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marxo-fm · 7 months

Text

Secrecy

✯ Viscount Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!reader

Summary: You’re the princess of the United Kingdom, trapped in the Kew Palace with nothing to do but obey. That seemed to change after your brother makes an appearance at the ball held in honor of his arrival from the British Military, with a surprise guest.

Warnings: MDNI+18, Mentions of adult theme and language, slight smut with plot, inexperienced!reader, virgin!reader, praising, innocent!reader, Ghost gives reader an anatomy lesson and teaches reader certain things, fingering, slight angst, no use of y/n, head canon, no descriptions of race, skin color, hair type/length, or body type. Reader is in her 20’s and Ghost is in his late 20’s. This takes place during the Regency Era.

Words: 9.7K (I can explain)

A/N: Rewatched Queen Charlotte in one day and got inspired to somehow write this. Idk what came up in my head but I’m not mad about it. I love historical romance pieces and Bridgerton is one of my favorite shows, so this was inspired by that as well. Must I add, this will be a series (let’s act shocked!) but it’ll start off slow and then progress into something very steamy. I plan on making this 2-3 parts? Not entirely sure yet. I’m so excited to make a playlist and have this become a part of my page. I promised to write a Ghost fic in celebration of 300 followers!!! Thank you!!! That’s all peeps, enjoy this and thanks for reading once again. :)

To be in love, is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well. —Gwendolyn Brooks, “To be in Love.”

The rain drummed loudly against the windows of Kew Palace, a historic refuge steeped in tales of bygone eras. Yet another dismal night had slipped away in silence, the relentless downpour obscuring any sounds of the world outside. The scent of rain, laced with the earthy aroma of centuries-old stone, permeated your room through the slightly ajar windows. Candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that played upon the antique furnishings, each one holding its own secrets from a different age. As you gazed out into the night, the blurred outlines of majestic trees in the palace gardens whispered stories of forgotten romances and royal intrigues, echoing through time.

Yet not one memory of romance had ever occurred to you, sadly.

You sat in silence, enveloped by the heavy presence of the palace's servants, who stood as immobile as statues waiting for a command.

The stillness in the room was deafening, capable of giving even the strongest a throbbing headache, yet this oppressive silence was something you had grown accustomed to. It was an everyday affliction, a reminder of your powerlessness and the stifling constraints of your position.

The relentless cycle of attending balls, tea parties, leisurely walks, and grand masquerades had become a mundane routine. None of these activities could dispel the relentless boredom that had settled over your life. Despite the lavish extravagance and social grandeur, they only served to further emphasize your dull amusement.

Unfortunate yet fortunate at the same time, you learned to be grateful for the position you are in now, but the life you have been given to live wasn’t what you enjoyed. That itself is a secret one must never know of.

Your contemplations were abruptly halted as your mother entered the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. You rose gracefully from your seat, bowing with an elegance through years of refinement. With a quick, composed adjustment of your dress, you presented yourself as the embodiment of poise and decorum. And of course, elegance. It was essential to maintain appearances in the relentless world of aristocratic expectations.

All the servants bowed down before their queen. A display of loyalty and respect—a testament to the power she held.

“Mother.”

“Dearest.” Her voice, filled with warmth and affection, broke through the icy layer of your mood. You responded with a genuine smile, one that masked the melancholy you often kept hidden. It was carefully maintained; your mother could never be burdened with your silent suffering. If she were to glimpse even a fraction of the emotions you endured, she would tirelessly pester and lecture, determined to alleviate your pain.

But this was a battle you chose to wage in solitude, for the sake of preserving the family’s reputation and your own fragile sense of independence.

“We have a ball to attend in the celebration of the upcoming arrival of your brother. It is to be held quite soon, though, we are not sure on the date.” Your ears perked and every melancholic emotions you were enduring suddenly became cheerful. Your brother is finally coming, after being gone for a year. Though it felt like centuries he had been gone.

“That is thrilling news, I pray he arrives safe and well. Have you shared this with our other siblings?” Other siblings meant your six siblings, you’re the youngest of eight children, and it’s rather lonely. It feels like.

“Yes, dearest. I have reminded them that a ball will be held soon. The members of the Ton will be attending and it will be grand.” She replied enthusiastically, “though I have something else to share, beloved.”

Your eyebrows rose, and your curiosity piqued. What more could your mother share with you about the ball? You sought more information.

After a brief pause, she continued, “He is arriving with a guest, a Viscount to be precise. This gentleman is to be accorded the utmost respect, just as I have instilled in all of you. He holds a special place in your brother’s heart, and it is imperative that he is welcomed with the same warmth and hospitality that we extend to family.”

You nod, “of course mother. May I know his name?”

“His name is Simon Riley, he is a fine and distinguished gentleman. He holds the rank of Lieutenant General. Quite remarkable if I do say so myself.” She looked at the servants before setting her eyes on you, “He is also very close to your father.” You gasped, for one to be close to the king—your father of all people, was quite rare. Since he is a busy man with important duties he must fulfill.

“I will treat him with the utmost respect, my dearest mother, rest assured.” Having made your commitment clear, you resumed your thoughts, still buzzing with anticipation for your brother’s return and the upcoming ball.

You returned to the chair you sat in before your mother shared important news, resuming in what you were doing before.

“Read a book, darling. You are amazing at that. Do not bore yourself here.” You nod graciously, you found her encouragement as something you deeply appreciated.

“Thank you mother, I shall read.” You made your way to the nearest shelf, curious as to why you haven’t done this earlier. Maybe your mother was right, do not bore yourself with such thoughts and emotions, instead find joy in reading. It helped you get lost in the pages and words, that you forget whatever was going on in that head of yours.

“Ladies, go help my daughter with the books.” Your mother ordered.

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” They all responded.

“It is quite fine mother, I can do this myself.” You assured, nodding to the servants and their faces expressed a puzzled look. Unsure of whom to listen to. “Yes, love, do as you may.”

The servants walk back to the area they had previously stood in, watching you carefully. “I must leave now, love, It is rather late.”

“Goodnight mother.” You make your way to the shelves once again, the area was dimly lit and the bookshelf stood tall. Its polished mahogany wood gleaming softly in the warm glow of a crackling fireplace.

It was calm.

The scent of aged leather and paper makes its way through the air as your peruse the titles, each elegantly bound with gold lettering.

You spot volumes of Jane Austen’s novels, her delicate pages filled with tales of love and societal intrigue. One most famously known as, “Pride and Prejudice.”

Nearby, a collection of poetry by Lord Byron beckons with its romantic verses. The room is adorned with lush velvet draperies and antique furniture, setting the scene for a world where manners, class, and etiquette reign supreme.

Your delicate fingers skim through every romance book there is.

As you select a book and settle into the armchair, the world outside slowly began to fade away. You immerse yourself in the intricate and vivid description, momentarily escaping the constraints of your era into the enchanting world of literature.

(…)

It is the next morning, as the sun timidly filtered through the drawn blinds in your room, its radiant presence compelling you to squint and shield your eyes.

The birds chirped and the sky is painted with bright whites and bright yellows streamed through the window, a sense of lightness enveloped you. Starting the day with a serene countenance, you blinked away the remnants of sleep from your eyes and smiled drowsily. Your fingertips traced the cotton sheets, as you embraced the morning's gentle charm.

You summon the bell in your bedchamber, signaling to the housemaids that you are indeed awake and require a comforting, warm bath drawn. You stand on your own two feet, welcoming the housemaids inside your bedroom assisting in disrobing your white cotton nightgown.

They draw a bath, filling it with steaming water infused with fragrant oils and rose petals. You step into the tub, sinking into the comforting embrace of the warm, scented embrace, a welcome respite from the chill of the morning.

As you soaked in the fragrant bath, your thoughts drifted to the impending ball. You longed for any additional information your mother might have left off about this highly anticipated event, eager for every intricate detail to fuel your anticipation.

Truth be told, your curiosity about meeting Viscount Simon Riley was quite overwhelming. You harbored an occurring hope that he would prove to be the epitome of a true gentleman. Your mother's praises of him fueled your optimism, suggesting he was a man of impeccable character and esteemed authority, which only heightened your eagerness to make his acquaintance.

Excitement was a vast understatement for the emotions coursing through you.

The revelation that Simon was not only close to your father, the King, but also held a special bond with your brother left you astounded. While many men enjoyed proximity to your father and eldest brother, the depth of connection your mother had described set Simon apart from them all. It led you to believe that he was indeed the definition of a true gentleman.

"Ladies, may I inquire if you have all gathered the latest tidbits of information regarding the upcoming ball?" You found yourself pondering, the fragrant bubbles in the warm bath soothing your senses, as you leaned back against the porcelain tub's elegant curves.

"Not quite, Your Highness," she informed, her voice filled with anticipation. "We've heard rumors that hundreds shall grace the occasion." Excitement surged through your entire being. Finally, the time had arrived to mingle with society, to dance, and to revel. It had been several long months since the last grand ball, and the prospect filled you with eager anticipation.

"Are any of you acquainted with Viscount Simon Riley?" Curiosity overtook you, though you couldn't quite fathom why. After all, you hadn't yet crossed paths with the man, and here you were, posing a question of seemingly little consequence to your maids.

They all gasped and stood quiet, maybe you have said something wrong.

"He is not a man of whom one speaks ill of," she responded cautiously, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "Viscount Simon Riley wields significant power and authority. However, Your Highness, that is all I am permitted to share." Her nervousness was evident, as if she were tiptoeing around a topic that carried great weight.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. This was information your mother had yet to share with you. The maids' description of Viscount Simon Riley sent a shiver down your spine, an ironic sensation given the warmth of the bathwater enveloping you.

"Do not worry, my mother shall remain unaware of this conversation," you assured with a gentle smile and a nod, watching as the tension melted from their bodies.

The curiosity within you compelled you to seek more information. "Can any of you describe his appearance?" You observed the maids exchanging uncertain glances before turning their attention back to you. As warm water continued to flow over your body, their soothing massages on your arms accompanied the anticipation of their response.

“It is okay to tell me,” you reassured with a playful giggle, “once again, mother will not know of this. It is not like you have committed treason!”

"Indeed, Your Highness," she began to speak in hushed tones, her voice carrying an air of trepidation. "Discussing Viscount Simon is a delicate matter. His influence is undeniably formidable, and we speak with a measure of fear." Her concern seemed to stem from the notion that their conversation might somehow reach the ears of this powerful figure.

A shiver of apprehension coursed through you. The maids' fear had a way of rubbing off on you, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about this Viscount Simon.

All excitement about meeting him quickly faded away into the endless void, everything your mother had described about him paled in comparison to the unsettling image the maids were painting of this man.

"Whispers of his enigmatic persona have swept through the highest echelons of society, Your Highness. They speak of him donning a finely crafted mask, shrouding his countenance in secrecy. Only a privileged handful among the Ton have been granted the privilege of glimpsing his true visage, and even the slightest revelation of his features carries the weightiest charge of all – high treason."

You gasped. Oh dear.

"Why does he shroud himself in such mystery?" The quest for information left you yearning for more knowledge. How is it that his existence remained hidden from your awareness until this moment?

Their fearful glances held your attention as they continued, "Your Highness, we remain ignorant of his motives for wearing that ominous mask. Its design, reminiscent of a skull, has earned him the haunting name of 'Ghost' among the hushed whispers of society."

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, and a shiver of fear coursed through you. The once-anticipated ball had transformed into a nightmarish affair, shrouded in dread and uncertainty.

He scared you, and you haven’t even met the man.

"That's enough, ladies. Please, remove this bath swiftly," you commanded. Your mood had done a complete somersault, and now you were acutely aware of your surroundings. It felt as though an ominous presence was creeping into your room, even though he hasn’t arrived yet.

Or maybe he has, but you’ve yet to know.

No no, don’t worry yourself of such horrid thoughts.

You repeat and repeat over and over. The fear of darkness and the ominous weighed heavily on your heart. It was a secret fear, one you dared not share, for you knew that if anyone discovered it, they would only dismiss your worries with laughter and reassurances.

The maids, their hands deft and efficient, hurried over to where you stood by the bath, wrapping you in plush towels to dry your delicate skin. With precision, they helped you into a graceful blue chemise dress, its fabric cool and comforting against your form, the intricate lacework and delicate embroidery adorning it a testament to their impeccable craftsmanship.

Each lace on the dress was adorned with a multitude of tiny individual diamonds, their facets catching even the faintest glimmers of light. The shade of blue, a soft and ethereal hue, served as the perfect canvas for these sparkling gems, making them gleam like stars in the darkness.

"'Tis a truly exquisite chemise," you whispered in admiration, extending your arms gracefully for the maids to slip on your pristine white gloves.

"Made for Her Highness, indeed, just like a rare diamond," your maids complimented, their words like a soothing balm to your nerves. Their unwavering support for uplifting your spirits never failed to bolster your confidence.

"Thank you, ladies. I must take my leave now, as there are matters to discuss with my mother and duties to attend to," you graciously replied, ready to face the responsibilities that awaited you.

(…)

"Yes, Your Majesty. The ball is scheduled for the end of this week, and all is proceeding as planned. Every detail has been meticulously arranged, and all members of the Ton have received their invitations," spoke your mother’s friend at morning call.

She took a delicate sip of her chamomile tea before speaking once more, her voice calm, "That is indeed wonderful news. I pray that everything proceeds without a hitch, and I have the utmost confidence that mishaps shall remain a distant concern." Her friend nods, before turning to you to ask a question.

You straightened your posture and offered a warm smile, "You are truly lovely, my dear. If I may inquire, are you excited for this upcoming ball?" As the question lingered in the air, a torrent of unsettling thoughts flooded your mind. The words of the maids, the mention of the enigmatic "Ghost," and the eerie mask all coalesced into a haunting collage of images. Your body quivered involuntarily, and a palpable sense of unease washed over you, like an ominous shadow creeping into the room.

You masked your true feelings expertly, putting on a facade of excitement. It was clear that your enthusiasm was reserved solely for your brother, not for the Viscount. You knew all too well that you couldn't reveal your fear, so you concealed it behind a carefully crafted persona, concealing the trepidation that lurked beneath the surface.

“Indeed I am quite cheerful. I already know well enough that this ball will be the best of this year.”

She takes a bite of her honey cake, proceeding to invade you with more questions. Questions you were not comfortable answering.

“Well yes…your mother—Her Majesty—is hosting the ball.”

"Ah, yes, of course," you quickly replied, feeling a bit flustered by the reminder. Her raised eyebrow and condescending gaze made you feel like a naive child, an unsettling sensation you couldn't quite shake off.

“Your Majesty, has she not yet met Viscount Riley?” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Viscount Riley's name, sending a chill down your spine. The palace suddenly felt much colder, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. It was an uncomfortable and awkward moment for her to bring up such a question in the presence of your mother, Her Majesty.

"I am not privy to such information, my dear. However, I have every confidence that she will excel in his company and extend to him the respect I have diligently imparted. Would you not agree, my dearest?"

You nod graciously, before her friend decided to open her mouth once more with questions that made you shift in your seat. Uncomfortably.

"Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I have had the privilege of seeing him in person. And, if I may say..." Her voice trailed off, and her response piqued your curiosity, causing your brow to arch. It was evident that she was quite eager to acquire more information about a man you had not yet had the chance to meet.

“He is quite tall,” she began, and your mother adjusted her posture, “he holds such authority and he is not the man to disrespect, he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and most certainly does not show his face to just anyone.”

The maids' prior revelations had served as a disconcerting confirmation. Fear welled up within you, growing like a thunderhead on the horizon, and it cast a foreboding pall over what had once been an eagerly anticipated ball. The event, once a beacon of excitement, had transformed into a looming specter that filled you with apprehension and uncertainty.

“It is quite a mystery, but it is none of our business. Maybe if he is truly as good of a man he is, I will have him marry my daughter.” Your tea to become a chaotic spray, dispersing droplets and saliva particles across the table’s contents. Your cheeks flush crimson as you glance at your mother, her expression clearly reflecting her shock and disapproval.

“Deepest apologies mother, but marriage?” Her lips tightened as you contemplated her words. “If he proves to be a good man, then perhaps. If not, then no. You are two and twenty, it is time you settle down my dearest.”

“I do not know him.”

"Indeed, there is an abundance of time for you to become better acquainted with him," your mother replied with an encouraging smile. Her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a promising match for her beloved daughter. "I've heard such positive things about Viscount Simon," she continued, her tone brimming with optimism. "He is reputed to be a true gentleman, and I can't help but hold high hopes for your future together, my dearest."

The description of Viscount Simon had already sent shivers of fear down your spine, and the thought of falling in love was an entirely different realm of uncertainty. You wondered if you'd ever experience the kind of love immortalized in poetry and literature, given the enigmatic and potentially imposing nature of this match.

You decided to let the future unfold at its own pace, allowing it to chart its course without rushing or forcing any outcomes.

You held a clear standard for your future husband: he must be a respectful and considerate man, not exhibiting any sexist, disrespectful, misogynistic, or rude behavior. However, if he proved to be the all those things, then marriage would not happen. Your mother, Her Majesty, fully comprehended your stance on the matter.

You valued a man who showed genuine interest in your passions and didn't pass judgment on them. Mutual respect and shared interests were important to you in a potential partner.

While you recognized the significance of politics and manly duties in society, you weren't inclined to marry a man solely focused on these matters. A well-rounded individual who embraced a broader range of interests and pursuits was more appealing to you.

