching the way they moved as u chewed on the sweet cherry.

you nodded. Ellie’s hands spread ur legs open once more. being met with ur inner thighs covered in slick..you looked away. dripping in arousal.

“so sweet baby..I bet it tastes better than you..” she muttered bringing her thumb to rub at ur cunt softly. watching as she leaned into you.

“I wanna kiss.” she gripped the back of ur neck. squeezing rather roughly. her other hand sliding her way down 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣. u gasped. giving ellie a view of the half bitten cherry. “thought u swallowed it—𝙝𝙖𝙖..” u shook ur head. “wanna be a good girl..”

“yea?” “mhm.”

in mere seconds her lips were on ur’s. it felt like heaven. the taste of ellie and the cherry inside ur mouth made ur eyes roll back. and the way ellie’s fingers were 𝙣𝙤𝙬 —digging in ur cunt.

𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣.

u relished in the kiss. not wanting ellie to pull away but she did. “fuck—𝙪𝙝𝙝𝙝..that is sweet..might be sweeter than you.” she bit out. licking at her lower lip.

u shook ur head. the chewy fruit still nessled behind ur lips.

“oh?..you don’t think so?—“ “-I’m sweeter..” u mumbled. desperately trying to catch the rhythm of ellie’s fingers but she was going so 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝. 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚.

“hm—well maybe we should put it to the test..bend over for me.”

[velvetwilde]

Who has the face like smarty does?

Who has the voice like smarty does?

Who has the choice like smarty does?

nobody, nobody, nobody.

[strawberri-yan]

I have a crack-ish concept with yan!Aventurine. Darling who reciprocates his affection (due to his manipulation too) but platonically because whenever she sees Aventurine she sees a poor kid bullied by everyone. Totally not inspired by the kid Aventurine chibi thing from HSR.

He won, but at what cost?

The real definition of mission failed successfully 👍

THISSSSS

I love this idea sm

[preciouslandmermaid]

cold secrets, warm light (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 1/3

I wasn’t going to write more, but then I was like “okay what if…” and then this story was born. I’m splitting it into parts because this bitch lengthy as hell.

This takes place in the same universe as cold hands, warm heart and is seen as a continuation of that fic. A spiritual part 3, if you will.  

Rating: Mature (Explicit Language, violence, blood/injuries) 

Fic warnings: hurt/comfort, tending to injuries, touch!starved ghost, mentions of murder/suicide (not related to main characters), unplanned pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, forced proximity (haha bitches u gotta live together), injuries/discussions of lack of mobility, canon-typical violence/consequences, reader goes feral to protect ghost, then he goes feral to protect her, mutual respect, lovers to soulmates.

** All the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person. I also created 2 entire locations because I don’t want to use the real world lmao. (Al-Qunbar & Noreth)

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, and no other descriptors are used.

Summary: Soap’s been shot. Price makes the call to bring him to a safe house occupied by an old associate. And when Lt. Ghost crashes into your orbit again, your treasured secret is revealed, and the aftermath inspires you to ask him to follow you into the light.

(Read on Ao3) ||| 🔪🔪🔪

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fuck!” Soap shouts before he collapses into the muddy marsh. Ghost whirls around to provide cover. The ricocheting gunfire and Johnny’s desperate, pained breath in his earpiece fills his head. A migraine pounds behind his eyelids. They’re exposed. They’re sitting fucking ducks out here.

Ghost yells, “get up, Johnny!”

“I’m fucking tryin’” Soap grits out. He crawls through the mud and his leg drags uselessly and heavy behind him. His temples flare. His mud-streaked face flushes red under the hot Noreth sun. A stinging pain slits across Ghosts’ shoulder. He ignores it.

Ghost returns fire, “Price, tell me we’ve got evac!” He shouts brusquely into his comm. His voice crackles like a dry log. “Affirmative, Lieutenant.”

Bloody hell.  Ghost crouches into the tall, swaying reeds, his pants are slick with dark earth, and his reflection ripples in the rich, cloudy water before disappearing in a plume of umber. He pulls Johnny’s arm over his shoulders and lifts him from the muck.

“On your feet, soldier.”  He barks. The helicopter rains hell from above, covering their exit, as the Humvee’s tires squelch and squeal to a harsh, mud-splattering stop.

He yanks the door open, “Soap’s been hit!”

“How bad?” Price demands.

Soap’s face crumples and he turns his head away from Price’s line of sight. “I can’t feel my leg.”

Fuck.

The tires spin wetly. The truck jolts forward, jostling them, as Price’s boot slams onto the accelerator. Ghost doesn’t bother asking where they’re going. He trusts Price to get them the hell out of here and into safety. The wetland fades into dirt roads and tiny rocks rebound with sharp, tinny pings against the vehicle's undercarriage. Ghost hangs onto the handlebar above and frequently checks behind him.

“You’re bleeding.” Price observes. Shiny wetness glistens across his black sleeve. He doesn’t feel it. His body is thrumming with adrenaline. There is gunfire and grenades in his head.

Ghost glances at his arm. “Superficial.”

“Suit yourself.” The Captain murmurs under his breath. They pass farmland and wetlands. Most of Noreth is contained within these two biomes. It’s flat, and warm, and their winters are mild. Price joked that it wouldn’t be a bad place to retire.

“Still with us, MacTavish?” asks Price while glancing in the rearview toward him.

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Good. We’re here.” The truck crests over a small hill and Ghost stiffens at the sight of a woman approaching their vehicle. She raises a hand. Price slows to a stop. There’s a dilapidated barn behind her, its roof caved in, but he notices the flash of a sniper’s scope in the loft. On the side of the barn, a pickup truck is parked, and an obvious metal ladder juts from the truck bed. It feels like a set up. It feels like a trap. He stiffens. His finger poises over the trigger of his pistol.

“Price…” Ghost injects a note of warning into his voice. Where are they? Who is this woman?

“At ease, Ghost.”

She approaches the driver side window. Her head is wrapped in a navy Shayla and her chestnut brown hair peeks from the scarf. The right side of her face is scarred, her brown skin bumpy and ridged.

His chest aches. A phantom pain, an old memory. He doesn’t have a heart. Not even a cold one. He said goodbye to his heart nearly three years ago in a hospital room. But, if he were to think about it, about you, he’d remember your scars. He crushes the thought. He buries it among the rest.

“You’ve gone the wrong way, traveler.” She says, neither unkindly nor kindly. Her walkie-talkie crackles suddenly at her hip.

A voice slices through the static.

“They’re clear. Over.”

The words blind him. He grips the handlebar and his knuckle joints crackle under the pressure. It can’t be. It’s impossible. He must’ve misheard. But he doesn’t make mistakes. It is your voice. It’s you. It’s you, you, you–come back to haunt him, damn him, torment him with a life he cannot have.

You said goodbye. You both did. That was meant to be the end of it.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You peer through the scope one last time, seeing Ghost, seeing Price, and your heart threatens to detonate your ribs and send your organs flying. You scramble on your stomach, intending to rise and join her, but Samira’s voice comes through the walkie-talkie.

“Three in the vehicle, one wounded. Over.”

You bite your tongue. Ice slithers through your veins, numbing them, and your teeth chatter in your skull. You stop yourself from asking how badly, or where, or whom. Samira is an ex-army medic, and her knowledge greatly outclasses your own. She’s needed. And you are better suited here.

“Go.” You reply, “send Agathi to cover your shift, over.”

“Copy.”

Through the scope, you watch Samira wave at them, but Ghost clambers out of the passenger side. He looks directly into the loft. You nudge and wiggle yourself deeper into the shadows. It’s pointless. Awareness ruptures across your skin in equal parts euphoria and dread. You’ve dreamed of reunions. But that’s all they ever were, all they ever could be. Dreams. Paltry. Insubstantial. They were akin to the stories you created in the cemetery. A way to cope amidst the madness and subterfuge.

You bring the radio to your lips. Below, you can hear Samira arguing with Ghost that he cannot go into the barn because it’s dangerous.

“I bet it’s dangerous alright.”  He grouses. You snicker and roll your eyes.

Samira opens her arms to stop him. If the choice is between keeping you safe and helping strangers, then it is no choice at all for her. She will choose you every single time. You know this.

“It’s alright.” You announce into the walkie-talkie. “Go help the others and don’t make me pull rank. Over.”

Samira glares mutinously at the loft. She replies, “we have no rank. But I will go out of the goodness of my heart. Over and out.”

You stifle another laugh. Samira is pretending to be sarcastic and cold, but you know her better than anyone. She’s warm. She cares. You would not be here–you would not be alive–if not for her.

You set the rifle aside, though you are not unarmed as you climb down the rickety, wooden ladder into the decayed, rotting barn. You hear the truck pull away, gravel and dirt kicking up beneath its tires, and you walk toward the sliver of angelic daylight that pours between the large doors. You don’t use the barn door. It’s likely to fall off its hinges if you did. Instead, you push aside several wooden planks nearby and crawl out of the barn. You return the planks to their rightful place and kick grass with the toe of your boot to hide your tracks.

His shadow is the first thing you see. Big and imposing, stretching in the open sunlight, a dark splotch against the overgrown grass. You inhale slowly and prepare yourself.  

You meet his eyes for the first time in nearly a year.

The world stops spinning. Or it spins too fast. It’s hard to say. You feel, somehow, both grounded and completely out of orbit. Your throat is painfully dry, uncooperative, and you swallow around the strange tightness before breathing sharply through your nostrils. Ghost is as you remember. You are both relieved by his consistency and saddened by it. The world will change, regimens will rise and fall, ice caps will melt, but Simon will remain immovable and unchanging.

You observe, “you’re wounded.”

“It’s nothing I can’t manage.”

You roll your eyes. You don’t doubt it, but he should know as well as anyone that an injury can get infected without proper treatment. You walk to the parked truck and open the glovebox to remove the first-aid kit. The truck barely runs, but it’s good cover and makes it seem like someone is trying to repair the barn in case any patrols pass by.  

“Who else was in the truck?” You ask, setting the kit on the passenger seat and snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

“Soap.”

Your heart freezes. You’re thankful Ghost he cannot read your expression due to your turned back. Your mind flashes with images, with memories of MacTavish. Your time was limited with him, but his kindness and earnestness made a lasting impression.

You cannot stop yourself from asking, “how bad is it?”

“Don’t know.” He replies gruffly.

“Classified?” You venture, glancing over your shoulder to him.

Ghost hooks his thumbs underneath the straps of his tactical vest and shifts his weight. You take his silence as an affirmative. He has no reason to tell you, really. You aren’t part of his task force. You aren’t anything, anymore. Not to him, not to anyone. With that thought firm in mind, you grab the scissors and approach Ghost, your expression calm and neutral.

“May I?”

Ghost nods stiffly. You lift his t-shirt sleeve with your littlest finger and snip away a section of fabric that’s caked and sticky with blood. Thankfully, the wound is little more than a graze. A bullet passed him but did not lodge itself into his skin. You click your tongue and smile archly.  

“Lucky.”

“I told you it’d be fine.”

“Not if it gets infected.” You say in a singsong, wiping away blood with an alcohol pad. He doesn’t even wince. You avoid his eyes, focused on the injury, though you can feel Ghosts’ attention burning into the side of your face like an open flame. It doesn’t need stitches. You disinfect the area and tape a piece of gauze. Your touch is careful and practiced and never lingering no matter how badly you want to.

Once finished, you drag your eyes away from the glaring, white square of gauze on his skin and drift toward his skull mask.

He holds your gaze for what feels like a lifetime. You haven’t forgotten the intensity of those dark, mysterious eyes. You recall them in every variation–heavily lidded with lust, intense and serious, suspicious, or dark and narrowed, bright like coffee with sarcastic humor and bad jokes.

Beneath his gaze, Ghost makes you feel as if you are the only object in the universe.

You realize slowly that your fingertips are on his bicep. You tentatively pull your hand away and his muscle jumps reflexively at the absence of your touch.

“It’s good to see you.” You admit softly.

His gaze softens imperceptibly. Agathi’s voice comes through your walkie-talkie, informing you that she’ll be there in a minute, and that she’s bringing along Kaja, so you can speak with ‘Mr. Price.’

You laugh when Agathi calls him ‘Mr.’ instead of Captain. Ghost’s breath hitches in his throat.

You respond, biting your lip to stop your smile, “copy that. Over and out.”

Your stolen moments of reunion with Simon beside the barn dwindle like dry tumbleweeds across the desert. You are grateful for whatever little time you have considering you never expected to see him again. Yet, you are selfish and wishing you could have more time.

You organize and store the first-aid supplies, tucking your bloody gloves in your back pocket to throw them away once you’re in the house. Ghost says nothing. He watches you. If it were anyone else–you’d bark at them for leering, for being creepy, but this is Ghost, it’s Simon. You are – intimately -  comfortable with his gaze on you. A sudden flush of heat burns your ears.

