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[tranceindia123]

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[sempersirens]

yes, chef | part four

one | two | three

masterlist

this is their song sorry i don't make the rules (yes i do) summary: eight years have passed since you walked out of joel miller's kitchen, now you have your own restaurant in new york city. you're a household name, respected within your own right - but some ghosts are harder to shake than others. pairing: no-outbreak!au, chef!joel x f!reader content/warnings (spoilers): no outbreak, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, mention of food, pure angst, arguing, swearing, unspecified age gap, cheating if you squint, joel is a prick who can't regulate his emotions, character death.

Fuckin' useless.

You plan on fuckin' your way to the top there too?

You're useless.

Dawn hadn't quite broken yet.

The rattle of the subway shook you loose from the claws of that familiar memory; the one you had to fight during any moment of stillness.

Ladies swallowed by wool scarves and labourers with chins tucked into the necks of their coats littered the seats of the carriage.

You'd hoped the years would ease the drowning; that distance and time would singe away the nerve endings that pricked up at any hint of a Texan accent.

No such luck. The best you could do was filter out any articles including the words chef and Joel Miller on your social media and news apps.

Your apartment was a cosy one-bed in Williamsburg. Most nights you woke reaching for a phantom warmth that your fingers could never find; nails clawing at your fitted sheet in frustration when all you could grasp was cotton. You were grateful for the omnipresent city traffic that lulled you back to sleep.

The first year was the hardest.

He had become a ghost story, haunting you in each sip of coffee or raised voice in the street. You hated yourself for craving his temper; you would've killed to feel the heat pricking at your skin as he barked orders at you.

You missed the games you had played to stay his little secret. Swallowing his poison, letting it decay your self-worth, just so you could be his.

But it was never enough. You were never enough.

"This is an M-line service. The next station is Broadway-Lafayette."

Rising from your seat, you gently shook your head from side to side.

Enough, you thought, inhaling slowly as the doors parted.

Enough.

Only January in New York could rouse gratitude for the stuffy microclimate of the subway. You'd never get used to that first gust of winter air; the one that reddens the tips of your ears before you even have the chance to acclimatise to street level.

It was different here.

Temperature aside, your days were no longer spent walking on a raised edge, willing yourself to remain balanced. For too long, you'd laid blankets over thorn bushes and convinced yourself it was a good enough place to rest your head.

There was pressure; no kitchen worth its Himalayan salt could function without it. But at every blind corner hands were reaching out to steady you, and you them.

It was nice. You were happy - or content, at the very least.

And even if you weren't happy, you only ever had enough hours in the day to clamour your way through service. You hadn't dealt in anything as trivial as love - if you could even call it that - since you'd turned your back on Texas.

It was a short walk from the subway to the restaurant. The streets were mostly empty this early but rushing had become second nature since moving to the city.

A food critic from the New York Times was due to be dining sometime this week, but last night an "unofficial source" you'd fooled around with in college had texted you a heads-up to be on top form this afternoon.

You'd heeded the warning with a smirk; you were always on top form.

Morning beat on with the usual trepidation of pre-service; menus drafted and re-drafted until you were satisfied; table settings scrutinised under three different levels of lighting; reservations checked, then double-checked, for any notable guests. There was nothing left to perfect by the time you opened your doors for lunch.

Your kitchen was a sanctuary of praise and encouragement; only the best went out to the pass, but you did so without raising your voice at even the most tedious mistakes.

"Sauce has congealed, chef. You need to start again, please." You smiled tightly at your sous-chef who repeated your request with a nod.

Allergy notices and orders merged with the sizzling of fish on the griddle pan in a swift symphony. You bit back a smile at the chaos, content with submerging yourself in the music of the kitchen for the rest of your days.

"Chef, one of the guests would like to speak with you." Tom, your newest front-of-house hire, called from the pass.

"Me? Now?" You replied dumbfounded.

"Yeah, he's just had the prosciutto and spinach scallops. Kind of old, Southern, I think."

A familiar feeling pooled in your gut.

"Thanks, Tom. I'll go see what he wants." Untying your apron, you took a deep breath in.

All eyes were fixed on you. Sabrina, your sous-chef, took your apron from your damp palms and rested a hand between your shoulder blades. Sweat beaded at the base of your neck.

"Give him hell. Who even reads the New York Times, anyway?"

A few low hoots echoed around the kitchen as you pushed your shoulders back and made your way toward the dining room.

Your facade melted as soon as you saw him. It infuriated you that he hadn't changed a bit. Only, grey framed his face more prominently now.

Everything else was perfectly the same.

"Joel." You breathed, hovering over the empty chair opposite him.

His face relaxed - not quite into a smile, it was something you'd never been able to put your finger on.

That's what infuriated you about him the most, you thought, you could never quite get him underneath your thumb. He would never give you the privilege.

"New menu each day, huh? Sounds like something I'd do."

"Is that it?" You choked, fighting to keep your voice low and expression neutral. It was so easy for him to get a rise out of you, he didn't even need to try.

"You think I'd come all this way t'just tell you that?"

Before a retort could form around your tongue, you noticed the band on his left ring finger.

You could've been sick there and then.

His gaze met yours, realisation setting into the creases in his forehead.

"I have a kitchen to run. Congratulations, Joel." You managed to murmur before tripping into the still kitchen, hot tears burning in the corner of your eyes.

"So?" Sabrina pressed, evidently expecting what should've been a run-in with the critic.

"Wasn't him." Was the only explanation you could muster.

You excused yourself, leaving the slow mechanics of service to resume in your absence. Clutching your stomach, you pushed your way out into the bite of the afternoon chill.

Had he come all this way to flash that thing in your face? To show you how much better his life had turned out in your absence? Even after all these years, was he still punishing you for daring to love him?

You laughed aloud at nothing, breath forming in puffs of condensation before your face. Of course you'd loved him; you still did.

Eight years of keeping yourself busy enough to forget the smell of his chest, the pressure of his lips against your temple in the middle of the night.

You had searched for the giddy intoxication of his presence in everything you did; working yourself to the bone in some sick, futile desire to replicate the knots in your stomach only he could tie.

All the while he'd moved on and settled down with someone he didn't have to hide.

You were useless, after all.

For the remainder of the day, you'd done your best to subside the embarrassment burning through your bloodstream.

The New York Times critic had arrived shortly after you'd attempted some form of composure; Sabrina had stalled her by talking about the weather while you perfected your illusion of a sane, tempered woman in the reflection of a saucepan.

Compared to your encounter with Joel, the magazine meeting was a breeze. Joel Miller may have crushed your self-worth, but over your dead body would you let him ruin this too.

Once all surfaces were wiped down and stoves cooled off for the night, you finally pulled on your coat and made for the exit. It took a few polite declines to join the others at a bar nearby to celebrate surviving the review, but you finally managed to wriggle out of the social obligation.

You saw the staff off, encouraging them to have a drink for you, before finally locking up.

"S'dangerous walking home alone this time of night." You froze, your back to him still.

Using all willpower, you kept your movements steady and unfazed as you twisted the key in the lock.

Fuck, you silently cursed yourself. Don't cry. Don't give him the satisfaction.

"I'm not walking. I get the subway."

Joel leaned against the low wall opposite the restaurant, his hands idly resting in the pockets of his thick corduroy jacket.