Your mother knew that.

And you prayed the Viscount lived up to to your high standards.

(…)

On the night of the ball, you stood in front of the grand mirror, the flickering candlelight casting a soft, golden glow across your reflection. Your gown, an exquisite creation of silk and lace, clung to your figure in all the right places, its color a subtle shade of pink. The delicate embroidery and beadwork shimmered in the dim light.

Your heart raced, and your gloved hands trembled as you practiced your breathing, trying to calm the storm of nerves within you. The anticipation of meeting Viscount Simon, coupled with the pressure of societal expectations, weighed heavily on your mind. The maids had spared no effort in choosing every accessory, from the intricate hairpin adorning your carefully styled hair to the elegant necklace that graced your neck.

You hoped, with each practiced breath, that tonight would be a turning point, that Viscount Simon would prove to be the gentleman your mother believed him to be, and that the evening would be the start of something meaningful in your life.

——

"Good afternoon, dearest," your father inquired, his arm linked with your mother's. "Where are your siblings?"

You look around, carefully examining the palace in attempt to look for your other siblings, and you’ve caught them. Relief washed over you.

"They are in the library room, Father," you replied. Your gaze wandered over the opulent floral arrangements that adorned the palace. Vibrant blooms graced the staircase and the grand room's tables, filling the air with a fragrant aroma. The Ton had indeed turned out in force for this event, with couples arriving, their arms elegantly linked, creating a sea of fashionable attendees, and not a single person seemed to be without a date.

Although you’re the princess of the United Kingdom, you oddly felt…out of place.

"Mother, you've done a splendid job. This place looks absolutely marvelous," you praised, appreciating the grandeur and elegance that surrounded you. Her smile radiated with warmth, and her pink dress, a few shades darker than yours, effortlessly outshone all the other gowns the ladies wore in the palace, commanding attention with its regal allure.

Diamond encrusted corset with a matching diamond necklace, and many layers underneath the dress made it seem larger.

Of course, it was your mother, the Queen, who had graced the event with her radiant presence. Her regal attire and demeanor left no room for doubt about her esteemed status in the grand ballroom.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” A man who appeared to be taller than your dad, bowed before him and shook his hand.

“Good evening, John. How is it here compared to the states?” The states? He must be American, you are sure.

“It is rather marvelous here, we don’t host balls as often as you do, but this ball is alluring.” And he is American so it seems, the accent was crisp.

“Thank you, John. I hosted this ball.” He bowed to the queen, your mother, before bowing down to you.

“Well of course, Her Majesty created the most perfect ball.” He complimented. Twirling the ends of his mustache, this was the first time you’ve ever met an American.

Your mother smiled, appreciating his sweet compliment towards her. “I must get back to Kyle, Ghost should be here any minute now Your Majesty.”

The mention of "Ghost" made your nerves prickle with unease, considering the unsettling details your maids had shared during your bath. As John reminded your father that Ghost would be arriving shortly, your stomach tightened with knots of apprehension. The looming presence of this mysterious figure cast a shadow over the otherwise glamorous evening.

“Thank you, John. I am quite cheerful in meeting him. It has been far too long.”

John bowed and left the area.

Your mother's concern deepened as she observed the horrified expression etched across your face. She gently placed a hand on your arm and whispered, "Dear, you look as if you're on the brink of fainting. Please, go to the refreshments and fetch yourself a glass of water. Take a moment to compose yourself." Your motherly care enveloped you, and you nodded, grateful for the suggestion to step away briefly from the anxiety that had gripped you.

The grand ballroom began to feel suffocating, and you yearned for a breath of fresh air, a momentary escape from the overwhelming atmosphere. The need to step outside and simply breathe because it became nearly overwhelming, and you decided it was time for a brief respite.

He will be here soon, and there is no avoiding it. This thought completely gnawed at your insides and there is no place for you to hide.

"Sister, are you feeling well?" your eldest sibling inquired, her cream-colored chemise beautifully complementing her shimmering jewelry. Her concerned gaze met yours, and you could sense that she found something amiss in your expression. The irony was not lost on you, given that you were about to meet a man who also bore the name "Ghost."

"I am feeling rather ill," you responded, fabricating a falsehood to avoid the impending meeting with "Ghost." While part of you wanted to avoid this mysterious figure, there was an even stronger desire to reunite with your dear brother. Your deception was a way to navigate the complex emotions and uncertainty of the evening.

How unfortunate. This man will haunt your dreams.

——

You made your way outside, the chilly breeze sweeping over your face as you finally found a moment to breathe. The cool air provided a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere inside, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of liberation that came with each deep breath.

As you’re breathing the cool air, a voice is heard from a distance.

"My dearest sister, always wandering," your brother chuckled warmly as he approached. You turned your head swiftly at the sound of his voice and finally laid eyes on your sibling after many long months. He appeared strikingly different, somehow taller and more muscular, and the transformation left you momentarily speechless with surprise and joy.

"Brother!" You couldn't contain your excitement and ran up to him, welcoming him with open arms. The embrace felt like it lasted an eternity, as you cherished every moment, not knowing how long he would stay. It was a precious reunion, and you wanted to make the most of it.

"How have you been? I suppose everything has been well while I was away?" he inquired, his arms crossed as he surveyed the palace grounds. It was just the two of you outside, and he seemed genuinely interested in catching up on all that had transpired during his absence.

Amid the tranquility of the palace gardens, your brother's question hung in the air, and he observed his surroundings with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. The evening's hushed elegance enveloped both of you as you began to catch up. He looked different from when you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder about the experiences that had shaped him during his time away. It was a moment filled with anticipation, longing, and the joy of reconnecting with your brother.

"It has been quite well! Rather normal," you replied with a smile, acknowledging the routine and calmness that had become the norm in his absence. His head tilted as he teased, "The word you're searching for is 'boring,' isn't it? After all, the fun brother hasn't been around." His hearty chuckle filled the air, bringing a touch of lightheartedness to the conversation.

“That is true. I have missed you a ton.”

“And I have missed you more, my dear sister.”

You couldn't help but glance around, hoping against hope that Viscount Riley had not yet arrived. The idea of facing him at this moment was almost unbearable, and you found yourself anxiously searching the surroundings for any sign of his presence.

How awkward.

"Oh, I thought you arrived with a guest," you blurted out, your hope that he had an emergency and didn't come alone shining through your words. The prospect of meeting "Ghost" or Viscount Riley had filled you with apprehension, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of encountering him in person. Your brother's response would determine whether your unease would intensify or be somewhat alleviated.

But it was not.

“He is here, in fact, he is inside speaking to our father. I highly suggest you meet him, he is a fine gentleman, though he might frighten some. I can assure you, he means well.”

Meeting him now seemed almost inevitable, and you had to prepare yourself for this encounter with the enigmatic figure.

It is time you met him, to get it over with once and for all.

(…)

Viscount Riley stood before you, his face obscured by a mask that added an aura of mystique to his presence. As you gazed into his eyes, you sensed a depth of emotions and stories waiting to be unveiled. It was a stark contrast to the fear you had felt just moments ago, and now, you found yourself admiring this enigmatic figure, eager to learn more about the man behind the mask.

"Your Highness," his voice, deep and gravely, greeted you. An unfamiliar warmth spread through your stomach, causing your cheeks to flush crimson. It was a sensation you couldn't quite understand. Why did you suddenly feel so flustered in his presence?

"Good evening, My Lord. I extend my gratitude for making the journey to attend this ball," you replied politely, determined to make a favorable first impression, despite your royal status as a princess.

Your mother's friend had not exaggerated; Viscount Riley was indeed exceptionally tall, almost appearing otherworldly. Inhumane. His muscular physique was apparent even beneath the luxurious waistcoat he wore. The choice of an all-black ensemble, combined with the white skull-like mask, added to the air of mystery and intrigue that surrounded him, making his presence all the more imposing.

As Viscount Riley closed the distance between you, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, and your heart quickened with each step he took. His hand, encased in a fine glove, reached out, and you watched in fascination, your gaze locked on his as your brows raised. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, leaving you both on the precipice of an intriguing encounter.

"Care for a dance?" Viscount Riley extended the invitation, his eyes lingering on you as he assessed your presence. His gaze felt almost intimate, as if he were undressing you with his eyes, although you quickly chastised yourself for such inappropriate thoughts. The offer to dance hung in the air, and you considered your response carefully.

You nod, “yes, My Lord.”

"Call me Simon, Your Highness," he suggested, his eyes captivating you with their natural hues in the dim light. They seemed to glisten like moonlight. You hesitated, feeling a mix of intrigue and reluctance. "I'm not sure I am comfortable calling you that," you admitted honestly, the formality of addressing him by his title still lingering between you.

"I have granted you permission, my love. Call me Simon, in private," he whispered softly into your ear, his words tinged with an intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a heady blend of sandalwood, enveloped your senses, and the warmth of his breath against your skin caused a flush of heat to spread through your body, leaving you feeling quite overwhelmed in his presence.

My love.

"Do you know how to dance?" Viscount Simon inquired, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, eliciting a soft gasp from you. As you turned to examine the ballroom, you noticed your family watching with smiles on their faces. "I do, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the intimate moment you shared.

"How about the waltz? Are you familiar with that?" Viscount Simon's hand slipped behind your back, drawing you closer to him in an intimate embrace. Your mouth hung open in astonishment at his boldness, aware of the watchful eyes of the Ton in the ballroom. The closeness between you two, especially in such a public setting, was bound to attract attention and speculation.

"That…I do not know how to," you admitted truthfully. The waltz was indeed a dance you had never mastered, primarily because it required a partner to perform it. The admission was honest, though it left you feeling somewhat vulnerable in this moment with Viscount Simon.

As he continued to examine you, Viscount Simon couldn't deny the striking beauty that stood before him. The tension between you grew thicker, almost suffocating, and he felt a subtle but undeniable change within himself. His chest rose with each breath, and with every passing moment, he seemed to grow larger, as if the weight of the atmosphere and unspoken emotions were affecting him physically.

“I will teach you, Your Highness.” He took your right hand into his left, wrapping his other large hand behind your waist. Pulling you inches closer, if that were possible. You were practically glued to his body.

Your left hand found its place on Viscount Simon's shoulder, and as your touch made contact, you couldn't help but notice the spark in his eyes intensify, transforming into a fiery gaze. The sensation coursing between you was entirely new and left you feeling uncertain about how to navigate it. Yet, there was one undeniable truth: it felt like the pages of a romance novel coming to life, and the allure of the moment was impossible to ignore.

The world around you seemed to fade away, as he began to guide you through the graceful motions of the dance.

He leaned down to your ear, “tell me, love, have you ever done this with anyone before?” You shook your head nervously.

Viscount Simon was nothing like the enigmatic and intimidating figure you had imagined before. He had swiftly disproven your earlier apprehensions, showing himself to be a skilled and confident dance partner. However, the lingering mystery of his masked appearance still intrigued you. Why did he choose to conceal his identity in such a way? Was it a habit, a comfort, or perhaps a symbol of something deeper? As he expertly swayed you through the dance, all your earlier fears seemed to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of fascination and curiosity about this complex man.

“What is going on in that head of yours?”

"I am just trying to be focused, My Lord," you replied, a touch of nerves still present in your voice. He cleared his throat before offering words of encouragement, "You are doing great. Don't think too hard about it, or you'll make a mistake." His reassurance helped ease some of the tension, and you tried to follow his lead with more confidence, allowing the rhythm of the dance to guide your steps.

“Everyone in the room are watching us.”

"Imagine it's just us, Your Highness. Nothing to fret," Viscount Simon whispered, his words a soothing balm to your nerves. With that simple suggestion, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, allowing yourself to immerse in the moment, focusing solely on the dance and the connection you shared, the world around you fading into the background.

"Very well done," Viscount Simon praised, a touch of warmth in his voice. His encouragement and guidance continued to make the dance feel like a shared experience, and you found yourself becoming more at ease with each step, as though the world outside this dance floor had ceased to exist.

The instrumental music slowly started to fade away, as you became enchanted under his mysterious gaze.

In the mesmerizing dance with Viscount Simon, you counted each step and movement carefully. One, a step forward, followed by several backward steps. Then, you counted to two as he gracefully led you to the side, and you followed his lead with precision, completely entranced by the rhythm and grace of the waltz.

"May I ask you a few questions?" you inquired, looking up at Viscount Simon. Or should you call him simply Simon? Your curiosity about the man behind the mask had grown steadily throughout the dance, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to satisfy it.

"Yes, Your Highness," Viscount Simon replied, his tone respectful as you continued to dance in harmony.

"How long have you been in the military? I can only imagine it's been quite some time," you mused, curious about the path that had led him to his current station. Viscount Simon's physical fitness and the air of intrigue that surrounded him certainly hinted at a rich and varied history. Those eyes of his seemed to hold countless untold stories, and you couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery that shrouded his past.

"I am quite intrigued that someone has inquired about this, especially the princess. It's an honor," Viscount Simon began, a hint of appreciation in his voice. He continued, "I've served in the military for a considerable duration." His sigh hinted at a deeper story. "But I must wonder, why do you ask, Your Highness?" There was a curious and genuine note in his inquiry, as if he too was interested in the motives behind your questions.

His question took you off guard, and you momentarily pause for a moment. Heat swept across your face, and your stomach felt like a hundred butterflies were attacking it at once.

You clear your throat, preparing yourself to speak the truth.

"Well, your physique does suggest you've had a long tenure in the British military," you stated, your words coming out more bluntly than you had intended. You looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed by your straightforward observation. It was as if the words had slipped out of their own accord, revealing your unfiltered thoughts about him.

His head tilts as you both continue the dance, the tension became thicker in the moment.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed that, you have quite the eye darling.”

"I suppose it is rather evident," Viscount Simon replied with a good-natured chuckle, acknowledging the obvious. His height and impressive physical presence were indeed difficult to overlook, and it was refreshing to engage in such candid conversation with him.

“I would like to continue this conversation another time, Your Highness.” The music stopped, and suddenly your heart ached.

The fear and apprehension you had felt before meeting Viscount Simon now seemed misplaced and misjudged. Shame washed over you as you realized that your initial impressions had been far from accurate. Emotions you had never experienced before welled up within you, and you found yourself struggling to process this newfound connection and the complex feelings it stirred within you.

"You look quite sick, Your Highness. Should I summon a doctor?" Viscount Simon's concern was evident in his voice, and he signaled his readiness to assist. However, you shook your head, declining the offer. His expression shifted, and the color of his eyes darkened noticeably. The once-bright stars in his gaze seemed to fade, leaving a shadow of concern and curiosity in their wake.

"I must retire to my bedchamber at once. It seems I may have eaten something disagreeable," you explained, offering a plausible reason for your sudden discomfort. As you made your exit, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected attachment you had felt during the dance. Was it the chemistry that had taken you by surprise, or the disappointment of the dance ending so soon when you had secretly wanted it to continue? The confusion within you left you with much to ponder as you retreated from the ballroom.

You heard heavy footsteps in the distance, and you face the sound. Heart beating so fast and hard that you’re afraid it’ll break your ribcage.

Your eyes widened as you glanced back, catching the intense gaze of the tall man in the distance—Viscount Simon. The burning sensation in your stomach flared once more, and your heart raced at the unexpected encounter. It seemed that your paths had crossed again, and the intrigue surrounding him deepened further.

“My Lord, you are not permitted in this area,” you stuttered, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and unease. Viscount Simon’s inhumanly towering presence had a profound effect on you, causing your knees to grow weak and your heart to race.

The unexpected encounter left you feeling both vulnerable and intrigued, uncertain of what would come next.

Viscount Simon continued to approach you, seemingly unperturbed by your protest. His voice, when he spoke, carried a darker, gravely, and husky timbre, each word rolling off his tongue with a depth that sent shivers down your spine. It was a voice that held a mysterious allure, and as he drew nearer, you found yourself captivated by the man before you.

“You are still not allowed here, My Lord. Unless are married to me or if you have permission to do—“ he interrupted you for a brief moment, your breath hitched. “Do I have your permission?”

His simple question held a weight that left you questioning your own dignity and morals. "I-I suppose you may. I don't believe you'd cause any harm," you replied tentatively, your nerves causing you to fidget with your hands.

Viscount Simon took note of your hesitation and reached out to gently take your hands in his own. His touch was surprisingly rough and calloused, yet it had a calming effect on your frayed nerves. The unexpected gesture further deepened the sense of connection between you two, leaving you both intrigued and comforted by the enigmatic man before you.

The entire experience felt like something out of a romance novel, a dream brought to life. It was something you had never been entirely sure would happen to you, yet now, it had. The enchanting dance, the mysterious encounter with Viscount Simon, and the complex emotions that had unfolded were all like a dream come true, turning the pages of a story you had never expected to live.

“Open the door, the guards are all downstairs, no need to fret.” He demanded, in a gentle manner.

You obediently opened the door, allowing Viscount Simon to enter. As he stepped into your bedroom, a breeze swept in from the open window, which you had forgotten to close before attending the ball. The cool air helped alleviate the heat on your flushed face, and you welcomed the refreshing sensation, finding comfort in the natural element that had invited itself into your bedroom.

"This is my bedroom," you announced, leading Viscount Simon on a brief tour. You observed him as he moved toward your bed and the bookshelf. His large hands gently skimmed over the rows of books, and his eyes, visible through the skull-like mask, carefully scanned the titles.