Agathi rounds the corner with Kaja behind her. Agathi is nearly six feet tall and seeing her next to Ghost is impressive and it puts his massive height into perspective. Her hair is short and blonde, and her striking blue eyes are hidden behind her large, dark aviator sunglasses. Kaja is younger than Agathi and a foot shorter. She is olive-skinned and has dark, ruffled hair that lays across her head like a raven’s nest.

“Whoa.” Kaja says when she sees Ghost, then looks to you quizzically, “he a friend of yours?”

You nod. “Old friend.”

“You said all your friends were dead.” Agathi says. She is less welcoming than Kaja and rightfully distrustful.

You smile at her. “They are.”

Agathi scoffs and pushes her sunglasses up at her nose with two fingers. She doesn’t say anything when she walks away from you, but you can feel suspicion radiating from her. However, the task force is under your protection, and she won’t do anything to anyone beyond sneering. Kaja watches you leave with awe on her youthful face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After ten minutes of silence, you see your haven in the distance.

“Agathi has two boys. Sven and James.” You announce. “Try not to brood so much and scare them.” Ghost’s footsteps are light beside yours and you move like wraiths down the dusty road.

“That’s risky.” He intones, voice deep and scratchy.

You whip your face toward his, frowning. There is risk to everything, you think. But you know Agathi. You trust her. You care for her. You know Ghost isn’t judging her, only taking the intel he has, and drawing a pragmatic conclusion. Noreth is at war and traveling with multiple people–especially children–increases the overall danger. Still, despite knowing this, you cannot help but defend her.

“What? Was she meant to leave them behind?”  You shove your curled fists into your pockets. You made a similar decision six months ago. Although, in retrospect, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.

“Besides,” you continue, your tone and face hot, the sun beating down on the back of your neck like someone’s gaze. “It’s easier to think of this place as a sanctuary. A temporary place for refugees to recover before they continue onward.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Six months.”

“Since Al-Qunbar then.”

You wince at his steel-trap memory. Nothing slips by Ghost. Six months ago, you fled Al-Qunbar and settled into Noreth with Samira’s help. The recent conflict between East and West Noreth has torn asunder all the comfort and stability your little ragtag family found.

“Thereabouts, yeah.”

“And is this what the agency has you doing?” He motions with his chin toward the house, “running a safe haven?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth, worrying flesh between your teeth, and shrug noncommittally.

The agency no longer owns you. No one does. You wish you could celebrate this with him, but you don’t know what his reaction will be. Will he call you a coward and say you are abandoning your country? Or will he be grateful that you’re no longer in the line of fire? That you're no longer puppeteering diplomats and manipulating powers beyond your ken?  If you explained your reasoning, explained why, would he understand? Or would he hate you for keeping secrets?

He doesn’t press for more information, and you don’t try to fill the silence with idle chatter. You’re reminded of your long, quiet treks through the fresh snow in Russia. Your face tucked in your scarf, the air bright and sharp, the sky a delirious blue like chlorine above your heads. You’d walk for hours without saying anything.

You watch two birds’ flit across a sky of cotton ball shaped clouds. You hope the conflict and fighting will not reach you, but you know it’s a foolish dream. Your lips twist in a chagrined smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your safe haven consists of two buildings. The first is a two-story house with a front porch, bulletproof glass windows, and peeling, chipped green paint. There is laundry strung up on the line and it flaps like an elephant’s ear. The second building is smaller, the size of a studio apartment, the roof is squat and flat, and the brown paint appears baked-on from the distance. Price’s vehicle is parked outside alongside Kaja’s pet project motorcycle—still in pieces. The infirmary is sequestered and guarded from the main house. A necessary precaution for privacy and sustainability.

Despite the soundproofing and the roaring generator for electricity, you hear Price’s voice. You grimace, looking back at Simon briefly, before opening the door.

“And I’m telling you,” Samira exclaims, “I will not move him! He must not be moved!”

“I need him out of this zone in order to extract him.” Price says.

“He cannot go!” Samira’s dark brown eyes meet yours. “Talk sense into your old Captain,” She gestures impatiently with both hands. A bloody blue smock covers her clothes and a surgical mask dangled from one ear.

You ask, “what happened?”

Samira debriefs you. Soap was shot in his lower back. She managed to remove the bullet, but she suspects moderate to severe nerve damage, and he’ll need physical therapy included in his recovery plan if he wants to walk again. Price wants to remove him and return him to Scotland.

However, Samira explains he’ll need to wait a minimum of four weeks before traveling overseas, otherwise he’ll risk blood clotting and other complications. Although Price is willing to honor and uphold the secrecy of your haven and not request a direct evacuation–he wants to drive Soap to a safe zone and have him evacuated from there.

“He stays.” Samira says sternly, “or he dies.”

Price looks at Ghost and you.

“Lt, can I talk to you outside?”

You step aside to let them pass and approach Samira. You expression pinches in worry and you touch her shoulder. Your stomach binds itself into knots. In your mind, you see Soap smiling and crossing his arms after you defeated him in a card game, your heart alive with mirth for the first time in years.

You peel your words free like dried, white crafting glue, “is he going to be alright?”

“That’s mostly up to him right now.” Samira sighs, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. About two months ago, a refugee died on Samira’s operating table from an ill-fated bullet wound. You hope that Soap isn’t as unlucky. Your eyes dart to the window to Soap and Price, talking with their heads bent low, and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“Can we move him to the house?”

Samira nods. “In a few hours, yes.”

“Good. I don’t like it when everyone is spread out.”

You wait until Ghost and Price are finished before offering to take them into the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two blonde boys run out of the front door toward you. One has the gawkish and long-limbed awkwardness of a teenager, his pale face is dotted with pimples, his smile is wide and crinkles the skin around his clear, blue eyes. You open your arms and the smaller, younger one leaps into them. His blonde hair shines golden beneath the sun. You spin him in a circle, and he giggles, delighted. Ghost is momentarily stunned.

When was the last time he heard a child laugh? His expression stiffens. His breath shudders and fans through his mask. You set the boy down. His big, curious blue eyes look past you and toward Price and him.

“James, this is Ghost.” You gesture to him, “and this is Captain Price.”

“Like a boat captain?” asks James.

“Something like that.” Price responds warmly.

You introduce the teenager as Sven. Agathis’ boys clearly and obviously adore you. While walking to the door, James holds your hand and prattles endlessly about a ‘dragon game’ that he and his brother are playing. Your replies are warm, attentive, and genuinely curious about his make-believe game. He wonders if it’s an act. Another layer of subterfuge, to make the residents of this place feel welcome and safe, all part of your role—whatever that may be. But the moment the thought passes his mind, he dismisses it.

There is something to you that didn’t exist before. The light you carried within has changed, it has shifted, and he doesn’t know if anyone else can see it. He doubts Price notices it. The scathing, self-loathing part of him entertains the idea that you’ve fallen in love with someone. That would explain the lightness to your step and the glowing warmth of your smile. He roughly shoulders the dark thoughts to another dusty corner of his mind.

“And you, you’d be a red dragon.” James says knowingly, his voice filled with innocent wisdom.

You laugh. He wants to get drunk on that sound – your laugh. It bubbles inside his veins like dry, expensive champagne. It heats his skin like a good sunburn. He can endure any level of torture as long as he has your laughter playing on a loop within his mind.

“Why red?”

James clarifies, “because red dragons are strong! A-and they have magic fire powers.”

“Ah!” You chuckle, “that makes sense.”

James asks, “will you play with us after dinner?”

You don’t even pause to think about it. “Of course!”

The front door leads into a sitting room with overstuffed, stripey couches and black iron wood stove with a thick column that feeds into the wall. Next to it, a narrow kitchen is painted robin’s egg blue. A small, ancient white fridge is humming in the corner and the oven has several knitted washcloths dangling from its handle.

The light fixtures are barren, their sockets empty or completely removed from the walls their thin wires exposed like intestines. The file on Noreth comes to his mind. Earlier in the conflict, families blacked out their houses with dark, heavy curtains or bedsheets, or removed their lights to hide from the air raids. However, the aerial risk has since vanished now that Noreth’s only airport is smoldering ruins.

He imagines you efficiently pinning up curtains and unscrewing lightbulbs. He wonders if you said anything to the children, offered them explanations, or words of comfort. His tongue tingles like he’s pressed it to a live battery charged with a thousand questions.

Price is engaging you in conversation, and your voice is amicable, but your body language is guarded. He notices you – more than once – avoid a pointed question and maneuver around it like an Olympic figure-skater. Topics like Noreth’s political climate or the safety measures at the house are encouraged, but any personal questions about yourself or the other women living at the haven are swiftly evaded. Ghost stands near the door, watching through the window toward the road and he occasionally looks at you or the two boys building a puzzle on the living room floor.

“You’re confident then?” Price is saying, “Samira can handle Soap’s recovery?”

“I trust Samira with my life.” You say, steadfast and poised. Ghost’s molars gnash and he averts his gaze. Jealousy burns like acid reflux in his gut. “If I had any reservations whatsoever about her abilities then I would argue against her call.”

“You have everything you need for him?” Price prompts. Ghost almost wants to give him shit for being overbearing like an old, nervous mother hen. He checks out the window. All clear. Samira paces outside the infirmary, smoking. He finds that wonderfully ironic. A doctor who smokes. He scowls. Who is Samira to you? Do you trust her because of your circumstance? Or because you’re teammates? Or has something happened between you?

You respond, “yes.”

Price sighs heavily like the air inside his lungs is a physical object that he can lift and carry around.

“Samira says she’ll move him in a few hours. You’re welcome to stay until then.”

Price grins, “and stay for dinner?”

“It gives us a reason to take out the nice, fancy plates.” You smile easily. Ghost greedily traces the lines of your mouth from his peripheral vision. He can savor it when your smile isn’t direct at him. He wishes he could pull you aside, speak privately, but this isn’t a job where something as childish as wishes get granted.

He realizes he can’t stay in this room, listening to Price make small talk, hearing the soft murmuring and excited chatter of the children on the carpet. He needs to be useful otherwise his temper will shorten, and his mood will sour like curdled milk.

He says to Price, “I’m goin’ to check the perimeter.”

“Copy that, Lt.” Price nods.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You chop onions for the soup stock and your vision blurs with tears. Through the blinking, wet haze, you see Price regard you with warm familiarity and steady, quiet gentleness.

“It’s good to see you alive, Lux.” He says softly. “Seems like I made the right call.”

Your chest warms. It’s nice to see his face and talk to him again despite the shitty circumstance.

“Getting sentimental in your old age?” You joke to hide how deeply his comment affected you. You’re happy to have the onions as an excuse for the tears strolling down your cheeks.  

He laughs. His white teeth flash and his eyes are enfolded by mirthful wrinkles. “At ease, solider.”

You wipe your wet eyes and glance toward the door that Ghost exited through. Price’s eyebrow notches upward and he leans his arms on the countertop. Your scalp prickles. You suddenly feel like a teenager caught passing a note to their crush in class. His perceptive eyes narrow and the unsaid question lingers in the onion-smelling air between you.

“He’s the same.” You explain quietly, shrugging.

“He’s not,” says Price.

You occupy your hands by scooping the chopped onions into a large soup pot and avert your eyes from Price. You aren’t sure if this is a conversation you’re supposed to have or meant to have. Ghost is private. It feels wrong – no – it feels treacherous to talk about him when he’s not in the room.

“You and MacTavish.” Price continues without prompting, “you’ve changed him for the better, I think.”

“Oh,” you say, “that’s good.” You say it like you’re commenting on the weather. You shove as much nonchalance into your tone to make it boring. Ordinary. But your mind spins wildly on its axis. Ghost has changed on some level because of you. And it was noticeable enough to catch the attention of his superior officer, someone who has known him for years. You wonder if it’s the same for you. You wonder if Price can see Ghosts’ fingerprints all over your skin. Wordlessly, you tuck your moth charm necklace inside your shirt.

The necklace isn’t your only secret connection to Ghost. There is a more precious, more sacred secret. And he’s sleeping upstairs. You imagine telling Price about him, but immediately disregard the idea. There’s no guessing what Price’s reaction would be. Or Simon’s. No. It’s safer for everyone if he remains a secret. Your heart aches with foolish, idyllic longing to walk outside and talk to Simon and pour out every feeling you’ve bottled over the past six months.

You redirect the conversation away from Ghost and shelve your deep, complicated feelings aside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he returns hours later, you are peeling potatoes. He admires your skilled, careful hands and the sunset behind you frames you in butterscotch gold and hazy yellow.

A memory hits his skull like a stun grenade. In Russia, you skinned a rabbit in front of him and he called you a ‘proper boy scout’. You laughed, your head thrown back, your hands red and slimy. He thinks that might’ve been the moment his heart started to thaw.

Samira says something to you in her native tongue. You reply with a faux-serious expression but then your eyes crinkle and your smile runs the facade. Is this what you’ve been up to? Making soup and hiding in old barns?

