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mariisolss · 2 years

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&&. announcing her royal highness, ( marisol alba pilar espinosa batista ), the ( 27 ) year old ( crown princess ) of ( panama ). she is often confused with ( melissa barerra ). some say that she is ( emotional and naive ), but she is actually (generous and compassionate ).

[hello here is my new bean, she's very soft, genuinely just doing her best but is also a little idiot for arthur related reasons. full bio/whatever chaotic ramblings i wrote below the cut! we are always looking for friends, allies, extended family, ex lovers, ANYTHING. tw for the bio - discussions of death of a child, self destructive behavior]

SIX SHORT STORIES ABOUT LOVE

MARIANA

Before there was Marisol, there was Mariana.

Their star of the sea, the long awaited and much beloved heir - the promise of a beautiful future for a kingdom still in infancy. For the first five years she was all they had, all they’d ever want or need. But maybe like the star she burned too brightly and too fast. Or perhaps they could blame the sea, that which flowed through the heart of the nation bridging one side of the world to another and Mariana danced along the bridge between this world and the next. She was bright and bold and happy, and they caught the disease too late. The little princess did not live to see her sixth year, and a nation mourned.

Marisol, born three years and three days after the death of a sister she’d never know, came as a surprise. Some say the King and Queen had given up on the idea of a future entirely. For them, Marisol was a bit of divine intervention - be it the old gods long dormant in the mountains or He that arrived with the conquistadors. Stars, they thought, had not been bright or strong enough to sustain the future, and so they would need the sun.

She grew up in the shadow of her sister and the nation held its breath. Marisol survived her sixth year, her seventh, and so on until the idea of losing yet another little princess was an echo of fear. Her parents spoke of Mariana, in the limited way that one can speak of a dead child to another child. They marked her passing each year three days prior to Marisol’s birthday, and kept a room in the palace locked and forbidden.

She never quite understood why we call those we love who have died ‘lost’ or ‘late’, as if there’s a chance they might be found again, or they will show up if you only wait just a little bit longer. She asked her mother this once, when she was very young yet allowed to attend a fancy dinner.

If Mariana was lost why did they not go look for her?

In the stunned silence that followed, Marisol started shaking, her nanny taking pity on the child and pulling her away to be put to bed. She never got an answer to that specific question, but thought it was the first time she might have felt a ghost.

FAMILIA

There's something to be said about the specific traumas of a picture perfect childhood, especially one that occurs in a haunted house. Marisol cannot recall ever seeing a ghost, but haunting has always been more about feeling rather than seeing. She was loved, of course, that she has never doubted. She was born into a world that told her she could be anything, and for a bit, she almost believed. But monarchies did not remain in power by letting their wildfire daughters follow just any whim, and from the beginning Marisol might have been just a little bit too much. Mariana had been first, and though she was gone she’d lived just long enough to leave a mark but not so long as to be anything less than perfect.

Marisol, with those wide and wild eyes, at a young age she already felt everything so deeply and so fully. Already she was lost in a different way from her sister. It’s one thing to have expectations, to have to lessen herself, to carve away anything interesting and shrink until she fits into the mold, the ideal, in order to please. It's another thing entirely to do all of this only to find that the role, the position for which she’d peeled away parts of herself, is still occupied by the ghost of another. Mariana’s state of being lost haunted them all with her absence, Marisol was lost in that she did not have a place.

She tried. She refused to resent them for missing her sister. She strived to be perfect, to be exactly what they wanted her to be. She went to school close to home, obeyed when they were overprotective because it meant that they cared, that they noticed her and wanted her. But Marisol was emotion and sunshine, flesh and blood - too much bound up in the too small space she’d been allowed to occupy in her own life. It was only natural she would fall short, no matter how clearly they’d defined the lines, how easily they held out their love and devotion - fragile, but like a grenade and not glass.

Because here’s the thing they never tell daughters - it will never be enough. Even if she’d succeeded in doing everything they asked of her and all that they did not, smothering the parts of her that were deep and dark and interesting and utterly alive, it could never be enough. She would always be lacking, either through her own faults or the fallibility of humanity as a whole. Here is a universal truth - one can never be as good as a dead girl. Perfection is utterly unattainable in its own right, but add in the particular sort of perfection, of goodness, near holiness, ascribed to little girls taken from the world too soon - to strive for that might be its own type of madness.

And so she remained lost. Half bright and clever and generous, and half lost, nearly as much a ghost as her dead sister. As she grew older, Marisol found ways to carve out places for herself, spaces she could take up fully that were not already occupied, mostly. Ghosts, of course, are not real, she’d argue, a memory or a wish, the very best or very worst parts of those long gone lingering here still. There were no bad parts of Mariana, she’d been told, and all the best parts were a sort of haze, fitting whatever particular narrative was told, or whatever space Marisol might want.

Sometimes she hated a girl she never met, sometimes she hated her parents for their unconscious comparisons, for saving all this space for the child they’d lost instead of giving it to the one they had. She hated herself every time she thought these things, and clung to the moments when she felt the most at home, to this land and the people she loved.

PANAMA

She still remembers the first time they took her through the canal, the royal yacht making its way through the various locks and gates. A grand celebration of 90 years of travel, conveniently close to the Princess’s tenth birthday, her parents and the court sending silent prayers of thanksgiving that they’d not lost this one yet. Of course, Marisol was not aware of this thread running through the background of her day, far too entranced by the water and the sailors and all the different mechanisms that made this work. Safe in the cage of her father’s arms, she stood on the lower rungs of the railings, soaking in the sun and the sea - her namesake.

“The canal,” he says, “is really just a gate, a bridge between oceans, peoples, and worlds. In the past others tried to carve out the heart of us, of this land. But the land always won, would always win against those who did not understand and only sought to destroy. When your great grandfather was born, his father the king had enough with foreign investors and companies, other nations with their gunboat diplomacy bringing violence and destruction as they tried to create. No, he said, only those of us who know this land and respect it will be able to succeed. He knew the secret that the rest of them had missed, the secret that he told his son, who told his son, who told me, and now I am going to tell you.”

“You will never achieve anything truly great, never create something so masterful and crucial as this canal, if you go about it as if you are waging a war. The land will always win, in the end. It may take years, or even generations, but eventually all that was created and sustained through violence will be lost, but the mountains will still stand. Your great great grandfather did not see the land as his enemy, but as an ally. He did not try to carve out our heart, instead he followed those paths that already existed, a gradual expansion rather than an explosion. And so here we are, ninety years later following those same paths and thanking the land for allowing us this privilege.”

“How do we thank it?” She asked, peering up at him with round, dark eyes, eyes that held galaxies in their depths.

“By taking care of it, by serving the land and its people as the gatekeepers of this bridge. It may be difficult sometimes, especially when it seems like the world is getting bigger everyday, but also smaller as we become more connected. The world and other leaders will want your focus to be here, on the pathway between oceans, but the land is more than just this, and you will be responsible for, and beholden to all of the people in all the different parts of our home.”

The princess nodded slowly, solemnly, as if she was only just beginning to feel the weight and burden belonging to those who would wear a crown. Her father kissed her head and smiled.

“Do not worry too much now, Mari, we have many years for you to learn all you will need to succeed, I promise.”

The princess was asleep by the time they reached the Gulf of Panama, the sunset over the Pacific painting them all in shades of pink and gold. The king almost considered waking her, as he knew how much she loved when the sky echoed all her favorite colors, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her peace.

THE FUTURE

(the following is an excerpt from the draft of the Vogue Mexico cover story, an interview with HRH the Princess of Panama sent to the Office of the Emperor of Mexico and the Office of the Crown Prince for approval )

It's a rainy Tuesday afternoon when I meet with her royal highness, Crown Princess Marisol Espinosa Batista of Panama, and the future Empress Consort of Mexico, at the Museo Nacional de Historia. She tells me she tries to visit every time she’s in Mexico City and before the princess can say why, we are interrupted by a member of staff who eagerly informs her that some document or artifact she’d asked about previously had been recovered, and would be arriving next month. The Princess is just as excited as the staff member, whom she spoke to warmly, even asking about the man’s granddaughter - by name. Over the course of our afternoon together, I discovered she actually is just like this with everyone, from the museum director to the busser at the cafe.

VM: What would you say is the role of Monarchy in the twenty-first century? HRH: Wow, not even a warm up question about who I’m wearing.

[She laughs. Later I will find out exactly who she’s wearing - an up and coming Panamanian designer who draws inspiration from historical memory and sustainability.]

HRH: It’s refreshing. Hmm.. I believe that the monarchy provides unity and stability, sort of like a bridge between the nation as a collective group of individuals and the nation as a single entity upon the world stage, if that makes sense? [She pauses briefly to look up at a portrait of a serious looking nobleman, perhaps some distant relative of her fiance.] My father [the King of Panama] used to tell me that where businessmen and politicians are beholden to their shareholders and investors - We are beholden to the people, to the land. Every single person has a stake in the nation, and it is the job of the monarchy to make sure that their trust and hopes and futures are not jeopardized or endangered. But obviously I cannot speak for every monarch, this is just my understanding.

[She does this several times throughout our conversation, speaks thoughtfully and eloquently about some topic or another, only to second guess or dismiss her own words at the end. Royal media training to never fully comment on something or pick a side maybe, or perhaps she does actually doubt herself. ]

VM: Even with all that is going on in the world right now?

HRH: See that's always it! When you think about it, that is such a strange thing to say - as if nothing has ever happened before and everything is happening now, all at once. It shows how little historical memory we have as humans, we only really focus on what’s happened in our lifetime, or our parents' lifetime. And this is not at all to minimize the very real conflicts and suffering occuring. But by acting as if these things have never happened before, then we forget how conflicts were solved, how societies and people and culture thrived despite the chaos. Those are the stories we need to be telling, all of the wondrous things people created, the ingenious ways humans have solved conflict. Within the proper context, of course.

VM: You’ve said something similar, if I recall, about who gets to tell our stories.

HRH: Is this about the reverse Indiana Jones thing? [She laughs again.] I will admit that perhaps the Met Gala was not the most appropriate place for that joke.

VM: Maybe not, but it was a story that got you a lot of attention.

HRH: The story isn’t about me, though, it’s about the rich history and culture of my home, of this nation, and many others around the world, stolen centuries ago and yet still on display in far away places, without the necessary context. I think it’s wonderful that people from across the world want to learn about my history and culture, but that cannot be done in an effective or respectful way when the source of that knowledge lies in violence. Historians and activists and many others have been fighting for this for decades, if not longer. I am blessed with the unique privilege that comes from my education, my position, and my fiance's position to bring broader attention to this, and hopefully create real and meaningful change.