“I didn’t take you for such a romance reader, Jane Austen, Your Highness?”

You noticed his finger resting on “Pride and Prejudice” and felt compelled to explain. “Yes, most of them are by Jane Austen, but her works are more than just romance,” you informed him, eager to share your love for literature.

“Excuse me, but there’s not a single book here that is not romance.” His interest in your personal space and choice of reading material piqued your curiosity even further. “Are you an expert perhaps?”

"No, I am not," you admitted, your tone laced with a hint of shame. The vulnerability in sharing this aspect of yourself with Viscount Simon revealed a layer of your character that you hadn't expected to expose during this encounter.

"I can teach you some things from these books, unless you already possess the knowledge," Viscount Simon offered. He selected a random chapter from one of the books and began to read aloud, his gaze eventually shifting back to you.

With his arms now crossed, the buttons on his vest seemed on the verge of bursting due to the muscles that strained against it. The prospect of learning from him, coupled with the undeniable physical presence he exuded, left you intrigued and eager to explore this connection further.

"Knowledge of what?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by his statement. As Viscount Simon approached you, his every step seemed to carry a weight of its own, and you couldn't help but notice the way his breaths grew heavier, causing his chest to rise with each intake of air.

His masked face concealed most of his expressions, but his eyes continued to hold your attention, revealing a shift in his demeanor that intrigued you even more.

"May I, Your Highness?" Viscount Simon asked softly as he gently lifted your chin with his index finger, tilting it upward until your gazes locked completely. The sudden and intimate gesture left you gasping for air, and a rush of emotions from earlier returned with a renewed intensity. In that moment, it felt as if the world outside your shared space had ceased to exist.

You nodded, still unsure of what he was asking for, and confusion clouded your thoughts. Suddenly, Viscount Simon closed the distance between the two of you, narrowing the gap until you were in close proximity, and your breaths seemed to synchronize in that intimate space.

His lips were soft, and everything you read in the books are now suddenly real.

Viscount Simon’s right hand gently cradled the back of your neck, securing you in his embrace as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was passionate, intense, and consuming, leaving you both breathless and addicted to the taste and sensation of each other. In this private room that had once held your deepest secrets, it now bore witness to your first kiss, a moment that defied propriety but felt undeniably right in that intoxicating connection between you two.

In the midst of the heated kiss, every thought and worry seemed to vanish from your mind. Viscount Simon's warm tongue ventured into your mouth, igniting a rush of desire that left you breathless. You held onto his vest with a desperate grip, the fabric of his waistcoat beneath your fingertips offering an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations that coursed through you. The world outside ceased to exist as you both lost yourselves in this intimate exchange, a forbidden connection that felt undeniably intense and irresistible.

He must’ve kept all this encased during the dance…

Viscount Simon's strong hand cupped your face, holding you tenderly as the intensity of the kiss grew. His groans of pleasure became more pronounced, and the raw desire in his sounds threatened to melt you into a puddle beneath him. The fire in your belly surged, an insatiable heat that refused to be extinguished. Every vein in your body seemed to pulse with desire as you couldn't help but wonder where he had been all this time, and why it had taken so long for your paths to cross in such an electrifying way.

"You... taste delicious," Viscount Simon murmured as he pulled away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva briefly connecting your reddened and swollen lips before breaking. Both of you were left breathless, taking moments to regain your composure as you watched Simon also catch his breath. His remark left you feeling dizzy and uncertain about what had just transpired, and the lingering question of why it had happened hung in the air between you.

“My Lord, why did you kiss me just now?” You broke the silence, and he looks up at you, still panting.

“I sincerely apologize for my actions, Your Highness, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Your voice wavered with a mix of desire and frustration as you implored, "Stop asking me such questions before I do something completely and utterly outrageous." The tension between you and Viscount Simon had reached an almost unbearable peak, and your words conveyed both the temptation and the peril of this magnetic connection that had ignited between you.

Your brows furrow, “I don’t understand what I did, My Lord.”

"Simon, Your Highness," he corrected, his tone both firm and possessive as he closed the distance between you once again. The formality mingled with intimacy in his address, emphasizing the complexity of your connection and the roles you both occupied in this uncharted territory of desire and longing.

Suddenly, Viscount Simon began to undress your chemise, leaving you with only your undergarments. Your voice quivered as you confessed, "Simon, I was told this was not allowed unless I am married..." The touch of his hands against your skin felt like lava, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your body. The boundaries and proprieties that had once defined your world seemed to blur and fade in the face of this overwhelming desire and vulnerability.

“Do you want this?” He asked, a simple question that made you answer it in less than a second. You wanted to shout “yes” but that was deemed highly inappropriate. So you kept quiet and all you did was nod, though, Simon kept asking.

“A nod won’t do, Your Highness. I need to know if you want me to touch you, to kiss every inch of your body, to explore depths no other man has ever explored, and to tell you that you are mine. Do you want that?”

In that suspended moment, you gazed at him in awe, realizing that every description he had given you, every hint of desire and passion he had conveyed, was everything you had been longing for. It was everything you so desperately wanted. The anticipation that had built within you had finally reached its culmination, and now, in this moment, it had all become a breathtaking reality.

"I want you to do all of the above," you confessed in a breathy, fervent tone. In that intimate moment, you could discern the expression in Viscount Simon's eyes behind his mask, and the desire and hunger mirrored in his gaze confirmed the depth of the connection you both shared.

Lust.

Viscount Simon began to unbutton his vest and everything else beneath his waistcoat, gradually revealing his sculpted torso. Each chiseled muscle seemed to tell a story of years of hard work and sacrifice, with every scar etching its own narrative.

Unable to contain your fascination, you traced your fingers delicately across each scar, causing Simon to flinch at your touch. The intimacy of this moment, where you explored the physical evidence of his past, deepened the connection between you even further.

You asked in a voice tinged with sadness, “When and how have you gotten these?” Your fingers continued to trace the scars on his torso, and a part of you wished that he had never had to endure the pain and suffering that each mark represented.

“I would like to talk about these another time, I don’t want to ruin this moment, love.” You understood.

He gets up from off his knees and places both his hands besides you, you sat on the edge of the bed as he leans towards your face. “Would you like me to undress you, Your Highness?”

"You may," you breathed in response, your need for his touch growing more intense with each passing moment. Viscount Simon didn't completely undress you; instead, he lifted your petticoat all the way up to your waist, exposing your white cotton undergarments to him. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you hid your face, unable to meet his gaze as your desire and vulnerability laid bare before him.

"In all my years of living, I've never seen someone so perfect," Viscount Simon whispered, his words of admiration sending shivers down your spine. He lowered his face to your thighs, and you gasped at the sensation of his soft lips and warm breath trailing across your bare skin. He left a trail of peppered kisses as he slowly made his way to your most sacred and intimate spot, igniting a fiery passion between you that seemed to transcend time and place.

Simon hooks his fingers on the band of your undergarment, and slid them off, leaving you completely bare in front of him. His jaw locks, looking at you like you’re the prey and he’s the predator, ready to devour his meal and fulfill his hunger.

"What are you going to do?" you questioned, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Despite your previous experiences with literature and romance, this moment was uncharted territory, and you found yourself both intrigued and apprehensive about what might come next.

He completely ignored your question, taking his finger and touching it on your most sensitive spot. You gripped the cotton sheets, it became victim to your tight hold.

“Your Highness, this spot right here, may cause some discomfort.” He warned, his rough finger circling the bud slowly.

You struggled to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you found it difficult to form the right words. Your senses were overwhelmed, and your mind raced as you desperately tried to find your voice and articulate your thoughts in this intense and intimate moment.

Small whines and moans left your mouth, putting Simon in a haze. “Now right here,” his finger slid down your throbbing folds, “may hurt, darling.”

You balance yourself on both your elbows, seeing the intense sight in front of you. Simon’s head was in between your legs, and his fingers were on your cunt.

His middle finger enters a part of you that made you let out a scream in response, he may have warned you before, but it still hurt. “Did I hurt you, love? If you’d like me to stop, I can.”

"No, please," you assured him, your voice trembling with both desire and reassurance. "I assure you, I am fine." His hands remained firmly pressed against your thighs, and you welcomed him further into this intimate connection, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations that washed over you.

“Tell me when you’d like me to stop, my princess.”

My Princess. That alone let a moan escape your lips.

His finger began to slide in and out, and the sensations that surged through you left you breathless. It was a mix of pleasure and pain, a new and overwhelming experience that had your body tingling with desire and your mind racing with sensations you had never felt before.

"Oh, Simon..." you whimpered, your head thrashing from side to side as he continued to pay no heed to your whimpers and moans. His mouth descended to your most intimate place, and he began to explore you fully, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you surrendered to the exquisite sensations that washed over you.

“Stay still.” He ordered, ignoring your protests as his hands make their way to your waist and back to your thighs. Gripping them as if he’s scared you’re going to somehow leave his hold. His tongue laps against your entrance as his finger continued to slide inside and out, then quickly adding a second finger.

“Simon!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the room, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that surged through you. The knots in your stomach tugged tighter, intensifying the anticipation as you neared the peak of ecstasy, the culmination of desire and longing.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, their delicate silk fabric clinging tightly as his warm breath tickles your inner thighs. With each gentle brush of his nose against your bud, a delicious shiver of anticipation courses through your body, intensifying the electric connection between you.

And there, you couldn’t take it anymore. You unraveled underneath him as he continued to devour you, his grip intensified as you thrashed your head around. Every delicate moans escaped your mouth, and you thought you’d never make these noises in your life, yet here you are.

“You are bloody delicious, my love, so sweet.” He kissed your thighs as he hovers over you. His breathe heaving and his chest covered in sweat. You couldn’t deny the attractiveness in front of you, it was almost impossible how someone could look this good in a mask.

"Thank you, Simon," you expressed your gratitude, and in his mysterious eyes, a glint of admiration shimmered like a hidden treasure in the depths of a secret world you had just begun to explore together.

“It is my honor, Your Highness. I am sure the next time we visit, it won’t be the same as this.”

"What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued, and an unspoken desire that he would stay by your side forever welled up within you. He sighed, his breath carrying the weight of unspoken truths, and his eyes held a depth of emotions that begged to be explored further.

"I mean, Your Highness," he began, his voice holding a note of determination, "that I will never let you go. I intend to reveal the deeper parts of myself to you, and I will slowly begin to show and teach you everything you desire to know." His words carried a promise of a journey into the unknown, an exploration of desires and emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface.

“I realized now more than ever, that I need you.”

——

NOTE: HOLY!!! This took a week (omg) and now it’s finally done. I’m actually so proud of this. Let me know if you’d like to be in the taglist. Once again, thank you all for reading my peeps! :) this was a promise made by me! Also, I may have watched Bridgerton hundreds of times and Queen Charlotte and all of those shows etc etc, but if there’s something historically incorrect, please inform me! I would love to correct it for future readers. Thanks once again!

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rustedhearts · 8 months

Text

melancholy (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: autumns with steve were distinctly blue and melancholy.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ main masterlist

tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, very short, very sad. more of a ficlet.

✶ recommended listening: (dream) by salvia palth & both sides now by joni mitchell

small town connecticut. october 1991.

A wave of thunder roared through the bedroom. A lick of lightning, a slash of white light, shuttered over the bedspread. From the window, left open a crack, a gust of cool air howled through. Beneath the blankets, your body gave a shiver—reaching to pull the cotton shields over your head.

"Honey," he called from somewhere under the blankets. "You left the window open again."

Nose buried in the down feathers of your pillow, you hummed absently. Dug in a little further. Felt the weight of his hand over your waist, slipping through the groove. Expected, comforting, welcome. Against the splashing patters of rain, the whooshing shuffle of his body against the sheets. The damp grass and soiled leaves, the earthen concoction of soil and rain—interrupted by his vetiver musk and a hint of something like bonfire smoke, all toasted to warmth by sleep.

His hair, always softer than yours, hazelnut-brown and growing past his ears, glided against your cheek. As did his mouth, grazing like seeking sustenance in the dark—until the familiar cushion of your mouth, roughened by the briskness of autumn, touched his own. He pressed firmly, bottom lip jutting between your own, tongue lazily sweeping in hello. He kissed until you rolled away from the pillow, and into him.

When he was satisfied with the taste of you on his mouth, he pulled away and shuffled against the mattress. "I'll close it."

His figure, tall and lean, scarcely clothed in dark colors, moved through the blueness of the room. A deep, indigo blue—Joni Mitchell blue, melancholic blue, a blue only October allowed. When he turned in the blue light, streaked over his face paled by the colder months, he was grinning.

"Morning," he soothed.

Partially concealed by the pile of fabrics and colors that made up your bed, he caught only the raise of your brows and crinkle of your eyes—but he knew you were smiling, too.

"Morning, honey."

Four feet—two bare, two flannel-plaid-clad—padded over the hardwood. Wandered over the cold bathroom tile, stained with a rouge mistake near the sink. Shuffled into the kitchen, stopping before the coffee maker to fumble through caffeine assembly. Pattered to the toaster, where two pieces of wheat toast came away crisp and black. Tapped a mindless beat before the stove, where four eggs fried up still runny.

They came together, half socked and half bare, at the small, round wooden table. Toes knocking, ankles sliding, one pair warming the other's foolish forgetfulness as the apartment collected a sharp chill. He burnt the toast and you undercooked the eggs, but neither said a word as forks shoveled and scraped until the dishware was clean.

"You ready to go?" he asked you over the rim of his coffee mug, oatmeal-colored and speckled—purchased at Goodwill for 99 cents five Octobers ago.

You swallowed down your last charcoal bite of crunchy bread. "Almost. Have to do some cleaning up."

You cleared the table, wiped it clean with a damp rag. The sink freed of dishes, the counter clear of crumbs. The windows greyed with the light of storm clouds. It wouldn't let up today. Over the patter of rain, his soft clattering in the bedroom sounded like music. Flipping through records, fluttering through books, ghosting through hangers, spritzing cologne from a pressurized can. He came through the kitchen in a navy blue knitted sweater, dark and padded around his arms; a pair of Levis hugged his backside just perfectly.

As you pulled the rubber dish gloves from your hands, snapping and squeaking with sudsy water, he watched, leaning against the fridge. The watch on his wrist caught a streak of silvery light.

"Ready now?"

You padded over, perching on tip-toes to kiss his chin. Arms winding around his torso, breath taking him and all his cleanness in. "Almost. Shower first."

The hiss of the shower stream convoluted with the rain, melding together until one was difficult to discern from the other. But over the stomp of water, on the other side of the tiled wall and through the whiteness of the shower curtain, his maneuvering persisted. Rummaging and rumbling, drawers rolling closed, hands patting pillows, perfume bottles being straightened after being knocked down by hands moving too quick to slow down.

Wrapped in just a pale, fluffy pink towel, dripping beads of warm water across the floor, emitting steam from a stream set too high on hot—he watched you from the sofa, a book perched between his hands, as you strode into the closet. Flicked through hangers, lips pursing and nose scrunching at every distasteful option.

He placed his book face-down against the tattered cushion of the couch before returning to the bedroom. The top drawer of the dresser hummed open, clunked back closed.

"Here, honey," he cooed, holding out a bundle of deep green wool.

It smelled like him as it went over your head. It felt like being held beneath the blinding white and neon red of a movie theater sign on a cold November night while you waited for your friends. It felt like curling up on the couch when the days were too long, and the warmest, coziest place in the world was his lap, pressed against his thigh. It felt like the first time he met your parents at Thanksgiving dinner, full of bloated bellies and the stench of meat clinging to your hair and his hands for hours. The candied sweetness of a day through town when you were supposed to be at college, but the weather was too brisk and the trees were too vibrant to waste, and his propositions were not easily ignored.

The jeans were yours, the boots you pulled on, too—but the socks stuffed beneath the stiff leather were his. Plucked from his drawer when he wandered back to the living room to his book. Unfurled from their rumpled ball, plucked free of hair and lint, squished down at the calves to fit snugly around your ankles.

Your perfume and his cologne came to a symphony of scents that you only associated with home. The blueness of the living room deepened in all your stalling, and when you came to stand in the doorway, dressed in half his clothes, an ache like hunger festered in your chest.

He smiled again, overwhelmed with adoration, and snapped his book shut. "Ready now?"

You nodded. He stood, the old springs of the cushion weeping with relief of removed weight. His boots clunked over the carpet, flat and thin and found on the side of the road in a pile of garbage. A road trip to New York in the dead of summer.

He placed his hands on your cheeks and pulled you close. In the center of the living room, as the rain trickled down the windowsill and filled the room with earthen sour, he kissed you. Sweet, tender, full of aching mouths like all his kisses were. His slender, pulsing fingers buried their way into the hair gathered at the nape of your neck; his thumbs pressed at the underside of your jaw, right where your heart sang just for him. The melody in your bones swept into a crescendo until he pulled away.

Even then, under his hazel-speckled eyes and long, straight-bridged nose, it couldn't stop crying for him.

"Come on," he murmured, a softness gracing his face. "It's time."

You kept the radio off in the car, let the ping of rain on the windshield soothe the drive. His hand cupped over your denim thigh, tapping aimlessly at the occasional stoplight. And the blueness gathered in the car, too. A deep, bruised blue that curdled your blood like spoiled milk. A blue that felt like drowning. A blue that burned if you peered for too long, like the hottest flame on a gas stove burner.