Steam rises and billows from the pot around your face like a cloud. You tap the wooden spoon rhythmically against the rim. His heart squeezes like a fist. Price and Soap talk lowly in the sitting area, Soap in a wheelchair, Price leaning his hip against the arm of the sofa with his muscular arms crossed and his face drawn.

The domesticity of this moment should frighten him, it should fill him with self-loathing, yet all he feels is keening, sharp yearning. This could be any kitchen in the world. It hurts to look at you. It feels like heartburn. He balls his fingers into fists.  

Price’s words come unbidden to his mind: “You need to stay here,” he said.

“What d’you mean?” Ghost said, scowling behind his mask.

“Noreth is a war zone. I can’t pull Soap out, so you need to stay here and look after him.”

“You’re kidding.” Ghost deadpans.

“Not counting ourselves, there are only two individuals on this farm that have combat training.” He knew Price was talking about you, so it was either Samira or Agathi who had experience, though he didn’t know which.

Price said, “There are few he’d trust with his life, Simon. But I know you’re one of them.” He couldn’t argue with that. He’d stay. Even if he didn’t have much say in the matter.    

Sven shouts from the staircase, “Lukas is awake from his nap! Can I bring him down?”

“Yeah!” You reply, your words followed by an easygoing smile. His gaze flickers back to the staircase at the sound of Sven’s careful, yet loud footfalls.

Sven carries a toddler in his arms that must be his youngest brother. He guesses his age is somewhere around 2 or 3 based on size alone. You mentioned Agathi had boys. Plural. It’s hard to imagine a mother of three crossing hostile territory, but he supposes anything is possible within the right circumstance. When you defended Agathi, your voice was filled with flushed pride and indignation like you were scolding him for being uncouth. His lips press together under his mask. He missed that—your spark. No one has a bite quite like yours.

The boy’s cherubic face is more solemn than bashful Sven or inquisitive, talkative James. And his big, round brown eyes must’ve been inherited from his father (who is likely dead, Ghost assumes, since there’s no one else at the safe house).

Sven settles the child onto the carpet and passes him a red toy truck.

“Beep beep!” He proclaims. His voice deepens to rumble the car across the wooden floorboards.

You ask from the kitchen, “Lukas, what do you want for dinner?”

“Mashed potatoes!” Lukas replies and his smile dimples his chin.

Samira rolls her eyes. Her lips twitch, and her sideways pose, and half-smile remind Ghost of a coyote.

“Naturally,” says Samira.

“He likes what he likes.” You say breezily.

You divide the soup into neutral toned bowls and Samira helps you hand them out. Price accepts the meal with a grateful smile. Soap complains about how little Samira has given him and she primly responds that he’s likely to throw up as a side effect to medication, so he ought to eat in small portions.

The soup bowl is between your hands like a tender, reverent offering.

He declines with a small and curt shake of his head. He ate an MRE during his walk-about of the property. He doesn’t have the stomach for anything else. He never could eat much on missions. He ate enough to keep him coherent, keep him sharp, but that was it.

“My cooking’s not that bad, is it?” You say with a teasing, familiar lilt to your voice.

He shifts his weight. His rifle, a comfortable weight, nudges between his shoulder blades. “Sod off.” He grumbles. Your eyes brighten followed by your smile.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He glances to the rest of the room. Everyone else is talking or eating. No one is paying attention to this corner. Some of the tension in his shoulders relaxes infinitesimally. He feels his jaw unclench, the sensation miniscule yet poignant, as he regards you.  

“Quit fishin’ for compliments.”

“Can’t blame a gal for seeking a little praise.” You cover your lips over your spoon, slurping, and mischief illuminates your expression. He watches you. Something low and aching and hardly forgotten comes to life and unfurls in smoldering heat. If you were alone—God help him—if you were alone…

He inclines his head ever-so-slightly, his voice deep and rumbling and dangerous, “consider it noted.”

Samira calls to you in her language. It grates at him. Is Samira trying to hide something? Does Price know what she’s saying? How much can they really trust anyone here? You’re quick to reply and you sidle over to her and Sven, though you switch the conversation to English.

His jaw tightens. You might suddenly come under fire from an ambush. He peers out the window. All clear. The walkie-talkie at your hip is silent. Price looks relaxed. You look relaxed.

However, it doesn’t mollify his sense of paranoia. The flatlands of Noreth are too exposed for his liking.

The property is filled with tall, thin reeds similar to switch or cord grass. It’s massive enough to camouflage his height if he crouches and he suspects the boy—James—can get completely lost in it. But the spongy earth makes it difficult to travel on foot and the lonely safehouse isn’t fenced in.

Thankfully, he did find an all-terrain vehicle covered by a mottled brown and green tarp which meant you had some evacuation plan if things went south. He glances sideways out the window again. All clear.

Johnny pushes on the wheels of his wheelchair toward him and he nearly knocks into Ghost’s heavy combat boots. He balances his empty soup bowl on his thighs. The heat and warm food has flushed Johnny’s neck and cheeks to a soft, dusty pink. It’s good to see some color on him. He was too pale and ashen on the drive to the safehouse.

He’s changed out of his tactical gear. He’s wearing an ill-fitting gray jumper and sweatpants. He assumes the clothes are from Samira because they didn’t bring their full kits. This mission wasn’t supposed to be overnight. Now they’d be stuck for a minimum of four weeks.

“I guess we’ll be here for a bit, Lt.”

“Looks like it.”

Following the abrupt, wheezing sound of your laughter, Soap tilts his head over his shoulder to you, then returns his gaze to Ghost.

“I know Price asked you to stay, but you don’t have to.” Soap begins, “I’ll make a quick recovery. And they need you in the field, running operations, not sitting here playing guard dog.”

Ghost shakes his head slowly.

“Orders came from Price, Johnny.”

“I know.” Soap sighs. He peeks over at you, Samira, and Sven again. Then murmurs quietly to himself, “won’t be all bad, I suppose.”

Ghost pretends like he doesn’t hear and ignores the part of him that agrees.

[ Part Two ]

[angst-cravings]

let you break my heart again (2)

part 1 | part 1.5

summary: you take the leap.

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 2.2k

an: i rewrote this like three times and i’m still not happy with how it turned out, bi foggy, you make the first move, gender neutral reader

cw: mild angst, fluffy, some explicit language

You didn’t know this, but later that night, Karen and Foggy started scheming. Foggy wasn’t dumb, and he’s known how you both have felt for a long while. Maybe they’d try to get you two alone in the office tonight. Or they could stage a dinner where they’d have to cancel. Every plan had a flaw. If you two were alone in the office, you might just end up working alone. Or at the dinner, no one would say anything to each other. Karen decided that it’d be best if she sat down and talked to you seriously. Although you’ve always been good at reading people, Matt was far, far better. You just needed the confidence to confess. Foggy was far less engaged in the conversation that Karen was.

Truth be told, it did kind of hurt. Foggy wasn’t in love with you (he hasn’t been since college), and he always wanted you to be happy, but he always held a tiny bit of resentment towards Matt for being far more successful in relationships than he was. Or maybe he held a tiny bit of resentment because he wasn’t the one in the relationship with him. Either way, the planning to get you two together was bittersweet. He’d be happy for you two if it went well. Or at least he tried to convince himself that was true. 

“There is literally no way he doesn’t like you. He always responds differently from when me or Foggy talk to him.” Karen is perched on the edge of your desk, legs slightly swaying.

“Well he’s clearly not pining over me! And this is how he’s always treated me, it’s probably just because of Foggy. When he gets here he’s probably going to start talking with him about that woman he slept with last night.” 

You glance over your desk, case files strewn about haphazardly. Everything is putting you on edge, including the chaos on your desk that is reflecting your current mental state, “Just like every other night after we go to Josie’s. Half of me wants to stop going just so I don’t have to see it. It hurts, Karen. I just want to get over him.” Your face falls into your cold palms, and you feel like your button-up is suffocating you. 

“Maybe you should say something to him.” You hear her rise and you feel the gentle touch of her hand on your back.

“Maybe… I’m just so scared. I don’t want to fuck anything up.” You admitted, looking up at her kind face.

“I know. But sometimes we have to take risks. That’s why you guys started this firm. That’s why we do so much pro-bono work. And you both are mature enough to not let something like this affect your work.”



And that’s when Foggy enters. Karen stands up a little straighter and removes her hand from your back.

“Morning you two!” He’s cheery, as usual. That was half the reason you appreciate his friendship. It was ironic that his nickname was Foggy, because you always pictured him as the one who could clear the clouds away.

“Good morning Foggy. How was Josie’s last night?” You inquire with a faux nonchalance. You really just want to hear about Matt’s escapades and if he had really gone home with that woman, but you obviously weren’t going to let Foggy know.

“Oh you know, the usual. Karen left not too long after you, but I’m sure she’s told you that. Matt did seem a little off last night though.” He opens the door to his office, puts down his bag, and leans against the doorway of your office. “Oh?” You can’t tell what his comment made you feel. A cauldron of emotions swirl in your stomach. 

“Yeah, after you two left we kind of just sat there as he stared off into space. More so than usual.” Your mouth turned up slightly at his comment. You were a little confused though, there’s no reason that he would feel that way. Maybe something happened that day that you missed. Part of you started to regret going home early.

“So he… never went home with that woman? She was really gorgeous, that’s a shame.” “Yeah, I think he was too out of it to seal the deal. Something’s up with him, and I can’t quite place it. You’d think I knew my best friend a little better.” 

You gasp, faking offense. “I cannot believe you’d call him your best friend when I am right here Foggy.” The grin you were trying to hide to punctuate your teasing creeps up onto your face. Then the door opens. 



“I’m your best friend?” Speak of the devil and he shall arrive. He has on a crisp suit with a burgundy tie. It’s one of your favorite colors on him, it compliments his glasses. He has a large brown paper bag in his hands.

Foggy pauses for the briefest moment. “Yeah, you are. They left us last night at Josie’s all alone, so I think they deserve a demotion of the best friend title.”

“Yeah, well I had a headache, so you’re the bad friend for not being considerate of my feelings.” 

“Speaking of, why didn’t you say something before you left last night? I wanted to say goodnight.” Matt walked over and gently placed his hand on your shoulder. 

You could feel your heart start to pound, and you couldn’t discern whether it was over the touch or anxiety about the question that you didn’t want to admit the answer to. “Uh… well I didn’t really want to bother you. You seemed… preoccupied.” You force a smile.

“Well, you are more important than her. You should say something next time,” Your heart skips a beat, and his hand falls from your shoulder, “I, uh, I brought bagels for everyone.” As Matt shows everyone the bag, you see the logo of the bakery beneath your apartment.

“Thank you so much!” Foggy immediately goes to grab a bagel, and goes to his office, “No rest for the weary! I’m going to work on the Maddison case, you all should get to work soon too.” His office door shuts, and Karen nods.

“I should probably get to work too. I have a lot to do today.” You shoot her a glare, knowing that she’s just trying to get you two alone. She smirks, and you sigh as you watch her escape to her office.



“When did you go to the bakery?” You try to make your question nonchalant, but you can hear your voice betray your interest. “I guess after you left, since you weren’t there when I was there.”

“What, did you want me to be there?” You teased, but you could feel the rush of blood reach your cheeks. You silently prayed thanks that Matt could not see you.

“And what if I did?” Your breath catches in your throat. 

You quickly recompose yourself. “I mean that thought process is valid, I would want to see myself too.” You hope your smirk can cover the way you reacted to his statement.

“That’s where you have it wrong. I wouldn’t see you there,” A smug look forms on his face as you roll your eyes. 

“Whatever Matt.” 

“You love my jokes.”

You grab a bagel and usher him out of your room. “I actually have work to do, so I’ll talk to you later.”



Matt stiffens at the sound of a knock at his office door. He was so absorbed in the case he was reading that he tuned everything else out. He takes a second and recognizes Foggy at the door.

“Come in.” He raises his voice just a little so Foggy can hear him. 

“Hey, uh, Matt, can we talk?” Foggy shuts the door behind him and sits in front of Matt’s desk.

“Of course,” Matt shifts some of his papers, “What’s up?”

Foggy takes a deep sigh, and pauses before he forms his words, “You should tell them.”

Matt freezes. “W-what do you mean, Foggy?” He tries to laugh away the nervousness in his statement, and anyone else probably would have fallen for it.

“I said, you should tell them. It’s really obvious that you like them, and I can’t stand watching you two dance around each other’s feelings even though you share them.” Foggy seems sincere, but there’s some other emotion that leaves a subtle aftertaste in Matt’s mouth. 

“I know, they’re pretty damn good at hiding their emotions,” Foggy shifts in his seat to inch a little closer to Matt, “but I think it’s pretty obvious that they like you. Take it from their best friend.” “Hey, I thought you said that I was your best friend.”