VM: So the tweets about you being banned from the British Museum?

HRH: No, [she laughs] I have not been banned from the British Museum as far as I am aware, though I doubt I’ll be visiting anytime soon.

ARTHUR

It was as if the creator made a mistake with you, placing your heart firmly on your sleeve instead of safely encased in your ribcage. Darling girl, lovely little fool - did you learn nothing from that first lie? That candy apple kiss to knock you off guard, to soften the blow of the poison he presses to your skin with lips that taste of another. Heartache, the shattering gaping feeling is something you’ve only read about, until it is not and that dark thing inside of him that you’ve always been drawn to threatens to swallow your light whole.

You make him give you time, intending it to be a week but caving after a single day. He might still be your prince, you rationalize, and doesn’t the heroine have to suffer, to lose something in order to make the happily ever after mean anything? Fall apart and come back together, that's how the story always goes.

So you swallow his honeyed apologies, let him confess his sins against your skin, run your fingers through his hair and promise him your future. You were not taught ruthlessness, did not learn the headyness of cruelty. And what a gift it was, to love so freely as you always have, made all the more crucial by this devastating sorrow.

Forgiveness, you believe, is not weakness. And so when he holds out his bloodstained hands, you pick up the knife yourself to offer him your bruised heart.

MARISOL

Where do you keep your sorrow?

I don’t. I wrap it up in my guilt, that which I can peel away, and then find somewhere to bury it deep within me. Sometimes it works. Often it doesn’t, and instead surfaces at the very worst times sharpened into something I cannot ignore.

What about your guilt?

In my shadow. Or maybe I am in its shadow. Guilt either follows me or I it - that I am not enough, that I am not her, that I have not done nearly enough with what I have been given to help those around me. Guilt that I might be enabling him, guilt that I might love him too much to care. Guilt over all of the things that I cannot change, and guilt that I might be too weak to change the things that I can. Fear and guilt are sisters, or so they say. Fear I keep in my chest, in that hollowed out space within my ribs where I’d once kept a heart. I haven’t quite decided if the cage is there to keep other things out or to keep fear in.

So where do you keep your heart?

On my sleeve, buried deep in the mountains, or strewn across the seas of home. I give a little bit of it to nearly everyone I know, to carry my love with them wherever they go. Some bits I’ve gotten back, some are still safely in the care of others, some lost forever or destroyed. You might ask if I feel it, the very moment someone decides to take the bit of heart I’ve given them and burn it. The answer is no, I only notice their absences and feel the embers. Most of it I gave to him, maybe I thought to fill the void inside his own chest. Or maybe I have always been doomed to love someone that tastes like war and feels like loss.

And that righteous anger?

It lives in me like a second skin, electric and racing at times. I didn’t find this part of me until I was older, until I moved beyond my gossamer perfect world and saw all that could be done and all that we were not doing. I found my anger in the vastness of the mountains, and the depths of the jungle. All the lost and stolen parts of my history, all the pain and sorrow of my people. Anger I cannot name, names I cannot forget. All those lives and loves sacrificed upon their altar of greed. Again and again, anger found me, another jolt and another layer. I feel it so much I don’t know what to do with it, I don't know where to put it besides deep within me.

What about love? And joy?

My love lives with my heart, with others. I am constantly falling in love - with the sunrise, with a stranger’s smile, with the way the ocean looks after a storm, or how my cat gracefully stretches her paws. It is such a joy, and such sorrow, to love everything so freely and to feel everything so deeply. Love I spread like a balm across my skin, to protect me from that anger. Joy lingers in my fingertips, that incessant need to touch and feel. To live, and truly live - to bite down and suck out the marrow of life, to dig my nails deep into whatever I can. Then I wonder why does living fully and deeply invoke such violence. I wish I had an answer, I wish I had an explanation for my wants.

Sometimes love is a noose, that thing around my neck leaden with such pretty gems he placed there. Beautiful and deadly, and I will be beautiful and lovely and joyful while it slowly chokes me.

#a haunted house with a picket fence | history #i lied #these stories were neither short nor about love #surprise

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ovaryacted · 4 months

Text

FORGOTTEN DREAMS

PAIRING: DI!Leon x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: Coming back from his mission to Alcatraz, Leon wasn't expecting to have old desires from his past haunt him at his current age. Being his partner, you comfort him and try to fulfill his hidden wishes.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Smut. Porn with some plot. Angsty at the beginning. Brief talks of trauma. Established relationship (Leon & Reader are engaged/married). Assumed ages (Leon is 38, Reader is an adult so 25+). Breeding Kink (reciprocated both ways). Mating Press. Creampie. Unprotected sex (p/v). Oral Sex (f receiving). Dirty Talk. Multiple Orgasms. Domesticity. Intimacy. Relationship conversations.

WC: 3.6k

NOTES: Hey, surprise surprise. I don't know where this came from, but I just started thinking about older Leon as a dad, and paired with me ovulating, I came up with this. Wanted to get something out before the end of the year, so I hope you like it. Happy New Year from wherever you are! Comments & reblogs are always appreciated!

✰ ── 《 Navigation ⟡ Main Masterlist ⟡ AO3 》

Leon always believed he couldn’t have the things he’s always wanted, that he was destined for a life of misery.

Ever since that night in September all those years ago, he’d lost hope of the idea of the American Dream, a fantasy that was destroyed by the horrors of the same country he was forced to serve and protect. He once imagined his life would be different, living in the suburbs in a house with a white picket fence. Perhaps he’d have a pretty spouse, a few kids, maybe even a dog, he was always fond of bloodhounds and golden retrievers.

But of course, that wasn’t his reality.

So he accepted his fate the moment he miraculously made it out alive from Raccoon City, letting go of any control he had to change his life. He didn’t expect to live this long in the first place, foregoing any extensive plans for a future that remained uncertain with every mission he was sent on. No matter what he did, he remained stuck in a never-ending loop of dread, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop to be released from the torment of a life he did not choose to have.

That was, until he met you. He didn’t know how he managed to get so lucky to experience a sense of normalcy in his life, albeit it felt like he was always dreaming, waiting for the moment he’d wake up and see you slip away in his arms.

But you didn’t, you never left.

Leon wakes up every morning with the opportunity to take a glimpse at your sleeping face, taking every feature you had into memory. You granted him the chance to experience domesticity, something that was foreign to him at first, but he got adjusted to it and quickly began to crave it. You were what he wanted, a chance at peace in the hellscape that was his life. And over time, he didn’t have a doubt in his mind when he popped the question and happily slipped a ring on your finger when you told him yes.

Having someone waiting back at home was another added motivation for Leon to make it out alive, to return to you. All he ever wants is to be able to fall asleep in your arms after a long day, to have his head nuzzling into your neck and hear you giggling when his stubble tickled you too much. It was what he needed, and he silently thought that after all this time, as long as he had you he’d be happy.

That was why when he came back after his mission to Alcatraz, his new thoughts began to take him off guard. The same desires he had buried for so long slipped out of the crevices of his mind and began to plague him. The desire for more, for the things he never thought he could have. It was like his biological time clock was quickly turning into a ticking time bomb of anxiety ready to explode if it were suppressed any longer. He already had more than what he bargained for, he was alive, he had a home, and he had you. That should be enough, more than enough.

So why does he want more? Wanting anything else felt wrong and undeserving, so he never vocalized it. But you could tell something was on his mind and had been bothering him since he had returned.

It first started with the longing stares, where you’d often catch Leon looking your way a bit too fondly, as if he were taking you in for the last time before looking away. He was always an affectionate person, at least around you, but he was growing clingy. He was never that far away, usually holding your hand and caressing your fingers, cuddling up with you, and stroking your body whenever he could. Not to mention the sex, it was always passionate, always fun, and enjoyable, but recently it was as if Leon did it so frequently with so much vigor that you almost got worried.

No matter how calm he seemed, you knew him well enough to read him by now, and the small changes in his behavior showed you that something else was going on, that he was acting differently.

“You’re thinking again”, you stated matter-of-factly, watching Leon stare off in the distance as he rubbed his bottom lip over and over again. Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the present as he glanced at you.

“I’m getting old”, he said with a sigh, rubbing your legs that were currently propped up on his thighs from where you lay on the bed with him.

“You’re not getting old, you’re getting older. Big difference”, you commented, hearing him chuckle under his breath. That wasn’t entirely what he meant, but he didn’t know how to say what he wanted without possibly scaring you away or jinxing himself.

“Are you happy? With me I mean?”, he asked you the question in a soft tone, not to signal that he was unhappy with your relationship, but rather he was thinking about something regarding you being together.

“Of course I am. You make me happy. I wouldn’t have said yes if that wasn’t the case”, you told him reassuringly, moving closer to him to hold him by the cheek.

“I guess what I’m asking is are you happy with just me, just us”, Leon said the question as if he were afraid, and you raised an eyebrow to gauge his reaction.

“Leon, if you want to get a pet or something we can. I think a cat would be kinda nice”, you said to him, and he looked at you with a wide grin before he laughed, actually laughed. For a second you’re assuming you said something wrong, but when he regains his bearings, he grabs a hold of your hand and runs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Although a pet sounds good, that’s not exactly what I’m talking about”, he offered you a smile, giving you a second to think harder about his suggestion when he could see the lightbulb going off at the top of your head.

Kids?

“You’ve been thinking about kids?”

“Is it bad that I am?”

In a way, the revelation that Leon was thinking of having a family was surprising and took you off guard. When you met him, he initially struck you as a family man or someone who would want that down the line. So when he told you that wasn’t on his mind nor a goal of his, you took his word for it and stayed with him because that didn’t bother you, you loved him anyway. Now, it seems that he’s had a change of heart, and it sparked your interest.

“Well no…I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Thought you told me you never wanted them?”, you asked him, leaning into him closer and putting a warm hand on his chest.

“I said that because I didn’t think I could have them. But since coming back from Alcatraz…I don’t know, I keep thinking about it”, he shrugged under you, not meeting your gaze and looking down to the floor.

“I wanted a family when I was younger, but with all the shit I went through I just didn’t think it was possible, or that I could have it. So I simply forgot about it. But now..it popped back into my head and I’ve been thinking about it for a while”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, seeing the gears turning in his mind.

“It’s probably the old man hormones or something, I must be having a mid-life crisis”, he was joking, trying to use his humor to downplay how he felt, the way he usually did when he was dealing with something that made him uneasy.

“Babe, if you’re thinking about having kids you should’ve told me. I don’t mind you know, I think it’s endearing”, you whispered to him, now holding his face in your hands and offering him your warm gaze.