The tires crunched over gravel and flattened down slick grass. Slipped through the sludge and soup of mud. You carefully put the gear in park when you reached the edge of the road. The engine dinged as your seatbelt slipped back against the door, and ceased only when you yanked the keys from the ignition to slip them in your pocket. In the backseat, he left a sturdy raincoat for days like today. You pulled it over your head and zipped it to your chin before stepping out.

The walk was just down the hill and up another to the right. Winding through grey stone monuments, careful of crushing windblown and rain-wilted flowers and tokens of affection as you went. Hands tucked into the warmth and dryness of your pockets, you watched your feet collect wet soil and mark their way through a familiar path. The rain began to slant sideways, beating against the canvas of your raincoat and covered ears with gentle fury.

And despite the wetness and the messiness of the earth, you sank down to the ground when you reached the end of your journey. Flat on your butt, legs tucked into each other with every intention to stay. From your pocket, a tightly-closed silver thermos of steaming coffee, swiped on the way out of the house.

You placed it on the gleaming silver stone and swiped away the blades of grass and yellow leaves that came to say hello.

"I made it, Stevie," you told him, sighing into the cold.

Thunder grumbled through the clouds, married with another lick of white lightning. You smiled, easing into the wisps of wind seeping through the raincoat hood. Coldness kissed your cheeks and numbed your nose. The scent of him under your coat felt as precious and rare and holy as he did when he was still around.

Though Steve said his goodbye, you'd never stop coming to say your hellos.

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neesieiumz · 1 year

Text

love language ⸻ You remind me I’m imperfect and it sucks to admit it. ⸻ a. ojiro

synopsis ⸺ after six months, you lay eyes on your ex-boyfriend at a mutual friend’s party.

warnings ⸺ smut. 18+, black-coded reader. female reader. afab anatomy. praise kink, cunnilingus, blow job, some angst, happy ending, time skip aran. use of ocs, but barely even mentioned. he’s very sweet to you no matter what. this is also my haikyuu debut so... I haven't read the haikyuu time skip so this is all referencing his wiki page and how other people write about him.

writer notes ⸺ disclaimer, i'm just starting the haikyuu manga, so please bear with me. I really tried to embody what people say he embodies, so hopefully, I did this fine man justice. (also disclaimer, i hate the reason they broke up but it was the best one i could find and create.)

wc ⸺ 6.2k

The city was alive mostly at night, it was a beautiful thing. Although, that was where you were not at tonight.

As you walked, your heels clicked through against the cobblestone walkway. Passing by the bright glass stone lights, lighting your way to the one destination. Smiling, although it was a melancholy one. It had been a while since you had gone out like this, wrapping yourself up in work and distracting yourself from any and everything. Most of your friends would call your recent way of life destructive, so you hoped to get them off your back this way. Your dress was black, matching everything else you wore. After all, the event you were going to was an all-black attire. The dress is backless, along with carefully sewn holes on both sides of the dress. In your hands held both your bag and a gift bag as well, containing a very expensive purse and perfume.

Soon you arrived at the event, a birthday party, a very private one as well. It was held at a country club you used to frequent as well, back during a different part of your life. Two guards stood out front, one holding a tablet.

“Name?” The one on the left asked you, the moment you stepped up to them.

You gave them your name, and them checking, glancing at your photo that popped up before looking at you. It was very tight security after all. You hold both bags in one hand, before lowering your glasses and revealing your eyes so they can get a good look at you. The two men nodded, stepping out of the way and opening the door to the private club. They both tell you to enjoy your night, which you thanked them for before walking inside. At the reception of the country club, the lady at the desk smiled, before asking you where you were headed. There must have been multiple events being held during this time, you thought to yourself, no matter though.

You told her the name of your close friend, whose birthday it was today. She smiled, before pointing down the hall, telling you which hall is hosting the party. Smiling, thanking her before walking down yourself. You creaked the door open slightly, the sounds of people mingling together getting louder and louder as you did. The tables were mostly gone, making room for the tall tables designed for people to rest their drinks on. The meshing of gold and green, a garden-themed cocktail party. Vines decorated the walls, paired together with shimmering fake flowers. You smiled to yourself, once again, you thought, she goes all out. Towards the back, hanging a beautifully decorated table which deemed itself to be the gift table was a banner adorning her name. Wading through the crowd, smiling and waving at those you knew and excusing yourself past those you did not know.

Jumping at the sudden attack behind your back, you heard familiar giggling as pink silk-gloved hands wrap themselves around you. The familiar giggling had you smiling even wider, placing your hands on top of her own, and turning your head to make eye contact with her.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it!!” She whined in your ear, the smell of saccharine alcohol on her tongue.

Smiling, you turned towards her fully, wrapping your arms around her in a hug, “of course I wasn’t, I couldn't miss your birthday for the world.”

She fully accepted your hug, letting you go but still keeping her arms around you. Immediately her eyes zeroed in on the gift you had in your hands. She squealed, immediately diving in to swipe it away from you, but you moved back with a quick step, laughing as she pouted once again. Your friend became very spoiled once alcohol tasted her tongue.

“I’ll place this on the gift table and you can open them tomorrow when you're much more yourself, okay?”

She pouted again, but nodded her head, telling you to stop by the cocktail table before finding the rest of your friends. You agreed, turning around to continue on your journey to the gift table. Getting the table, you placed your gift along with the rest of the massive and most expensive gifts as well. Once you did, you turned around, eyeing both the assortment of cocktails available already pre-made, along with an open bar making custom selections for those who didn’t like what was available. Walking over to the table, you looked over everything that was in front of you, and it all looked so good. Martinis, margaritas, and all the different assortment of colored drinks. Glancing over everything one more time, you decided on a gradient-like drink, clear on top with yellow settling at the bottom, decorated with ice at the top and a piece of rose vine and a small bud that had yet to grow into a full-fleshed rose. This specific drink came with its own straw. After carefully sipping it, approving of its taste, you cast your eyes to the crowds, looking for wherever your friends were congregating.

Catching sight of your friend’s frilly pink dress, you started to make your way to them, and then froze…

Standing there, over 6 feet tall, wearing a navy blue silk fitted shirt with matching slacks. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him, eyes seeing his familiar layered chains. When he’s not on the court, he’s always wearing them, especially the ones you got him. Your eyes landed on the biggest one of them all, recognizing it as the one you got him on his birthday, in the very shape of the ball he loves the most. When you left to spend it with him with what little time you had. His birthday was always during the volleyball season here, so you never got to do a more special celebration until the off-season. His ears were adorned with gold studs, face, and hair, and freshly cut, you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Aran Ojiro looked good, way too good for you to face him again.

It was only six months ago that you even broke up with him.

The season had just begun when you did so as well, which usually lasted about six months as well, but you weren’t expecting to see him so soon after.

Before you could turn around, fall into the crowd and avoid the man, the birthday girl spotted you once again. She smiled, waving to you to come over, calling you by name. Almost immediately, the rest of your group followed her eyesight, including Aran.

Damn her, you bitterly thought, forcing yourself to pick up your legs to walk over to the group. You kept your eyes on the birthday girl, forcing yourself to ignore the cryptic countenance Aran took the moment he laid his eyes. You greeted the rest of the group, giving hugs to the ones who came up for them, without spilling your drink.

“It’s so good to see you, it feels like we haven’t seen you in forever!” Fumiya, who stood next to the birthday girl said.

“I’ve just been… really busy!” You forced a smile on your face, taking another sip of your drink.

“Yeah, busy throwing yourself into work and barely giving yourself a fucking break.”

The group knew of your recent break with the man not too far away, but it seemed the flowing alcohol stripped away all inhibitions. You could feel his eyes on your own the moment Fumiya said that, although you did your best to ignore it, as the group delved into further conversation. Before you knew it, your straw was sucking up remnants of water from the melting ice. You excused yourself from the group, deciding to go to the bar for a custom drink.

Smiling at the bartender, you handed over the empty glass before looking over the cocktail menu, the more complicated it was as you looked further down and down the menu. Everything was covered by your friend’s fiance, who was also a very rich man completely in love with her. You looked over what was available, before deciding on a platinum passion, a very expensive drink, something you would never order on a day-to-day basis. As you waited, you could hear footsteps walking about behind you, mostly ignoring them until someone came up right beside you.

“What would you like to order, sir?” You heard the bartender ask whoever was beside you.

“Uh, lemme get a Moscow mule.”

Your eyes widened at the familiar voice beside you, but this time you couldn't help but glance to your right, seeing the same man you had been avoiding at all cost right beside you. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and quickly you looked away, your manicured nails tapping against the open bar.

“It’s been a while, huh?” You heard him say, knowing his words for you.

You took a deep quick breath, before deciding to speak, “yeah… yeah, it has.”

It went quiet all over again, the awkwardness settling in and suffocating the two of you. Soon the bartender that took your order came over with a tall glass filled with fizzling purple drink, topped with a beautiful orchid and a black straw to tie it all together. You took a sip of it, the taste of passion fruit and expensive champagne, with some sweet apricots mixed in, you could hardly taste the alcohol in the drink. Despite everything telling you not to, you couldn't help yourself, turning towards him. He was leaning against the bar, sipping away at his glass of vodka and ginger beer. Crossing your legs as you glanced over his form once more. You took another sip, watching him as he finished his drink with no stopping, handing his glass right back to the person at the bar. He ordered another one, and as he did, took the opportunity to get closer to you.

“How’s work been for you?” He asked, showing off his soft, sweet smile.

“It’s been really good for me, I recently closed on a house and am currently setting up some open houses as well.” You said, smiling at the recent positive prospects at your job as a realtor.

His smile got even bigger at that, which had you smiling even harder.

“How… How is the season this year? I didn’t really keep up with it as much as I wanted.” You said, looking away from him.

The two of you knew what that meant, but the two of you didn’t want to mention it, at least not right now. Nodding his head, he turned his head towards the bartender who gave him his drink.

“The season was good, really good. I’m just… glad to be home for the time being until training.”

You nodded your head once again at that, “I’m glad... That you had a good season of course.”

As you took a sip of your drink and Aran did at the same time, you couldn’t help but wonder, how different the two of you would be if you hadn’t made the decision you did. Six months ago may not feel like a lot, but if you had asked yourself just fifteen minutes ago before you even laid eyes on him once again, you would have said you were over him. However, you’re here, staring your ex-boyfriend once again in the eyes, and realizing, how much you really missed him.

Your stomach took on a sudden, heavy feeling of realization as you stood up straight, slightly startling the very same man your mind was in turbulence over. You forced a smile on your face.

“itwasreallynicetoseeyouAranbutihavetogo,” you mumbled down, placing your unfinished drink on the bar before racing past him as fast as you can without drawing much attention to yourself.

You could hear him call out your name, but you ignored it, opting to open the doors leading to the endarkened hallway of the country club, into sudden cold air. Crossing your arms, rubbing your hands over your upper to provide some kind of warmth. You wanted to grab your phone, to call yourself an Uber or Lyft, whichever would get here fast when you eyed landed on your empty elbow which was supposed to hold your bag. You blinked once, once again, before relaxing you must have left it at the open bar, where you left Aran all high and dry from the… could you even call that a conversation?

Suddenly the door flew open right behind you, showing Aran, eyes wide open and holding two things in his hands. Your very bag that you were just worrying over, and the drink that you had left behind. Immidalet he spotted, his anxious form relaxing as he approached you.

“You left this behind,” he said quietly, holding them out to you.

As quiet as he was, you thanked him, taking the things from his hands. As you were about to walk away, Aran’s voice stopped you right in your tracks.

“Did… did I make a mistake?”

His voice echoed through the hall, louder than he probably meant for it but it hits you nonetheless. Slowly you turned around, taking a deep breath and shaking your head at him.

“No, it was… it was me, you were… perfect.”

He shook his head, taking even more steps towards you. You tried to step away but he just got closer, “I’m not accepting that, there has to be a reason why you would break up with me with no reason, no reason at all.”

You shook your head once again, “I’m not lying Aran.” You could say this a million times, the look on his face revealed that he wasn’t taking your answer.

He took another step towards you, and you took another step back. Over again, you did this song and dance until your back hit the wall. You dropped your bag, while he took the drink back, placing it on the ground before standing back up. His tall form towered over you, arm resting above your head as he looked down at you. You could only give him one glance before looking away from him, your mesh-gloved hands trying to push him away from you. Heart pounding with your ears, body beginning to throb all over. Insanity on how he still had such an effect on you.

A hand came under your chin, moving your face, “look at me,” his low voice mumbled, but it was loud and clear.

You listened before anything could tell you to stop, looking up at his deep, dark brown eyes, shining with a multitude of emotions.

“Aran…” you whispered, and that was the last thing you said before feeling lips on your own.

Taking in a breath of surprise, you could help yourself, falling under his spell, returning the kiss with just as much vigor. The arm that was above you left its position, hand now resting softly on your cheek as his other hand came about your waist, his palms touching the open skin on the dress. Your own hands trailed up from his stomach, the feeling of his abs so familiar under you yet everything you've been craving for a long time. Hands now resting on the sides of his neck, you pulled him as close as you could.

Slowly, you pulled away from the kiss, the two of you breathing heavily as you did. Suddenly you could feel his rough hands swipe something away on your face… liquid… oh, you’re crying. Sniffing, you tried to wipe away the rest of them but he wasn’t having that, taking both of your hands in one of his before whipping the rest of your tears with his other. Soon after, he took your bag off the ground, along with a drink. With nothing but a motion, he told you to finish up the drink. Nodding your head, you took the drink, tears still silently streaking down your face, as you sip down the rest. He took his phone and keys out of his pockets, before taking your free hand and guiding you out of the country club. You had finished the drink as you reached the receptionist's desk, which was now empty. Aran took the empty glass filled with ice, and placed it on the desk, leaving a small note before taking your hand and taking you right outside.

It was quiet between the two of you as you walked outside into the cold. Almost immediately, you shivered, and Aran stopped in his tracks. He turned around, facing you, before shifting off his jacket. You tried to refuse the jacket, but he was having absolutely none of that, draping it across your shoulders before taking your hand and leading you right to his car. He unlocked the car, and opened the passenger side, gesturing for you to get inside, which you did.

Making yourself comfortable within the familiar car, buckling in your seatbelt, as Aran jogged around, opening his own door before sliding inside the car. With a quick press of a button, sliding on his own seatbelt before pulling out of his parking space. With so much to say, and no clear way to say it, the car ride was silent as he drove the two of you to your– his apartment, or his loft, you would put it. As he suddenly turned a sharp left, his broad hand suddenly grabbed at your thigh, keeping you both in place as he turned. It was such a simple gesture but everything about it had your heart racing just like the event hall

Arriving at the parking deck, Aran pulled in, parked, and got out of the car. You knew better than to move, Aran jogging right back over to open your door. Holding his hand, you thanked him, watching him close the door behind you before locking the car. He handed you your bag and you held it as he held a tight grip on your hand, guiding you to the exit into the building. He knew you knew where to go, yet diced on keeping a tight grip on you, the two of you entering a dimmed hallway before heading down the hall to the left. Going down the familiar twists and turns of the loft building, the two of you arrived right in front of his door. Quickly, he unlocked the door, before taking you inside his place. Aran turned on the lights as you entered inside. Eyeing everything, it was just as you left it six months ago.

Kicking off your heels, you placed them by the door as Aran went to the kitchen, telling you to take a seat on the couch. Despite everything within you, you listened, snuggling within his formal jacket, smelling of frosted apples, whiskey, and white oak. You waited for a few moments, before hearing movement and seeing him walk over to you with a glass hand, filled with water. He sat right next to you, slowly handing over the glass to you. You thanked him, taking a few sips of the water, the coolness relieving pressure building you didn’t know was building within you. Once you had enough, you placed the glass on the glass coffee table in front of you, before feeling your hands grab your own. He turned you towards, holding them close to his, placing a slight kiss on the mesh gloves. You relished in the feeling of his soft lips, the thin material allowing you to do so. Aran soon moved one of his hands around your waist, basically scooping you up and placing you right on his lap.

“Talk to me, you know how these things go,” he murmured, “we didn't have a chance to because you broke things off right before I left and wouldn’t answer my calls or texts.”

You sighed, leaning into his hold, his arms locking you right into his lap.

“You said it wasn’t something I did… was it something you did and you simply didn't want to tell me?”

“Did you stop loving me?”

You shook your head as well, denying that qualm as well.

“Well then, if it’s not any of those, and you say it wasn’t something I did… what prompted you to do so, then?”

You took a deep breath, thumb aimlessly stroking across his fingers, “it wasn't something you did. More like, I made a decision that I thought was best for both of us.”

Confusion overtook his face as you shifted your body, straddling his lap so you could face him fully. You ignored the throbbing within yourself, shifting yourself up to get as close to him as you could.

“You’ve always been a person of passion, it’s been your life since before I met you. I just… I just like I couldn’t keep up with you sometimes. You would want to do all these things when your home and I… couldn’t keep up.”

“We were on two different wavelengths to me, and I didn’t know how else to fix it.”

You could both feel and hear Aran take in a deep breath before sighing it out, all while his hands made mindless circles into the parts of your skin that were exposed.

“So it was something I did,” he mumbled in your ear.

You immediately shook your head, but he shushed, laying his head right on top of your shoulders. You moved your arms up, resting your hand straight on the back of his head, holding him to you.