"Your wife not wondering where you've gotten to?" You'd spoken before you could stop yourself.

He cleared his throat, breaking his gaze on you.

"She's back in Austin. M'here on business, she, uh - she couldn't travel with the little one."

"Jesus." You laughed in despair. There was nothing left inside of you now. All those nights spent trying to remember the feel of his chest beneath your head, he had been making a real life for himself.

"What do you want, Joel? You getting a kick out of seeing me like this?" There was no holding back the tears that flowed freely down your cheeks. He looked like he was debating moving closer to you, brows knitted together, shaking his head softly.

"Hey," he whispered lowly. "Don't waste any tears on me, baby."

You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest and tipping your chin toward the night sky. Joel pushed himself from the wall, closing the distance between you both.

"I loved you."

"I was never good enough for you, sweetheart." Joel smiled sadly, his hand finding a stray piece of hair to tuck behind your ear.

A sob escaped your body as you let yourself lean into his touch.

"I thought the world of you."

"You had a much bigger world to find. Look at you."

"I wanted to find it with you. Why wasn't I enough?" You hated the words tainting the cold air around you. You'd never been the type to beg a man to love you, but eight years of repressed emotion and unanswered questions had finally broken free from your bones.

"You got it all wrong, baby. I'm an old man. You deserved more than to be reduced to some housewife. Could've never had the career you do now with me holding you back."

"Don't pretend you did this for me, Joel."

Suddenly, your heart broke for the woman he had left back in Austin. His wife, the mother of his child. Is that all he saw in her?

"There was a time that I thought you were wonderful. I would hang off your every word, seek your approval in everything I fucking did. And it broke me. The day you told me I was useless - I hear it in the back of my mind every fucking day."

He was shaking his head, muttering it ain't like that softly under his breath.

"Then you come all the way to New York, to my restaurant in the middle of service, acting like you're the reason I am where I am now?"

"I was in town, thought it was the right thing to do. I wanted to see you. I-"

"It's always what you want, Joel. The doting wife. The accolade. You're pathetic. I hope your wife comes to her senses and leaves you, and for the sake of your kid, I pray they grow up to be nothing like you."

Weeks passed in flashes of numbness since Joel's fleeting visit.

For the first time in years, you slept soundly through the night. When the other chefs invited you for drinks, you accepted.

Soon, you laughed and drank too much wine without the aftermath of soaking your pillow in tears.

In moments of stillness, your voice was the only one you could hear, and it was kind. You treated yourself as you treated those around you, taking the time to care for yourself again.

The New York Times published their article on the first week of February. You arrived at the kitchen just as dawn peaked over the skyline, only to be greeted by the entirety of the kitchen staff.

That morning, expensive French champagne flowed freely and the article, written by Helen Anderson, was framed and hung above the door to the kitchen. The headline read:

A New Precedent Is Set In Greenwich Village.

The day fluttered by in flurries of pride, each other ringing through the kitchen with a joyful urgency. Phones buzzed frantically from pockets, messages of congratulations you would pick up after service.

At around 12pm, the UPS delivery man arrived at the back of the kitchen, holding out a tablet for a signature for a bouquet of flowers resting against the doorway.

"Chef of the hour, these are for you!" Sabrina skipped through the kitchen, blue hydrangeas and gypsophila outstretched toward you.

You cradled the bouquet before setting them down in your cupboard of an office. A small, cream card poked out of the side of the arrangement. Messy handwriting scrawled across both inner sides of the folded card.

Sweetheart,

I'm sorry I never found the words to tell you how I feel. I'm a miserable old man who's smoked too many cigarettes and never known a good thing in front of me.

You never needed me, but I needed you. I'll never forget the first time you walked into my kitchen. I'm a coward, and I should've told you I loved you all those years ago.

I'm sorry for treating you the way I did. I know I'm in no position to ask any favours, but please don't make the mistakes I did. Hell, you're too intelligent to live as foolishly as I did, anyway.

Hope you don't mind, Helen is a friend of mine. Told me a couple of days ago how your place is the best she's eaten in New York since Bourdain. Wanted to make sure these arrived on time; God knows I never could've.

Yours,

Joel

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, desperately rummaging around in your pocket for your phone.

Amidst the excitement of the morning, you had entirely neglected the copious buzzing of messages and alerts. Unlocking your phone, your eyes glazed over the most recent notification on your home screen:

Time Magazine Michelin chef, Joel Miller, dies at Austin home aged 57.

[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 10

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Warm. You’re so warm. You snuggle impossibly closer towards the source and you hear the low chuckle in your ear. “Cozy, Honey?” You hum affirmatively, still floating under the surface of sleeping and waking. “You want to go on an adventure today?” The voice is back, the low gravel scratching the insides of your ear and sending pleasant shivers down your spine and you bury your face in the warm cotton against your cheek, inhaling the woodsy scent that immediately settles your bones and you feel yourself falling back down into the inbetween. “Honey.” The voice is back and you feel the brush of lips and stubble against the sensitive skin of your ear, trying to squirm away, whining in complaint. He chuckles again and the arm around your middle tightens, holding you close. “Come on Honey, you wanna go on an adventure with me?” You give in and prop your chin on Bradley’s pec, pouting up at him. You’re sure you look an absolute sight, face puffy from the best sleep you’ve had in years and hair a birds’ nest but the look in his warm brown eyes is pure affection as he presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, making you wrinkle it.

“What kind of adventure?” Your voice is rough from sleep as you turn so your cheek is pressed to your cheek as you keep your eyes on his. His eyes sparkle with something you haven’t seen in them before.

“We have the day off,” he points out. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Where?” You ask, a soft smile gracing your features at seeing this new side of Bradley. He looks excited for the first time since you’ve met him.

“Do you trust me?” You nod. “Then, let’s go.” You arch a questioning eyebrow. He responds by kicking off the sheets and you whine in protest, curling tighter against him for warmth as he scoops you out of bed, placing a kiss on your cheek and scattering every thought of protest from your mind. “Come on, Honey, you can sleep in the car.”

“The car?!” That wakes you right up. He shrugs as he carries you to the bathroom.

“I rented a car last night. Let’s get out of here.” He places you on the bathroom counter as he reaches for your toothbrushes, prepping them before passing you yours. “Unless you have other plans?” He asks and you shake your head as you brush your teeth. “Perfect, then let’s go.” You nod, mouth full of toothpaste and you think that you could get used to this even as you find yourself afraid. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to tell him no.

***

You feel your lips twitch into a ghost of a smile as you examine Bradley’s rental car. It’s a newer model, but it’s still a Ford Bronco, in a lovely grayish teal. “Bradley Brashaw, dare I say, you have a type.” You smirk at him as he pulls open the passenger door for you and he laughs as you climb in. He reaches over to buckle you in and you get another nose full of his cologne. Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he looks over to make sure you’re comfortable before pulling out of the parking lot of the hotel. You reach over to turn on the radio and the familiar sound of the piano at the beginning of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” fills the car. Your fingers freeze on the dial and you consider changing the station but Bradley’s voice stops you.

“Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train, going anywhere.” He nods at you and you join in.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train, going anywhere.” As the two of you sing along with Steve Perry you think about the last time you heard the song. It’s hard to believe that it hasn’t even been a week since Mickey, Bob, and you had ventured out to some cute little bar downtown that the boys had found during their first week in San Diego. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but it was cozy and had Thursday night karaoke. Desperate to cheer you up after your panic attack, they’d dragged you out with the promise of free food and dancing. You remember climbing onto the bar as you crooned along to the music, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. You had friends who cared about you. You were in a new place, doing your dream job, with people who loved you. Everything is going to be okay. Back then you were hesitant about that statement, and in a way you still are, but as you sit in a car that smells unfamiliarly new, with a man who feels familiarly new, you’re sure that you’re happy.

***

At some point, the music and steady driving lull you to sleep and you don’t wake until your body registers that the car has stopped moving. You sit up, stretching, as your eyes adjust to the midafternoon sun streaming through the clouds. You glance around the empty car and then out into the parking lot of the Giant Food. You glance into your lap to see Bradley’s folded flannel has fallen there where it has to have been under your head. Your heart aches at the idea of him pulling over to tuck it under there so you wouldn’t wake up with a crick in your neck. The car isn’t too cold so you know Bradley can’t have been gone for long. You go to text him and ask if you should come in when you realize you don’t even have his number. Your laugh punctuates the comfortable silence. Then a chirp and click echo through the car and Bradley pulls open the door. “Hey, look who’s awake.” You give him a rueful smile as you toy with the fabric of his shirt in your lap. “You sleep okay, Honey?”

“I don’t have your phone number.” You blurt before you can think twice and he blinks, surprised before laughing and the warmth of the sound rumbling from deep in his chest chases away any of the cold he’s letting through the open car door.

“Yeah, I guess you don’t. Hold these for me?” He hands you a huge bouquet of daisies and you take them from him, the soft floral scent filling the car as you hold them while he climbs in beside you. When his other hand comes into view your heart aches in the best way as the second bouquet comes into view. The sunflowers light your face up the same way that they brighten the car. He hands those to you too as he buckles himself in and you inhale their scent, feeling warmth spread to the tips of your toes.

“Thank you, Bradley.” You say shyly as he looks over at you with your nose buried in the flowers.

“Of course, Honey. I’ll get you flowers whenever you want.” You feel your cheeks heat at his sweet words and he chuckles. “Here, give me your phone.” You shift both bouquets to one hand so you can pass it to him. He types on it before handing it back. “There, now you have my number, and whenever you’re ready, I’ll have yours.” You hold his gaze and you know he’s serious. You swallow hard before tapping the screen and Bradley’s pocket buzzes. He doesn’t break your gaze as he fishes it out, taking the call and raising it to his ear. “Hey Honey,” you raise your phone to yours.

“Hey,” you hate how breathless you sound. He smiles at you and you hope he doesn’t expect you to say anything else because you’re speechless. He hangs up the phone then, going to turn the car on and you struggle to breathe at the flex of his forearm. “So, where are we?” You ask as he pulls out of the parking lot, tearing your gaze away to the window as you look around for any sort of landmarks.

“Virginia.” He answers, nonchalantly. You whip around to gape at him.

“VIRGINIA?!”

“Well more specifically, Virginia Beach.” He still seems unphased as you continue to gawk at him. “Honey, I would stop gaping like a fish unless you want me to throw you into the ocean.” You shut your mouth, scowling at him.

“What’re we doing in Virginia Beach, anyway?” You ask, skeptically, as you turn back to the window.

Your breath catches in your throat as Bradley turns off the main road and your eyes fall on your apparent destination as it comes into view, the question dying on your lips. Bradley’s silent as the car passes under the wrought iron archway and along the paved path that leads to a mostly empty parking lot. You feel a lump in your throat as Bradley parks the car. You watch his hands grip the steering wheel as if for dear life before he finally lets it go and you see the afternoon sun dance off the sweaty prints he leaves behind. He climbs out of the car, coming around to your side and you’re frozen as he opens the door for you, holding out his hand for you to take. In any other situation you know it would be chivalrous but you know right now he needs you. You place the sunflowers on the dashboard, shifting the daisies in your arms so you can take his outstretched hand in yours. It’s sticky and clammy with sweat but you just give it what you hope is a comforting squeeze.

Bradley’s steps are hesitant as he leads you through the rows of headstones until you stop beside a pair of matching ones. They look like they haven’t seen much attention recently so you let go of Bradley’s hand as you reach out to sweep off the thin layer of grime on the top of one of them. You frown before handing Bradley the flowers, squatting down, digging in your purse for your tissues, and gently wetting them with your hand sanitizer as you carefully work to clean off the headstones. Your fingers drift over the names with reverence. Nick Bradshaw and Carole Bradshaw.

When you’re satisfied with the work you’ve been able to do, you stand, ignoring the crackle of your knees and you turn to take the flowers back from Bradley to see him watching you. Tears are sliding silently down his cheeks as you wipe your fingers clean. You see it then like you’re looking through a window into his very soul, the boy who stood here far too young the way you once had and you reach for his hands, tentatively. Just as your fingers brush his, he pulls you into his arms and lets out a shuddering breath as he pulls you against his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, holding him as close as you can as you feel his shoulders shake. You hold him as he falls apart in your arms and when you look up, you see him watching you. Your own eyes are swimming with tears and as you watch his eyes fall to glance at your lips you realize that you were right. You’ll never be able to tell him no. You reach up then, planting your lips on his. It’s not a kiss, per se. Not really. Just another layer of closeness that the two of you are desperate for as the emotions overwhelm you. Neither of you moves to deepen it or pull away, you stand there, lips pressed together in silence, passing unspoken words between each other.

***

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand there until a shiver runs down your spine as the wind picks up and Bradley breaks the kiss, pulling you closer into his arms in an attempt to shield you from the cold. He digs around in the pocket of his coat, pulling out a beanie that he plops onto your head, making sure to pull it down to cover your ears. You give him an appreciative look as you wiggle out of his grasp even as he tries to pull you back. You wriggle free and dig into your pockets for the gloves he bought you before reaching for the flowers, sliding two daisies free. The first you place on his father’s headstone and you remember the family photo in his living room. Your heart aches at the thought of the ruddy-cheeky toddler standing here as his father was taken from him. “Thank you for being Bradley’s dad. You may not have gotten to see the man he grew up to be, but I know you’d be so proud of him.” You turn to Carole’s tombstone next and you feel your vision blur as you lay the next daisy on her stone. “Thank you, for raising a good man. He likes to pretend he’s not, but it comes through because you did such a good job. He must have been the luckiest person in the world to have you as a mom. And,...” you hesitate before continuing. “Thank you for showing him how to love because he’s teaching me every day, and I didn’t think I ever would again.” A sob breaks through your lips then because you wish you’d been able to meet her. The woman with the golden curls who had such a bright smile. You want to be strong for Bradley right now but now you just want your mother. You miss her. You really, truly, miss her. You just want to be able to pick up the phone and call her and hear her laugh again as she asks what she’s done to earn a call from her lovely daughter today.

You’re falling apart at the seams and all he does is pull you close. Your back is against his chest as you can’t tear your eyes away from the headstones and the wind tears at the two of you, pulling at your clothes and your heartstrings as Bradley and you cry together, letting the shared grief hold you together as you fall apart.

***

The sky is starting to pinken when the two of you finally start to make your way back to the car. The daisies have been left with Bradley’s parents as you leave the cemetery. The car is peacefully quiet as Bradley drives. Neither of you seems quite ready to talk about it yet so you don’t push.