“So you don’t think I’m crazy for wanting them? Now of all times? I don’t think I should be wanting more than I already have”, you shook your head at that, knowing that Leon would feel guilty for having desires, that he had no room to be selfish.

“I think you deserve to have everything you want, regardless of what they may be. And if kids are on the list, then that’s okay, it’s what you want”, you were speaking to him in a confident voice, the one you used when you were trying to gently knock some sense into him.

“I don’t even know if you want them, with me anyway”, his eyebrows furrowed, hellbent on the assumption that you wouldn’t think twice about avoiding having children, much less have them with him.

“You aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about them you know”, his eyes widened at your confession, and your smile turned a bit sheepish.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Guess the hormones are also working overtime for me”

Leon blinked once, then twice. You fixated on the way the blues of his irises shifted, reminiscent of the clear sky after a storm had passed. But in reality, what you were looking at was hope interwoven in his eyes, a rare emotion that you’ve only seen a handful of times.

“Is that a yes then?”, you could see the way his lips began to curl up, an optimistic grin plastered on his face now, looking for an answer that would calm the excited beating of his heart.

“If you want to try, then we can try. And whatever happens, happens”, you reassured him once more, feeling him sit up straighter on the bed to kiss you on the lips.

“I love you, you know that?”

“You’ve told me a few times, but I don’t mind reminders”, you grinned at him, finding yourself tackled to the bed the next moment with laughs filling the room.

The next few days felt like a blur, basking in the domestic bliss that otherwise would’ve been a rarity for Leon, he found ways to keep you occupied.

Just like he did now.

Currently with your back on the bed, Leon’s head was between your plush thighs, lapping away at your cunt sometime at noon. It was Sunday, a day of rest meant to hide away from all of your responsibilities and chores. But of course, Leon had different plans when it came to keeping you busy.

“Fuck Leon”, you said with a loud moan, a light layer of sweat covering your body as your fingers yanked at his head, bringing him closer to where you wanted him. Leon groaned against you, tongue curling around your pulsing clit and forcing an arch in your back.

He already pulled one release out of you earlier, right after he found you on the couch wearing nothing but a worn-out T-shirt of his you stole years ago. He couldn’t help but fall in between your legs, head against your chest so he could listen to your heart beating in his ear. The comforting rhythm put Leon at ease, his hands running down the length of your thighs and kneading at your skin while you watched whatever show was currently on the screen. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, already seeing the mischievousness he had written all over his face.

“What are you doing?”, your attention moved from the TV screen to the top of his head, focused on the movement of his hands on your body.

“Nothing”, he told you playfully, his hands were already slipping under the edge of where your shirt covered the top of your hips. He shifted higher up to place a kiss on your lips, moving to your neck and nipping at you gently.

“Just keep watching your show”

It was the last thing he told you before his fingers found refuge in the welcoming warmth of your pussy, rubbing at your clit as you quickly forgot about the plot twist happening in front of you. He was a distraction, as he always was, but you’d never turn him away, you couldn’t even if you tried. And now, you were willingly paying the price of his affection.

Heat started to build up in your lower spine the more you felt Leon’s mouth on you, his needy tongue flicking against every sensitive spot you had before burrowing inside you. It was muscle memory for him, knowing exactly what to do and how to make you fall apart with skill. With every moan you gave, every twitch and shake of your body, Leon drank it all, trying to drown himself in the intensity of your pleasure whenever he had you like this. In between your legs, sucking away at where you needed him most, it was where he belonged.

Your hips were against his face, grinding into him and having his nose press into your clit again, pulling another airy whimper out of you. His hair was wrapped around your fingers, trying to listen in to the shameless sounds Leon made when more of your slick entered his mouth. To him, you tasted like honey, sweet on his tongue like molasses. It was something that curbed his sweet tooth, completely addicted to a taste that only you created when he made you feel good.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck f-fuck”, you didn’t need to announce it, Leon already knew from the way your walls were pulsating around his tongue that you were getting close.

Slipping away from your clenching hole, his tongue went up to run circles against your nub, sucking at it in pulses and snapping the rope of tension in your gut. Your breathing remained stuck in your throat as your second release ran through you, your shaky thighs pinned to his broad shoulders and his mouth continued to prolong your climax. He didn’t stop until the waves of your orgasm calmed down and ebbed away, where only a light pleasurable numbness remained and a dumb smile was left on your face.

No longer feeling you convulsing around him, Leon gave your clit one last kiss before coming back up from between your legs, matching your smile with one of his own. Plush lips covered in your essence, his charm radiated off of him every time he achieved the feat of making you cum.

“Feel good?”, he said teasingly, meshing his lips with yours with a pleasant hum. His tongue curled around your own, giving you a taste of yourself that you graciously took and reveled in.

“I feel good, but I can feel better”, you drew away from his face, giving him a smirk and tugging him closer to you by the waistband of his briefs. With a sneaky hand, you slipped your fingers underneath the soft cotton, gripping his hard length to touch him properly. You heard him grunt again, his breath hitching when you took his earlobe between your teeth and whispered at him.

“I want you inside me already”, you practically purred at him, a shiver running through him followed by another chuckle. Your vulgarity wasn’t new, but it was always something Leon found amusing.

“Yeah? You need me to fuck you sweetheart?”, he wasn’t asking you necessarily, more so reiterating facts that didn’t need your confirmation. Because you did want him to fuck you, you needed it and he knew it. Your hazy eyes watched as he stripped off his briefs, instinctively opening your legs for him, a silent invitation that you craved more.

“Want you to fuck a baby into me”

For a second Leon froze, his eyes widening at your words as they rang in his head. The phrase alone did something to him, brought out a new primal instinct he didn’t know existed until now. It festered carnal lust deep in his gut that shot in two directions, up towards his chest with his heart beating rapidly, and in the opposite way where all of his blood began rushing down south. He blinked at you, the blues of his eyes darkening to a sharp cobalt, and in the next second, he was on you so quickly it almost gave you whiplash.

The tip of his cock teased your entrance with two rubs before being sheathed deep inside in one easy thrust. Your body gave no resistance, welcoming the feeling of Leon stretching you out just the way you liked. Strong hands digging into the back of your thighs, he pushed your knees down against the mattress and closer to your chest, letting him slip that much deeper into you and leaving you gasping underneath him.

Dragging his hips back once before slamming back into you with intention, Leon fucked you without restraint, pinning you down against the mattress and ruining you for any other person, past, present, and future. He didn’t change his pace, filling in every possible gap, his dick hitting your deepest spots and kissing your cervix with every push and pull of his body. You swear you could feel him trying to breach your womb, the thought alone turning your head to mush. The urge of wanting him to leave his mark inside you grew like never before, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with another broken sob coming from your lips.

“Gonna fill you up. Is that what you want?”, he muttered, huffing out a breath and pounding his hips into you harshly to where the room filled with an audible skin-slapping sound.

“Yes, yes, I need it so bad!”, you felt him shift, forcing your knees down until they were parallel to your ears and effectively putting you into a mating press. His torso leaned more into you, caging you in and taking in your fucked out face with pride.

“Need me to breed you? Fuck a baby into you, huh?”, letting go of one of your legs to press his thumb against your clit, he rubbed against it and felt you clench around his cock. Your grip on the bedsheets tightened, bleary eyes looking up into him as he fucked you with determination.

“Yeah, I’ll make you a momma don’t you worry”

He said it like it was a promise, a sacred vow he didn’t plan on breaking. It was harsh fucking that was usually reserved for whenever you were both stressed and pent up. But now he was on a mission, making it his personal goal to not stop until he gave you what you both desired.

In the back of his mind, he was imagining what you would look like pregnant. The soft expanse of your stretched-out tummy that continues to grow as your child develops along with you. He pictured the way your body will start to fill in a bit more, becoming more soft and curvy in spots you didn’t consider previously. The heaviness of your breasts and the changes in sensitivity when they filled up with milk, something that he can’t wait to see and taste for himself. Every image that filled his head only made his cock throb and his thrusting intensify.

“Gonna look so pretty, all round for me”, he was lost in his thoughts, mumbling to himself and driving into you so good he hit that soft spot tucked inside. Your mind had turned to static, his words only bringing you that much closer to the edge and your legs shaking from how they were bent.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up, make sure it catches, right here”, he placed a finger right underneath your belly button and pressed into your skin, the friction of his touch rapidly sending you into your next orgasm unexpectedly.

Throwing your head back against the pillow, you couldn’t warn Leon when you felt yourself coming again for him, your walls flexing around him and a wail filling the room. His thumb continued to stroke tight circles on your clit as he fucked you through your release, thrusting sloppily against you before cumming inside with a resounding grumble of your name. His hips were flushed with yours, grinding into you until he had nothing left to give, panting against your neck and kissing your nape.

You felt Leon slip out of you, gently putting your legs down back on the bed and his spend starting to drip down your thighs. With two of his fingers, he collected some of his release that spilled out of you and pushed it back inside your body, plugging you up with his digits to make sure none of it would dribble out.

“Can’t waste it, hold it there for me”, he said, making you keen and grip him tighter. Drawing out his fingers, he brought them to your lips, grinning when you wrapped your tongue around them to lick off the remnants of his taste.

“You think this one did it?”, you asked him tiredly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to give him soft pecks, growing clingy and wanting more of his affection.

“Hopefully, but there’s nothing wrong with a little more practice”, Leon smirked at you, giving you a wet passionate kiss and rekindling the flame of desire once more.

You knew that he wasn’t going to stop until he gave you what you both wanted, a happy family in a happy home. Of course, you had zero complaints, you’d do anything to make him happy and give him what he deserves.

Maybe just maybe, Leon will get his dream after all.

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

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goldsbitch · 9 days

Text

Hypochondria

part 2

Fate decided to play a little game and set up a disastrous dinner. Pulling heatwaves back and forth to prove that the path to hell is paved by good intentions.

warning: non-linear time line

21:10

"I'm sorry, but do you guys know each other?" she asked, with a tone of annoyance barely hidden behind a fake smile.

Lando froze once again, like he had many times that evening. It was not his fault. His soon-to-not-be girlfriend set this seventh circle of hell up. How was he supposed to respond to that?

Y/N hesitantly responded. "No, of course not. I mean, I've only worked with the team here for few weeks anyway."

Her words got buried in the stare down between Anita and Lando.

"Seems like you do, by the amount of questions you're asking" she said directly at Lando, fully ignoring Y/N at that point.

"If I had known her, I would not have had to ask questions, right?" he responded, failing at letting his sassy side dormant.

"Is that why you never ask me any questions? Because you know me?"

He bit his tongue. Lando was trying to be good.