“I should have been more sensitive to what you were feeling,” he said, placing a kiss on top of your shoulder.

You shook your head, “maybe I should have just told you what I was feeling, I was… scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

You couldn't help but shrug your shoulders, “I… psyched myself into believing you wouldn't understand what I was feeling.”

“Now you know the last thing I would do is judge you, angel.”

You couldn't help but smile at the nickname, it’s been a while since you'd heard, it was your favorite one out of everything he’s ever called you. Aran continued to place kisses on top of your shoulders, moving closer and closer to your neck, His heated breath caused you to shiver within his hold, and your hands tightened around the back of his neck. You could feel your dress rising up with every movement you made, your body aching for him after so long. His movements went from your shoulder to your neck, laying careful but electrifying kisses all along it.

Gasping his name, you curled into him, his hands soon sliding from your hips to your ass. He gripped at it tightly, and before you knew it, he got up with you still in his arms. You squealed, holding on to him tightly as he made a few steps before heading up his black cherry-wood stairs, heading up to his own bedroom on the second floor. The moment he arrived at the top, he took a few uck steps to the left before launching you right onto the bed, landing on the soft material. You scooted back a bit, resting again on your arms and the pillows as Aran began to unbutton his shirt a bit. The dark shirt slowly revealed his very well-fitted form, from years of volleyball. He threw his shirt to the side, before getting on the bed, climbing right on top of you.

“I fucking missed you,” he mumbled into your skin, his hands dipping down under your rising dress.

Breathless as he pressed his fingers against your panties, taking in the wetness staining them. He left a few kisses along your cheek before capturing another kiss, pressing himself as he did. You held his face in your hands as he kissed you, deeply, as if you were going to disappear right in front of him. The dress straps were slipping with every movement he made against you, the dress falling off all the same. He pushed himself in between your legs, allowing you to wrap them around his waist as well. His thick fingers slipped past your panties, two of them easing themselves deep inside you. Gasping within the kiss, unconsciously squeezing around them. Aran said nothing as he teases you, taking his thumb to rub slow yet deep circles in your clit, moving his fingers just as slowly.

Slowly, he let go of the kiss, keeping his lips right next to your ear as his hollow deep voice whispered into it. He took in your squirms, your pleas for him to go faster, knowing this pace couldn’t do anything for you.

“Relax for me,” his voice was soft but stern.

You tried your best to listen to him, but your body still slightly trembled in anguish, wanting him to do more and more to you. Slowly he began to speed up, sating the building desire and frustration within you. Your legs had spread wider and wider, allowing him to hit deeper and deeper. At this point your dress had fallen off your dress, scrunching up and pooling around your waist. Dripping all over his fingers, your body quivered and shook, jerking as you cried out.

You hear his voice speak up again, “you gonna come for me?”

Rapidly shaking your head, no words come to your head as your mind begins filling with brown noise. You could feel his body pressing against you, keeping the same rapid pace, with no sense of stopping. Squeezing around him, your hands came up around his upper arms, squeezing them so tight, your sharp nails dug dents into his skin. He paid it no mind, entrancing by the spaced-out look on your face.

“Don’t hold back, angel.”

Eyes closing shut, your body convulsed, a loud gasp-like moan coming out through the room, arousal gushing out of all over your thighs and his fingers. You melted back into his hold and bed, mind floating and filled with noise. Slowly he pulled his fingers out, not being able to see him taking the two before lapping your juices up. Sono you felt hands right at your waist, pulling off the rest of the dress, along with your panties. Once the clothes were gone, you could feel those same hands pull right down towards him, matching up eye to eye with him. Aran placed one hand on your face, keeping the other one at your waist. He lowered his face down to you, whispering in your ear,

“You okay angel?”

You nodded your head, and slowly brought up your arms to his face, holding his face in your hands. He accepted your soft kiss, his thumb rubbing affectionately against your cheek. Using your arm, you prop yourself up, pushing back against him as he rises up a bit. His hands went back down around your waist, before flipping the two of you with ease, you laying right on top of him. You swung your legs over his body as you let go of the kiss, straddling his lap. You reached down, unclasping his pants button before slowly pulling down the zipper. Slowly you stripped his pants away, revealing plain black boxers. You pushed his pants as far down as they could, Aran kicking off the rest of his legs and the bed. Your hands went on his boxers next, slowly peeling them back. Before you could even peel them down a quarter of the way, his thick cock sprung out, slapping against his abdomen. You peeled them down the rest of the way, scooting back a bit, leaning down with soft, wet kisses against his stomach, leading down to the tip. He let out small, soft gasps with every kiss you left.

You relished every sound he made, tongue swirling and teasing him, knowingly teasing him just as he did you. Having had enough of your antics, Aran’s hands gripped at your shortened locs, no longer in the high ponytail you had for the part. You slowed him to slowly guide your head down his length, your hands wrapping around the rest of the length you couldn’t swallow. The moment his cock hit the back of your throat, he groaned, head thrown back. Bobbing your head up and down, droll dripping down onto his length. The sounds of his pleasure only fueled your actions further, your hand coming around to your lips couldn't reach.

“So good, so fucking good for me,” he let out, using his hands to help guide down his cock.

You moaned around him, causing him to jerk within your hold, heaving in and out. Just as quickly he had your entire being under his spell, you couldn't deny how much you released in the sounds Aran made for you.

How could I ever part with him in the first place? You couldn't help but think to yourself, feeling his grip against your hair tighten, as if was beginning to brace himself. This didn't stop your movements and continued to swallow him down. He wants you as much as he could get out of his mouth, before the taste of slightly sour yet basic flooding your mouth. You swallowed all his cum, not letting up even after Aran let go of your hair. Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head off of his cock, placing wet kisses all along it. His hands suddenly grabbed your hips, dragging you right up to him. You hovered right over him, smiling as you looked down at his face. As you went down for another kiss, you could feel his own hands guiding your hips further down.

Gasing, gripping his hands in sharp pain as he began to slowly sink his cock inside you. You begged for him to go slowly, hearing him whisper in your ear.

“Breath through your nose, angel, I’ll go as slow as you need me to do.”

You nodded your head hanging onto every word that fell from his lips. It had been so long, and the fact he was so big was an even bigger contributing factor. Overwhelmed, your head dropped down to his chest as his hands moved from your hips to underneath your butt. Restricted in his movements, his grip on you was tight as he slowly lifted your body up and down. Your body lay against his, trying your best to relax as he slowly fucked you, allowing your body to get used to him once again. Aran whispered in your ears, guiding you through everything. Soon your painful gasps became filled with passion, your tight grip on his shoulders loosening up. Your own hips began to grind down.

“Better?” he whispered, feeling your own hips begin to move against him.

You let out a moan in affirmation, nodding against his chest before feeling him thrust up once. His pace began to quicken, beginning to repeatedly plunge into you. His every movement overwhelmed you, curling into the pleasure. Your hands roamed his chest, nails slightly digging into them as he ravished you through and through. The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin, the gush of your arousal soaking the both of you, dripping onto the bed. Suddenly, he lifted you up, rising above the bed. Quickly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and neck, holding on tight as he stood up, slamming your back against the wall. Head threw back in pleasure as he parted your legs widener, his grip on your thighs so strong he could leave bruises.

Aran nuzzled against your neck, his hot heavy breath breathing shivers down your body. He nipped away at your neck, taking in every sound you made under him.

“Soso good,” your words were slurring together, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You’re taking me so well, angel, fuck I could fuck you all night,” he groaned into your ear, biting at it slightly at the end.

Your body and voice cried out at that, expletives falling from your lips. He was hitting so deep, he could almost bruise your cervix with the pace he was going. You couldn’t complain, you had never felt more within a single moment. The number of marks you left on his body would definitely be noticeable tomorrow, but you couldn't care less about that. He continued leaving kisses along your neck, sucking and biting against the skin as well. Tension was inciting, building within you, your cunt throbbing and squeezing tighter and tighter around him.

“I’m gonna, fuck I’m gonna⸺” you could barely finish your warning before the dam broke, cum gushing out of you, making a bigger mess than before.

“Oooh fuck,” your body shook and shuddered, letting out a loud moan as you came all over him, squirting all over you.

Aran didn’t stop his movements for a second, fucking you through your prolonged orgasm. Your body twitches within his hold, incoherent words slurring together from your mouth. Just as quickly as he moved you from the bed, he pulled out for a moment, carrying you right back to the bed before sliding right back into you, your legs stretched to their maximum. You screamed, hands reaching for something ground as you could feel his fat tip press right against your cervix,

“Too deep,” you squealed, overly sensitive from the orgasm you just had.

He said nothing, his slams into you starting to become more erratic, his mind getting just as spaced out as your own. His body hovered over you, slamming into you with everything breath he had in him, face furrowed in concentration. You could do nothing but take the force of his pummels, mind floating and body tingling from everything around you. His sweat dripped down from his face, his chains falling in front of you, dangling above your face.

With a sudden groan, “fuck⸺”, he slammed into you aimlessly a few more times, before going, his body laying right on top of you as he groaned into your neck.

You could feel him filling you up, gasping as you did. In the back of your mind, you were thankful you were still on birth control. His body was sticky with sweat, sticking on top of yours as the two of you just lay there. He turned his head, moving it right back to your face, before laying soft and sweet kisses all over your face and cheek, completely different from the man who had just ravaged and relished in your every being.

Slowly, he pulled out, the two of you hissing from the sensitivity as he did. You could barely move off the bed, only hearing his movements as he walked away from the bed. You could only sit with your thoughts, they began to run rough, wondering if he had suddenly regretted that before hearing his footsteps approach the bed. Suddenly, you felt something cold and wet along your inner thighs, pressing carefully into the sore places his grip got a little too tight. You smiled, this was familiar, reminiscing on the days past. Hissing at the sudden switch in sensations, but relaxing as the cold wet rag made your inner thighs better. Aran continued to wipe away the mess on your body, along with carefully pressing the rag against your pussy to allow for it to receive some relief. It helps you regain some of your strength, being able to watch him walk away into the bathroom to clean himself up. He kept the door open, allowing you to gaze and look at him as he did, watching the cold water drip down his body as well.

He felt your eyes on him, turned around, and saw you keeping your eyes on every part of his body. Aran only smirked, turning away from you.

“You better stop looking at me before I want a round two,” is all he said, turning on the sink and ringing out the rag.

Your boisterous laugh echoed through the loft, flipping around in the sheets, which were still slightly wet. You heard the sink turn off, before seeing Aran walk over with a blanket and a silk wrapping in hand. Together the two of you laid the blanket down on the bed, before grabbing the thick, black comforter and wrapping yourselves in it, exhaustion hitting your body like freight trains. Aran took the silk wrapping, helping you place your hair into it before falling into the blankets.

Yawning, you could feel his strong arms wrap themselves sound you, pulling you into him. You turned around, snuggling into his physique, hands coming up right under your head to get more comfortable under him. You felt him place a kiss on

You know you’re still in due for a long conversation concerning your insecurities within your relationship. How this situation even came to be was all about you getting into your head, along with other outside forces that you would rather not talk about. However, there was one thing you could come to a conclusion about when it comes to Aran Ojiro, you could never fully part with him. Even if your paths diverge at the end.

taglist: @orchiddreamz @shamelesshoefairy

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galvanizedfriend · 8 months

Text

Fic: The Unexpected Grace of Falling Apart

Summary: AH/AU. It's Tyler's wedding weekend and Caroline is back in Mystic Falls for the first time after the most traumatic and depressing year of her life. And it's about to get even worse as she's made to share breathing space with Klaus, The Worst Guy Ever. Except they might have to join forces to save the wedding, and to the discovery that things might not be what the seem. As Caroline teeters on the edge of a breakdown she'd been trying very hard to conceal, an unexpected savior appears to help her through the haze.

---

About a year ago, Caroline met the worst guy ever.

No, really. The Worst.

Men are, as a general rule, pigs. If women were to make in-depth pro-versus-cons evaluations of every guy they met before deciding on whether to hook up with them or not - well. Let's just say the perpetuation of the human species would be in serious jeopardy.

There's only a handful of guys out there of a certain age, still single, who are really worth any woman's time, and Caroline hasn't had the pleasure of meeting many representatives of that rare, dying breed. Those are the real-life unicorns.

It doesn't help that Caroline seems to be a walking magnet for the dudebro kind. She doesn't know what it is about her that gets them to crawl out of sewers and holes in hell to greet her with their Hey there, gorgeous or Have I died and gone to heaven?s whenever she walks into a bar. It's probably the blonde hair. Men tend to get friskier around blonde women for some ancient misogynistic reason.

There have been moments in her life where her faith in the male half of humanity was so deeply shaken that she even - God forbid her - considered going a few shades darker. She's a natural blonde, though, and it takes her hours (and a small fortune) every few months at her colorist's chair to achieve that perfect sweet spot between kissed by sunshine and blessed by the angels for her to commit that crime against herself. Caroline's hair is the one part of her life that has remained absolutely flawless even when everything else around her has fallen apart, including her mental health and self-esteem. She refuses to dye it just because men can't bother to put some honest effort into updating their lame pick-up lines and yet, somehow, still expect her to have sex with them.

And the sad truth is, catch her on a bad night, and she just might. Horny melancholy is where a woman’s dignity goes to die.

It's exhausting to be a twenty-something woman in the XXI century. There's the pressure of making it in this godforsaken world as an adult, there's the pressure from society's understanding that a woman of her age should be looking for serious commitment with marriage in sight, and then there's also the pressure that stems from the very human needs of her hormonal body. It's a jungle out there.

Things would be so much easier if she didn't need men at all, not even for the specific parts of their anatomy that appeal to her. She really hopes next life brings her back as anything other than straight.

In the meantime, in this lifetime... The Worst Guy.

Caroline has met her fair share of jerks and idiots of all shapes and colors, so it takes something really special to shock her. As a seasoned woman in the woes of the dating market, she can 100% state that this guy is no ordinary asshole. This is a king among douchebags. And that's not just her personal opinion; she has shared the evidence with all her friends, and the friends of her friends, and all the women at her work, and even some random people at powder rooms at bars and parties. Basically, every woman in New York's grapevine who was willing to listen.

The collective response to her tale is always a disgusted gag sound, followed by Please, tell me you punched that son of a bitch or Did you gouge his eyes out with a hot poker?

If you discount abusive, aggressive and violent men, who are criminals and not in the same category as everyday lame-ass men, he really is The Worst.

Caroline doesn't like to say she's not over it yet because it implies bestowing a level of importance to His Royal Dickshness that is not merited. The guy was a friend of a friend - her best friend, yes, but still only a notch above a complete stranger. She’d known him for less than a week and, technically, they did no more than make out for a little bit, so it's not like they had any kind of relationship going on. He's not important, just some guy who did something astoundingly douchebaggy, even by someone whose standards are sadly low.

The whole incident was bound to go down as a funny anecdote to be shared among friends, a Oh, you think you've had the worst hook-up ever? Hold my beer kind of story. Provided, of course, that she never had to see him ever and could just wipe him out of her life and memory for good. Given that they live in different time zones, it shouldn't be too much of a hassle.

That is precisely why Caroline is livid when she emerges from the arrivals area at Richmond airport to find Douchebag, in the flesh - sunglasses indoors and all, like the proper jerk that he is - holding up a sign that reads Clarisse.

Read the full story here

For four years, this was known as Random Fic, and so if you have been following me here, you might have heard me whine about it at some point. I've just decided on the title ten minutes ago. lol I can't believe this is finally done!

Thank you @definedareasofuncertainty for hearing me talk about this for almost as long as you've known me and never telling me to shut up.

As always, your kudos, comments and reblogs mean the world and have been feeding my fic-writing soul for four years so that I could get a grip and round this up. ❤️ Ty and if you read it, hope you enjoy it!

#Klaroline #Klaroline fanfiction #Klaroline fic #kc fanfiction #kc fic #kc fandom #klaus x caroline #yokan writes #yokan has the awful habit of posting fic in the middle of the night #klaroline shippers club #this is a long one folks so make sure you're comfy hydrated and have a snack

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fishingfordreams · 1 year

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manga recommendations pt. 3

memory, melancholy, and maturity

Totsukuni no Shoujo (The Girl From the Other Side: Siúil, a Rún) by Nagabe

A harrowing and beautiful grim dark fairy tale set in a world populated with monstrous creatures that can curse people with a single touch. The story follows a young girl named Shiva and her otherworldly Teacher who live in a vacant village on the "outside." The story explores the dichotomy of light and darkness, good and evil, body and soul, and those who linger in the quiet spaces in between. Nagabe’s dreamy story book illustrations capture the fantastical and eerie world vividly, crafted together in fine lines and careful contrasts.

Dungeon Meshi (Dungeon in Delicious) by Ryoko Kui

A charming medieval fantasy story about, well, dungeons, dragons, and delicious food! The premise is simple: kill the magician of the dungeon and the golden kingdom shall be yours, or so the former king declared before fading to dust. And so, we follow a group of adventurers as they traverse the dungeon and, after losing their supplies and friend to a red-scaled dragon, meet a dwarf who teaches them how to prepare and cook monster ingredients. The story delights in monster designs and their anatomies and ecosystems, and boasts a diverse cast of characters that are as equally complex and well-developed.