“You okay if we make one more stop?” Bradley asks, finally, as he turns off the main road towards what looks like a residential neighborhood.

“Sure, of course.” You ignore how raw your voice sounds from crying but Bradley’s hand reaches across the console to hold yours. You’re quiet until he pulls up in front of a house. It's been painted a pale yellow but the pain is worn and faded, chipping in places. The fence looks freshly-painted and the yard looks maintained as the two of you climb out of the car. Bradley leads you up the path to the front door where he hesitates. You’re about to ask when a voice from behind the two of you causes you to turn.

“Bradley Bradshaw is that you?” The two of you turn around to see a little old woman standing at the fence a shocked look on her face as she takes in the sight of Bradley.

“Mrs. Peterson?” He asks, equally surprised. She gasps and shuffles up the path as he descends the stairs to meet her halfway. She reaches up to cup his cheeks as she takes him in. “After all these years?” She sighs as she looks him over. You linger on the porch awkwardly as you watch the sweet reunion. “You’ve finally come home, boy?” He nods, his voice thick with emotion as he answers.

“Just for a quick visit. I wanted to see Mom.” She pinches his cheek at that.

“She’d be furious that you were gone so long.” She says wistfully as she kisses the place where she pinched. “But, she’d be happy to have you home all the same.” She hugs him and he leans down so she can get a good grip around his neck. “John and I have kept the house up like you asked, and I get those Christmas cards you send every year.” She gives him a sweet look as she releases him, patting his cheek. “How long are you here for?” Bradley looks chagrinned as he explains,

“We have to be back in D.C. by tomorrow morning at the latest. She shakes her head a bemused smile on her cheek.

“You come back soon now, you hear me? And next time you’re staying for dinner.” He smiles and nods as she lets him go. Then she turns to you and you start in surprise as she fixes you with a warm smile. “And don’t you be a stranger either, you hear? I’m no fool. The first time this boy comes home in twenty years and it’s with a young lady.” She turns to Bradley and fixes him with a hard look. “You treat her right, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bradley promises and you smile before replying yourself.

“Don’t worry ma’am, he always does.” The two of them turn to you and you catch the warm affection in Bradley’s eyes as he looks at you. Mrs. Peterson leaves you then, walking back down the path and to the house next door. Bradley comes back up to the porch, taking your hand in his as he looks at the sides of the house.

“The house needs a fresh coat of paint.” He frowns.

“I can make some calls when we get back if you want.” You offer and he gives you a blinding smile before turning back to the front door. You see him hesitate and squeeze his hand gently. “We don’t have to go in if you’re not ready.” You know how hard this must be for him. Even getting this far has been a feat for him, one that you understand all too well. “How long has it been since you’ve been here?” You ask, trying to distract him from the task at hand.

“Twenty years.” He says, swallowing hard.

“Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters most.” You whisper back and he turns to look at you.

“Thank you, for coming with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” You assure him as you squeeze his hand again.

“I don’t think I can do it today.” He says finally and you nod.

“And that’s okay. We can come back, it’ll still be here.” You lean your head against his shoulder, gently. “Maybe in the summer? We can come back, go to the beach, maybe repaint the house ourselves. I’m sure it’s beautiful here then.” He nods, absently. “Should we go back?” You ask and when he nods again, you lead him back to the car. He doesn’t seem ready to drive yet so you lead him to the passenger side, taking the keys from the pocket of his coat.

You slide into the driver’s seat, typing something into your phone as you shift the car into drive. “Where are we going?” Bradley asks and you smile, turning to him.

“Do you trust me?” He nods, smiling absently at the echo of his words to you this morning and you set off.

***

You pull into the abandoned parking lot excitedly. In the summer you’re sure that it’s packed to bursting but with the clouds in the sky and the chill in the air promising snow there’s no one else out. Jumping out of the car you take in deep lungfuls of the salty air. It reminds you of home. Bridgeport is on the ocean too and it's been too long since you’ve seen the Atlantic Ocean. The giddiness takes over and you hardly wait for Bradley to follow you before you’re racing for the sand-covered walkway that leads to the beach. Your heels catch in the sand as you descend off a rickety set of stairs and you let out a laugh before bending to take them off. You pull off your socks before gasping at the cold sand under your bare feet.

“Honey, put your socks back on, you’re going to freeze your toes!” Bradley calls, voice firm but you let out a shriek-like giggle as you sprint off across the cold sand towards the water. “Honey!” Bradley calls you out but you keep running, silently daring him to chase you. You don’t look behind you until he’s scooping up up front behind and you let out a shriek. “Now where do you think you’re going, Honey, hmm?” He rumbles into your ear but you can hear the smile in his voice.

“To touch the water, obviously.” You pout up at him, blowing stray pieces of hair out of your face as he rolls his eyes.

“You absolutely are not.” He scolds and you squirm in his arms, trying to get free but he just tightens his grip and you’re not getting anywhere now. “You’ll freeze every single one of those pretty fingers and toes off.” You bat at his face and he catches one of your fingers in his teeth gently, not enough to hurt you. You stop your struggling and he releases the digit. “And where are the gloves I bought you.” You shrug, eyes dancing with humor. “Absolutely ridiculous.” He says, shaking his head.

“I wanna touch the water.” You announce and he shakes his head.

“You heard me, Honey, absolutely not. It’s going to be freezing.”

“I said I wanted to touch it, not go for a swim!” You argue and he takes a long look at your pouting face before he sighs and starts walking towards the water and you grin, knowing you’ve won. You lean up and kiss his cheek loudly and he rolls his eyes. When you get close enough to the surf he squats down, not letting you down and you reach down to touch the water. It is, indeed, freezing. A shiver runs down your spine and Bradly pulls you closer. He stands back up and jogs further up the beach where the water can’t reach and he sits down in the sand, you in his lap. He holds out one hand in silent request and you relinquish your socks to him as he reaches down with the other to rub your exposed toes, and you hiss as he warms them up before slipping your socks back on. You squiggle out of his lap as he lets your feet go and he scowls at you.

“Honey, where do you think you’re going?” You look back at him like he’s insane.

“Where do you think I’m going? We’re at the beach, we have to build a sandman!” He groans, getting up and following you as you scoot closer to the water but still staying far enough away that your socks stay dry. He’s carrying your heels now and watches as you squat down to make a small snowman out of damp sand. You pick around and find some shell fragments for eyes and start looking around for twigs to use as arms, when Bradley reaches past you, pulling two toothpicks from his pocket that you recognize from the pizza place. He pokes them into the sandman as makeshift arms and you let out a noise of approval. “When he washes away, he’ll bring us good dreams.” You explain. “But if you leave the beach without making one, you’ll have nightmares. At least, that’s what my mom used to say.” You have a rueful smile on your face as you turn to him. He nods in understanding before standing and reaching a hand out to pull you up after him. This time you don’t complain when he swings you into his arms, crossing the sand with you in his arms as the sun creeps down the sky towards the horizon.

As the two of you drive back to D.C. in the comfortable silence that you’ve come to associate with being with Bradley, Cyndie Lauper’s voice reminds the two of you that “If you're lost you can look and you will find me, time after time. If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting, time after time.”