Anita made her signature "I knew it" smile once again, which finally set Lando off.

"One asks when they want to hear an answer."

20:13

He was not late, right? Only thirteen minutes. It still passed. And judging by the quick glance he gave at the table, Anita brought a friend. She does that often, he had no idea why.

He felt like a ghost watching his own life sometimes. Just sort of floating around, letting things happen to him. It was easy with his status. As if racing was the only time he really cared.

As he walked over to the table, lost in his own head, life gave him a pretty big slap to wake him up. Next to Anita sat the one and only, who had haunted his dreams and reality for decades by now. Frozen, as if his blood decided to start flowing in the opposite direction, he blinked as he watched the two share a laugh as Anita showed something to the girl on her phone. Seamlessly, as if they weren't defying the laws of Lando's universe. It was like that one time when two girls he kissed on the same time found him, having no idea what he had done with the other. Strange panic, excitement laced with guilt. It was that, dialed up to infinity.

A day had barely passed since he first saw the mystery girl in real time. Without giving him any time to absorb that information and decide what to do with it. He was getting angry, everything was going wrong. The painful truth hit him - he would fuck it up anyway. As he always does. Feeling like a dried piece of fruit, he got back to walking over to the table of doomed dreams.

He had no plan going in. Well, no, he did. But he had about five plans that strongly contradicted each other. But god, destiny did not even give him time to breathe.

12:29

Another car flashed unbelievably fast right next to their station. She watched them with awe and slight terror in her eyes. Funny how the desire for a little thrill in the driver's lives makes them willing to risk it all. She understood this desire, but never shared it. Safe and sound on the ground, that's where she was happy.

Happy was probably overreaching. These past few days were flowing in a blur, somewhat missing her.

It's been only a few weeks since she joined the formula medical team. A strange choice frowned upon by almost anyone in her life. She was just out of school, finished her degree and was set up for a perfect career in some decent hospital. But no, the prospect of waking up everyday at the same place was the definition of horror for her. Her university years felt like torture.

Her free spirit caused few issues in her past relationship. House with a picket fence was not something she considered an option. At least not for another ten years or so.

There she was, sarcastic as ever because how else are you supposed to deal with a chronic pain. Well, pain was an exaggeration. More like muscle fatigue, on occasion sharp pains in random places. Nobody knew why or what caused it. This search for answers was what got her to study medicine at the first place. Still, years after, no answers. So she just lived and hoped not to die randomly one day.

This was the downside, the one she shared with the public. What she did not share, as it seemed not that important, was the irregular waves of pleasure she felt, usually late at night. Self induced orgasms, is what she concluded once she finally experienced one. What was there to complain about? Nice way of spicing up the day without even trying. If it weren't for these, she'd probably be more active in seeking out the real deal. Ever since her break up few months ago, it was a full on dry spell.

She was a little bit lost after school. Formula track was an interesting distraction.

Heatwave. It hit hard as the sun blazed into the track, as if the goal was to burn the whole area down. There were many instances of people crashing down and having seek medical attention. A busy day for Y/N. She loved it. Rushing around like a busy bee, helping around and chatting with all those interesting people attending the race. Lots of beautiful people. Some extraordinarily.

In front of Y/N was one of those heavenly looking people. Apparently a girlfriend of one of the drivers. Cheerful looking model, who apologized about seven times for being there. Y/N gave her some magnesium, gave her some advice on how much water she should drink and checked her basic stats.

"You're all good. Make to sure to relax, don't drink any alcohol today and you'll be fine," Y/N ended her examination with a smile.

"You're amazing, thank you! Can I snap a photo of you for my story? I'm happy to tag you," she winked, suddenly looking all better now.

"Thank you...Um, happy to take a photo, but no tags. I have enough stalkers already," she tried to get out of the slightly awkward conversation with a joke that did not land.

"I do too, awful, right?" she replied, in full seriousness. Y/N smiled, hoping a new patient would arrive soon while she let her search for the right light. Few too many snaps and fake smiles later, they both sat in the ambulance nearby the track.

"I think you're free to go. Of course, stay here as long as you feel like you need to," Y/N said to her, while filling a general medical report.

The girl shifted, looking more than fine again. In the corner of the eye, Y/N observed how she kept shifting and looking for her phone.

"Is everything all right?" Y/N asked, unable to stop herself.

"Um, I was sort of hoping my boyfriend would come to pick me up here. It would look really good."

Y/N smiled. "I imagine it would also feel good, right?"

"Yeah," she said, not in a tone that would suggest she felt any butterflies. She looked stiff.

Y/N took a deep breath, not sure why her mouth let those words out. "Whatever happens in the ambulance, stays in the ambulance, you know? Just throwing it out there in case you want to share something..."

A weak smile appeared on her face. A glimpse of realness. After few moments of obviously thinking it through, she allowed herself to speak freely. "Promise you won't tell anything to anyone..."

"I swore an oath one time, I think we can apply that to this situation." The medics were always told to provide excellent service to these people. Sometimes, it involved a little psychology as well.

"I'd love to be with someone who would drop anything to pick me up when I'm sitting in an ambulance. But, I feel like that's not coming anytime soon. He just...He just does not see me."

It was easy for most people to get raw in the closed safe space of an ambulance. Y/N had already heard many similar stories, despite being on this job for only few weeks.

"Does he make you happy?"

"Um...Not really. The sex is good. And the life that comes with him..." she seemed to loose herself in her thoughts.

"You should trust your gut. It's probably pointing you in the right direction," Y/N replied, trying to not push anything.

"You're probably right. He's the best thing around here, so why complain. Thanks! You're really the best. You sure you don't want to be tagged?" she asked once again.

"Sure, go for it," she said, hoping this would finally get the girl out and gave her the instagram info.

She felt an immense wave of embarrassment as she read the comment about how amazing she was.

Lando felt a very familiar stroke of humiliation - well, he did not, but he knew who did anyway. Anxiety was not uncommon.

He was done with practice for the day and was staying behind with the engineers to further analyse. He ignored his phone for a while, only finding out his girlfriend had to go to the medics after she came back to the McLaren garage.

His first thought should have probably not been about a wasted opportunity.

"Hey, sweetheart, how do you feel now?" he said while holding Anita's hand and trying to find traces of her feeling unwell on her face.

She felt a bittersweet punch, obviously him checking up on her while she was gone not passing through his mind.

"Yeah, all good now. We have some good medics over here. I took a photo of them, so hopefully they'll get some boost online."

"Oh, can I have a look?" he said with an obvious interest. She smiled, hoping it was because he cared about her. She gave him her phone and saw him freeze for a moment.

Out of nowhere, he was staring into the eyes he longed to drown in. He never got a look this close at her. Not his girlfriend. The awkward smile he understood as if it was his own. It was like being taken over by a tidal wave. He knew everything about her, except her name. It was all really overwhelming.

20:15

Lando should have connected the dots. Anita was a bubbly friendly person, of course she would invite someone who had helped her, over to dinner, in case he himself does not show up due to some unforeseen circumstances. He sat down, without saying a word. "Oh, you're here, amazing!" Anita greeted him with a light peck on the cheek. Lando almost flinched away, physical contact with her suddenly feeling wrong. He kept his eyes down on the table, all of this being a little too much. "Lando, meet Y/N."

Finally. A name to a face. Strong sense of relief and excitement washed over him. Of course it was that name, it suited her vibe completely. The best name. He finally looked up and locked eyes with her for the first time. She was already looking at him and visibly gulped as finally joined her.

These few seconds before the silence got broken were more like hours. They both studied each other like astronomers who get absorbed by the beauty of a distant comet. One they'd only read about and one that's finally passing the sky in their lifetime.

"And Y/N, this is Lando-"

She knew his face, of course she did. But never paid much attention to it, as he served more like a concept, than an actual person to her. Sitting across from him however brought a sense of understanding. No wonder everyone liked him and many people obsessed over him. He was gorgeous, electric. Y/N was grateful for the table that put a physical barrier between them, as the urge to touch him to test if he is real was overtaking her brain quickly. Like a siren luring her to jump into endlessly deep water. She had a hard time believing that she would refuse. Her one and only thought was that a person like that is born once in a century.

Except that's not exactly true. But unbeknownst to her, they were soulmates. She was destined to be eternally delusional about him. He was fated to dance around her until the end of time.

"-my boyfriend."

Anita's words cut through like knife. Both of her dinner partners shifted, as if she had splashed them with cold water, and returned back to reality. A great cloud of guilt sat on the fourth empty chair, which the waiters forgot to take away, invisible to Anita, but smiling evilly at Y/N and Lando. And they hadn't even said a word to each other yet.

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tomlinfonda · 1 year

Text

Inside me there are two wolves.

One who thinks that the writers are either stupid or cruel, and that the finale was so incomprehensibly bad that I shouldn't try to make sense of it. And that I should move on.

The other one is a subtext-and-metaphor-hungry beast that is manically obsessed with finding a reason, at least subtextually, for the incomprehensible mess they made out of these characters, especially Ted, in the finale.

Everyone is so right to point out that Ted in previous episodes would not have acted like this. I think the reason for the sudden regression in his character is Dottie.

That morning, full of smiles, in a good mood, Ted starts his walk to work.

He cheerfully strolls through the streets, saying hello to his neighbors, making chit-chat with them. He is (as Trent said it in 1x03) out there in the community. He is, more importantly, part of a community. Until suddenly-

"Mom?"

Dottie's arrival changes everything. Ted gets worse and worse throughout the episode. In the hotel room in Manchester, the football anthem "Blue Moon", with the haunting lyric "You saw me standing alone" plays over Ted's lonesome figure, in the shadows, depressed.

Juxtapose that with his first scene: the lively neighborhood and daylight.

At the end of the episode, his conversation with his (manipulative) mom hits him deep. He feels immense guilt over not being there for Henry. And he's been torn over this for the entire season.

His mom, and the way she acts, and the way she manipulates him, push him in the wrong direction: Kansas.

I think Ted has disassociated for most of the finale. But I also think that he is intentionally pushing people away. Maybe he thinks that this will make it easier for him to leave, maybe he thinks that this will make it easier for them to let him go. Maybe he just hates himself so much that he cannot accept their help. Maybe he feels guilty that they're showing him so much love, when he knows he will abandon them.

Either way, he quits. Something that he would not have done, even in season 1. So his regression goes farther than the first episode, deeper into his past. He goes from:

to having doubts on the plane about leaving without winning the whole fucking thing

but leaving anyway.

And this is one of the most curious things to me. Rebecca offers to bring Henry to him in England by helping relocate Michelle:

And yet, he refuses. So, sure, this is about being there for his son. But given the choice between his son with his beloved community, and his son without his beloved community, he chooses the latter.