MagMell Shinkai Suizokukan (Deep Sea Aquarium MagMell) by Kiyomi Sugishita

A gorgeously illustrated story following Koutarou Tenjou, a janitor and assistant keeper at a deep sea aquarium in Tokyo. The story quietly opens up a hidden, dreamlike world filled with strange and wonderful creatures that dwell in the dark depths of the sea. Sugishita beautifully captures the fleeting, tender moment of fondness and rumination that people experience while watching the majesty of the ocean and her inhabitants.

BECK: Mongolian Chop Squad by Harold Sakuishi

An absolute classic! A soul-stirring, coming of age story about music, brotherhood, and the angst of adolescence. It features a group of colorful teenagers who come together to form a rock band and the story focuses on their love, trials, and tribulations as they struggle to fame. The protagonist, Yukio “Koyuki” Tanaka, embodies the raw, honest, confronting, and liberating feeling of self-discovery and self-expression that young people often go through. His growth is slow and subtle, but so genuine and measured, and he becomes the force that eventually pulls the groups’ sound together.

Medalist by Tsurumaikada

A heartfelt story that explores the familial, social, and economical pressures of competitive sports, specifically figure skating. We follow Inori Yuitsuka, a fifth grader who is desperate to become a skater but has been constantly criticized by those around her and told that she’s too old to begin training competitively. All except for down-on-his-luck former figure skater Tsukasa Akeuraji who sees her potential and decides to coach her with the promise of winning a medal. Despite the somber premise, this is an incredibly uplifting story about building confidence, realizing your self-worth, and pursuing your dreams regardless of when you decide to start. The athleticism and elegance of figure skating is also portrayed beautifully through dynamic and expressive artwork and paneling.

Holyland by Kouji Mori

An intense, character-driven story following high school student Yuu Kamishiro who, after being driven to isolation by the abuse of his peers and with no place in society, ventures out into the night in search of his "holyland." He finds acceptance through violence and solace in the lawless brutality of the streets. The author meditates on human nature and explores the nature of one's emotions, particularly grief and hatred, and how they define us. Make no mistakes though, this is also very much a martial arts story and Mori balances both the technical and impassionate aspects of combat seamlessly.

(Includes depictions of self-harm, depression, bullying, violence).

#manga #manga recs #totsukuni no shoujo #dungeon meshi #magmell shinkai suizokukan #beck #medalist #holyland

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musicaa123 · 1 year

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years

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International Panic Day

International Panic Day, celebrated on June 18, is a day when people are required to panic. Basically, the day is a mock holiday aimed at spreading awareness for mental health issues. No matter how calm you are as an individual, International Panic Day is the day to let out your fears and panic about your worries. Why? International Panic Day rather asks, why not?

History of International Panic Day

In prehistoric times, men used panic as a technique to hunt animals. Herds of animals would react in panic to unexpected loud sounds or visual effects, which would direct them towards cliffs and cause them to jump to their deaths after finding themselves cornered.

International Panic Day began as a kind of mock holiday with the intention of having a day when people could shake off their various reasons to panic. It is a day to sit back, calm down, and let the panic and stress flow through you.

While it may sound funny, panic is a serious topic. Panic disorder is a mental health issue that affects 2% of the population in some countries. Apparently, women are more likely to suffer from panic than men. The condition is treatable, more so when the person is aware of various healthcare tactics and lives a healthy lifestyle.

International Panic Day is seen in many countries as a day to raise and spread awareness about the issue of mental illness. Today, more than ever, people are undergoing a lot of mental stress and the day is aimed to encourage people to slow down, relax, and reach out for help without any hesitation. There is nothing to be shy of and only by talking about our problems can we get rid of them. Panic management has important practical usages in the emergency services and the armed forces of the world. International Panic Day is the perfect excuse to panic about everything there is to panic about and, in the process, reevaluate our priorities. Eliminate all the things that cause you stress and anxiety.

International Panic Day timeline

17th century The Anatomy of Melancholy

Robert Burton describes panic in his book, “The Anatomy of Melancholy.”

1849 The First Panic

The first anxiety attacks, in the history of psychological medicine, are reported by Ottomar Domrich.

1895 Freud on Panic

Freud writes a paper on the concept of anxiety neurosis from a psychoanalytic point of view.

1980 Panic Established

The concept of panic disorder is established by the development of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM)-III criteria.

International Panic Day FAQs

What is National Panic Day?

It is more of a mock holiday to spread the word about panic. The day stresses the importance of taking time off to relax and take the stress off our minds.

Why am I suddenly having panic attacks?

A panic attack is a rush of mental and physical symptoms that can come without any warning and very quickly, too. Anti-anxiety medication is suggested for such situations.

What does a panic attack feel like?

Doctors diagnosing a panic attack usually look for four of the following signs: trembling, sweating, shortness of breath, chest pain, nausea, a choking sensation, dizziness, numbness, and heart palpitations.

How to Observe International Panic Day

Practice breathing techniques

Take some time off to relax

Get help from a professional

Breathing techniques help decrease panic. Whether it’s just a few slow breathing exercises or an hour-long meditation that focuses on breathing, both can have a strong positive impact on mental health.

Taking a day off is underrated. Take time off work to relax. Go to your favorite coffee shop, spend the day reading your favorite book, spend time with friends, and more.

If you are struggling with panic and stress, reach out to a professional. If a counselor is too expensive for you, talk to a friend you trust or a family member and listen to their advice.

5 Facts About Panic That Will Blow Your Mind

‘Panic’ from Greek

Panic can be good

Panic! At The Disco

Panic people

Time of panic

The word ‘panic’ comes from the Greek word associated with the Greek shepherd god, Pan, who, according to Greek myth, enjoyed causing fear among people traveling in the forest.

Panic is the body’s response to threat as the release of stress hormones increases the heartbeat and flow of oxygen to the brain, which can help a person to respond appropriately to a threat.

Panic! At The Disco is a world-famous rock band created in 2004 led by American musician Brendon Urie.

According to the American Psychological Association, 1 out of 75 people have a panic disorder.

Panic attacks usually last from five to 20 minutes but their symptoms can remain for up to an hour.

Why International Panic Day Is Significant

Stresses the importance of panic

It spreads awareness about stress

It makes people feel better

As strange as it sounds, panic is a way to release stress. In other words, by expressing panic, you can feel more relieved.

Stress is one of the most common mental issues of today. This day is a great way to spread the word about stress and emphasize the importance of talking about it.

Talking about panic makes it a normal thing. This makes people who undergo panic attacks feel free to talk about it and not like they have to hide it.

Source

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 41

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 8. Go to previous. Go to next. In a wasteland survival fic, does this chapter constitute schmoop?

________________________________

Locked up in his head as they walked along the modular concrete hallways of the Research and Development wing, ‘Choly had just shared with Angel what Olivia had described of the base, and their plans for the next day. He wanted to avoid this building as much as possible.

“Sir, allow me to take you across grounds,” Angel insisted alongside him. “You just installed these handles and footrests on me, and you should--”

“--I’m fhhine,” he slurred, waving a hand at the Handy. “Just trying to draft the order of... how to go about settling back in. How to cover the least distance. Optimize the path to a bed, if I can.”

“You don’t seem fine, but I won’t press it... Perhaps you’d like to start with the enlisted barracks, and work your way over to the officers’ barracks? You could... start things off with a nice, hot shower? Hm-hm?”

He stuttered awe under his breath in Russian, and tried to ignore any suggestion that he looked as inebriated as he felt.

“They have hot water?” he mouthed at Angel.

“Deenwood hosts so many things! Come along now. It’s already past nineteenth hour, and you’ve told Miss Olivia that we’ll rejoin at sixth tomorrow. We must get you washed and dressed and fed.” It chortled anxiously. “Thank you, for at least letting me escort you.”

“There’s just something about being on base again that’s making me feel... right,” he defended, implicitly begging that it let him enjoy the moment. “You’re more than just my mobility, Angel. So much more.”

Halfway across the courtyard, a Mister Gutsy intercepted them.

“Captain,” it grunted in affirmative. “I’ve been tasked with running errands for you tonight. Give the order.”

“Ah, yes... Green Three?” he fielded, gauging by the white lettering on its dull green side. He’d never really noticed non-personnel G.A. robots went by designations, but it made sense. “I... I suppose it’s gauche for me to be on base in anything but uniform, all things considered. Could you outfit me fresh?”

“Yes, Sir!” G-3′s triplicate golden ocular lenses scrutinized his form before stiffening in place. “Measurements taken.”

“That’s all for now. Angel and I are headed to the showers at the enlisted barracks.”

“Deliver the uniform to Mister Handy nicknamed Angel, at the enlisted barracks’ baths. Roger.” It sped off toward the storage building which stood between the R&D wing they’d just exited and the Robotics wing--the only three hangar-like concrete structures on the property.

The two of them arrived at the enlisted barracks at the North end of the property. To the left lay the soldiers’ quarters, while to the right lay the community showers. The enlisted mess hall stood separate from this building behind it. Without hesitation he turned right, then right again into the men’s side, and handed Angel his cane so that he could disrobe. He deposited his Pip-Boy, visor, orthotics, hairpins, and clothing on a bench in the changing area. The notion of a working shower possessed him, carrying one step in front of the last, and before he knew it, he was turning the handle and standing directly under the water without even testing the temperature first, or checking that he was, in fact, all alone with Angel keeping watch.

Soon both the water and his relieved bliss ran hot down his cheeks. He shut his trembling eyes and lifted his face to the apparent water pressure. He left his mouth open a moment to trap water, which he squirted out for effect. After some time his head dipped, to let the hot water stream down his aching neck and back. Angel eventually interrupted his detachment from reality. Being handed his toiletries got him crying like at a wedding.

Lathering his hair, ‘Choly thought to his initial impression to encountering Olivia again like this. Her smart style with one side shaved that apparently compensated for a balding patch, her thick phlegmatic voice, her exposed turbinates, her... her... He really was attracted to ghouls now, wasn’t he? He remembered his promise to Angel--use Rad-X--and ribald notions of both Olivia and Hawthorne alike melted him apart where he stood.

He stood. Angel was right. He didn’t remember standing this much in a day, in months. His blood pressure didn’t feel like it had dipped or spiked. His posture didn’t feel especially infirm. He still ached, and the cane still made the going easier... but he didn’t quite feel himself.

I should be crumpled over by now, bathing on a folding chair, he reasoned. I spent my morning repairing Bogey. It told me about the Rust Devils. I blew an hour on a bucket of golf balls. I traveled nearly two hours atop Angel without stopping, and avoided a Rust Devil attack right when we got to Chelmsford. I found out one of my coworkers survived and is still alive, and we got drunk... “And now I’m standing in the first hot shower I’ve had in two hundred years, waiting for the water to run cold and slap me in the face so I wake up. Too much for one day. Too much in so many ways.”

When he finally turned the water off, he dried himself and sat on the bench in the changing area. The Gutsy had brought a folded khaki uniform and a set of skivvies to match, combat boots in his size, and also a navy bathrobe. He slipped on the tee, underwear, and robe once his skin was dry enough, but didn’t tie the waist. His eyes widened as he toweled at his hair.

“Or maybe the problem is, I feel exactly like myself.”

He favored the ankle stability of a boot, over low quarters like his oxfords. Lacking confirmation that any living persons but Olivia and himself existed on this base, he remained in the bathrobe for the rest of the night. As he put his Pip-Boy back on, he noticed his orthotics, Vault Suit, and Pharm Corps coat had gone missing, only because his nameplate and bars lay on the bench atop the folded fresh uniform.

“Did G-3 take my effects, Angel?” he called.

“G-3 said that it waited until you had a convenient time to change clothes, to take them. It boasted that it knew a thing or two about getting out blood stains. As do I ! I tried to tell it that I could operate laundry equipment with my sensors disabled, but it insisted that I stay by you, as your escort.” Angel reentered the baths to hover before him. “My word, Sir. I... I have to say how good it is to be back at Deenwood. We robots might have our exceptions with one another, but we were a complex and thriving network of chums. Just as you befriended your colleagues.”

‘Choly stared at the rectangular brooch of metal and brightly dyed embroidered ribbon, signifying ten years of stripes and pips mounted together. What did he really have to show for his decade of service? His throat caught at length, until he pinned his nameplate and bars to the robe in lieu of his coat.

“I... didn’t have friends,” he finally said in passing, starting toward the front door. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Finally hungry enough to do something about it. Shall we see if the officers’ mess hall’s furnished?”

They crossed South to the officers’ side of the property in the brisk night air. Entering the mess hall, he encountered a modestly cozy arrangement of vinyl-upholstered chrome chairs in sets of four at eight round tables. Large fake potted plants tucked themselves to each corner, and beside each support column. To one side of the space, he’d have found the beverage offerings, while to the other, he found an à la carte window winged by a pair of Eat-O-Tronic machines. In one, he found MREs, and in the other, he would have found desserts. After his experience with the pharmacy break room, it relieved him to find no moldy remains in the vending slots; in the same stroke, he praised the base’s stockpile of perfectly preserved rations. He eagerly selected the beef tips and mashed potatoes package, but before he could get it open, the Mister Handy at the window hemmed and held out a pincer.

“Monsieur, if I could get that for you,” it began, in a French accent.

“...Yes, of course.” He handed it over dumbly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure!” In a flash, it produced a tray with the now-heated contents of the MRE on a plate, including the instant cocoa packet. “Bon appetit!”

“...I could have... Oh, no matter.” Angel zipped over to at least pull the chair for ‘Choly. “Sir, while you dine, I’d love the chance to catch up with Louis, if I may. I’ll be within earshot.” It didn’t await confirmation before darting behind the swinging door in the far corner.

The potatoes couldn’t help tasting like cardboard two hundred years later, but the beef tendered up like it had never been preserved in a jerky-like state, and the gravy had him lolling back in the chair to savor it. The soy-based cocoa struck him as an innocent indulgence amid the options he’d had in prior months. The hot mug in his hands comforted him, and he couldn’t help but smile dopily at hearing the two Mister Handies in the kitchen chatting and laughing unintelligibly.

Angel’s not lonely here.

'Choly took his tray back to the window once he was done, and he and Angel thanked Louis and bid it goodnight. The walk from the mess hall was short, but was incumbent of the most anticipated part of the night for him. The officers’ residential block was a set of three identical rows of twelve two-story rowhouses apiece. Habitually, he walked up the three steps of the second row’s third door, like always, and opened the front door on bated breath. Standing in the entryway, he flicked on the light switch to find the electricity worked, and he smiled in distraction as he took in the thick layer of dust on every surface. The dark green velour couch and armchair were still there, as were the hanging floor lamp, the coffee table, and the kitchen table and chairs.

“I have my work cut out for me,” Angel beamed. It shut the door behind them and immediately set to dusting off the living room.

Compulsion seized him again, and he mounted the creaking stairs at a persistent, lurching pace until he stood in the doorway of what had once been his bedroom. The queen size mattress lay bare before him, in tact. His throat caught again, aghast, and he slumped against the door frame to gawk. It took a few tries before he successfully swallowed. Angel came up behind him after a spell.

“Oh Sir, are you all right?”

He looked to it with a haunted desperation.

“Nothing has felt this right since I thawed.”

He sniffed, and leveraged with his cane to stand fully again. He requested a canister of water, his toothbrush and toothpaste, mouthwash, and hairbrush, which Angel obliged, and he vanished into the upstairs bathroom closing the door behind him.

As he brushed his teeth, he stared at himself in the hoary glass mounted on the wall. A single crack ran from one corner to the other, right through the middle, but for the most part, the mirror functioned like a mirror. He nearly felt like the whole base had been transfigured by some perverse stasis just like he had, all but sheltered from the end of the world and here awaiting him all this time. He shivered and cinched his robe, then spat and moved on to the mouthwash.

Simple hygiene really is a luxury now, isn’t it? he thought to himself as he rinsed his face.

He came out of the bathroom to find that Angel had made his bed with the hospital blanket and pillows before vanishing back downstairs. He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and socks, and brushed out his hair which had finally dried by then. The brush went to the nightstand, and he hung the robe on the hook on the bathroom door. He turned out the lights, and passed out face-down in anticipation of the first quality sleep he’d gotten in two hundred years.

Go to Next »»»

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #fo4 #chase r&d #sole survivor #mister handy #mister gutsy #louis sounds like rene auberjonois fight me #melancholy #angel #louis #g-3 #the anatomy of melancholy

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applejuizz · 3 years

Text

laughter of youth.

the scout regiment has managed to rescue eren and recover annie’s crystal from their enemies, yet at the cost of many soldiers’ lives. levi learns a valuable lesson of trust. characters: levi ackerman x gn! reader (platonic!), historia reiss, sasha braus, jean kirstein, mikasa ackerman, eren jaeger, connie springer warnings: canon violence (vague descriptions), mentions of blood/wounds word count: 1.764 inspired by attack on titan 2: final battle and the story of “our man”, the customizable in-game character.

Paperwork after paperwork after all the paperwork...

Levi had come to dread the sound of hasty footsteps pacing up to his wooden office door and its prolonged creak as Miss Four Eyes allowed themselves in carrying yet another pile of experiment reports, barely containing their unreasonable excitement. While they fervently sought the tiniest free space to fit the monstrosity held in their arms, their flow of Titan anatomy ramblings never ceased.

Levi, you won’t believe what Eren managed to do today...!

Victor - who the hell is Victor? - stood awake the whole night and was as energetic as ever in the morning! This new breed of Titans is quite interesting!