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Tara Propper has earned her MFA in poetry and PhD in English. Her poetry has appeared in the Southampton Review, Janus Unbound, Literature Today, Ekstasis Magazine, Shuili Magazine, Taj Mahal International Literary Journal, Moveable Type, Vagabond City Press, and P – Queue. Her scholarly work has been published in Composition Forum, Dialogue: The Interdisciplinary Journal of Popular Culture and Pedagogy, and Resources for American Literary Study. She is currently an Assistant Professor of English in the Department of Literature and Languages at the University of Texas at Tyler.

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[la-petite-lapin]

Unlikely Friendships | Part Two

Unlikely Friendships masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x single mum!reader Word Count: 3.4k Series warnings (may update between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, single mother reader, mentions of violence, cannon-typical violence, injury description, shitty parenting (not by reader), swearing

He knew that it was pathetic. That the one and only thought on his mind as the field medics battled to patch up the gunshot wound in his shoulder was of you and Sunnie.

The 141 had been deployed to some far-flung corner of the globe, scouting for information on their upcoming, larger mission. Easy, they'd said. In and out, quiet - light work, really. But, that had gone down quicker than a lead balloon when one of the back-up guys had been discovered rooting around in the mainframes.

Thanks to Simon's quick thinking, the bullet had found a home in his shoulder as opposed to the middle of Gaz's forehead.

It was minor damage - by Simon's standards, anyway - and he begrudged the fact that they were all fussing over him. That he was likely going to have to take it easy for the next couple of weeks, at least. Then there was the fact that their op was definitely going to have to be postponed, especially now their targets had their hackles up.

So that was why he was still holed up in his quarters at the late hour of 10am, laid up under the sheets of his double bed with his good arm tucked under his head. Glancing across at his barren desk, devoid of any personal effects - much like the rest of his room - a glint of sunshine-yellow fur snagged his attention. He gazed at Mr Rabbit with a kind of reverence, a calm film passing in front of his thoughts, shutting out all of the usual, violent background noise.

He missed that kid; bold and chatty in the face of a monster such as himself.

He also missed you.

He wasn't too proud to admit it either; that he'd thoughts about Sunnie's cute mum almost every day since you'd met in the hallway. It wasn't even anything purely physical that had stood out to him at first. He'd been drawn to you like a man in the desert to water; lured in by the fiery passion in your eyes when you thought that your precious baby had gone missing - lost by her careless twat of a father,

He turned your name over again and again in his head. Thought about your perfect, plush lips moving as you said it. The way that you'd held yourself, tall and proud, hand on your hip - full of fire and...

It was that thought that finally dragged Simon out of bed, into the shower, and into some clean clothes. Once he was decent, he hauled himself into the rec room, greeted by post-workout Johnny and Gaz lounging on the overstuffed sofas.

It was no secret around the barracks that Gaz felt like shit for what had happened. He'd never been the lucky recipient of Simon's suicidal heroics before but, apparently, it was "fucking dreadful". All of the guilt and terror, and none of the actual, physical damage to boot.

Simon offered them a cheery wave but ducked straight past them before they could stop him, making a beeline for the second, much rowdier group occupying what was meant to be the 141's private room.

The secondary taskforce they'd thrown together to support on their upcoming op was gathered around the pool table at the back. That included Daniel Harper; just the man that Simon happened to be looking for.

As if sensing Simon's approach, the sergeant looked up from the game he was spectating on. "Oh hey, Ghost. How's the arm holding up, buddy?"

Simon stood, deathly still and stone-faced under the thick cotton fabric of his mask. He knew that he was intimidating - could see that familiar flash of fear in Sgt Harper's eyes. It was widely known by then that the guy who'd screwed up the op - a personal friend of Harper's - had been given the finest, public dressing down of his career by Price after they'd returned to base. Fortunately, he'd been removed from base by the time Ghost was up and prowling again. Though, the fear that he or another of the 141 might retaliate for the royal fuck-up still seemed to hang heavy amongst the secondary squad.

Sgt Harper gulped.

"Would be better if I hadn't been shot," Simon said emotionlessly.

The men playing at the pool table slowly lowered their ques. It was as if they were all holding their breath; waiting for him to do something.

Waiting to see a glimpse of the notorious Ghost come out to play.

"When's that daughter and ex of yours coming back to base?" Simon asked, tone giving away nothing of his intentions or mood.

The sergeant's expression switched to a confused one. One eyebrow raised, he cocked his head to the side. "I'm not too sure. Missus isn't too happy that I let the kid wander off."

He said it like it was an annoyance - like you were daft for not trusting him alone with your child. If anything, Simon thought you were damn right.

"Why'd you want to know anyway, Lt?" he continued, casting a glance back to his buddies with a smirk like he was about to say something tremendously funny. The look of a man who needed validation from others to feel secure in himself. "No offence, but you don't seem like the wife and kids type."

Simon damn-near snarled.

There the sergeant stood - some second-rate, low-rank tool - with no idea whatsoever about Simon's personal life or background. None of them did. He could be a family man for all they knew. He wasn't, but he could be. And - quite frankly - the dig at you, however subtle, was something he found disgusting. You were the mother of that idiot's child, separated or not, and that afforded you a certain level of respect, regardless.

The look of complete and utter calm in Simon's dead eyes shut off any murmurings before they could truly begin. "I have something of theirs. Need to return it."

Sgt Harper frowned, eyes still glittering with amusement at his own shitty attempt at humour. "Like what?"

"Mr Rabbit."

The sergeant's expression turned sour, not escaping Simon's notice. "Oh, that tatty old rag. She won't miss it." The gleam in his eyes turned to an irritated one as he added, "I keep telling the missus to stop buying her all that crap, but she never listens."

What a charmer you are, Simon thought with a sneer.

"I'd rather return it to the little one, if that's all the same to you," Simon replied coolly, letting just a hint of a threat creep into his voice.

Sgt Harper's face paled slightly and a deeply buried alpha-male part of Simon's brain purred with satisfaction. He couldn't stop the train of thought that followed; that if he were Sunnie's father, he'd buy her all the stuffed animals she could ever want. Not a helpful thought to have.

Growing impatient, Simon tapped his foot against the floor and grumbled, "So when are they back on base, Sergeant?"

He gulped, the column of his throat working with the effort. Gingerly, he said, "I could call the missus and ask her to swing by this weekend. Does that work for you?"

Simon nodded, satisfied. "That's fine by me."

Without a thank you or goodbye, Simon sauntered away from the pool table. Instead of heading back to the comfortable isolation of his quarters, however, he dropped down onto the sofa beside Johnny. Both lads were leaning forward, grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats. They'd both quite clearly been listening in on Simon's conversation.

"So... wha' was all tha' about?"

It had been weeks since Daniel lost Sunnie on base when he finally decided to man up and call you.

You'd made it clear to him that he wasn't going to see her without supervision for a while, especially not on the army base. Not that he'd seemed at all bothered by that; he didn't seem fussed at all. In fact, he'd made no effort to reach out and apologise, nor to check up on Sunnie and see if there'd been any lasting effects on her.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said as soon as the call connected. It was the same soothing, placating tone that he used to use when he wanted something from you. Recognising it set you on edge.

"What do you want, Daniel?" you replied coolly, immediately cutting through the bullshit. The sooner he got to the point, the sooner you could get on with your night.

"I was wondering... could you come to base with Sunnie this weekend?"