“Well, you both are,” Foggy changes back to his more playful demeanor, “Anyways, here’s the plan. We’re going to order takeout for the office, and then Karen and I get pulled away by a phone call. Then you two will be all alone. You should say something or you’re probably going to regret it.” He stands up, and opens Matt’s door.

Matt can’t get a retort in before his door is open. “Alright, well, thanks for helping me out Foggy.” 



The smell of Chinese takeout hits your nose, and you immediately leave your office. “Thank God, I am so fucking starving.” “Yeah, well, don’t be too excited, because I actually got a call from a friend and they’re in the hospital right now,” Karen says, “So I’m going to go make sure they’re okay.” 

“Oh my God, is everything alright?” Your eyebrows furrow in concern. “Yeah, they said it’s just minor, but I just want to check on them. Here’s the takeout, have a nice dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Karen puts the takeout down onto the counter.

“Yeah, call me if you need anything Karen.” You change your phone from silent to vibrate as Karen scurries out of the office. Foggy and Matt step out of their offices as you start unpacking the food. Everyone has a usual order, and you set them out according to the order.

“Smells delicious. I heard Karen leaving?” Matt walks up, cane in hand, and grabs his order.

“Yeah, one of her friends is in the hospital. I hope they’re okay.” Your face is covered in worry, and you can only pick at your food. You hear the ring of a phone, and watch as Foggy picks it up.

“Hey man, what’s up? Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I’ll swing over right away. I’m so sorry, I totally forgot. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” He quickly hangs up the phone, “Sorry, I promised Tom I was going to help him move. I’ll see you both tomorrow though!” Foggy grabs his food and rushes out the door.



“And then there were two.” The corner of Matt’s mouth was slightly lifted.

“Yeah…” Your heart starts racing, and you silently are thankful that you get some time alone with him. The air is silent and awkward for a few minutes. You swallow hard, and decide to take a leap. It was now or never.

“Hey, uh, have you ever had this before?” You gesture towards your food, knowing that Matt could probably pick up on the context.

“No, actually. It smells really good though.” He smiles, and takes a bite of his own food.

“Would you like to try?” You start panicking slightly, but you’ve already taken the first step. You won’t back down now.

“Sure.” He grins at you, and your heart leaps. His smile has always been one of your favorite things about him.

You grab a piece of your food with your chopsticks, and walk towards him. 

“Open your mouth.” You lower your voice. 

He looks like he’s about to protest, but opens his mouth, and you place it on his tongue. He closes his mouth around your chopsticks, and you gently draw them out from between his lips. The face he makes is beautiful, and he makes a soft Mmm sound as he savors the food.

“This is really good. I can see why you order it.” “Do you want another taste?” You hold your breath. 

“Sure, you can have-” You cut him off with a kiss. 

You can taste the tang of the sauce on his lips, and you know he can too. The kiss feels like a sigh of relief. You’ve wanted to do this for such a long time, and although your nerves are tainting it, at least you’ll have done it at least once. You were kind of proud of yourself, usually Matt was the one with the smooth pickup lines. Yours wasn’t the best, but it was still pretty cheesy. You hear Matt set down his takeout container to pull you closer to him, deepening the kiss. You gently push away, and you rest your hands on his broad chest.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He barely breathes out, his voice so quiet you can barely hear him.

“I could say the same thing to you.” You grin, and his face mirrors yours.

[aouiaa]

oneshot preview

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄’𝐒

❝ A WAVE OF EMOTION ❞

NOT JUST ANYONE’S, never truly understanding why your boss, dr. abigail “abby” anderson, harbors such animosity towards you. that is, until a moment initiated by the arrival of a newcomer to the team inadvertently triggers suppressed emotions to surface, revealing her true feelings.

FEATURING doctor!abby anderson x nurse!reader

THE ONESHOT CONTAINS (enemies to lovers), porn w plot (yay), a word count of 15k+, wlw content, mean!abby, jealous/delusional!abby, mentions of reader’s hair, abby being a book wormy, abby describes the reader as a goddess (once), fluff, angst, different povs, bullying, light workplace mistreatment, SEXUAL CONTENT, mean/softdom!abby, sub!reader, semi-public sex (hospital’s office), panties stealing, spanking, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling, masturbation, usage of a vibrator (once), scissoring, squirting, nipple play, degradation, body workship/praising, overstimulation, usage of pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl, good girl, dirty girl), cum eating, mutiple orgasms, DARK CONTENT, stalking, act of stealing narcotics, cursing, jealousy, alcohol/drug consumption, mentions of inflicting harm on others, acts of frame-up, (none of the content shown here is encouraged to be done irl and the photo below are for aesthetic purposes)

❝ CRASHING ONTO YOU AND I ❞

[seattlesellie]

not about love ♡ (part two)

ೃ⁀➷ read part 1 here | part 3 | part 4

pairing: college!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: ellie and you are practically best friends, and what is a friendship without underlying romantic feelings, unclear boundaries and a very, harsh state of constant denial?

warnings: ellie’s mean in order to cope with her feelings, shes also a loser, sexual tension, smut, masturbation (e!)

“What are you doing?”

Fuck. your heart practically just leapt out of your chest. You dropped Ellie’s phone onto the ground, where it landed with a muffled thud. You looked like a deer caught in headlights.

In a flurry of quick movements, both Ellie and you instinctively reached down to grab the fallen phone. Your hands darted toward it, but Ellie's reflexes proved quicker as she snatched the device before your fingertips could even make contact.

Come up with an excuse. Now. You weren’t looking, you didn’t see. Your finger slipped, you had something in your eye, some fine dust, blurring your vision. You didn’t see anything. Tell her, quick.

Ellie unlocked the screen swifter than a startled cat. Fucking face ID. She froze, a soft, involuntary gasp leaving her throat. She thought she had imagined, for sure. It couldn’t be, her dirty little secret, exposed. It’s like that time Joel caught her searching up “Girls kissing” on YouTube when she was just a scrawny, slightly awkward thirteen year old. She remembered how her breath hitched. How her fingertips felt like they were melting. How he told her that it’s okay, that kids get curious sometimes, that she shouldn’t feel ashamed of herself. She remembered how hot she felt in the face, how she sniffled like an idiot in front of the the bathroom mirror. There it was again. Shame, and embarrassment, and… Anger. Her fists clenched tightly. She was speechless. And she was pissed.

You sat there in stunned silence for what felt like an eternity, a vacant pause stretching out for a seemingly endless five seconds before you spoke.

“I didn’t… I… didn’t see — It’s, Finger slipped and…” You were babbling frantically. Good job for coming up with an incredible excuse. Didn’t see, finger slipped.

Ellie was stood frozen in front you, cheeks as red as a plump, Pinklady apple that laid in the sun for a tad too long. You took pride in yourself for always knowing what Ellie was thinking. When she was sad, you knew. When Ellie was stressed, you could feel it in your bones. It was like a sixth sense. To you, her face was an open book, her emotions unabashedly revealed through every flicker of expression. Your senses weren’t kicking in at this moment. Was it her? Or was it you?

“Why…. Why were you going through my pictures?” Ellie's voice quivered.

Even as she questioned, she did not meet your panicked gaze for a second. Her throat was dry, and she felt like swallowing her entire fist. Why did she let you even come here? You, and your stupid games, your distractions, the way you make her feel, the way she wanted to rip her heart out of her chest and hand it over to you, there, it’s yours, take it. Be mine. She shouldn’t have let you come, but she did. She always did, and now, she really fucking shouldn’t have.

“I was just… On there, Ellie, I didn’t see, I just opened and closed it, It’s nothing just…” your voice was shaky. You always were, and always will be, such a bad fucking liar. Especially with her.

“It’s for your birthday” Ellie blurted out, hastily tucking the phone into her pocket. Her emerald eyes briefly met yours, but she swiftly averted her gaze, fixating on the black Converse shoes adorning her feet. If you thought you were a terrible liar, god knows Ellie was worse. She wished she could claw her short fingernails into her calloused palms. You did good, she thought. Good fucking save. She cleared her throat, and burned her gaze through you. People who lie don’t make eye contact. There you go, Ellie. Genius move.

“My birthday?” you questioned, toying with the soft flannel material adorning the bed beneath you. You definitely just saw a piece of dust and had to remove it. you definitely weren’t fidgeting, not at all.

“Yeah… Just something Dina really wanted me to do…” she huffed, a hint of exasperation lacing her words.

“Like, collect pics of you and put them on a canvas and shit… I don’t know” She shrugged. Good fucking save.

You chose to believe. oh, you.

“Oh… I’m sorry for ruining that” you mumbled quietly.

The fast thumps of her heart slowed, like when she told Joel someone got on her computer and searched up those words. Wasn’t her, never her. You’re so naive!

“It’s chill” she sniffed, her body slightly relaxing. She sat back down on the rolling chair, and tried to go back to her studies. She felt her back sweating through the thick material of her hoodie. It’s chill. She quickly spun to face you. The wires of her brain connected again.

“By the way… uh… That pic of you sleeping? Took it because I thought you looked dumb” She laughed dryly. Fuck, it was so fucking awkward.

You bit down a soft pout.

There you fucking go again, with those sad looks you give her, the ones who make her throat go drier than the Sahara desert and her heart clench. The same expression she imagines when she… fuck. She felt so stupid.

“Oh… Cool” you muttered. Cool?

“Yeah… looked like fucking Snorlax over there… Had to do it, y’know?”

It’s like the shitshow was never ending. What is she going to do next? Call you a stupid bitch? Punch you in the face? Her teacher once told her that kid’s are mean when they like someone. But she wasn’t a fucking kid, she was twenty years old.

“Yeah..." you forced a giggle, nervously biting your nail.

Ellie lowered her gaze to the ground and clicked her pen obnoxiously. She was always one to fidget when she had to distract herself from something, But you weren’t just something. you weren’t just someone. Ellie felt a droplet of sweat dripping, and itching the back of her ear. She really had to fucking go, or you have to fucking leave.

“I gotta go” you muttered, giving Ellie a polite smile.

Thank fuck.

If you stayed there for a second longer, your faucet would start leaking. It wouldn’t have been the first time you would have burst into tears in her room, either. The lump in your throat was growing bigger and bigger, painfully tugging at you.

“Where?” She questioned. Be cool, Ellie. You don’t care. Hide it, burry it.

“Uh — Project” you muttered. You swiftly grabbed your purse and dorm keys that laid on the wooden table. That purse had it’s own story to tell. Ellie and you bickered about it once. She couldn’t understand why you insisted on bringing that useless thing with you every damn day, it was college, not a nightclub. “What the fuck do you even put in there — Oh fuck… thats fucking heavy.” “I’ll carry it for you, you’re too weak n’shit”

Oh how utterly ridiculous Ellie looked holding the studded bag, contrasting her red flannel and ripped baggy jeans. She couldn’t have cares less - She was holding your purse, she was doing it for you, and for a second, just a little one, she almost felt like your girlfriend.

“Okay” she mumbled.

You stood there staring for a second too long.

“See ya…. Bro”

Fuck did you just say?

“The fuck did you just say?” Ellie spat. she looked, amused?

“I said I’ll see ya” you said softly.

You didn’t even know where that came out of. Revenge? What a stupid fucking way of doing that. You felt embarrassed with yourself. The word felt so… silly leaving your mouth.

You nervously toyed with the fabric of your skirt. If only you could drill a hole into the ground, jump inside and live there forever.

“Did you just call me bro?”

Ellie huffed, a cocky smile resting on her lips. There she was again, old cocky Ellie. It only took one thing for you to say. Funny how she got like this just right before you planned on leaving. She was a coward, and a tease, and a fucking loser.

“You call me that all the time.” you stated, that damn pout she wanted to knock out of you laying on your lips.

“S’annoying” you mumbled under your breath.

You truly were ready to leave. Were you a coward too? did the unspoken, undeniable tension in the room pump through your veins as much as it pumped through hers?

“I call everybody bro, Dina, Jesse, everybody. You’re pretty much the only one who thinks its annoying” Ellie said, spreading her legs slightly. God, would she stop that? Your face was getting warm.

“I’m not everybody”

Direct.

The room fell quiet.

Ellie’s heart was beating like a hammer through her chest. Her gaze, serious for once, burned through you. She stood up, the chair creaking at the sudden movement.

You gulped.

You could hear her heavy breaths infiltrating your already hazy mind.

“No you’re not” Her voice was raspy, almost as quiet as a whisper.

She looked you up and down. Animal and her prey. Her palms were sweating.

You swiftly opened the door, and left.

♡

“Fucking fucking shit — fucking shit” Ellie was panting. What the fuck was that. Was she delirious again? Did she take something? Did you lace her fucking weed? She kicked the small dinosaur lego with her foot.

She was throwing a fucking tantrum. It lasted for and hour and a half, before she came down from it, her brain feeling sore and the vein on her forehead pulsing.