I keep naming these Titans and I won’t shut up already and I should slap myself before you kick me across the fields, Levi! - he couldn’t possibly describe the joy these words would bring him coming out of Hange’s mouth. Too good to be true, unfortunately.

He shifted into his chair, straightening his back and shaking off the annoyance that had been constantly pulling on his nerves for three days already.

Thankfully, his office was quiet and the hallway was blissfully empty. Hange had taken a day off from experiments to let Eren rest. On that note, Jean and Eren had stopped arguing for once, Sasha had ceased her relentless search of meat and he could finally relish in the silence surrounding him. It wasn’t often that he got to have such quiet moments to himself.

And because they were so rare, only when he got the chance to savor them did he realize how much he actually hated them.

It wasn’t that he disliked being alone - on the contrary, he loved solitude a little too much for his own good. Instead, he found that whenever he allowed his mind to rest, he was assaulted by intrusive thoughts and memories that he’d rather bury deep in the back of his consciousness. Perks of being a soldier.

His eyes took in rows and columns of observations on the papers in front of him. His hand signed each and every one of them away promptly, yet his mind was drifting, conjuring up crimson fields, disgusting Titan flesh sliced in half, the blood-curdling screams of soldiers trampled off their horses or chewed to their demise. Nothing he wasn’t used to. However, that didn’t mean it didn’t make his skin crawl sometimes.

He thought back to commander Erwin, weak and thinning, laying in a hospital bed with only an arm left. Levi knew his superior was a strong man; he didn’t worry much about his recovery. What did plant the seed of doubt in his heart was the fact that somehow, the man he’d thought nearly invincible had been so badly wounded, and that alone was a strong indicator of the deep shit they all were in.

And of course, the one member in his squad that had never returned from the battlefield hung dark and heavy over his consciousness, a shadow of guilt, the same damn story repeating itself over and over again. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, it came crawling back like an awful nightmare, looming over him along with the deaths of all the other people he has trusted and cared for. Isabel and Farlan, Petra, Eld, Günther, Oruo… and now them too.

I won’t die on you, sir!

Like hell you won’t.

Their promise rang in his ears as if trying to mock him. The shadows of his consciousness sneered at him: look what happens when you decide to trust people, you twerp. Should’ve known better. Haven’t you learned your lesson?

“Tsk.” He set the cup he’d mindlessly lifted back on his desk. The tea had gone cold. He’d have to ask someone to brew him another. Not exactly pleasant, but enough to distract him from the dark path his thoughts had gone onto.

Before he could even stand up from his chair, though, loud voices boomed from downstairs through the whole hideout and caused the floor beneath his feet to vibrate. They were followed by clattering of pots and Jaeger’s unmistakable yelling, obnoxious and over dramatic as always.

So much for his quiet moment.

With an exasperated sigh, Levi picked up his cup again and left his desk and the piles of papers behind, shaking off the last of his melancholy. These damn brats can’t get anything done without wrecking havoc first…

The kitchen was right beneath his office, so all he had to do was climb down the short flight of stairs, put the cadets back in their place, ask horseface to brew him some more tea and go back upstairs. Simple enough.

He came to the sight of Eren, Jean, Mikasa, Armin, Sasha and Connie all hunched around in a compact group, chattering loudly and all over each other. Historia’s dulcet tone surprisingly prevailed amongst deeper voices, although she was nowhere to be seen.

“Wait! You need bandages before anything else! The gash in your side isn’t looking good…”

“Yeah! You’ve literally been through hell and back!” Jean marvelled.

“No, guys! They need food!” Sasha exclaimed as if she'd made a grand discovery, grabbing a half-boiled potato straight out of the pot.

“Sasha, no! The potatoes aren’t done yet-”

“Oi, what the hell is going on here?!”

“C-Captain Levi!” Jaeger stumbled back on his feet, broom in his hands, his headscarf sitting askew on his head. The huddle immediately dispersed, everyone had gone dead silent. Levi scanned the room quickly, not paying much attention to the soldiers’ faces and rolled his eyes.

“I thought I told you to clean up the kitchen, not turn it into a pigsty!” He passed a critical hand over the table, gathering up the dust in his palm and making a grimace. Cleaning supplies, pots and cups were scattered all over the floor and the table, as if the cadets had all come to a mutual agreement of dropping everything at once just to see how many white hairs Levi would gain in his hair.

“B-but-”

“Get back to work and stop yelping, you’re turning my brain into mush.”

But before he could open his mouth to bark another order at Jean, his eyes finally landed on who was once the centre of the huddle: Historia Reiss holding on to a hunched figure’s arm, obviously attempting to provide support, but ending up resembling more of a lost puppy clinging to someone’s sleeve.

“Captain Levi!” the petite girl exclaimed, a hint of relief present in her voice, “I-I went to get water from the fountain and I found them there! They seem stable, but I think they might need a doctor-”

His thoughts were running at light’s speed, yet he couldn’t get his body to wake up from its frozen state at the bottom of the stairs. What must’ve only been seconds felt like hours. As if time had decided to finally slow down, to finally stop the nonsensical blurry of days, months, years passing by only to give him a chance to breathe. A chance to understand. Was it just too good to be true?

“Captain…?” Springer trailed off, eyes bulging out of his little bald head, and quickly recoiled as Jean subtly elbowed him in the stomach. Only then did Levi notice that he had been standing among the shattered porcelain of what used to be his teacup, his hand still hanging in the air as if clinging to the ghost of the object.

The cadet finally raised their eyes from the floor, face bloodied and battered, yet still brightened by youth and devotion.

“Captain Levi… sir.” They saluted in a weak voice, raising two fingers to their temple.

Their last name rolled off Levi’s lips in a stronger tone than he thought he’d manage, yet still trailed off a bit in disbelief. Clearing his throat, he stepped over the broken porcelain.

“So. You came back, huh?” Out of all the words piled up on the tip of his tongue, begging to spill out, the best he could come up with was a rhetorical question. But the soldier still let out a dry chuckle, straightening their back as much as their wounds allowed them to. Their legs wobbled and the Ackerman girl, who had been quietly watching from the sidelines, immediately jumped in to offer extra support. Seeing the usually stone-faced Mikasa’s facial expression filled with a flurry of emotions similar to those churning in his heart allowed him to relax a bit.

“Of course.” The wounded cadet answered. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

Levi gave a slight nod, features stoic, yet he felt his heart grow with pride in his chest. The same glint of determination glowed in their eyes as it did back then, during their rookie days, when they had placed their fist over their heart and had sworn to stay alive. He had heard the same promise come out of so many of his dead comrades’ mouths that realistically, he shouldn’t have expected this particular soldier to honor it. Yet for some reason, unknown even to himself, he had chosen to place his fragile trust in them. Maybe it had been their thirst for revenge, or their sheer willpower which, dare he say, could surpass Eren’s; whatever it had been, he did not regret it.

He drew closer, steps light as feathers on the wooden floor and took advantage of their hunched position to card his fingers through their hair, ruffling it affectionately. These damn kids keep getting taller… he thought bitterly to himself. The gesture managed to transform their wince of pain into a look of total and innocent wonder. The look in the eyes of a kid who's just got the utmost gesture of validation from a parent.

“You’re a good kid,” he conceded, patting their scalp twice before letting his hand fall back to his side. He could barely recognize the gentle tone of his own voice. “Although were you not wounded, I’d have roundhouse kicked your ass for scaring everyone like this.”

The phrase hadn’t even been that funny, in his opinion, but they let out a joyous, loud laugh, contagious to the people around them. It even pulled a chuckle out of Mikasa.

And as he stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the laughter of youth, he finally understood. Placing his trust in these kids, fighting alongside them, protecting them with the price of his life were worth all the risks because they were humanity’s last hope. And he would do anything to one day see their joyful faces wiped clean of crimson wounds and dirt and death. Anything.

#attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot imagines #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #connie springer #jean kirstein #historia reiss #sasha braus

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

Text

reid’s anatomy

summary: spencer gets a gunshot wound while working in the field and gets transported to the hospital you work in as a 4th year resident.

word count: 2,325 reading time aprox: 9 mins

masterlist

Gurneys, lights, flying commands, and patients. The trauma room was my favorite place to be, other than the OR of course, it felt like a second home. But nothing compared to the home I had when I laid in Spencer’s arms.

I was currently working in the trauma room, triaging the patients as I did my rounds. I dismissed a few individuals that had minor injuries, while discovering various accidents that required solutions as small as stitching up a patient to booking an OR for an emergent surgery.

“Honey can you move your toes for me please?”

In front of me lay my latest patient, a 5 year old boy who had been pushed off of a swing set and had happened to land on his ankle. His cheeks were painted red from the crying he had previously done, a thumb cemented into his mouth as he continued to suck on it for comfort. His mother sat beside him, panic evident in her eyes, although she kept an amiable expression to reassure her son on his well being.

The boy shook his head frantically, earning a break in composure from the mother. She reached out and folded her hand over her son’s and held on tight to it, with a tight-lipped smile on her face.

“You’re going to be okay Timothee, mommy’s right here sweetie”. The mother squeezed her son’s hands continuously, looking to me for answers.

“Your son- well Timothee here seems to have sprained his ankle” I explained in layman's terms, lifting up the boys ankle to locate where the injury occurred. “The issue here is that he seems to have an eversion ankle sprain and has fractured his deltoid ligament, which is more uncommon than a inversion ankle sprain, since the deltoid ligament is close to impossible to fracture”.

As I finished my description, the mother returned her attention to her son, massaging his head to console him. “We-well it’s just a sprained ankle right? It can heal. My husband has had multiple sprained ankles from how much of a klutz he is” She joked in attempt to lighten the mood. Despite her attempts, there was more news to deliver.

“I wish it was much more simpler than that” I sighed, motioning for the on-call nurse to come over. “Due to Timothee’s young age, my biggest concerns are the development of his bones, considering the fracture he had suffered and that the nerves responsible for motor skills in his legs might have been severed. In most adult cases, the individual is able to recover because the durability of the bone had been fully realized from age. But, Timothee here is at risk of deformation of his osseous matter” I doefully confessed, a small pit forming in my stomach while delivering his diagnosis.

As the mother’s face dropped, I turned to the nurse telling her to call Neuro and Peds, then asked her to file the paperwork. I looked back at the small family with a sigh, placing his chart at the end of the bed.

It was moments like these that make me envision the life I’m going to have with Spencer if we ever decided to have children together. Despite our young age, I couldn’t help up configure an idealistic future than only composed of me, Spencer, and 2 or 3 little children running around us in glee.

“The nurse will be back with the pape-”

I was cut off by sirens and a magnitude of shrilling voices shouting commands. These were the indications of an incoming trauma. I turned around to peak for a second with the possibility of wanting to check on another case, but the interns and 2nd year residents had beat me to it.

My focus remained on the child in front of me, checking his vitals from time to time, while eavesdropping on the commotion behind me.

“We’ve got a caucasian ma...federal...with a GSW in the thoracic cavity, with intercostal tears”. Most of the sentence was muffled by the loud wheels of the crash cart, residents fumbling around, and the attendings yelling orders at the scene. I turned around to witness the chaotic scene, only to be meet with heads full of hair and some that didn’t actually have hair at all.

Geez, I wouldn’t want to be the guy with the GSW to his chest

In emergent surgery, GSW’s were the most lethal in the clinic as most of the time the patient is either too late or the bullet had caused multiple complications in the patient, causing distress in the body. The tricky thing about GSWs were that they were different every time, it was almost always a different procedure depending on the location.

I nodded goodbye to the perturbed mother, earning a tight lipped smile and a nod back. I turned to walk towards the nurses station when suddenly I was paged to trauma room 3. I rushed over to the area, sanitizing my hands before walking in. A privacy drape hung from the lower abdomen of the individual, with nurses and residents scrambling to keep his vitals stabilized.

I faced the trauma nurse as she explained the patients situation. “We’ve got a caucasian male, seems to be 25-35 with a GSW in his thoracic cavity with no exit wound, the bullet is possibly lodged in the pericardial cavity” She spoke in haste.

“Push 10 of Norepinephrine and call Cardio” I stressed, rushing out of the room to find another resident to scrub into the surgery as I wasn’t finished with my rounds yet.

On my way around the nurse’s desk I noticed a familiar face that sat glum and slumped over in his chair, well it was more like a familiar group of faces. My steps slowed in order to get a better view to confirm my suspicions, then shuffled over to determine what the occasion was.

“Hey Morgan-hey guys” I furrowed my eyebrows at the group, my worry peaked at the numerous melancholy expression that they wore on their faces. Despite my observations, there was one face I noticed was missing from the ensemble.

Spencer.

A chill ran up my arm, which was usually an indication of something wrong. In spite of the unfavorable pit in my stomach, I was at my workplace where everything usually puts me on edge, so I pushed it aside.

“Where’s Spenc-”

My words faded out into an uncomfortable silence when Morgan lifted his head to face me and in his eyes were the deepest of browns, anguish pooled in his irises, similar to the look I gave to the mother of the patient I was treating previously. I glanced at the rest of the team, who wore a identical stares.

My stomach had churned and twisted into knots. The chill that had ran up my arm traveled to my legs, all the way to the tips of my toes. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, I could feel my heart still and my fingers twitch. The overhead lights of the clinic became overwhelmingly bright and a nauseating sensation began crawling up my throat.

“Y/N-” Morgan began as I stared at him wide-eyed. He grabbed one of my hands and wrapped it in between his rough and sweaty palms, but I tensed in the midst of it, while adrenaline ran up my veins.

“Reid, he’s...we-we were workin- I...he’s”

Despite his attempts at an explanation, he wasn’t able to complete any of his phrases as I yanked my hand out of his grasp and bolted towards the trauma room. I heard my name being called in the background, although it became a voice of a phantom as my surroundings became impaired with the sounds of my heartbeat, the loud thuds my feet made as I raced towards the room, and the anxious thoughts that flooded my mind.

I pushed into the room, only to see a bed was missing. I bee lined to where the residents were, pivoting around the various carts that decorated the room. “Where’s that patient with the GSW in his thoracic cavity? What resident was assigned on his case? What was his name?”. The words spewed out of my lips like a waterfall, earning alarmed looks from the residents.

“Um, he was transported to OR 3″ One of them explained with naive looks on their faces.

“Yeah, they’re in surgery right now with Dr. Burke and Dr. Montgomery” Another one added.

“What’s the patient’s name? Do you remember?” I responded, prying them of all the information they knew. The residents peered at each other dumbfoundedly, looking at each other for answers as if they were taking their MLE exams again.

“Dr. Y/L/N, no offense but you’re not on this case” One of the residents added with a condescending voice.

“Dr. Mallory, if you don’t answer me in the matter of 10 seconds, I swear I will go to your senior resident and have you be doing scut for the rest of your medical career” I retorted. Fear was evident in all their eyes, I knew my eyes were brimming with multiple emotions, condensing into nothing but a fiery and aggressive tone.

“Sp-spencer Reid, Ma’am” A quiet voice spoke up in the group. I nodded a small thank you to the individual and ran to the OR where they held Spencer.

When I got into the prep room, I grabbed a face mask and entered the OR, witnessing a man’s body, the love of my life under heavy anesthesia and tubes wired up to his chest. Before I could speak, the attending spoke up and questioned me of my presence.

“I-i was wondering if I could scrub in sir” I replied. “I-I, um, heard that there was in upc...incoming trauma for a GSW and I was wondering if I could scrub in” I repeated.

“You already said that Dr. Y/L/N”

“I understand sir, but I-”

The attending than turned around exposing the sight of Spencer’s chest being retracted open. My entire body ached at the sight, the lifelessness of his body creating an image in my head that couldn’t compare to the images Spencer would see of his victims. I cringed and turned away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I knew I couldn’t let myself go, especially if I wanted to be included in Spencer’s operation.

“Dr. Y/L/N, with all respect, I know you’re one of the best residents we have in this hospital and I know you’re a phenomenal doctor” The attending explained, letting one of the other senior residents take over for a moment. “But, I also know who this is laying on my table. For this case, you’re not his doctor, you’re family, and I need you to trust that I am able to do my job, as you do yours” He concluded, signaling to one of the nurses to take me out of the OR.

I nodded hesitantly, following the nurse out of the room, my eyes still locked on the individual that lay on the table. After the nurse had went back inside, I sat on the ground with my hands on my lap, staring at the abyss of the hallway.

Our future depends on if a single man can maneuver his scalpel with enough wisdom and efficiency. The father of my future children lay on the cold metal table, where I used to find comfort and power in when saving someone else’s loved one. Who knew there would be a time where the roles were switched.

Who knew that no matter how many years you’ve trained, how many books you’ve read, and the degrees you’ve obtained to save people’s lives, you could still be powerless against what life throws at you. The worst part is the irony that comes with tragedies. I spent a quarter of my life learning how to save people, yet I sit here purposeless when someone that I live for is struggling to stay alive. How malicious is that.

Tears began streaming down my cheeks, although my expression hasn’t changed. The wetness that enveloped half of my face was the only thing that reminded me of the reality that I was in, keeping my consciousness grounded momentarily.

I swear my heart pauses, everytime I hear a change in the monitor that indicated Spencer’s vitals or a command that the attending would spew out to the helping resident. I was completely fixated on everything that was happening in the room adjacent to me, disregarding the entire atmosphere that lay in my vision.