I've heard the argument that we don't know for sure that Ted doesn't have a support system in Kansas. But from a narrative perspective, it's important that we haven't been shown that hypothetical support system at all. And given that he actually returns to Kansas without the one person who we know supported him before coming to England, it comes across as a terribly isolating situation.

So why would Ted choose to part from his found family, even though bringing his son into that family would be an option? My theory is that he just really fucking hates himself. I think he wants to punish himself, maybe for being away from Henry for so long, maybe for something else. I don't think he believes that he deserves love or even credit for how he helped the club.

I mean, Rebecca and Trent offer him exactly that this episode: credit for what the did for the club.

And he rejects them both, choosing instead to remove himself from their lives, to erase himself from the narrative.

I think he's lower mentally than we've seen him for a while.

I think he's in his dark forest.

So the plane departs and then lands. And Ted is back in Kansas, driven through the prosaic, picket-fenced, isolating, depressing American suburbs to the house where Henry and the ex-wife who doesn't love him are waiting for him.

And the light might be golden, and he might be reunited with his son. But as we close in on the last shot of the show, you can see his smile try to fight the sadness in his eyes and you know.

He's not happy.

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers

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sandu-zidian · 2 years

Text

The billboard said “the end is near.”

Another comic ahhh! I had thought that the last one was gonna be it for a while and then someone sent an edit of Rogue One to I Know the End by Phoebe Bridgers and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So I made another comic! This song is the perfect encapsulation of what makes Rogue One such a good movie, I’d say. Hope you enjoy this :))

#katan art #Star Wars #rogue one #for anyone who looks at tags lmk which page is your favorite :))#mine is the ‘a haunted house with a picket fence’ one!#anyways shoutout to Ivy for sending that edit that inspired this I will never stop thinking about it

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lovebugism · 1 year

Note

❛ i’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new to me. i love you. ❜ with our boy Steve Harrington please?

i wrote this after watching little women, so this is like that one laurie and amy scene but stranger things coded <3 hope you like it!! (this is 5k words btw and barely proofread 🫣)

The R.V. smells like coopery blood, alternate dimension muck, and nine teenagers who haven’t showered in three days. But despite all that, Steve Harrington is next to you, smiling.

As if there’s anything worth being happy about now.

He tells you about a dream with a hopeful gleam in his honey eyes, like he believes it’ll all come true — like death is staring him in the face. “I know it’s silly, but I… I always dreamed I’d have this really, really big family. I’m talking like, uh— a full brood of Harrington’s. I don’t know, five… Maybe six kids?”

“Six?” you repeat with an incredulous laugh. You turn your body in the passenger seat to face him more, shoulder pressing into the worn pleather. You’ve got your brows raised to your hairline in shock at his admission and a beam on your face you don’t realize is there.

“Uh-huh. Six little nuggets. Three girls, three boys,” he says with an assured nod. There’s a distant smile hinting at the edges of his lips, and he looks at you with it for a moment before turning back to the road again.

“And every summer, I figured all of us Harrington’s, we’d pack into something like this, and… just see the country. You know, the Rockies, the Grand Canyon, maybe Yellowstone. We’d end up in some beachside town in California and spend a week parked in the sand, maybe learn how to surf or something.”

You can picture the dream so effortlessly, almost like it’s one you’ve had yourself.

In some ways, you did.

Steve Harrington was the kind of boy that filled you with butterflies and childlike daydreams. It was more innocent than lusting, more significant than a teenage crush. There was a time you’d wanted to be with him so badly that you could barely breathe. It kept you up at night, fantasizing about a future with a boy that didn’t want you. It haunted your dreams just as often.

You were, perhaps a bit begrudgingly, a part of that stereotype — a girl who wanted all of the things adults thought girls wanted. You longed for a pretty white dress and a husband that cried when you walked down the aisle. You wanted a small house with a white picket fence, a home that’s always loud with laughing children and barking dogs and loving parents.

It was a future you only wanted with Steve.

But he didn’t love you. Not the way he loved Nancy.

Not the way he still loves Nancy.

It’s not a crime he needs to confess to for you to know he’s guilty of it. You can see it written all over his face, in the way he talks about his future family and flits his gaze from the winding backroad up to the rearview mirror to look at her. He’s picturing her in his head the way you picture him in yours.

Knowing someone else is a part of this dreamt-up family and not you is a bitter pill to swallow.

It has you looking back too, at the gang of ragtag soldiers you’re about to save the world with. You glance over your shoulder at all of them, finding them dozing or outright sleeping in the back of the R.V.

You don’t blame them. The past few days have been hell.

You’re just glad Max has finally found a moment of peace. The redhead lazes between Lucas and Dustin on the couch in the very back. She rests her head on the former boy’s soldier, but you can’t tell if she’s sleeping or not. Lucas has his eyes closed but a smile on his face as he lays his cheek on the crown of her head.

Dustin, on the other hand, looks dreadfully out of place among the two lovebirds. His head is tilted back and his mouth is wide open. Soft snores spill from his throat.

Erica, Robin, and Nancy all sit at the tiny table beside the tinier kitchen. Their heads are either resting on their folded arms or pressing against the window.

The small cushion adjacent to the couch is taken up wholly by Eddie.

Your Eddie.

His long legs are spread and his back is slouched against the side of the R.V. He’s taking up every bit of room the thing has to offer, which wasn’t very much to begin with. His pink lips are parted and slightly chapped. He blows soft exhales from them that make his chest rise and fall with even breaths.

Your hands begin to ache with the want to run them through his wild strands of hair, to ease his head to your chest and let the sound of your heartbeat chase away the nightmares that threaten to plague him.

You want so badly to sleep alongside him, but you know that slumber won’t come as easily to you.

Despite the exhaustion that weighs down your tired bones, whenever you close your eyes, you can only see Chrissy’s mangled body on the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer. The image of broken bones and sucked-out eye sockets is stained on the back of your mind.

It’s something you’ll never forget. Not in a billion, trillion lifetimes.

You’re scared you won’t ever sleep peacefully again.

But you’re glad Eddie’s finally resting. Even if you can’t.

And maybe that’s what love is.

…Love.

You almost can’t believe you’re calling it that. It’s not like you’ve told him as much or anything. You haven’t been together very long, only a few months, but you’re not sure what else to call this feeling. Is it normal for you to want to fight the most powerful dark wizard known to man with your bare hands as long as it means keeping Eddie safe?

The realization that you’re actually moving on from Steve is perhaps more shocking. You were starting to think you’d be fawning over him for the rest of your life, destined to be alone forever while he got married and had kids. But then Eddie came out of nowhere. He swept you off your feet without even trying.

You’d spent so much of your life in love with Steve that you’d forgotten how it felt to be loved. But Eddie reminded you, most ardently so, and you’ve never been happier.

And Steve can see all that.

He can see how you’ve gone to hell and back — quite literally — to keep Eddie safe. He can see how Eddie still manages to make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts, even though death looms overhead like a big, gray storm cloud. It almost makes him angry. Not at Eddie, exactly. And certainly not at you. He’s more so mad at himself for waiting until you were out of his grip entirely to need you like air.

Steve wasn’t an idiot; he knew how you felt about him. He’s known for years. But Nancy was the only girl in his purview for… an embarrassingly long amount of time. Maybe that’s because she didn’t want a single damn thing to do with him at first, and it wasn’t like Steve to back down from a challenge.

But you? You were easy. You were always going to be there. Your love was the only constant thing in his life.

And then it just… wasn’t.

It was like his center of gravity had suddenly shifted or his feet had been knocked out from under him. The loss of you, of something that was never his to begin with, jarred him like he’d been awake with most vigor. Now, he finds himself living in a nightmare — forced to watch you fall in love with someone else while he ebbs slowly from your mind.

You sit with him now — with Eddie — while he and Dustin fuck around with the shields they’d crafted out of tin garbage can lids. You watch them with a smile on your face even though you’re shaking your head at them and telling them something that Steve can’t hear.

You’ve got a sword in your hand, and you sharpen its steel with a rock. The too expensive thing had been hanging on the wall at The War Zone, and you told Eddie you just had to have it.

“I’ll just… take up extra shifts at Wayne’s shop,” you reason with a shrug, gaze never leaving the bladed weapon.

“Do whatever you want,” the brunette boy responded nonchalantly as he dropped four cases of ammunition into the red basket in your hand. He smiled down at you. “That just means I’ll get to see you more.”

It hurts Steve for you to be so far away from him.

You’re just across the small clearing. All he’d have to do is walk over to you, really, but it’s more than just the distance. No matter how close he gets to you, or how far you get from Eddie, your soul’s always going to be with him.

Steve will never have you like that, and that’s what hurts the most.

He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of keeping a stiff upper lip about it. He thinks he’s keeping some deep, dark secret, having no idea that he’s all but spilling his guts to Robin. Honestly, he’s just trying to make conversations while they make homemade bombs out of gasoline and glass bottles, but he’s more than obvious. As per usual.

“How long do you think they’ve got?” Steve asks her out of the blue while he pours the chemicals through the funnel and into the flask Robin holds out for him. He doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Because I thought they’d be over forever ago, you know? I mean… it’s Eddie. She’s, like, totally out of his league, right? But I’m pretty sure they just had an anniversary or something because I saw him buying flowers at Bradley’s Big Buy the other day…”

Robin opens her mouth to get a word in, but Steve just keeps on going going going.

“Unless you think they were for someone else? But let’s be serious, right? He’s a freak, but he’d never do that to her. I don’t know… Maybe he’s just the sorta guy that gets her flower for no reason, and it hasn’t been as long as it feels.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure they—”

“Let’s face it, if he’s doing that for her, they’re probably gonna make it, right?” the boy laughs bitterly to himself. He stuffs a rag into the neck of the bottle. “God, I’m such an idiot… Maybe if I’d done those things, I’d still—”

“I swear to god, if you say you’d still be with Nancy, I’m gonna punch you in the forehead,” Robin snapped suddenly. She’s got a foreign sternness to her tone and a glacial hardness in her blue eyes. She glares at him with it. “You don’t love Nancy, Steve. And she doesn’t love you. So stop going for the easiest thing when you know it’s not what you want.”

He sighs. He knows she’s right. “I just—”

“I get it. It sucks being lonely. I’m pretty sure I’m destined to spend the rest of my life alone, so join the club,” Robin smiles, a tad bit cynically, at him. “It sucks being in love with someone you can’t have. Trust me, I get it. But you need to move on.”

Steve swallows. He almost winces at the thought of that — of never having you. He shakes his head as though to get rid of the idea entirely. “I can’t… I can’t do that, Rob.”