“FUCKING HATE HER” she wrote down on her journal until the pen left a hole through the page.

When Ellie closed her eyes, no earlier than 3AM, she felt sick to her stomach. She felt like punching herself in the face.

She fumbles, on and on and on.

When Ellie’s mind started to race with pictures of you, her hand started to wander too. It was impulsive, and perverted, and it happened every night.

Her veiny hand was working like a clock. Harsh circles abusing her clit. It was almost painful. Almost. And it felt so fucking good, too.

Her phone was in her left hand, a picture of you flashing on the screen. The brightness was turned all the way off. If the brightness was low, maybe it would have been less dirty, she thought. Maybe it could save her.

She pumped her fingers in and out of her wet cunt, hissing and moaning obscenities.

When Ellie almost reached her high, she was whimpering. Whimpering your name.

“Fucking hate you” She hissed.

“Fucking hate that stupid face — Oh shit — Oh fuck”

She was almost there.

Her slick was running down her sweatpants covered thigh. She couldn’t even bother taking them off.

“Fuck you”

She felt herself squeezing around her fingers, tightening up.

Closer.

“Fuck, Slut, Shit - Fuck, I fuck -“

She grunted, fastening her pace.

“I fucking love you - fucking love you” Ellie whimpered frantically as she rode her high.

She was sound asleep twenty seconds later.

[poeticpascal]

Home (Joel Miller x Barbie!Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: When a deep sense of loneliness overcomes Cowgirl Barbie, she leaves Barbieland to find whatever poor kid it is that's making her feel that way. Of course, she could never have expected just how much light Sarah would bring to her life, and she certainly didn't expect the things her grumpy father would teach her about love.

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: Barbie movie spoilers, angst, angry Joel (he's insecure and protective), descriptions of loneliness, lots of fluff!

A/n: this is literally my Magnum Opus. Reader is Cowgirl Barbie. I truly hope you love this as much as I do 💖

Barbieland has been very different since Stereotypical Barbie left. Good different.

The Kens have jobs now, proper jobs, not just ‘Beach’ or ‘Surf’. They’re not the most competent workers Barbieland has ever seen; they get too distracted trying on new overalls at the building site or throwing paper aeroplanes at each other in the offices. But they’re trying, and you have to admit, it’s pretty adorable seeing them so excited to head off to work each morning.

Barbieland has laughter now, true laughter, not perfect giggles but the kind that brings tears to your eyes and makes your belly hurt. It has crying, proper full-bodied sobs that rack through your chest, aching in a good way. And it has life. Fervent, overwhelming, painfully brilliant life.

It’s magnificent, even the really hard bits. Which there are a lot of.

Like losing someone you really, really love.

Stereotypical Barbie - Barbara, as she’s known now - had been your best friend. Your Dreamhouse was right next to hers, and every morning you’d float down to the streets together, where she’d hop into her little pink car and you’d mount your pony and ride into town. It was perfect, a sweet little life surrounded by pinkness and joy, and if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you miss it.

You bonded over how displaced you both felt. Neither of you really had a thing, a specific job to do. She was Stereotypical Barbie, and you’re Cowgirl Barbie. Destined to wear dusty denim and cowboy hats for all of eternity; not a doctor, not a physicist, not an astronaut and certainly not the president. Just a cowgirl.

And there aren’t even any cows.

That was what brought you and Stereotypical Barbie together; you both felt slightly unsure of the world, however perfect it may be, and you found friendship in that.

So when she left, that hurt. 

Because she found purpose.

Purpose in feeling, and knowing, and living.

Purpose in things you could only dream about. And what you hate the most is that she was right.

It feels good to hurt. It feels good to have that pain in your chest, that ache in your cheeks when you’re not quite done crying yet. That emptiness that fills the space where flowers had once bloomed.

It feels like shit to miss your friend, and it feels incredible to have loved someone so much that you miss them.

And that’s the beauty she brought to your life. To all the Barbies’ lives.

But it still goddamn hurts.

About as much as the strange thoughts of loneliness have hurt the past few weeks.

You’re never alone in Barbieland; there’s always someone there, a friend, a listening ear. A million other Barbies who genuinely care.

But the feeling is so strong, so heavy in your gut, that all the Barbies and Kens and Allens in the world can’t take it away.

Which only calls for one thing.

“Your friend had the same problem, you know,” Weird Barbie says, walking round you in circles like prey. You gulp; she’s significantly less ‘weird’ now, what with her fancy job at the Capital and the whole ‘awakened Barbies’ thing, but she certainly kept some habits that set you a little bit on edge.

“How do you mean?” You stutter, trying to keep up as she continues to stalk around you and make strange gestures.

“First came the depression-” she pulls down a presentation screen from god-knows where, one decorated with the typical Barbie anatomy and annotated with the same notes Weird Barbie is now recounting. She points to the head, ‘depression’ scribbled beside it, and stops in front of you.

“And then-” she moves again, rotating to the other side of the screen and pointing to the drawing’s legs. “-came the cellulite.”

She pauses, seemingly waiting for some big reaction, but you just stare. Sure, cellulite was feared back then, but almost every Barbie has it now, and it’s really no big deal. “...okay?” you posit, slightly more concerned as Weird Barbie’s face falls at your reply.

“Damn, I guess we really are doing things differently now.” Her surprise is dropped quickly, as she continues to explain what it means to be overcome with these awful feelings so quickly.

“In the end, sweetheart, there’s only one way to fix this.” She leans in uncomfortably close, making you gulp. “You gotta go to the real world.”

You had a feeling she’d say that. 

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

When you arrive in the real world, there’s really only one person you can go to. The one person you’ve missed more than anything.

She was your best friend, and yet standing here on the doorstep of an apartment that looks nothing like a Dreamhouse, you can’t help how nervous you feel.

She’d given all the Barbies her new address, in case any of them managed to sneak into the real world, so she mustn’t mind that you’re here. But she’ll be so different now, so human, and you’re still just a Barbie with a jaunty cowgirl outfit and a sunny disposition.

Your worries are immediately washed away when the door flings open, and before you can even see who it is, a pair of arms are tightly wrapped around your neck and you’re pulled in for a big, warm hug. But you know who it is, and you hug her back immediately, tears welling in your eyes as you finally hold your best friend again.

Barbara pulls back, holding your cheeks in her hands, almost like she didn’t think you were really there. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She grins, hugging you again with a giggle. “I missed you so much.”

“Oh, Barbara, I missed you too,” you cry, not wanting to let her go. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, and you finally relax your arms, taking in how much she’s changed. She isn’t wearing anything pink, or sparkly, but a white blouse and nude pants that look very professional. Very human. Very different.

You don’t reply to her question, unsure of what the answer even is, and that alone makes her worried. So she takes you by the hand and leads you into her apartment, one painted white with sweet pictures on the walls of her with Sasha and Gloria, and some other women you don’t recognise. It makes you a little jealous.

She leads you to the kitchen, sitting you on a bar stool and pouring tea for you both. You go to drink it, holding the cup away from your mouth and tipping it, but she quickly jumps up shouting “no!” and pulling the cup down.

She laughs, making you laugh nervously too, and explains you need to hold the cup to your lips and sip. “Are you sure?” you ask, staring down at the liquid and tentatively trying to drink it, the warmth on your tongue foreign but sweet. 

“Yep! That’s how we drink here. I know it’s weird but once you get used to it, it’s so good.”

You smile, putting down the cup and looking back at your friend. “Things are pretty different here, huh?”

Barbara smiles, nodding her head and swinging her legs where they hang from the stool. “Yep! Isn’t it great?”

“Yeah, it is,” you reply, with a fraction of the excitement. You push a loose strand of hair behind your ear, knocking your hat slightly which you quickly correct into place, acutely aware of yourself in the presence of someone who’s changed so much. “Do… do you ever miss us? The Barbies?”

She grimaces, making you regret asking as soon as the words leave your lips. Her eyebrows sink into concern, and she sets her tea down beside yours, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Every single day. Of course I miss you - I even miss the Kens!” You both giggle, and you’re reminded of how things were before. 

You have to admit, you almost asked your Ken to come with you, but he was having so much fun in Barbieland now that you couldn’t bring yourself to take him away from it.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” Her eyes have welled up now, and guilt hits you like a truck.

“No, no, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so happy for you, truly.” You smile, and you know she knows you mean it. “I just… I feel so lonely. It’s like a big hole in my chest, all the time. No matter what I do, no matter how many girl’s nights and big blowout parties and days on the beach, I just feel lonely. And it’s even worse without you here.”

Barbara holds your hand tighter, and something you said seems to have caught her attention. “You mean you felt like this even before I left? Before the Kendom?”

You nod, sheepish, and her eyes squint in thought. Then, as if a lightbulb has gone off in her head, she gives you her trademark big white smile and excitedly shouts, “I know what you need to do!”

She jumps off her chair, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking LA. You stand there for a moment, taking in the view, the overwhelming sights and sounds of rushing traffic below you. It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

“You need to find the little girl who’s playing with you,” Barbara whispers, watching your amazement. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” You ask, finally pulling your eyes away to face your friend. She nods, her smile just as bright and honest as ever, and it makes the idea of facing this big wide world seem a little less scary.

“I’ll come with you, we’ll go find her, and we’ll figure out what’s been making her feel so lonely.” 

“Will you really come with me?” 

You already know the answer; of course she will. She’s the kindest person you know. Of course, all the Barbies are the kindest people you know, but that’s a technicality you don’t feel like getting into right now.

“You know it,” she grins, and you can’t help but grin back as you think about what an adventure this is going to be.

“How will I know where to find her?” You ask, looking back through the window at the huge world on the other side of the glass. How could you possibly find your kid?

Barbie tugs you to face her, straightens your hat and looks directly into your eyes, making you focus. “You gotta be really calm, okay? Just close your eyes, clear your mind, and find her memories. And then try to figure out where she is. That’s how I found Sasha!’

You nod, not quite sure how this is going to work, if this is going to work. But you try anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and doing your best to shush all the noise and confusion in your head, desperately searching for anything that could help you find your kid. You get nothing, ready to give up after a few minutes of emptiness, when suddenly - there it is, the faintest hint of a memory.

“Dad, can we have a movie night tonight?” Sarah asks, watching as Joel paces the room, frantically searching for his other shoe.

“Yeah, sweetheart, course,” he replies. She smiles, heading over to the TV stand and already searching for a film to watch, giggling as her Dad begins to lift up the couch cushions. 

She looks down, seeing the shoe hiding just behind the stand, and rolls her eyes as she picks it up and throws it at him. “How’d you find it?” He mutters, scoffing as she just laughs at him, though a matching grin is etching its way onto his lips.

He slides on the other shoe, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading over to give Sarah a kiss on the head. “When will you be home?” She asks, and he offers a guilty smile that doesn’t make her particularly hopeful.

“Soon as I can, Sarah. Around 8? 9 at the latest.” She nods, forcing a smile and letting him go, and Joel’s out the door in a flash with a final shout of “Love you, honey!” and a slam of the door.

The memory changes, then.

It’s nighttime, and Sarah lies alone on the couch, a movie playing that she doesn’t seem to be really watching. Her eyes flicker up to the mantlepiece, where the clock reads 10:13, and she sighs. 

Then she stands, traipsing into the hallway and towards the front door, where the key hangs in the lock. She turns it, unlocking the door and leaving the key on the sidetable, then picking up a piece of mail that had been left there.

“51 Mulberry Road

Travis County

Austin, Texas

Dear Mr. Miller, we are writing to solicit your contracting services for our new development…”

Sarah groans, throwing the letter back on the table and muttering “more work, great.” She retreats upstairs, slamming the door behind her and climbing into bed…

You’re pulled out of the memory by Barbara’s voice, filled with excitement. “Can you see her? Do you know her name? Do you know where she is?”

“Sarah” you mumble, still dazed. “Sarah, her name’s Sarah.”

Barbara squeals, clapping her hands together before calming herself and urging you to continue. “And? Where is she?”

You concentrate, trying to remember what was written on the letter you saw. “Er… Texas. Yeah, she’s in Texas. Mulberry Road. Is that close?”

She pulls a face, a yeah… no kind of face, then grabs a big book from under her coffee table and flips it open. You watch in amazement as she scans the pages and pages of maps inside, until she shouts, “a-ha!”, pointing to a spot on a page titled ‘The United States of America’. “Here it is. We’ll need to fly there.”

A nervous excitement brews in your tummy, your eyes glued to the little spot on the map labelled Texas. The spot where Sarah lives, with her Dad. The place you’re destined to find.

“Oh, and don’t get freaked out… but men fly planes here.” Your head snaps up, confusion painting your face, and Barbara just nods at your reaction.

“Seriously?” You ask, wondering if she was just playing a prank. “Is… is that safe?”

She giggles, putting the book down and grabbing your hand. “Yep, there’s a lot to get used to here. You’ll see. Now come on, we need to pack our bags!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

And so here you are, on a flight to Texas, on your way to find Sarah and bring an end to her loneliness. 