You glanced across to your right. Sunnie was curled up into your side on the sofa, a rerun of old Friends episodes playing on the TV as background noise. You'd been reading a book, now left forgotten, pages-down on the arm of the sofa in favour of scrolling through Tiktok on your phone.

Thankfully, your daughter had been okay since her adventure in the army barracks. In fact, she seemed to have almost forgotten about it, apart from talking incessantly about her new friend - Simon. She'd even started telling the other kids in her reception class about how Mr Rabbit was on holiday with the "big army man", as she called him.

But, most importantly, she didn't even seem aware that she'd gone missing for any period of time that day.

You exhaled a deep sigh. "Yes. But she's not staying there overnight."

"Okay, that's fine." There was a pause, and you could hear Daniel tapping his foot against something on the other end of the line. "Did you, uh... did you know that Ghost has been asking after you?"

Your brow furrowed. Who the fuck was Ghost?

"Who?"

"The 141 guy who found Sunnie," he grumbled, getting audibly pissy. "He kept asking me when you'd be back on base. Wants to give some stupid stuffed toy back to my daughter."

Anger seethed in your chest. The hand that wasn't holding your phone clenched into a fist at your side. Burning hot rage lanced through you, soothed only by running your fingers through Sunnie's hair. She stirred softly, reaching out a tiny hand to grab your leg - as though she were making sure that you were still there.

In her other hand, she clutched a rose-pink stuffed dragon - the ears, wings, and spines along its back glittering softly in the light of the living room lamp. Her chosen replacement in Mr Rabbit's absence.

Your heart ached as you watched her. That was another reason why you dreaded Sunnie having overnights with her father; his attitude towards childhood in general.

His parents had never let him have a proper one of his own - that much had been evident from the day you'd met them. Despite all of the reassurances that he'd given you when you'd gotten pregnant - placations of being better, of reading up on soft-parenting techniques and the like - he'd done nothing but mirror his parents' shitty attitudes since the day Sunnie was born.

He didn't believe in giving her toys that weren't educational ones, or letting her babble; constantly snapping at her to speak properly, even though she rarely babbled unless she was excited or tired. It had been one of the many reasons why you'd split up. Though there hadn't been a shortage of those.

"Daniel, I will say this one last time: our four-year-old daughter's toys aren't stupid," you said through gritted teeth.

He muttered something under his breath, clearly in the mood to argue. Before you could ask him to repeat himself, he said, "Oh, I see how it is. Any excuse to get back at me, huh? Think you'll get there by fucking the Lt? Go ahead - he won't go for it."

You blinked, stunned. Where the fuck did that come from?

"The guy's a fucking sadist," Daniel spat, saying your name to emphasise his point before jumping straight back into his unsolicited rant. "Don't want you or my daughter anywhere near him. I mean it. I won't stand for it."

Instead of dignifying any of what he'd just said with a response, you hung up. That was one bonus of being separated - you didn't have to listen to his rambling bullshit anymore. By the time you'd carried Sunnie to her room down the hallway, changed her into her favourite PJs and settled her into bed, you'd missed five calls from Daniel.

Padding back into the living room, you sat back down in your spot and closed your book. Not in the mood to fight with him, you opened up your messaging app.

You: Daniel, leave me alone. You: I don't want to talk to you right now.

Not even a minute later, your phone pinged with a reply.

Your fingers itched to open the app and have a look but, instead, you rolled your eyes and slid it across to the far side of the sofa. Whatever he had to say could wait for the weekend.

"Sunnie, come on!" you yelled, standing at the foot of the stairs with your hands braced on your hips.

Several loud thuds on the ceiling marked Sunnie's path upstairs as she bolted across her playroom.

"Sunnie! Hurry up or I'll leave without you!"

And that kicked her into action.

Within a matter of moments, Sunnie was bounding down the stairs - wearing her favourite dress with little bees stitched into the fabric, and a pair of bright pink trainers. She looked adorable, dead-set on looking good for what she deemed to be a playdate with her newest friend.

It had been all she'd talked about since you told her the other morning.

It had been Simon this, Simon that ever since.

Before long, she was strapped up into her car seat, ready for the journey to the base. Her chosen stuffed toy of the day - Mr Rabbit's mint green twin - was clutched in one little fist as she sat in the back, babbling away to herself. You couldn't help but smile; egged on by her excitement.

You weren't too proud to admit to yourself that you'd been more than a little excited to go to base too.

You'd been thinking about the tall, muscular giant of a man who'd found your daughter more and more recently - especially when you were alone at night. You found yourself drawn to the memory of that deep, baritone voice, those bright hazel eyes, and his odd choice to hide behind a balaclava; something that you could only assume was a safety or privacy thing. The taskforce was meant to be top-secret - perhaps that was how he maintained his anonymity.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

"Mummyyyyyy," Sunnie's drawn-out whine came about fifteen minutes from the entrance gate.

You rolled your shoulders back, glancing up at the rearview mirror to check that she was okay. Content that she was fine, you flashed her a smile. "You okay, baby?"

She nodded and you quickly turned your focus back to the road. "Mummy, Simon said he looks funny."

You hummed softly under your breath.

"Did he, princess?" you asked absentmindedly.

A frown formed on your lips. Sunnie always had very big emotions. She felt everything; hid nothing. All of her emotions were worn on her face as and when she felt them and - while it made her an open book - it also meant that sometimes things ate at her. Like watching you and her dad argue, or when another child in her class felt upset about something.

She was the most caring, sweetest soul you'd ever known, and you were proud to call her your daughter.

"Maybe... maybe he just needs to be reminded that he's beautiful," you suggested softly, not wanting to upset her any further. That maybe he'd never been made to feel pretty before, as a gruff, giant soldier.

You glanced in the mirror to watch Sunnie's face light up, her smile luminous. "Okay, mummy."

And that made you smile too.

"Ghost, you've got someone here to see you!" Price's gruff voice announced from the other side of his locked door.

Simon startled.

He was standing shirtless in front of his bathroom mirror, mask chucked on the side of the sink as he examined the healing bullet wound in his shoulder. He'd started going to the gym for morning training sessions with the boys again, and he'd managed to strain it a little. Nothing serious - the stitches had held - but the skin around the entry wound was a little red and tender to touch.

"Uh... coming!" he yelled back.

As quickly as he could with his injured arm, he tugged his black t-shirt back on and pulled his balaclava down over his head. Leaving the bathroom, he made a beeline for the door, stopping only to grab Mr Rabbit from his perch on the desk.

Simon undid the lock, swinging the door open to be greeted by...

A small, compact weight hurled itself at his knees, almost taking his legs out from under him.

"Sunnie!" a soft, feminine voice admonished. He didn't even have to look to know that it belonged to you.

With a deep, throaty chuckle, Simon lowered himself down to his knees and pulled Sunnie in for a slightly awkward, one-armed hug on his good side. To his delight, she wrapped her arms around his waist and tightened her grip as much as her little body could manage.

"Mister Simon!" she squeaked.

"Hello again, princess," he said, running a fingernail along the seam of the stuffed rabbit's ear with his free hand. When she finally pulled away, he handed the toy back to the little girl. "I think this belongs to you."

Sunnie squealed with glee, pulling the sunshine-yellow rabbit into her arms for another bone-crushing hug.