“Then what are you gonna do, Steve?” she asks him with a mirthless, but not unkind laugh.

She nods her head over to you. You laugh as Eddie spins you in his arms, both of you marveling at how you’ve just nailed a tree on the far edge of the clearing with the knives you’d thrown at it. Steve can hear the sound of your bubbly laughter from where he sits. Its brightness rivals that of the setting sun.

“Look at her. She’s happy. Finally. So… Just let her be happy,” Robin advises with a shrug. She sets the glass bottle in the box with the rest of them. “I mean, we’re about to stop a dark wizard from ending the world, you know? Some of us probably won’t make it out—”

“Don’t say that,” Steve scolds.

“Some of us probably won’t make it,” she repeats, firmer this time, like it’s something he really needs to hear. “Something could happen to Eddie. Something could happen to her. Do you really want to be the selfish asshole that ruins what could very well be everyone’s last moments together just because you’ve got a bleeding heart?”

She’s being harsh. He knows it deserves it. Now is virtually the worst time to tell you everything on his mind — just when you’re starting to really settle down with Eddie and about to fight some wizard in an alternate dimension.

Something could happen to her. Those words left Robin’s mouth and stabbed him in the heart like a thousand unforgiving knives. Steve can’t fathom anything ever happening to you. Even with the end of the world, with all of you about to fight a war, it never crossed his mind. He can’t picture his life without you in it.

He can’t lose you without telling you how he feels — that he loves you, that he’s always loved you, and that he’s an oblivious idiot who learned that too late.

He can’t lose you at all.

So, against his better judgment and Robin’s sound advice, Steve abandons his work with her and hikes the relatively short distance over to you.

Eddie hasn’t yet let go of you. He keeps his arms tight around your waist and hugs you from behind, pressing the back of you to his chest while his chin sits along your shoulder. His chocolate eyes are stuck on the bullseye you’d carved into the bark of the tree on the far side of the clearing. The four knives you’d thrown, now stuck at the very center of the target, stare back at him.

“This is probably a bad time to be turned on, huh?” he half-jokes, chin bobbing against your shoulder with every word.

“Eddie!” you scold as you wrench yourself out of his grip.

Dustin’s face screws up from where he lounges on the grass beside the both of you. “Gross…”

You walk away from the two boys to collect your knives from the poor oak tree. Eddie whistles lowly at you while you go — as though he’s never seen you in a pair of jeans before. You throw your middle finger over your shoulder at him in response.

That’s when Steve catches you, when you’re finally alone, and with a tiny white lie of needing to go back to the R.V. for more gasoline. You offer to walk with him, just like he figured you might, because none of you wants anyone to go off alone. Not with Vecna potentially watching you.

You walk alongside him through the thick wood, dodging low-hanging branches and uplifted roots. Steve notices the distant smile dancing on the corners of your lips — a beautiful stain Eddie’s left there.

“What are you gonna do?” he asks you suddenly. “You know, when this is all over?”

Your brows raise at his question, mouth falling softly agape and eyes widening with a far-off look. You look stumped by the simple inquiry, like it’s something you hadn’t thought of yet — of any of this being over.

“I don’t know…” you murmur. “Go back to work, I guess.”

Steve laughs. “We’re gonna save the world tonight, and you’re gonna be back in the office on Monday?”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll take a sick day,” you joke, just to hear him laugh again.

He lifts a splintered tree limb to get it out of the way for you, then ushers you to walk ahead of him. You mutter a low and shy “thank you” as you walk beneath it. He lets the branch fall again as he follows behind you.

“What about you, then?” you retort. “What are you gonna do after? Since going back to a nine-to-five is so unreasonable.”

“Actually, I was thinking about writing an opera,” Steve quips with a straight face. “I would be the main character, of course—”

“You’re such an idiot,” you giggle with the shake of your head. The airy, sunshine sound makes him smile down at you. His honey-tined gaze swims with longing. You don’t catch it because you’re not looking back at him.

“What do you want me to do, then?”

You tilt your head to catch his stare. Your eyes sparkle and your brows arch with a look both soft and stern. “Honest answer?”

“Of course.”

“I think you should go work for your dad. Try and… I don’t know… make something for yourself—”

“Alright, that’s not…”

“—Because you can’t work at Family Video forever, Steve!”

“You’re not playing fair,” he concedes quietly, laughing under his breath and shaking his head.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less — you did preface an honest answer, after all. It doesn’t make him feel any less bad about it, though.

You’d supported Steve through a lot of shit. Every mindless fight with his parents, every breakup that had him swearing he would never love again, every aspect of his douchebag phase that almost ruined your friendship. You were always soft with him, but never dishonest.

So when he told you that his dad offered him a well-paying job in Indianapolis, it didn’t surprise him when you told him to take it. Despite all the other shit (his broken relationship with his father and his incessant daydreaming of settling down with Nancy, namely), you knew he wasn’t happy in Hawkins.

“Fuck your dad, Steve. This isn’t about him,” you’d said. “You should take it! Starting building your life in the city! And when you’re finally making more money than your stupid dad, you can rub it in everyone’s stupid faces.”

Steve, of course, ended up turning it down.

The salary was high — too high for a boy just out of high school — but he figured no amount of money was worth a wounded pride.

Steve was scared that it was all a ploy, another thing his dad could hold over his head, another accomplishment that wasn’t really his. And, truth be told, he was less enthusiastic about leaving Hawkins without you. He isn’t quite sure where he’d be in life without you guiding him through a significant portion of it. It made it nearly impossible to picture a life that didn’t have you at the very center of it.

He happily took to be Robin Buckley’s schmuck at Scoops Ahoy (and then again at Family Video) and Dustin Henderson’s unofficial chauffeur instead. He didn’t mind being a casualty of rattrap small town as long as it meant he didn’t have to stray too far from you.

But here you were now, right next to him in this lonesome forest, and still so far away.

You meet his boyishly forlorn expression with a sincere, tight-lipped smile. “You know that I’m right.”

“Yeah, I do,” he scoffs in response. “That’s the problem.”

“When we kill Vecna and save Hawkins for the… thousandth time… You should take that job. I mean, screw your dad, you deserve a life outside of all this shit—”

“So do you,” he argues.

“I’ll make it without you, Harrington. I’ll try to, anyway,” you quip, turning your gaze up to the family of birds sitting high in an oak tree and wishing you were one of them. You shrug to yourself. “I’ll keep on being a secretary at the car shop… Maybe settle down with Eddie.”

That makes Steve stop dead in his tracks. He laughs bitterly to himself, a quiet and venom-coated scoff. “Right. Because living with his uncle in a one-bedroom trailer is such a dream.”

It makes you stop, too, and turn on your heel to face him. You’re surprised to find him so many paces back. Steve sees a flash of hurt strike like lightning across your features, but he’s too hurt to apologize.

“I get it,” you concede with a small, cynical smile. “You don’t like him. You never have. But… He’s a good guy, Steve. If you just got to know him—”

“It’s not that,” he mumbles, cutting you off before he has to suffer through a list of reasons why Eddie’s so much better than he is. The boy’s gaze falls to the forest floor. He kicks a bunch of green pine needles with the toe of his sneaker rather than meet your prying gaze.

“Then what is it?” you retort. “Because I was just trying to help you. I didn’t say to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever. I just know that you want a life in the city, with a big house and a whole bunch of kids—” A laugh spills from your lips as you remember the dream he was telling you about. “You want that picture-perfect life, right? Now you can have it!”

“You don’t know what I want,” he counters quietly.

“Oh, please. I know you better than you know yourself, Steve Harrington—”

“Break up with him,” he blurts.

Your playful smile fades almost instantly. Your eyes search his face for any hint that he might be joking, but all you find is a deeply heartbroken boy. His bushy brows are scrunched together, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, a puppy-like hurt painting each of his features.

You match his expression of grief with your own. Your face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and sorrow. “Wh… What?” you manage to stutter after realizing you’d been holding your breath.

“I don’t want you to settle down with Eddie,” Steve confesses. A secret he thought he’d take to his grave before ever telling you.

You’re quiet. For several long moments, you’re eerily silent. Even the forest hangs on bated breath. Birds stop chirping, the wind stops blowing, leaves stop rustling. It’s just you and him and a great big world waiting on the both of you.

A frown pulls down the very corners of your mouth. Your eyes go glassy and wide, like a heartbroken baby, and your head jerks back softly, still defensive and unsure.

“Why?” you force through a tightening throat.

“Why?” Steve repeats, finding it somehow within himself to laugh. He takes several short strides to stand with you again. With him closer now, you can see the sadness in his smile and the flush that blotches his cheeks. “You know why…”

You only shake your head in response. The words are far harder to get out. “No…”

“I just… I know it feels like I’m saying it all of a sudden, but it’s… It’s not new to me, you know?” Steve tries his best to explain to you why he’s choosing now, of all moments, to pour his heart out to you. His eyes are as wide and hopeful as the palms he waves out in front of him. “I don’t wanna go into this without you knowing how I feel about you—”

“Steve,” you agonize in hopes of ending his rambling. “Don’t.”

“—And I just want you to know, in case something happens, that I love you.”

“No,” you say with the defiant shake of your head, your chin quivering and your gaze ice-cold.

“Yes,” he replies, just as stubborn.

“Steve…” you choke out when the name gets hung in your throat.

A warm tear falls from your lashes and onto the very apple of your cheek. You wipe it away with the back of your hand and use your free one to bat Steve away when he tries to reach out for you. You stumble back from him, heading back the way you came — back to Eddie.

“Don’t, Steve. Just stop it.”

“Why?” he grieves in the softest voice he can muster, wet and warm with his hurt.

“You’re being mean,” you scold.

“I’m being mean?” he echoes with a sad sort of laugh.

“When it comes to you… I have always been second to Nancy. Always. And I won’t be the person you settle for just because she doesn’t want you, Steve,” you rant, voice fragile like glass or flower petals.

He wants to tell you that he doesn’t want Nancy — that being with the person he loves won’t be settling — but you continue in your lament, and he misses the chance.

“I can’t… I won’t do it, okay? Not after I’ve spent my entire life loving you,” you confess to him, face scrunched in anger. It’s a subtle sort of rage, pointed both at him and yourself.

He watches, feeling totally helpless, while you wipe bitterly at your damp cheeks. Steve’s seen a lot of assholes make you cry. He never dreamed he’d be one of them.

Robin was right. He’d ruined everything. It seems to be the only thing he’s good at these days.

“I’m sorry,” he calls to you as you walk away. “I wasn’t… I didn’t say it to make you sad.”