Barbara tells you all about the real world. How different yet wonderful it is, how much there is to do and see and feel. She’s at university now, getting qualifications to be a psychologist and work with young girls who are struggling. It’s brilliant, but strange, you think - qualifications aren’t needed in Barbieland - anyone can just do anything. Well, the Barbies can. And the Kens really do try.

The journey is filled with new and exciting things, but it’s scattered with memories of Sarah and her dad that pop up in your mind at random. You see everything; their best moments, their worst, the times they’ve laughed and cried and screamed. 

You can see the first time she chose you. She was smaller, much smaller than she is in the more recent memories, and her Dad seemed friendlier, then.

“Alright, honey. Which one d’ya want?” Joel asks, smiling as Sarah’s eyes scan shelf after shelf of Barbies. 

“You should get this one,” he jokes, picking up a doll labelled ‘Builder Barbie’. “She’s just like your daddy!”

Sarah giggles, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “You’re not a builder, daddy! You’re a cont-ac-er.”

Joel’s heart warms, both at how much she loves his job and won’t accept a vague similarity, and her attempted pronunciation of the word ‘contractor’. 

“Well then, which one, babygirl?”

She spends a few more moments looking at each option, before her eyes widen, landing on one a little further away to the left. She stands up on her tippy-toes, grabbing the doll and admiring it, giddy.

“This one, Daddy! I want this one!” She shows him the doll, waving it in his face but not letting him take it, protective already. It’s a Cowgirl Barbie, one clothed in denim and brown leather, with cliche cowboy boots and a hat. 

“She’s just like you, Daddy.”

Joel pulls a face, looking back and forth between Sarah and the doll. “How in the hell is she like me?”

Sarah scowls, pointing to the cowboy hat and explaining, “she’s a cowgirl! And you’re a cowboy!” 

“I ain’t no cowboy” Joel retorts, shaking his head and leading Sarah over to the cashier’s desk. “When have you ever seen me in one of them hats, huh?”

Sarah giggles, itching to take the doll out of the box, and Joel knows she’ll do it the second he’s paid. “Maybe you can borrow hers, daddy, and be a proper cowboy.”

He rolls his eyes, though the smile hasn’t fallen from his face for even a second. He pays, watching with joy as Sarah scrambles to rip open the plastic, finally pulling out the doll and hugging it the whole way home while making up stories of ranches and horses and pistol duels - she was certainly her father’s daughter.

“Barbie? You there?” Barbara pulls you out of your thoughts, staring at you as you finally turn to look at her. 

“Sorry, I’m here. Just…”

“Keep getting memories, huh?” 

You nod, looking out the plane window and into the skies. She still seems concerned, but lets it go, returning to her magazine and letting you be with your thoughts. 

More memories swirl in your mind; you can see Sarah’s first days of middle school and high school, her most vulnerable moments of crying in her room and talking to you like you were the only one who’d listen, her relationship with her dad and how he’s become more and more distant over the years.

Sarah slams her bedroom door behind her, falling on the bed with a sigh. She sits back up, her eyes falling on the Cowgirl sat on the shelf across from her, growing dusty as she plays with it less and less.

She’s 14 now, too old for dolls really. And yet, that Barbie had been there with her through her toughest moments, and even now, it was comforting to have her there.

“Dad’s at work. Again.” She says, half to the doll, half to herself. “It sucks.”

She dives into her backpack, pulling out a small box and opening it up, the newly-polished watch inside glistening in the light from the window. 

She takes it out, delicately, and turns it around to see the engraved lettering on the back. 

‘No matter what, we have each other. I love you, Dad. From Sarah x’

She smiles, quickly placing the watch back in its box, not wanting to damage it before she could even give it to her Dad. “You think he’ll like it?” She asks the doll smiling at her from the shelf.

“I just… I just want him to know I love him. And that I know he doesn’t mean to be gone all the time.” 

She stands, picking the doll up from the shelf and brushing the dust away, carefully readjusting her little hat and smiling at the piece of her childhood. 

“I’ll give it to him tonight. If he ever comes home,” she sighs, lying down beside the Barbie and taking a nap, knowing she had a long wait ahead.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“Alright, here we are!” Barbara chimes, pulling up to the house you’d been looking for. 51 Mulberry Road. 

“Are you nervous?”

“Hell yeah I’m nervous,” you quip, the fear plainly stated in your wide eyes. What if she doesn’t like you? What if you can’t help her feel less lonely? What if this just doesn’t work?

“Look, I’ve been there,” she replies, knowing exactly how you feel. “You’ve gotta remember that you’re her Barbie. You’re her friend, and she’s yours. It’s all gonna work out. My only advice? Don’t expect her to thank you for making everything amazing for women. Trust me, it does not end well.”

You giggle, remembering the story of when she first met Sasha, and hope Sarah won’t be quite as mean. You feel a little better, and thank Barbara for her support, grateful to have your friend back.

“Alright, I’m gonna go and get a coffee. If you need anything, call me, okay?” She hands you the little flip phone she bought, having shown you how to make texts and calls on it to her iPhone. You nod, thanking her again and stepping out of the car, the nerves building up as you hear her drive away and you’re left alone in front of the house.

You take a deep breath, your boots clicking on the path as you make your way up to the door, supported by a big wooden patio and a bench out front. It reminds you of home a little; your western-themed Dreamhouse, clad with old wooden floors and southern-style windows.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you raise a hand and knock, waiting with baited breath before you hear footsteps on the other side and the door swings open.

And there she is. Sarah.

She’s a little older than she was in the most recent memories you saw, around 16 now. She’s tall, with a purple cardigan on and pretty blue jeans that you’re jealous of already. Her smile is bright, precious, and if you didn’t know better you’d think she was a Barbie herself.

“Can I help you?” She asks, looking you up and down with a slightly confused, but still polite expression. 

You stall, the introduction you’d prepared completely forgotten, your mouth just opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sarah’s expression becomes one of concern more than anything, and she reaches out a soft hand to touch your arm, making you jump.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she pauses, looking you over again. “Sorry, do I… do I know you?”

You stumble again, trying to find the right words, and she must see how genuinely nervous you are because she searches behind you into the street, then pulls you inside and shuts the door. “Come on, you need something to drink.”

She leads you to the kitchen, a beautifully decorated but old fashioned room with porcelain tiles and wooden beams across the ceiling. You trace your fingers across the counter top, looking around in awe while Sarah pours you a glass of lemonade. 

Your eyes fall to the corner of the room, where her school bag sits, and a familiar-looking cowboy hat pokes out. You walk towards it without thinking and pull out the doll, admiring the little plastic version of yourself.

“Oh, that’s - that’s not what it looks like. I’m not… I don’t play with dolls anymore, obviously, I just…”

Sarah’s voice trails off, and you assume she’s embarrassed, but when you turn to face her you realise it’s not that at all. She’s staring at you, then the doll, then back at you, with a cocktail of confusion and realisation on her face. 

“You’re dressed… you look exactly like her. What -“ She’s cut off by the front door slamming shut, and a familiar voice shouting down the hall, “Sarah? I’m home.”

Her eyes widen, quickly looking for somewhere she to hide you, the stranger she’s invited in, panicking as her Dad’s footsteps get louder.

But it’s too late. Joel stands in the door frame, staring at you, then shooting Sarah a look that says, ‘the fuck is this?’

“Dad, I can explain-“ he cuts her off, staring you in the eye and taking a step towards you. He looks older than he did in your memories - not in the way that Sarah does, but in a tired way, like he’d worked a hundred years and counting. Grey curls wash over his head, matched by a silvery beard and sunken eyes, and for all the Kens you’ve known in your life, you don’t think you’ve met anyone as handsome as him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks - no, demands, one arm protectively stretched in Sarah’s direction.

“I- I’m- Barbie. I’m Barbie.” You stutter, clutching the doll a little tighter in your hand. Joel’s face scrunches angrily, and he looks at Sarah again, who just shrugs.

“You’re fuckin’ what?” He asks, clearly unimpressed.

You panic, holding up the doll to your face, showing him the obvious similarities between you. The same clothes, same hairstyle, same eyes. 

“You know, Cowgirl Barbie. Sarah’s Barbie,” you explain, a little more confident now, hoping they’d accept your explanation.

Your hopes are quickly dashed as Joel asks Sarah, “do you know this clown?” 

His arms are clenched, and you try not to worry about what’s coming next.

“No, Dad, but-“

He cuts her off. “So you just invited this crazy person into our home?” 

He’s shouting now, and you recoil, remembering Barbara’s first experience meeting Sasha. You wonder if this is worse.

“Dad, don’t talk about her like that,” Sarah shouts back. It makes you feel at least a little better, but it’s too late. Joel’s incensed, shouting about stranger danger and how you’re probably an escapee from some mental asylum, how weird it is that you know what dolls she owns and how to dress like them. 

“- and you” he looks directly at you now, pointing. “You get the hell out of my home and you don’t speak to my daughter ever again, you hear me?”

Tears stream down your face as you nod, throwing the doll onto the counter and running past Sarah and Joel and out of the house. You can barely make it out the front door, stumbling against the columns on the patio, before making it just far enough onto the grass outside to stumble to your knees and let yourself cry properly.

That same, overwhelming loneliness fills you again, tearing deep into your chest and only adding to your pain. Your shoulders shake, and you try to remind yourself of what they teach you at Barbieland; crying is good, hurting is good. It means you’re alive.

But it really doesn’t feel good right now.

You can hear the faint sound of the door opening and closing, but you don’t really register it, not until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

You look behind you, meeting Sarah’s apologetic eyes, and you try to wipe your own of their flood of tears. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I must look horrible,” you laugh, though it’s forced.

Sarah smiles, sitting down in front of you, knees crossed. “I think you look beautiful.”

And that makes you really smile.

You giggle, pulling off your cowboy hat and setting it on the grass beside you. Your denim jacket feels a little hot now, too tight, but you try to ignore the feeling and focus on getting your breathing back to normal.

“Is it true? Are you really… her?” 

Sarah’s question is soft, like she doesn’t know quite which answer she wants. You only nod, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“You’re Barbie?” She asks again, and you can tell she’s expecting a reply this time.

“Cowgirl Barbie,” you answer, still only looking at your hands. 

“God, you know, when Stereotypical Barbie came here, she had such a good time. Mind you, that was in LA, so -“

Sarah cuts you off with a gasp. “Wait, that was real? I heard about that! It was all over Twitter - Barbie and Ken on roller skates in LA, Barbie in a pink cowboy outfit-“

“Yes!” You exclaim, excited - “she told me all about it! She chose the cowboy outfit ‘cos it reminded her of me, you know. We’re best friends.” 

You’re showing off a little now, but you don’t care - it feels good to talk, to be believed.

Sarah watches you in awe. “Wow. So this is, like, real. This is real? You’re Barbie. Where’s Ken?”

“Oh, he had to stay back at home. Well, he didn’t have to, he would’ve come if I asked him to. He’s really sweet. I just… I didn’t wanna be a burden.” You explain, grateful he hadn’t seen you crying like this now you think about it.

“But isn’t he, like, your boyfriend? I’m sure he wouldn't mind.” Sarah replies.

“Oh, he isn’t my boyfriend,” you giggle at the thought. “No, no, we don’t really do that in Barbieland. Everyone’s their own person and makes themselves happy, no need for boyfriends and girlfriends. Even the Kens!”

“Rad,” Sarah grins, liking the sound of Barbieland. “So… why are you here?”

You reply honestly, there’s no use in skirting around it anymore. “Well… I feel what you feel, Sarah. And when you’re sad, and lonely, I feel that too. That’s why I came, to help you feel better.”

“Oh.” It’s all she says.

“Why do you feel like that?” Your tears have stopped by now, your face left red and puffy. You try not to start up again as you watch her face twist at your question.

“Just… stuff. With my dad. He’s never here anymore, always at work. It used to be just me and him against the world, you know? And now it feels like… like it’s just me.”

You pout, rubbing a hand on her knee. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, Sarah. You always have each other, just like the watch says.” 

You smile, trying to be as comforting as possible, but it’s quickly wiped away by the look of shock on her face. 

You’re about to ask her what’s the matter when a southern drawl sounds from behind you, “how do you know that?”

You turn, facing Joel who stands on the steps of the porch, a hand on the railing. Your nerves set in again immediately, and you turn in on yourself, trying not to cry.

“Um, the watch, the one from Sarah. That’s what it says, right?” You can see that very watch strapped to Joel’s wrist, the glass broken, and he brings his other hand to touch it. 

“No one else knows what’s written on that watch,” Sarah says, and you whip around to face her, “holy shit, this is really, really real, isn’t it? You’re her?”