"Hey, darling," Price said, his voice reminding Simon that there were, in fact, other people in the hallway around them. A gaggle of new recruits were staring at them, wide-eyed and awestruck, watching the feared Ghost interact so wholesomely with a small child. Price's eyes were focused on said child as he held out a scar-flecked hand. "How about we go and find you some ice cream?"

John looked to you for approval and you nodded, smiling kindly.

Dropping down to press a kiss to Sunnie's forehead, you told her to behave herself for the captain then watched as he led her off in the direction of the rec room. Only once they'd left your sight, did you finally turn your attention to Simon.

He could've sworn that his heart stopped beating in his chest as you fixed him with your warm gaze, lips curving up into the most beautiful, genuine smile he'd ever seen. The feeling didn't ease as your rose back up to your full height - still comically small beside him - and extended a hand for him to shake. He took it, wincing slightly at the feeling of his callouses scraping against your baby-soft skin.

"Hey, Simon," you said, still having yet to break eye contact. "It's nice to see you again."

He released your hand, easing back a half-step. He didn't know what to do; what to say now that you were right in front of him. He just stood awkwardly, trying not to stare at your mouth as he grumbled, "Nice to see you too. I, uh... I didn't know you'd be coming to see me."

His throat worked as he swallowed, the scent of your perfume lingering pleasantly in the air. It was nerves - honest to God nerves - that he was feeling.

Pitiful. Weak. Pathetic...

"I wanted to properly thank you for what you did last month," you explained.

Everything in your expression was open. He wondered if you knew just how similar you were to your daughter in that regard.

"We didn't get much chance to talk last time, and Sunnie talks very highly of you," you continued, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. "You might be on your way to becoming her favourite person."

Simon could feel himself blushing under the mask. "Well... that's a first."

You chuckled. "Befriending a lost little girl who's wise beyond her years?"

He shook his head. "Being someone's favourite."

He'd meant it in a self-depreciating jokey kind of way, but the look on your face made him regret it. You looked fucking horrified.

"I- sorry. Didn't mean to make it depressing," he said with a grimace.

A long moment passed before you shook your head, that beautiful smile gracing your lips once again. Looping an arm through his uninjured one, you nudged him in the ribs.

"I think we should go and find somewhere in this place that does some decent coffee," you said cheerfully. "Something tells me we've both got a lot of stories to tell before Price brings Sunnie back for her playdate."

Preening at the sight of you so close to him, Simon grinned under the mask - the mention of this playdate completely sailing past his comprehension. "Sounds like a plan, sweetheart."

a/n: I'm a simple woman with simple tastes: I just want to see Simon in a tiara, playing tea parties with Sunnie :) Maybe I might make that happen in part 3... - lapetitelapin :)

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[bienliving]

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[rdtrend]

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RD Trend pure cotton double elastic bedsheet is lighter, more durable, and breathable. It is also low maintenance and can be easily washed in any way you prefer. Our cotton double elastic bedsheets absorb moisture and makes us feel comfortable in all climates, whether summer or winter. New design, patterns and colors are available at RD Trend store.

[snoopyana]

serendipity.

“i always feel like. . . somebody’s watching me!”

he’s truly a sweet boy, but he’s also a weirdo who’s sick in the head. but his intentions were never to hurt you, at least that’s what he tells himself everytime he breaks into your home every night. watching you. but he’d never touch you. not yet.

lee ch./anton. smut. no pene. a lil dark in a sense. stalker!ton

seated on-top of your mattress — back leaning against the headboard, your fingers lazily moved along the glass screen of your phone — reading over whatever baseless information news outlets were trying to shove down your throat tonight. the blue light from the device, paired with the dull bulb of your lamp that flickered and buzzed, illuminating your face and your close surroundings. every other object being engulfed in pure darkness, including the hall that was only visible from the small crack in the door.

reaching for the water-bottle that sat on your nightstand for the third night in a row, the creaking of your floorboards just outside your room caused your fingers to jerk — water-bottle toppling down onto the ground. causing your lamp to rock and unplug itself. leaving you in complete darkness, all as a result of the sudden shock from the odd noise that echoed through the empty corridor.

at least you could only assume it was empty.

slinging your legs over the edge, your feet touched the cold surface — sending a strong shiver through your body before you were on all fours searching for the plastic container. as your fingers scaled the hardwood, you couldn’t help but take note of the, now quieter, creaking noise that was now accompanied by, a shaky breath? or was it the breeze? did you leave a window cracked open? unsure if the odd noises were coming from your own body, you were quick to make the decision to abandon the bottle. opting to get it when it wasn’t unnecessarily dark and creepy. sliding back into the comfort of your sheets, your hands scavenged the thick blankets in search of your phone that had been pulled under when you made your mini journey onto the floor.

gripping into the case, you managed to retrieve the device from the endless hole that was the heap of blankets, pillows and stuffed toys that decorated and crowded your bed, like a mosh pit of cotton. attempting to relax your body, you just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there. going through a mental checklist to make sure you properly sealed your home up.

door locked? check. windows closed? double check. shit, vents locked? that’s ridiculous. . . letting your head fall into your pillows, a deafeted huff slipped past your lips. motionless, you stared at the ceiling, at least what you could see of the ceiling. letting the silence consume your thoughts, the digital clock on your nightstand clicking as it hit 12:16AM. eyelids suddenly heavy, you mustered up whatever strength you had to look over at the mini clock.

while he used all his strength to stay silent.

he knew it was wrong, but he just couldn’t help it. usually watching you from the outside and making his way inside when he was sure that you were asleep. but something told him to take it that slightest bit further tonight. so when he decided he was tired of peeking through windows when you were awake, tired of only being able to get close when you were asleep, realizing he wanted more — he needed more, anton slide in through your open bathroom window — not before watching your figure through the sheer shower curtains. watching as you wrapped your smooth body in the one of your thick blue towels when you stepped out of the tub. taking in what he could see before it was concealed from him. but this wasn’t his first time watching you from the bathroom window, it was actually more like his sixth. having your skincare routine memorized, anton would mumble to himself what product you would pick up. in his black attire, hidden in the darkness of your window, the one window that you forgot to lock.

watching you shuffle out of the room, he waited until the faint sound of your bedroom door creaked and groaned on its hinges. managing to slip his rather large-self through the opened window-frame as quietly as he could manage. heat rushed through his body as he silently cheered in the darkness. celebrating another successful break-in. his mini celebration didn’t last long though, when your footsteps echoed through the hall, right past where he was hiding. stilling, antons’ eyes darted down to the crack under the door — watching your shadow slowly move around outside the wooden door. something about it was so, stimulating.

gripping onto the door handle, anton hesitated before peeking his head out — just in time to see you slip into your room. sucking in his breath, he crept out into the dark hallway — hands dragging on the walls towards your room. stopping every here and there to limit the amount of noise he produced. the closer he got, the more excitement bubbled in his stomach. unable to believe he was so close, but so far at the same time. stationed just outside your door, the faint light from your lamp seeped out the crack. giving him just enough light to see you snuggled up in your bed — eyes filled with boredom as you paid attention to whatever was playing out of your phone speakers. shifting in place, he nearly forgot that he wasn’t supposed to be there. putting all his weight onto one foot, the sudden change causing the floorboards underneath him to creak under his weight. panicked, his attention darted down to his feet and then back up to you — you who were know eying the door.