“You shouldn’t have said it at all!” you shout back, angrier than you’ve ever been with him. You take in a stuttering breath and exhale a shakier sigh, trying to calm yourself down again. “I just don’t get why you waited so long…” you agonize, words wet with tears. “Why did you wait until I was happy? Eddie… Eddie’s so nice to me, Steve. And you just… You just throw this shit at me right before we... That’s not fair.”

“I know…” he murmurs. “I know…”

The world starts turning again.

Birds sing their songs, sounding somehow sadder than before, as though in lament for the brokenhearted boy. The wind begins to whistle as it brushes through the trees. It’s only half successful in breathing air back into your lungs.

A rustling of the brush gains both of your attention’s. It sounds like something is slithering somewhere in the thick laurel — a rabbit, a snake, a dark wizard out to kill a bunch of sad teenagers.

You and Steve are alone, heartbroken, and clear targets for a monster who feeds on traumatized kids.

Though it’s entirely unlikely that Vecna has crawled out from the depths of the Upside Down and into these woods, you and Steve reach for your respective weapons anyway — him for the axe strapped to his back and you for the knives hanging on your belt. You’re ready to protect each other despite your distant anger.

But instead of some shriveled skin creep, you find freaks of a different kind.

The pale human faces of Dustin and Eddie peek out from the brush with curious smiles. They maneuver through the thicket and try to avoid the thorns. “What’s going on over here, huh?” the oldest boy wonders with his signature sparkling grin.

It’s almost scary how you so easily contort your features full of grief into a sickly sweet, artificial smile. You swipe the back of your hand over your face again to clear the tears clinging to your lashes, though it looks like you’re only wiping away sweat.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly with the innocent shake of your head. “Steve was just being an idiot—”

“Imagine that,” Dustin scoffs.

“—And saying stuff he doesn’t mean.”

“That’s not true,” Steve mutters, then clears his throat when the words come out more choked than expected.

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t out here making moves on my girl, Harrington,” Eddie lilts with a playful smile. He reaches you and wraps a heavy arm over your shoulder to tuck you into his side.

His sudden touches stopped surprising you a long time ago. You realized early on in your relationship that he can’t go without touching you for very long.

Eddie squints teasingly at Steve. “Go get your own.”

The boy doesn’t have a comeback at the ready. He isn’t sure of what to say, anyway. Eddie’s jokes aren’t as funny when they aren’t jokesanymore. He was just sort of professing his love to you and getting his heart stomped on in the process. He should probably be used to the feeling by now, but it stings like it’s brand new.

You’re grateful for Eddie’s appearance and the bickering that seems to follow him wherever he goes. It’s easy to get lost in his words, let all the sarcasm run over you, and forget the bullshit that came before it.

“We should head back before the others think we got abducted by Vecna or something,” you urge, desperate to get away from these woods and from this moment.

Dustin listens to you without question because he always listens to you. And Steve listens because he wants an escape just as much as you do. He’d rather go back to Robin and all her “I told you so”’s than keep watching Eddie hold you like he is now.

“What do ya say we skip this joint and have our own fun out here?” the wild-haired boy jokes, already leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth.

“Eddie, don’t—” you huff, but otherwise don’t fight him. It’s only an innocent peck, a loud smack upon your lips, that makes Dustin mutter “gross…” under his breath as he walks away.

And if he heard it, that means Steve heard it.

You keep your eyes open all the while. You feel a bit numb, actually. A little like you’ve just kissed a ghost. You feel as cold as one, as distant and not all there. Eddie holds your hand the entire walk back to the clearing, but you have a hard time feeling it.

You feel a bit like woods surrounding you. You’re all crowded and heavy with sadness. You can’t tell if your grief is your own or if you’re feeling Steve’s too, because you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.

There’s an entire forest within you, you find, and Steve’s carved his initials into every tree.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stevie drabble #st drabbles

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unabashedllamamusic · 1 month

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Yk what's fucking great about Mass Effect? In my two playthroughs so far (both femshep, one with a Traynor romance and one with a Liara romance), Shepard wants a normal family life. With Liara, it's lots of "little blue" kids, and with Traynor it's a house, white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. I feel like 99% of the time when a badass female lead wants children it takes away from their badassery or their independence, it's a way to tie them down and make them seem more domestic. Somehow (I credit Jennifer Hale's incredible voice acting), instead it feels more like Shepard wants to be normal. She spends three games getting thrown into insane situations that she didn't ask for, losing friends, literally dying, having an entire galactic war on her shoulders, going into a mission expecting to die TWICE, and all that on top of whatever trauma her background leaves her with. Bonus points if you do colonist + sole survivor, because that woman must be so far beyond PTSD. But even after all the shit she's gone through, at the end of the trilogy she can say with absolute certainty that she wants to experience a normal life- something she's never gotten before, no matter your background. The best part is she doesn't mention retiring, there's no reason she can't keep her rank and have kids at the same time, she was raised by active-duty officers in one background so it's definitely a possibility. This isn't the "female lead wins by giving up her powers and becoming a mother" trope, it's proof that she's still a normal human despite everything. That's also why I prefer Traynor's romance to Liara, Shepard opens up to her more and seems more human. The mix of flirtyness and honest vulnerability is incredibly normal, through all the galaxy's insanity.

In general, Shepard's trauma is often mentioned in passing but never really shown. No matter the background or choices you make, they've been through hell to begin with and go through it a dozen more times throughout the trilogy. Everyone around them is like "oh wow that must've been tough" but Shepard usually just brushes it off, or gives a line or two about how much they miss whoever it was that died. She definitely had a lot more nightmares than the game let on.

I've walked through a destroyed city once, and it's haunted me daily for five years. I can't imagine being in multiple cities, on multiple worlds, as they're being destroyed, and knowing stopping it is your job, not to mention losing a shit ton of friends + family, your unit, or just the occasional comrade (background depending)

#mass effect #mele #shepard needs therapy jesus christ #get this bitch some psychiatric help- Kelly Chambers doesn't count #commander shepard #liara t'soni #samantha traynor #femshep x liara #shepard x traynor

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profoundbondfanfic · 6 months

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A Complete Kingdom by komodobits [Explicit, 85k words]

The sea; it swallows me. It comes up to my knees and it swallows me. The boys owe Jody a few dozen favours, and so when her niece goes missing near an old fishing village on the coast of Maine, Dean, Sam, and a newly human Castiel agree to take the case on. They settle into an old abandoned lighthouse-keepers' cottage, and slowly the tide comes in. (post-s8)

Between Love and Agony by Duckyboos [Explicit, 53k words]

Dean Winchester is in love. Like, bonafide heart eyes and deep sighs, hung-the-moon love. There's just one problem: the lucky guy is his husband's identical twin, Castiel. The two of them have been having a kinky affair for years, burrowing under each other’s skin and setting up camp. Which is why, after Castiel goes missing, Dean’s about ready to tear the world apart looking for him. When Castiel eventually returns to him, he’s been through literal hell, managing to drag himself out, bloody and raw, for Dean. Together, they discover a way to make Castiel whole again — though the price will be gruesome... and there will certainly be hell to pay.

Camp by fullvoid [Explicit, 9k words]

It’s 1985 and to say that Dean is relieved when his summer job at the local camp comes to an end would be an egregious understatement. There are about a million different ways he would have rather spent his summer than by being the maladjusted, weird guy that all his coworkers avoid. Nevertheless, in a poor effort to fit in, Dean decides to attend the annual celebration that his fellow counselors organize at the end of every camp season. It isn’t supposed to be anything special, simply a standard party with shitty vodka, late-night skinny dipping, and make-your-ears-bleed soft rock. As it turns out, the hockey-mask-adorned, machete-wielding killer who crashes it has other plans—and no one is prepared for the horrors the night will bring.

et florum magica: (And the Magic of Flowers) by wiccanstiel [Explicit, 52k words]

There’s a large, leafless tree and a road, a hand on a gnarled cane, a stoutly man in a black suit, his face scratched out. When Castiel Novak moves to the small town of Fox Hollow, he’s looking for a fresh start. Only his past seems to be–quite literally–haunting him, and even through his best efforts of settling into his new life, there’s a darkness in the shadows that he can’t seem to shake. And after meeting an otherworldly being named Dean during what was supposed to be a simple walk through the forest, he’s left with more questions than answers. But like it’s residents, Fox Hollow has some well-kept secrets, and things quickly turn to life or death when one of those secrets finally steps from the shadows and into the light.

empty places by dothraki_shieldmaiden [Mature, 71k words]

There’s something outside the house. Something is moving outside the house, moving inside the house. Maybe moving inside him. Something is outside the house, and it wants in. After tragedy derails his life, Castiel Novak needs to escape. He flees to Lawrence, Kansas, where he answers Dean Winchester’s ad for a roommate. There, he tries to mend the shattered pieces of his life. But as he starts to become closer with Dean, Castiel finds that escape isn’t so easy. The past doesn’t want to be left behind, and there’s something inside the house. Something hungry. And it won’t be appeased until it has him.

Good Bones by emmbrancsxx0 [Mature, 39k words]

An apple pie, white picket fence American Nightmare. Dean and Cas, married and semi-retired from hunting, move into their first house together in a sleepy, secluded town. After a few run ins with the ghost that haunts the place, they must come face-to-face with the house's grisly past.

the inexhaustible silence of houses by Askance (doomcountry) [Teen and Up, 31k words]

Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh. But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

Tunnel by deansmultitudes [Explicit, 13k words]

An injury during a hasty job makes Dean, Sam and Cas split up in the underground tunnels. Confused and trapped in a maze of walls that seem to shift at the will of something evil, Dean's frantically searching for his loved ones.

White Noise by saltyfeathers [Mature, 30k words]

in an unnamed, perpetually rainy city on the east coast, something haunts dean and cas’ apartment. they’d like to pretend they don’t know what’s living in the space between them, but feigned ignorance can only keep them above water for so long. something happened nine months ago. something they don’t talk about. but the things people don’t talk about often find ways to speak for themselves, whether dean and cas are ready to pay their dues or not. the rain is an unforgiving entity, and as it continues to pervade the city; as it seeps into their already cold bones, they can feel the ocean rising around them, leaving them choking not on just what happened nine months ago, but what they’ve come to mean to each other since then.

#halloween #destiel #group rec #horror

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bunnyyamor · 2 years

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° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ haunted house | HAPPY HALLOWEEN COLLAB

you go ghost hunting at an abandoned house. you want to catch it on footage a real ghost for your youtube channel. what you didn't know was that there was a ghost, lurking, ready to make any woman succumb to needy lust

ghost! mahito x f!reader ୨୧ ꒰ nsfw...mdni ꒱ spectrophilia, cream pie, money shot, non-con, small blood kink, tiny knife play, pet-names (such as human, little one, baby, good girl), spanking

pls comment + like + reblog; i would rlly appreciate it (๑˘︶˘๑)

“are you rolling?” you fixed your hair, rearranging your microphone on your sweater to be propped up to receive the best audio.