You just nod, and she lets out a laugh, springing forward to hug you. You yelp in surprise but hug her back immediately, revelling in the feeling of wet grass hitting your back. Sarah pulls away, looking up at her Dad with pleading eyes, “come on Dad, you know this is real. She’s real. We have to let her stay.”

You sit up again, grabbing your hat and standing, facing Joel though your eyes stay trained on the floor. He’s silent for a long time, thinking, before he grunts and you can just about make out a whisper of “fine” as Sarah celebrates and leads you back into the house.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

You stay there a few days, mostly keeping out of Joel’s way. They set you up in the spare bedroom, but Sarah comes to get you most nights, and you stay up together having sleepovers and telling stories.

You tell her all about Barbieland, about the beautiful beaches and all-woman Supreme Court, the Dreamhouses and the perfectly blue skies. She tells you about her life, the latest drama at school, about Brad the boy who won’t leave her alone and Jenny, her best friend who definitely fancies Brad. It’s incredibly exciting, and you wonder why you never left for the real world sooner.

Barbara’s ecstatic for you, of course; she’s staying in a nearby hotel for as long as you need her there, you even plan to introduce her to Sarah soon.

You wake up one morning, covered in a duvet somewhere in the corner of Sarah’s room, a host of her other old toys laid out where she’d been explaining each one to you last night. You wondered if there’s a Thomas The Tank Engine Land, too.

There are voices downstairs, and for all the rules of politeness and social expectations you’ve learned, you can’t help but tiptoe to the top of the landing and listen in to the conversation. To make sure Sarah’s okay, more than anything.

“Oh come on, Dad. It’s just one day!” Sarah almost shouts, though it’s obvious she’s trying to keep her voice down. They both are.

“Sarah, I gotta go to work. How the hell am I meant to keep a walking-talking Barbie doll entertained for 7 hours, huh? You want me to talk about makeup and glitter?” Joel’s voice is thick and annoyed, though he’s noticeably gentler when he talks to her.

Sarah scoffs, and you can’t see her, but you know she’s rolling her eyes. “She’s more than that, Dad. She’s smart, and she’s caring. Just - just do this for me, okay? And as soon as I’m back from school, I’ll take her off your hands.”

You can’t see them, but you hear their footsteps walk a little closer to the stairwell. “Fine, fine. Whatever. You better go and wake her up then, cos I gotta leave in 20,” Joel resigns.

You see the top of Sarah’s head from your view between the bannisters, and quickly hurry back to her room and under the sheets. She enters, sitting beside your spot on the floor and whispering, “Barbie? Hey Barbie, wake up!”

You feign tiredness, lifting your head and smiling at the girl. “Oh hey, Sarah, good morning.”

She giggles, and you’re quickly aware of your bedhead, something you never experienced in Barbieland. She talks as you grab a brush and fix yourself up.

“So look, I gotta go to school today. But my Dad agreed to take you with him to work so you’re not on your own… is that okay?” 

She must see the slight panic in your eyes,  as she quickly scrambles to reassure you. 

“I know he was a bit of a hot head when you first met him, but he’s just… protective. But he’s sweet, really. Just give him a chance.”

You think about it for a moment. Barbara is still staying nearby, and you know she’d come and hang out with you while you wait for Sarah to come home if you asked. But then again, maybe it’d be good to spend some time with Joel/ It’s obvious that a lot of what brought you here comes down to their relationship, and if you can help to fix that even just a little bit, then your journey will have been worth it.

“Okay,” you answer, giving Sarah a small smile. She grins, standing up and grabbing her school bag before shouting over her shoulder as she leaves the room, “great! He’s going in 20 minutes… better get ready!” 

You gasp, jumping up from your little nest on the floor and searching through the duffel bag Barbara packed for you of outfits to wear, all western-themed of course.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Car rides with Joel are… awkward, to say the least. 

He drives in silence, no radio, just the slow drone of traffic outside echoing between you, whistling through the open windows.

His car is very different to the ones in Barbieland. It doesn’t have an open top, the seats are worn and rough to the touch. The smell of coffee and cigarettes hangs in the air, and though you’re not used to it, you still find it comforting. Safe.

You reach for the radio, looking for a tune to play and maybe even sing - you’re sure that’ll cheer him up. But he stops you, not hurting you at all but batting your hand away and finally taking his eyes off the road.

“Don’t touch that,” he grunts, and you shrink back in on yourself again. He recoils a little, like he’s trying to appear less aggressive, and refocuses on the road.

“Sorry,” you mutter, shy.

He shakes his head, resting his elbow on the window beside him and readjusting himself, clearly uncomfortable. Whether it’s you or just the way he’s sat, you don’t know.

“‘S fine,” he mutters, barely audible. You nod, unsure of what else to say after that. You’re not looking at him, though you can see his movements in the edge of your peripheral, and you’re certain you can see him glancing at you every couple of minutes.

He finally speaks again after a long span of silence. 

“So…” he starts, tentative. “Is it hard to get here? From- from Barbieland?”

You turn, though he isn’t facing you, eyes trained on the road. You keep looking at him anyway - this is progress at least.

“It’s pretty simple. First you drive, then you cycle, then take a boat, then a rocketship, then you stay in a campervan for a little while, then a snowmobile and voila! You’re rollerskating into LA.” You grin, recounting your adventure into the real world, happy to be able to share it with him. You’re not sure what it is about him, but there’s just something inside of you that’s desperate for him to get you. To care. 

Joel just grunts, rubbing his thumb and forefinger between his brows, and you’re worried for a second that he doesn’t believe you, again. But he doesn’t press, instead he seems to be thinking, and then he asks another question.

“How do you get back?”

“Gotta do all that in reverse,” you answer, giggling. You’re sure you can see the slightest pull of his lips, the hint of a smile, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared.

You decide to try and engage him, let him talk. “Do you like what you do? For work?”

He just grunts again, and your shoulders sink, giving up. He doesn’t want to talk to you. 

You decide not to press him further, but you can see him continue to glance at you a few times out of the corner of your eye, and there must be something in the air because he sighs before talking, a vulnerability in his voice.

“I used to. My Dad did it, contracting. Used to take me and my brother out every weekend and show us the trade. And when I started my business, that was good. Things were good. Now…” he trails off with a sigh.

“Things aren’t good?” You ask, trying to be careful. Trying to encourage him. 

He nods. “Things are different, now. Busy. It’s a hard business.”

You don’t reply, not because you don’t want to, but because you’re not sure how. Joel doesn’t seem to mind. After a few moments, he pulls up at a red light, switching gears and finally looking at you properly. 

“What do you do? In Barbieland?”

“Cowgirl,” you reply, being the one to avoid his gaze now.

“Cowgirl?” He repeats, and you only nod, offering a small smile and waiting for his reaction.

“So is that, like, on a ranch?” 

He’s switching gears again, cruising through the now green light and continuing the drive, muttering something about ‘almost there’ as you arrive in an upscale neighbourhood, lined with huge houses and cars that even the Barbies don’t have.

You shrug, self conscious, but you answer him. You owe him that. He did it for you. 

“No, just… you know. I wear the hat, and the denim and the boots. And I just… cowgirl. That’s what I do.”

He nods, and for the first time since you met him, you’re not nervous about what he’ll say next. You feel comfortable with him, safe even, and you’re not sure what it is about this little drive that’s flipped that switch, but you think he might feel the same way.

“Does it pay well?” He asks, a playfulness in his tone that you haven’t seen in him before. It’s like he’s lit up over the course of your conversation.

You grin, meeting his eyes properly now, where he draws away for a moment at a time to check the road but lets his gaze fall back on you straight after. 

“Better than contracting,” you sass. You’re not sure where the cockiness comes from, whether you’re matching his tone or you just feel that comfortable with him, and for a moment you’re worried you’ve offended him with the joke.

But then he laughs.

It’s not hysterics, but it isn’t an amused ‘huff’ either. It’s like a giggle, a bright, giddy laugh that spreads across his face and makes his eyes light up like stars in the sky. It’s beautiful. It’s sweet.

You tell him as much.

“You have a pretty smile.”

He slows a little, his mouth quickly reigning in its smile and his chest no longer bubbling with that sweetness it had before. But he doesn’t look angry, or offended. He looks as though he’s not quite sure what to do. Like no one’s ever told him that before.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words quickly blowing away with the wind through the open window. You smile in reply, and he watches, neither of you seeming to notice that he’s stopped the car and you’ve reached your destination. Neither of you move.

And then he says the sweetest words you’ve ever heard. 

“So do you.”

It’s gentle, mumbled so lowly you almost think he doesn’t want you to hear it, and yet it hits you in the chest like a lorry. 

You’ve been told that before, of course you have. You’re a Barbie. Whether it’s the other Barbies complementing one another, or the Kens trying to flirt, or Allen just being the nice guy he is, you’ve heard those words before. 

But you’ve never heard them like this, like they’re hard to say, but they need to be said anyway. 

It’s powerful.

You smile again, so does he. You stay in the car a little while longer, in silence again, but it’s a silence laced with comfort and feelings you don’t know how to label. Until he finally breaks the spell, climbing out of the car and helping you out on your side.

He spends the day showing you his work, how to plan builds, how to measure up wood and mark all the right places to cut it. You learn there’s a key named after Allen, and Joel snorts when you tell him how excited you are to let him know that. He even lets you hammer a few nails, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart flutter when he puts his arms around you to guide your movements, his breath in your ear.

And things are good after that day. Really good.

The three of you spend time together, as much as you can, almost like a family. You’ve never experienced family before, true family, but when you’re sat on the sofa with Sarah on a cushion on the floor and Joel to your side, just out of reach, you wonder if this is what it means to be home.

Of course, you quickly understand what Sarah means when she says she’s lonely. You know exactly where that feeling in your chest is coming from, because the times he’s with you are so fleeting, so far and few inbetween, that it feels like gold dust when you have him and like a black hole when you don’t.

And it’s only been a week before you realise just what it means, these feelings, and how they’re not like anything you’ve felt before.

Sarah reads you like a book, cornering you one day as you play dress up in her room. 

“So, you like my Dad?” She asks, a knowing smirk already painted on her lips.

You splutter for a moment, trying to think of a rebuttal, but you give up because you know she has you nailed down. You know she knows.

“Is it that obvious?” You wince, making her grin spread even further. 

“Only, like, all the time,” she laughs, and you flip down on the bed dramatically, making her laugh more. “You know he likes you too, right?”

You sit up again in a flash, eyes wide and searching hers. She raises a brow as you stare, your mind racing - she wouldn’t joke about that, would she? “How do you know?” You ask.

She rolls her eyes, taking a seat beside you on the bed. “Oh come on, man. It’s so obvious. He always talks about you, Barbie said this, Barbie did that’.” She mocks his deep southern drawl, making you giggle. “And he’s always looking at you.”

You blush - you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed. You suppose a part of you just never let yourself believe he could feel the same way.

“What do you think I should do?” You’re nervous now, unsure of yourself. Unsure if this is real.

Sarah smiles, a cheeky sort of grin that doesn’t make you feel particularly at ease, and pats your knee with her hand. “Leave it with me.”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

She calls you down that night, late, not long after Joel came home from work. You switch off the documentary you were watching, something about the animal kingdom, one that amazed you with all the creatures that walk the earth around you. 

You tiptoe down the stairs, calling out Sarah’s name when you can’t find her in the front room, confused. You hear her again, distantly, like she’s outside, and you follow the sound through the kitchen and out the back door, where you’re greeted with the alluring smell of a sizzling barbecue.

“What is this?” You ask, stepping fully outside and taking in the scene. The backyard, usually overgrown and unkept, is littered with fairylights that wrap around the patio columns and line the fence right down to the end. The Miller’s barbecue is fired up, with an array of vegetable skewers and sausages and burgers cooking on top, Sarah proudly stood beside it in her apron while Joel watches, concerned.

Joel. He’s sat at the little table she’s put together, a round glass one with mismatched chairs on either side. He’s dressed up - his hair looks neater than usual, like he’s put extra care into styling it properly. His shirt isn’t plaid, or denim; it’s a light blue colour that matches the brown of his eyes so wonderfully. He looks nervous.

“Hi,” he says, gentle and soft. Your eyes must be wide and confused, because he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Sarah for support. She rolls her eyes - again - and puts down the tongs she’d been using to flip the burgers. 

“You two are so boring pining over each other. So, I’ve set up a date!” She grins, turning back to the food without a care in the world.

You nod, taking another step forward, looking back toward Joel and not bothering to fight the smile that spreads on your face. 

He doesn’t fight his, either. 

You reach out for the chair opposite him, but before you can, he’s standing up and pulling it out for you, his eyes meeting yours.

Not one of the Kens have ever pulled out a seat for you, you think, thanking Joel and sitting on the little chair. He returns to his own seat, clearing his throat and pouring you a drink; red wine, a new favourite of yours since he introduced you to it. 

Sarah plates up the food, setting it down in front of you in a dramatic waiter-style fashion. 