It wasn’t until large legs halted in front of where I was crouched down. I didn’t bother looking up as my thoughts clouded my sensibility. The figure then sat down to my level, I could feel the individual’s eyes boring at my blank visage. I felt a large arm pull me closer to the individual, only this time I realized it was Morgan who had come to console me.

Awaiting a pursuance of some sort of speech that’s supposed to bring me clarity or amenity. But to my dismay, only the loud presence of silence filled the gap of our exchange. That’s when my emotions began to seep into my skin, filling my heart with heavy matter, making it close to impossible to keep up my facade.

A whimper escaped my lips while I laid on Morgan’s shoulder for the time being, only for the rest of my somber to follow. I cried in defeat, holding onto the clutches of Morgan’s shirt as he gripped onto the back of my head, massaging it in the process.

I felt droplets hit the top of my head and a wetness forming rapidly. Weak sniffles emitted from the man above me, betraying his collected composure. We both sat here together with heavy hearts, waiting for what seemed like an eternity.

We both sat in silence waiting to see if his colleague was alive and if my everything was still breathing.

Pt. 2

A/N:

Pt. 2 coming soon! most likely tomorrow. I was going to write the whole thing today, but frankly, I just need a fresh mind.

Part 2 out now

#spencer reid imagines #spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid icons #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagines #spencer x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader

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frmjudy · 3 months

Text

. . . MOVIE STAR is the third digital single by JUDY. It was released on February 2, 2024, as the pre-release single for her second full-length album KILLING ME SOFTLY.

. . . TRACK LISTING

movie star

. . . BACKGROUND

the music video got 24 million views in 24 hours

this was judy's official comeback to the entertainment world, obviously

given the sound breathe had, many songbirds were surprised at how upbeat this song was

many fans and netizens began to worry about her after behind-the-scenes videos of her looking distressed surfaced, cultkive released a statement exclaiming she is still getting used to idol life again

red horse produced the song but it was written by daphne choi

. . . ERA STYLINGS

#⠀ ❝ ⠀ ⸻ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ the anatomy of melancholy ⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ sound.#ficnetfairy #fake kpop idol #fictional idol community #fictional idol company #fictional idol oc #fictional soloist #idolverse #kpop au #kpop oc #fictional idol soloist #idol au

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

Text

Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 2]

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Continuation of an angsty dark fic request.

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/attempt (I made myself real sad with this one so be warned if you’re vulnerable to negative thinking), NSFW, smut (gender-neutral), unhealthy relationship, depression, neurodivergent reader. Melancholy rambling.

3,200 words

“Don’t worry about what Dr. Chilton thinks,” Nurse Clerval advised as soon as he was out of earshot. “He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, but”—you tugged the hem of your scrubs—“He’s right. I keep messing up. I think he hates me.” You stopped there, too ashamed to admit you were the biggest fuck-up on the entire staff, new or not, or that you could tell Dr. Chilton regretted his decision to hire you.

“And the rest of us hate him. Just keep doing your job, learn the ropes—he’ll back off.”

You nodded silently and continued your rounds, delivering meds and checking in on patients. Amy had to be restrained again when she wouldn’t stop biting. Julianne seemed more confused lately, though you hadn’t known any of them long enough to tell what was normal.

Clerval’s words hung over you. It didn’t seem right that everyone hated Dr. Chilton. He was a little brusque, yes, but intelligent. Wickedly sarcastic. Posturing and puffing himself up whenever people he admired came to visit the hospital, and he wanted badly to impress them. Lonely.

Your cheeks heated at the thought of those intense bursts of green under his brow—the first thing you noticed when he conducted your interview. His eyes almost matched the light green scrubs you wore at the hospital you trained in, though the uniform here was white (as if leaning into the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest vibe.)

But what drew you in wasn’t that his eyes were beautiful—though they were—it was the way they made contact with yours. Staring you down with fake confidence, as if he were forcing it. That stare must have been off-putting to most people, but it made your spirit leap with that particular spark of connection one only feels when finding a kindred spirit.

“Hey! Still sulking? Hurry it up,” Clerval called, jolting you to attention. You trotted after.

It was nice having a mentor on the staff, but at the same time, it just felt like having another person to eventually disappoint.

“Here! What’s next?” you beamed.

***

Dr. Chilton didn’t back off over the next few weeks as Nurse Clerval suggested. The more you thought you were getting the hang of routines at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, the more mistakes you seemed to make, and the harder its administrator came down on you. And the more the handsome, scarred Dr. Chilton hated you, the more nervous mistakes you made.

In nursing school, you aced everything technical. Every written test. Every memorized statistic, sterilization procedure, medication instruction, and anatomy diagram. But when it came to interacting with patients and families—being compassionate yet professional—nothing came naturally. As a child, you learned how to fake eye contact by staring at the bridge of someone’s nose. How to smile bright and encourage others so they don’t reject you. So they don’t see you as cold or weird. But sometimes, you felt like an alien just parroting human behavior.

The guy you had been dating when you started working at the BSHCI said something similar to you when he broke it off. That you were “unavailable” and never understood what he needed.

There was a reason your first choice job was at a hospital where the only patients were mentally ill murderers.

Dr. Frederick Chilton was the same way. Just better at hiding it, or braver about not caring when his mannerisms rubbed people the wrong way. He didn’t fall apart like you did. He was… incredible. As soon as you met him, you knew you wanted the job. His smile was forced but friendly that first day, and you went home dreaming about getting to know him better.

But as soon as you were hired, the friendliness went out of his eyes. On your very first day, you passed him in the hall and smiled. He frowned and informed you that you were five minutes late clocking in. Everything—every forgotten ID card and typo on a patient file—was proof to Dr. Chilton that you were incompetent.

Worthless.

He even pointed it out when you couldn’t stand up for yourself and let Nurse Clerval defend you.

Pathetic.

Why did you ever think someone like him might like you?

He wasn’t an asshole. The constant reprimanding and disciplinary write-ups were no more than you deserved. It just hurt coming from someone you admired and wished things could be different with.

God, you wished just once he would smile at you again. Tell you that you did a good job.

Your fist hovered over the dark mahogany of the carved doors to Dr. Chilton’s office, poised to knock. To tender your resignation. You hadn’t seen the extravagant interior of his office since your interview, but you could imagine him in there: laying back on the leather couch sipping a Scotch, surrounded by tall shelves of medical books and sculpted wall molding. The air filled with the library smell of old paper.

In your imagination, his cold green eyes would soften, and he would ask why you were leaving. Apologize for being so hard on you. The Chilton in your mind clasped your hand, and you both blushed, wondering if the gesture was merely a show of professional support, or if it held a deeper meaning. He clasped tighter instead of dropping your hand, knowing— understanding—the heat behind your gaze.

A dull thud came from inside the office, followed by footsteps and a muttering voice, muffled through the door. The footsteps started heading your way, and you walked briskly down the hall toward the exit, not looking back when a moment later, the mahogany doors creaked open.

Coward.

There was no point quitting, anyway. You would never find another hospital job as slow-paced, where you rarely had to speak with outsiders—only the regular long-term patient-inmates, and a small staff of orderlies, guards, nurses, and psychiatrists.

Sometimes you thought you should quit nursing altogether, but then what would you do? Flip burgers? You’d be bad at that, too. There was nothing you wouldn’t be a failure at.

A fog hovered over you, creeping its tendrils into every thought, turning every tiny setback into the end of the world, and making every success unimportant. Leaving BSHCI wouldn’t make it better. Nothing would make it better. You were the fuck-up. Anywhere you went, the problem would always be you.

Every smile you gave was forced, but you kept smiling as if everything was normal. So long as nobody could see you drowning, it wasn’t real. There was still hope that you could get your shit together, and no one would be the wiser that you were actually a disgusting piece of human trash. So long as you could smile like you were fine, you weren’t a complete failure.

But the more you pretended to be upbeat—pretended to be someone likable—the more you were certain your coworkers didn’t like you. They must have been sick of covering for you by now.

A week later, the nurse you were replacing grunted, “Finally,” as you sprinted through the door three minutes after your shift started. That one unremarkable interaction was the final proof of a theory you had been nursing for a long time:

Everyone’s lives would be easier without you.

That was the final conclusion, the final, creeping thought the suffocating fog wormed into your head. The crescendo of a distorted symphony that had been subtly building to this from the beginning.

You couldn’t force yourself to smile anymore.

***

You didn’t have authorized access to the medication supply room, but you swiped a key from Dr. Tenley’s office. For a secure facility, the doctors of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane were lax about locking their own offices. She would notice it was missing by Monday morning, and there would be serious repercussions for stealing it, but you weren’t concerned. You wouldn’t be around to face them.

With the high-potency drugs available in a hospital and a working knowledge of pharmacology, ending a life could be quick and relatively painless.

The key clicked in the door. You glanced up and down the hallway to make sure no one was coming. But the coast was clear.

A halfhearted breath puffed from your nose. Part of you wanted to find it funny how easy this was, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

You stealthily opened the windowless metal door, stepped inside, and shut and locked it behind you without making a sound. Once inside the small room, you let out a silent sigh of relief (or despair). Only a handful of people had a key, so you were unlikely to be interrupted, especially at night with only a skeleton staff on duty.

There were three rows of tall storage shelves crammed into the walk-in closet with clean tile in the few places wall was exposed. The whir of a climate-control system drowned out the pulse in your ears as you scanned for the drugs you were looking for.

You found them faster than expected. They could have at least been hidden. The universe could have put a few more obstacles in your path, but instead, the universe was giving you a big fat sign it wanted you dead.

You picked up the packaging. Turned it over in your hand.

Just a handful of these, and all the problems you cause would be over. No more reprimands. No more disappointing everyone you meet. No more wrenching in your gut every time Dr. Chilton looks at you with contempt when you long to see a smile. No more trying so hard every minute of every day.

It wasn’t like too many people would be sad you were gone anyway. Most of them will be relieved.

Your eyes stung.

Wasn’t someone going to walk in and stop you?

Your lip trembled. Why would anyone want to stop you?

Tears rolled down your face as the reality of your plan set in. Survival instinct kicked and clawed at the cloying fog of twisted logic that promised you would be helping everyone if you stopped existing, but it was losing the battle.

And then you heard someone call your name.

You sniffed and looked up. No… not someone calling your name. Moaning it. You crept to the last row of shelves at the back and gasped—Dr. Chilton had his laptop tucked onto a shelf and was watching a clip of security feed on loop. His red, glistening erection thick in his hand as he masturbated, whimpering your name over and over.

You watched silently—he was so engrossed he didn’t notice your shadow falling over the aisle. It was only when the package of drugs slipped from your hand and clattered on the floor that he jumped with a shriek, covering himself, though his massive erection was still conspicuous in his pants. His eyes bugged out at you, face red with embarrassment—but then they quickly narrowed to anger.

“What are you doing in here? You are not authorized to be in this room,” he barked.

All you could think about was what you heard—the name gasping from his lips. It overpowered every other thought. “Were you… imagining me?”

His nostrils flared. He hastily shut the laptop which was looping security footage of you outside his office door.

Then he laughed—forced and cruel. “What I imagine is not your concern. Do not read into it. I have never shown you special treatment, have I? Do you think that I could have feelings for an incompetent nurse?”

“I know that!” Your lip trembled again now that the briefest spark of hope you had was shattered. Of course he didn’t like you. He was just a pervert who jacked off to all the nurses. “Don’t you think I know that I’m worthless? You’ve made it abundantly clear.”

Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, and Chilton’s eyes softened, as if for the first time realizing that all his attempts to hurt you had succeeded. You were hurt. And he did not enjoy it as much as he thought.

“You are not worthless,” he said quietly. Then his eyes flicked down to the floor, at the medication you dropped. He picked it up, read what it was. His expression fell. “What were you doing in here, nurse?” he swallowed.

“Nothing. I just… needed something for a patient.”

“Lie,” he said.

You looked away. Everything was numb. It barely even occurred to you that someone stopped you after all. A handsome, awkward, cruel doctor you admired was in the same room with you and had said his first kind words since the day you met.

He took a slow step toward you. Then another. His hand—slender and surprisingly large—pressed your arm in an attempt at a comforting gesture. An alien parroting human behavior.

“You are not worthless. I assure you, none of your mistakes have been grievous. You are certainly not the least competent of my staff. Far from it. So don’t…” He swallowed. “…Do not do anything rash.”

“Sure,” you scoffed. “Then why am I the one you’re always reprimanding? The one always being called to your office?” You knew what he thought of you; he was just trying to talk you down.

“That…” he began in a broken voice, “That must be painfully obvious now.”

Your eyes peeled away from the floor and found his face, and the storm of emotions flashing over it. Shame. Trepidation. A faint light of hope.

“You like me?” Your voice sounded far away. The analytical part of your brain was whirring away above the swamp of depression bogging you down with lies that nobody could like you. But it made sense. As the words spilled from your mouth, it was like a veil lifted.

Pulling pigtails. He was pulling your pigtails because he liked you. A middle-aged psychiatrist ought to have more emotional maturity handling a crush than a third-grader, but there was a reason he worked at a hospital where the only patients were mentally ill murderers. There was a reason his staff hated him. Why he was lonely, and why you desperately wanted to be the one to fill the empty space by his side.

Frederick Chilton was a lot like you.

You could understand each other and be less alone in this world, together.

***

His eyes were closed and he was muttering something self-flagellating and vaguely apologetic when the kinetic sense of you moving closer caused Frederick Chilton to look up.

No longer out at arm’s distance, you were within each other’s breathing space. And now, he was genuinely terrified—terrified you were going to return his feelings. Of the joy it might bring crashing down on him like an airplane. He read something he never expected to see in your body language, and it shook him deeper than being walked in on with his cock in his hands.

You should have reported him for ethics violations.

If you made the case to the hospital board that he created a hostile work environment because he wanted you sexually, he would lose his job and do everybody a favor.

But this—the intention in your body—this was the farthest thing from what he deserved. You confirmed his fear when your soft, perfect lips melded against his. Yet, as always when he knew a thing was wrong, he did not push you away. Did nothing to stop you. He let you deepen the kiss slowly, and you were warm, the taste of you sweeter than he imagined in all his lonely nights of fantasizing.

His cock twitched, your closeness awakening his urges again. He moaned as your lips parted, his lips parting with them, and your tongue gently probed inside. You were tentative at first, investigating only the nearest reaches of his inner lips, and then his hand spasmed on your arm, and with a low growl, he pulled your closer—then you became ravenous. All the turbulent emotions churning within you broke free in that kiss. You sobbed into his mouth, your tongue, hot and fervent, explored and assaulted the depths of him, your hands weaving into the hair behind his neck, and he could taste your salt. It was all his tongue could do to keep up—to let himself be consumed.

Dear god, if only that passion would have ended him then and there. The moment your lips met his in an unexpected act of reciprocation was the fulfillment of every want, every tattered and twisted hope—the highest delight a man such as him could achieve. And he knew—rightly so—that all that could follow was suffering of his own design.

Dear god, let me die before I see this in ruins. Let me die with my happiness.

***

The sex wasn’t all that good. But then again, you had gone into that supply closet intending to never come out, so overall, being fucked by the man you had been pining for was a positive turn of events.

It wasn’t how you’d imagined your first time with Dr. Chilton, pressed against a cold tile wall. A hungry kiss led to his clothed erection pushing against your thigh, led to you unbuckling his belt.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered hoarsely, nervous eyes darkened with lust—and you nodded, sliding down your scrub pants, which stuck on your sneakers, hobbling your ankles. He was in too much of a rush to let you take them off—he only opened up his slacks and pulled his cock out of the fly of his briefs. And then he was thrusting into you from behind—frantic, desperate. Your ankles being bound only added to the thrill of him being in control. Dr. Chilton wanted you after all—fantasized about you—and now he was taking you, and all you had to do was surrender to his desire.

His breathy moans rose with each snap of his hips, his hands traveling up your chest under your shirt, fingers curling around your neck, possessing you. Touching every inch of skin he could get his hands on. And that noise that saved your life, your name on his lips, he chanted in your ear.

He was fast—hips racing as if this were his only chance, and if he waited, you would disappear—and he finished fast. You didn’t spend long with your face pressed to the cold tile when his moans broke into a shattered scream, and his head slumped, sweaty, against your back.

Then he turned you around to face him and got on his knees. Heedless of his own mess that he’d left sticky and bitter inside you, he pumped his fingers into you and sucked like he was fulfilling a duty. Clinical about the task, and efficient. It didn’t take him long to bring your arousal to a climax in his mouth.

After, he was quiet. When you had cleaned up, he looked at you like you were a mistake… only you weren’t certain what kind of mistake. If you reached out to reassure him, would he jerk away and tell you to never speak of this again?

“Was it… all you expected?” you asked robotically. Your arm crossed your body, hugging yourself.

And then he kissed you again, softly. He ran his fingers over your hair and pulled back just far enough to study your face. His eyes were wet, clouded with a million thoughts and regrets you would only learn about later.

“You are perfect,” he whispered.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Since I went some places this chapter... Please don’t bottle up your feelings if they’re telling you horrible things about yourself. They aren’t true, I promise. You matter. ❤️

Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

Online chat: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/

Help via Text: https://www.crisistextline.org/ (Text HOME to 741741)

List of additional resources: https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/suicide-resource-guide

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#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #dark fic #angst #This was supposed to be a oneshot! *sobbing* A oneshot!!!#my writing

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