watching as you slowly crept out of bed, stress replaced the once feverish excitement he had. holding his breath, anton was unsure of what he would do if you were to come to the door. how you would react if you saw him. what if you already saw him?

but you didn’t.

instead, he watched as you lowered your body onto the floor. the sound of your nails scratching at the surface. exhaling, he got closer to the door. eyes straining to try and catch a glimpse of you on the ground. noting how you grew quiet, he was startled when you popped back up. climbing back onto the mattress and pushing yourself into the blankets. hands clammy, anton watched as you finally laid down. holding his breath as you started to drift off.

now he just had to wait.

legs growing weak, anton didn’t enter the room until he was sure that you were truly asleep. the click of your alarm clock filled the air as he lightly pushed past the door, he made his way to your side. kneeling down onto the hardwood, watching the way your fingers twitched and your body shifted under the blanket. the same blanket he would pull off your body every other night. the same blanket that he accidentally came onto during one of his first nightly visits. the same blanket that now a small stain that you didn’t question. the same blanket that had a part of him permanently engraved into the material that was now wrapped around your body. fingertips grazing over the stain patch, he was quick to pull back the soft material — letting him see what he longed for every day. dreamt about every night. jerked off to whenever he could. mouth growing dry as his eyes fixated on the way your boobs leaked from out the top of the tank you decided to wear to bed. slowly looking down at the fuzzy pajama pants sitting low on your hips, keeping your bottom half hidden from his prying gaze.

using that same hand, he hesitantly began to stroke the exposed skin. taking in the way you shivered under his touch, but stayed fast asleep. dragging his finger tips up to your face, tracing your lips, eyes, and nose. “so pretty, so perfect. wish you were mine. . .” mumbling under his breath, anton brought his hand back to your chest. using his other hand to palm himself through the thin black sweatpants he dawned. lips parted, he just couldn’t hold back all his noises, no matter how hard he tried. looking over at your digital clock, he was meant with the bright 1:39AM. his roommates knew he was going to be home late, but the thought of them getting suspicious of his whereabouts worried him. deciding he needed to be out by 2AM, anton tugged at the waistband of his pants — pulling at the fabric just enough to let his cock free.

placing his hand back onto your chest, he grasped onto his base. giving one of your tits a light squeeze — he repeated the action onto himself. a breathy whine slipping out his mouth from the feeling. eyes finally fully adjusted to the dark, anton started to slowly drag his hand up and down. staring at your face as he did so. mind fogging with thoughts of you doing it for him.

or, of you waking up to watch him.

the thought scared him, but excited him at the same time. fantasies of you waking up and being disgusted by his action. speaking down on him for being such a sicko. and of course, the flip side of that, you waking up and telling him to continue. calling him sweet names even if what he was doing was creepy. however it played out, he wouldn’t even mind.

speeding up his pace, anton let his head fall onto the bed — hand still holding onto your clothed body. his choked up, yet quiet whines and moans filling the dead-space. jerking his hips up into his enclosed fist, his thighs shook. bottom lip tucked under his teeth, he repeated your name as his stomach tightened. body spasming, antons’ eyes shut and his ears rang. cumming on your floor, and slippers that were beneath his shaken body. helping himself up, anton attempted to clean up the mess he made. not realizing some of him was blotched on the poor pair of bunny slippers. slipping out of the room, he exited the home the same way he got in.

when you woke up that morning, sliding your feet into the violated shoes. you couldn’t help but tilt your head at the weird white patches on the pink material. shrugging it off as a food stain, you went on with your morning.

unaware it was another gift from your little stalker.

yana here, maybe im the real sicko but the way i was actually going crazy of the idea of stalker!riize is disgusting. i wrote this in less than 24 hours and proud to say that i don’t regret it. love the idea of anton being a weirdo but doesn’t mean it(he totally does).

[cottonbedsheet]

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[tranceindia123]

Top picks from Trance Home Linen for Navratri celebration

The nine-night festival of Navratri honors the divine feminine and is a colorful tapestry of customs, hues, and cultural meaning. Houses become little mandaps, adorned with colourful ornaments and resonating with devotional chants. As we at Trance Home Linen see it, Navratri is more than just a pretty picture; it's an opportunity to create a peaceful, encouraging environment at home. This is how your Navratri experience can be enhanced by our selection of opulent linens. Made from the finest Egyptian cotton, we offer a flawless selection of pure white bed linens and pillow covers. Cotton flat bedsheet with pillow covers (white self satin stripes & 400 TC). These linens provide a serene backdrop for your religious activities since they exemplify the purity connected to the divine feminine. The spotless white symbolizes the inner serenity and spiritual longing nurtured throughout Navratri. Navratri is a celebration of colors, with a different color and facet of the divine feminine honored on each day. Picture pillowcases with elaborate floral designs in orange or royal blue.Cotton printed pillow covers (Jaipuri collection & pack of 2 100% cotton & 180 TC).

[kingscollect1on]

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Get the newest designs in ultra-soft cotton bed linens with a good thread count and better finish. Check out our collection of the best cotton bedding sets as they are luxurious and will give your bedroom the unique look it needs.

A wide range of exquisite styles are available in our carefully curated collection of cotton bedding sets, perfect for those who enjoy sophisticated interior decor. These bed linens have a modern design and are composed of 100% pure cotton. Even after several washings, our best bedsheets online continue to be cozy and long-lasting. Because of their special features, our 100% pure cotton sheets that are anti-allergic are suitable for any weather.

Any cotton bedding set we sell comes with two pillowcases and one flat or fitted sheet in king or queen size. You can even order extra pillowcases in conjunction with our duvet covers, if needed. We also have pillowcases made completely of silk for individuals who prefer to splurge a bit more on their beds. Check out our exclusive collection of 100% cotton bedding with a sateen finish.

Choose bed linens that complement your personal style and attitude

A bed sheet may tell a lot about your personality and sense of style. A bed sheet subtly alters a bedroom's appearance. A range of fabrics, such as silk, cotton, linen, and synthetics, are used in their construction. The earliest bed linens were supposedly made from linen, which comes from the flax plant.

The types of bed sheets available

We provide a variety of colors, designs, and materials for our bedspreads. We carry sheets for single, double, and king-sized mattresses. The sheet sets come with a bed sheet and matching pillowcases. You should never compromise on quality when buying bed linens.

Cotton is most commonly used as the fabric for bed sheets because of its softness and durability. The most popular designs are geometric, abstract, floral, and Disney prints in addition to stripes.

Tips for choosing the best bed linens

Even though there are many best bedsheets online, you should choose a bed sheet that expresses your unique sense of fashion. Your bedding says something about who you are. The advice that follows will assist you in choosing the perfect bed sheet:

The first thing you should consider is the size of your bed. Measure your mattress to determine if you need a king, single, or double bed sheet. When buying cotton sheets, always get a size larger because cotton shrinks with every wash. You should also invest in high-quality comforters for your bedroom.

The second thing you need to consider is the fabric of the sheet. Cotton linens are the preferred choice for most people in India due to its comfort and coolness. If you want to buy a high-quality bed sheet, check out our collection of cotton sheets. You might even go with the less expensive option of pure polyester. Silk is a very shiny and smooth fabric. They can be applied to significant occasions.

[breakingnewsallinone-blog]

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[homelinebedsheet]

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