“You’re certainly my daughter, huh?” Joel asks, pride in his eyes as he looks at the food, which you have to admit looks pretty damn good.

“The student has become the master,” she quips, and your heart melts at the sweet moment between the two. 

“Now, you two enjoy. I’ll be in my room. If you need anything… get it yourself. The kitchen is literally right there.”

You and Joel roll your eyes as Sarah bows out, laughing at her own jokes and giving a final wave as she heads into the house, leaving you both alone.

“So,” you begin, unsure of what to say.

“So.” Joel mimics, though you don’t think he plans to say anything after that. He’s not one to initiate conversation.

But then again, people can change. 

“You look really nice,” he says, his eyes so heavy set on you that it makes you feel flush. You look down, at the old baggy top you’re wearing over grey sweats, and you’re suddenly self conscious compared to his nice shirt and carefully-put hair.

“I don’t,” you reply, embarrassed. “I look like a mess.”

He interjects immediately. “No. You don’t. How could you? I mean you’re literally - you’re -“ he can’t find his words.

You finish the sentence for him. “A Barbie.”

“Yeah.”

You’re not sure why it makes you feel the way that it does. Sad. Like you’re not quite real to him, a novelty. He sighs, and for all the time you’ve spent with him by now, you can’t read what’s going on behind the man’s eyes at all.

You sit in silence for a short while, enjoying Sarah’s food, drinking wine. There’s something hanging in the air, heavy and strange, and neither of you know how to address it.

It surprises you when Joel finally breaks the silence again. “Do you miss home?” He asks, pouring you another glass.

You think for a moment. You answer honestly. “I don’t know.” His eyebrow quirks, motioning for you to continue.

“There was a time when I’d have never even dreamed of leaving Barbieland. When I didn’t want anything to change. But things are different now, since Ster- since Barbara left. Everyone thinks differently, feels differently. It’s a very different place. And suddenly everything that made me love Barbieland doesn’t matter to me anymore. The perfect wardrobe, the perfect house, the perfect life. None of that matters. It’s the things here, in this world, that matter.”

“What things?” Joel asks, and it’s only now that you notice his hand has migrated across the table, holding your much smaller one. You wrap your fingers around his, revelling in the small squeeze he gives you, fighting back a smile.

You’re staring at your interlocked hands when you answer. “Family. Purpose.” 

You look at him. “Love.”

He breathes out, like he’s letting something go, something that made him scared but doesn’t anymore. You squeeze his hand.

The rest of the night goes smoothly. It’s sweet, comfortable. It’s nice. 

Until you put your foot in it.

“Do you still feel lonely?” Joel asks, the buzz of red wine making his drawl even heavier.

You smile, glossy eyes doting on him, hands still intertwined. “Well, I felt lonely because Sarah felt lonely. So… no. I feel good.”

Joel frowns, his head tilts. “Do you know why she felt like that?”

You’re not sure how to approach this with him. It’s something you’ve thought about, pondered for days, turned over and over in your mind with no good resolution.

You know exactly why she felt like that. She told you as much.

My Dad’s never here. He’s always away, working. I don’t see him.

But you also know it’s a truth he won’t accept. Not easily, at least.

“Well,” you begin, treading lightly. “I think she just… misses you, Joel. Misses her Dad.”

He’s confused. He pulls away from you, his grip on your hand loosens. “But I’m here.” It’s an assertion, challenging your suggestion.

“I know, I know. But you’re not… you’re not here. You come home from work late, you’re tired, you go to bed. You wake up and before we can even say ‘good morning’ you’re out the door again, going to work.”

His jaw flickers, in that same way it did when you first met. He’s angry. 

“I do what i have to do to support my family,” he grumbles, fully retracting his hand now. You feel the loss of his touch instantly, in your heart. 

That same loneliness sets in again, but it’s not Sarah’s anymore. No, it belongs solely, wholly, to you.

You try to placate him. “I know, Joel, I know. I get it. I just -”

“Just what?” He interrupts you, and you pause, scared to speak. Scared to mess this up.

“She needs you to talk to her. She needs you to listen to her. She needs you to hold her and let her know she’s not alone. She doesn’t see that right now, Joel.”

He doesn’t reply, just stares into space, arms folded. Guarded.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“‘That how it works in Barbieland? Everyone gets what they want, everyone’s happy?” He asks, agitated.

You shake your head. “No, Joel, I-”

“‘Cos that’s not how the real world works, sweetheart. Everythin’ ain’t perfect. The trees ain’t made of cotton fuckin’ candy.” He sneers, mocking you, and the words pierce through you like knives.

“And I ain’t taking parenting advice from no Barbie doll.” 

That really, really hurts.

And it makes you angry, because for all your faults and weaknesses, being a Barbie certainly isn’t one of them.

“Why are you being so defensive?” You ask, your tone rising to match his. “You know I'm right. All that girl wants is her Dad, not a stranger who’s barely there, not a ghost that puts food on the table but won’t even come home on time for her. She wants her Dad, Joel.”

He stands, slamming his palms on the glass with so much force you fear it’ll shatter. He doesn’t shout, but his words are sharp, pointed, and they land exactly where he intended them to.

“You have no idea what it’s like. You’re stuck in your fantasy world, where everything’s pink, but you haven’t got a clue what it’s like to live in the real world. So why don’t you head back to your special Barbieland and leave the actual living, the hard parts, to the rest of us, huh?”

Tears threaten to spill on your cheeks, your eyes burning from the strain of holding them back. “Joel, you don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do. Just… just get out of my house.” 

He walks away from the table, crossing his arms and facing away from you, staring out into the night. You nod, to yourself if no one else, breaking your strength as a sob racks through your body. You clasp a shaking hand to your mouth, not wanting him to hear you, but you see the way his shoulders clench. He heard. 

He doesn’t react further, though. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t make sure you’re okay.

So you do what he said. You leave.

You stalk past Sarah, wiping away the onslaught of tears that have taken hold now, ignoring her as she shouts between you and Joel. “Guys? What’s going on?”

She doesn't follow you upstairs, choosing to give you space and speak to her Dad instead, you think. You text Barbara, asking her to pick you up, and shove your clothes into your bag as quickly as you can in spite of your blurred vision and the messy hair that covers your face. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been, you’d have only thought seconds if you didn’t know Barbara’s hotel was at least 10 minutes away, but you hear her beep the horn from outside and follows its direction.

Sarah’s waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You look down the hall, where Joel sits at the kitchen counter, arms still folded and head down.

“Please,” Sarah begs, “don’t go.” She’s crying, and it makes your heart hurt more.

“I have to.” 

You try to move past her, but she stops you, blocking the way with her body. “Sarah, I have to,” you repeat, choking on your own sobs.

“Why?” She shouts, hot tears staining her face. “My Dad told me what happened. You’re right. He’s wrong, he’s always wrong. He’s never here, but you are, and now you’re leaving me like everyone else. Like my Mom.”

Your nose scrunches. More tears fall. Your chest hurts. “I’m not your Mom, Sarah. And your Dad… he loves you. He loves you so much. Promise me you’ll remember that, okay? He loves you. I love you.”

She doesn’t stop you when you try to leave again. You all but run out the door, the once comfortable night air now painful as it hits your wet cheeks, ice cold. Barbara looks at you with more concern than you’ve seen her with before, more than when she discovered the Mojo Dojo Casa Houses, but you say nothing as you get in the car. You just stare straight ahead, and she drives.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“I’m so sorry, Barbie. I never thought it’d end like this.”

Barbara’s holding your hands, reluctant to let go. You don’t know when you’ll see her again. “It’s not your fault,” you reply, and it’s true. It’s not her fault. It’s yours.

“And it isn’t yours, Barbie,” she retorts, like she can read your mind. You just nod, unconvincing, but she doesn’t push it.

You hug her, for the millionth time since she took you home from Joel and Sarah’s house, since she flew back to LA with you. And now here you are, at Venice Beach with your roller skates on, going back to the place you’ve always called home.

So why does it feel like you’re going anywhere but?

“Thank you for everything, Barbara. I mean it.” You pull back, wiping a tear from her cheek and smiling the best you can, your own tears rolling down your face like the skaters behind you.

She smiles back, and though she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. You know she loves you. You know she’ll miss you.

And with that, you pull away, pushing on each skate until you’re rolling away from the real world and back into your own. Back where you belong, where you’re supposed to be. Where you’re actually wanted.

There are people pointing, laughing at you as you skate past them, but you don’t care. You haven’t cared about anything since last night.

You can see the snowscape ahead, the next part of your journey. Your next step towards Barbieland and a world of pink perfection.

A world that isn’t the same to you now.

You’re nearly there, about to switch skates for the snowmobile, when a familiar, desperate voice comes from behind you.

“Barbie! Barbie, wait!”

You brake, skates screeching on the ground, as you turn to search for him in the crowd.

And there he is, Joel, clinging to a ramp on the left side of the park with the most ridiculous pair of neon green roller skates you’ve ever seen.

“Joel?” You call, immediately rolling over to him when you realise how much he’s struggling. If you weren’t so filled with the joy of seeing him here, you’d laugh at the state he’s in; eyes wide and legs falling beneath him, clearly not used to roller skating. “What are you doing here?”

“I- I wanted to- jesus, if I could just stand up-” You giggle, and he shoots you a look, which just makes you laugh harder. You help him up, laying a gentle hand on his chest as he nearly falls again, your other hand clinging to his waist as he finally finds his balance.

He’s blushing, embarrassed, but there’s something else in his eyes as they finally settle on you and he sighs. “Barbie, I’m so sorry.”

You’re not sure where to look. At him, at your hands, at those ridiculous roller skates he’s wearing. Of course, you can’t pull your eyes from him, anyway.

“It’s - it’s okay. You were right anyway, I’m not-”

“No, no,” he interrupts, placing both hands on your cheeks and quickly stumbling as he loses his balance again without the support of the rail. You hold him, giggling as he almost brings you both down, though you manage to keep him upright and he laughs right there with you.

“Jesus, this is embarrassing,” he finally huffs, and your head falls against his chest. When you raise it again, he’s already looking at you, with those big brown eyes that you never want to forget.

“I wasn’t right. I was an asshole. A huge, insecure asshole.” You try to shake your head, to disagree, but he doesn’t let you. “Just let me say this,” he begs. You let him.

“You were right. I haven’t been there for her. I haven’t been the Dad she needs me to be. I’m just… I’m just scared. Of not being good enough. Of letting her down. So I work, and come home late, and leave early, and I convince myself it’s the right thing to do. But I’m hurting her. And I hurt you.”

There’s pain in his eyes, and it pains you as if they were your own. 

“I haven’t seen Sarah this happy in a long time,” he continues, resting a hand on your cheek again, carefully this time. “Barbie, I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

You don’t know what to say. You take your hand from his waist, tentative, making sure the other one is stable on his chest. You place it over his where it rests on your cheek, folding your fingers around his own, and turning to press a gentle kiss into his palm. He mumbles something, you don’t hear what, but from the look in his eyes you think you know.

“Don’t go,” he begs. “Don’t - don’t go back there. I want you here. You belong here.”

You look into his eyes. You know he means it. 

And so you do the only thing that makes any sense in this moment. 

You kiss him.

You’re careful to keep him upright, but he seems to have stopped caring about that; instead both hands are on you again, frantic, holding you tight like he never wants to lose you again.

When you finally break the kiss, neither of you pull away from one another, your foreheads connected and breaths intertwined. 

“Okay,�� you gasp, pulling on his shirt. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Joel closes his eyes again, sighing in relief as you finally release your other hand, touching it to his neck and feeling the rapid pulse that beats against it. You’re holding one another so closely, so tightly, that there’s no way he can fall now.

“You’ll come back to Texas?” He asks, like he still doesn’t quite believe you.

You nod again, giggling at the joy that spreads on his face, though it’s quickly muffled when he kisses you again. And again, and again and again until you’re breathless and sweaty and no longer sure which of you needs help staying upright the most.

You help him turn, wrapping your arms around his waist and supporting him as you try to make your way back across the park, and only then do you see Barbara and Sarah stood to the sidelines, watching, smiling.

You realise Sarah has her phone out, pointed at her Dad, and you’re pretty sure Joel sees it too but before he can say anything, he slips again and falls flat on his bum on the floor, bringing you right down with him.

You gasp, cushioned by his chest and his protective arms around you, laughing hysterically as he groans and sits up. You watch as his face turns from pain into anger, his eyes fixated on something ahead, and you think you know what it is-

“Sarah! Delete that video right now!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Tag list: @vickie5446 @skysmiller @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @letmehavemyfictionalmen

[mmmairon]

Hi mairon! I love the self insert comfort you did it was so cute! Would you be able to make some more? Possibly diluc taking care of someone like the girl you did in the last one — maybe putting them to bed because I’m suffering w my insomnia right now 😅 if you can’t dw!

oh, to be tucked snugly into bed by Diluc Ragnvindr