“yeah, we’re good,” your assistant put her thumbs up.

“hello crew! today it is the spooky halloween night. everyone is out trick or treating or enjoying scary parties, maybe even staying home, feet propped up with cozy black cat socks on and some pumpkin spiced coffee as they watch hocus pocus. either way, tonights the night. you lot voted! it’s the scary, haunted house! tonight we are going, ghost hunting! that's right, you’ll see an actual real life ghost tonight!” you moved to the left in order to get the house in the shot. it was abandoned, made entierely out of wood. it seemed ancient with all the new houses being built over a street away. it was dark, the wood seeming black even in the night air. it was run down, wet mold growing on the outside. it was two stories, with a porch in the front. in maybe another world this would of been the perfect picket-white fence house, now it was used as an attraction. it was used to showcase the worlds daredevils to see who would have enough bravery to enter its four walls. “me and my assistant are going to get footage of the whole thing! it doesn’t matter what happens.” you howled, really trying to dive into the scary factor of the whole idea of halloween. “but, let’s not keep waiting. let’s go!”

you ushered the camera to come closer to you. “wait, y/n. you think this is a good idea?” your assistant looked around the property. you could tell she was afraid.

“we’re not really gonna meet ghosts. i just want the viewers to think so. i don’t believe in ghosts anyways. we’re going to be fine! it’ll be quick, easy footage. some fake loud bangs and reactions and people will believe anything.”

you both walked up the porch and knocked. “you never know, there could be a drunk inside.” as you waited at the door, no one opened. so you two showed yourself in. “well folks, it smells terrible in here. and it’s extremely cold.”

“y/n, look.” your assistant pointed the camera at the wall. coverieng the wall was old paintings.

“it’s insane they didn’t get ruin by nature.” you gasped as you ran your fingers over the faded, dusty pieces of art. one was a carriage riding in the snow with horses attached to it, the other looked like a canoe or some type of boat in the lake with women inside enjoying a nice day out. there was a painting of this same house, when it was in pristine condition. “get a load of this shot here. look how beautiful this house used to be, what a shame.” your eyes peered over to the biggest painting out of the others. it was a man, dressed in an old fashioned suit, very vintage. he had blue hair, long that was in two loose ponytails. his face looked sad, unhappy. maybe lost. “poor guy. maybe he looks like this cause he got all those scars all over his face.”

“could this perhaps be the old owner of the house?” your assistant pointed out.

you tapped your lip in thought, “you know, you could be right. folks, i read about the old owner of this house. his name was mahito. people said about him that he was a man with a few loose screws in his head. he had his own beliefs about life and society and that he was a man that would let his opinions be heard. i don’t think the town really liked him nor if he was a good guy. either way, thank you for letting us in your house.” you joked as you waved to the painting. “let’s get a move on shall we.”

you showed the viewers the kitchen and the living room. each room had a history and a story. it was almost unbelievable to you that someone used to live here and that many years ago. “people speculate that his death was caused by a murder,” you widened your eyes for the dramatic effect. “maybe his spirit still lives here. waiting in revenge.”

“don’t joke about that stuff,” your assistant pouted.

you loved the creepiness. this was what your whole channel was about. you wanted to show people the mysterious, the unknown so you followed up on folklores. yeti, big foot, the lockness monster, all stories passed down from generations to generations. this year was ghosts. maybe they weren’t real, maybe they were, either way this was the perfect place to find out.

finally, you were in the bedroom of mahito. it looked collected, almost clean. like no had ever touched it after him. “that seems so unlikely that this place wasn’t touched! there had to be some looters or druggies that came in here. the door was unlocked. they must of wanted to steal everything here.”

the bedroom was huge. it had a glorious, chivalry bed in the middle of the room and most things were covered in gold. you could tell mahito had good taste.

“i think we should leave. i’m starting to get a bad feeling.”

you waved off your assistant, “we’re fine. now i’ll make a banging noise with my feet, alright. it’ll sound like a ghost and then i’ll pretend to be scared. good? okay, action.” you stomped your feet and jerked around back and forth. “did you hear that friends? it sounded like a-”

then another stomp and a loud bang. it sounded like something or someone fell. “-ghost,” you finished your sentance with a gulp.

“y/n, was that you?” your friend shook.

“...no…” you were quiet. again the sound! it was a bump, then footsteps.

“that’s it, i’m done.” your assistant propped the camera on the wooden desk nearby. “i am not risking it.”

“m-maybe it’s an animal. yeah. stop being afraid, it’s probably nothing.”

“i don’t care. i don’t like it here. i’m going. you can call an uber. i quit.” your assistant spat, running down the stairs.

“yeah, whatever! i didn’t need you. i can take videos myself!” you shouted.

there were no more noises but you picked up your camera, aiming at the closet. “let’s see what mahito’s clothing looked like in that time.” you opened up the door and what stood there made you jump and scream! “it’s a ghost!”

there, eyes directly baring into your soul, was the ghost of mahito. he had a scowl on his face and his eyes glared at you.”i never allowed you into my house.”

“g-g-g-g-g,” you dropped your camera as you fell onto the floor. scooting backwards until your back hit the bed.

“g-g-g-g-g-what? spit it out.” mahito walked out of the closet, hands crossed.

“ghost!” you pointed to him.

“you humans annoy me. what are you doing in my house?”

you stayed quiet, shocked that this was happening.

mahito tapped his foot then retrieved a long,silver knife from his closet. “better start talking or else.”

“i was doing a video. for my youtube channel. i didn’t know you were here.”

“you didn’t think ghosts were real?” he gave a sliverying smile, almost snake like. “well, my dear, we really are real. i’m as real as you are.”

“y-you scare me,” you shook, hands hugging yourself.

mahito flew to your ear, whispering, “good. you should be scared of me.”

you finally found the courage to stand up. as you did, you hastily ran to the door. you needed to escape.

mahito threw his knife at the door, close to your head, “not so fast human. i didn’t say you could leave. try that agian and i’ll slit your throat from one ear to the other. understand.” mahito laughed. he held his belly because he laughed so much, “you should see your face right now. all the color drained! even your lips quivering.” he stepped in front of you and held your chin. he was cold, ice cold and felt almost like a feather on you. was this how it felt being touched by a ghost? his lips landed on yours. moving quickly and biting your lip. he would have proceeded had you not pushed him away. “get off me!”

“i can feel your heart. turns out, you don’t really have one when you’re a ghost. i wonder how it feels again to have blood pumping through your veins and keeping your heart alive. it must feel warm and covered like a blanket.”

“i don’t know what you want, but you better stay back.” you saw beside your head the knife and pulled it out of the door. you swung at him. “i’m warning you.”

“oh no! the girl’s got a knife,” he feined crying. “whatever am i to do.” he stopped and walked into the knife, it not puncturing him at all. in fact, the knife went through him. “i’m a ghost baby, remember.” he grabbed the back of your head and forced you onto the floor.

“stop!” you kicked your legs. “what do you want from me?”

“how bout this? if you let me do whatever i want to you, i’ll let you live. if you don’t i will kill you here right now and haunt all your friends for eternity. understand?”

he was right. you were shaking. your hands were clenched and your heart was beating uncontrollably. but you had to weigh out your options.

“alright, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“good girl,” he patted your head. “smart at last. well first i want you naked and perfectly seated on my bed.”

your breath quivered and you gulped. you must listen. you hesitantly started with your sweater then your jeans, leaving you in your bra and panties. “my, my, my, you really are beautiful, aren’t you, y/n.”

“how do you know my name?” you looked up at him.

he wrapped his hand around your throat, putting pressure there. his eyes fixated on the way your neck looked. “i heard you and your little friend. she’s smart. if i let you live then you can tell her she was right and you were wrong.”

you breathing was being shortened from his strength around your neck. his grip tightening every second. “now, i want you out of that.” he eyed your bra and panties.

“yes, sir.” you took them off, feeling embarrassed. yes he was dead and a ghost but for some reason you still were flustered. “is-is this better?” you looked away. face heating up.

he chuckled darkly, “such a good girl.” his head dipped down and kissed you. his pastel blue hair cascaded over your face. your eyebrows twisted and your hands pressed against his chest, clutching his fabric there. “mmmm,” you moaned as his tongue came out and swiped your lower lip, then intruding into your mouth, not asking, just taking. his tongue almost felt snake like. it slithering inside yours, curling and twirling.

“i haven’t been intimate with a woman in years. i too have needs. and you are going to make me feel good.” he said between kisses. his hands held onto the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. his fingers ghosted over your nipples. “so hard? if you’re so afraid then why are you so turned on, human?”

“fuck,” you moaned as you arched your back, trying to close the gap between you and him. it was your body, it was going against you.

“i want you, little one, to make me feel good. if you can make me cum, i’ll let you leave.”

your mouth was opened wide in shock. how were you supposed to do that? you felt so useless. “yes mahito.”

mahito sat on the floor and you joined him. you helped him take his shirt off and then his trousers. your eyes didn’t leave his chest. he was very well formed. his muscles protruding and his pink nipples already hard. he even had abs, trailing down to his hair above his cock which was also the grayish-blue. you took his cock and started to move your hands up and down, wanting him to feel your fingers around him. your finger nails lightly scratched the skin there. you were surprised to see it twitch a little. he moved his head back, eyes closed as he controlled his breathing. you circled his dick, making a ring with your tiny hands as you picked up the pace.

you felt powerful to have a ghost’s dick in your hand. he was enjoying himself and getting turned on.

you maneuvered his cock so that it rubbed against your cunt.

“oooh, that feels good.” mahito smiled wide. loving how you grabbed his cock and started grinding on it. the side of his dick rubbed against your clit. it was making you wet too.

“shit, fuck,” you groaned as all his veins and grooves hit your clit perfectly. the friction making you hot and a knowing feeling in the pit of your stomach. you could tell mahito was about to cum with the way his cock twitched and was swollen.

curiosity got the better of you. you had always wanted ot know what it was like to fuck a ghost. you took charge and laid mahito back and climbed on his hard dick.

“just like that, sink onto me human. i want you to fuck me so good. i haven’t been inside a cunt for years.” he heaved, eyes rolling in the back of his head.

“fuck me,” you felt impaled by his thick dick. it wasn’t long but its girth was wide. he stretched you out completely. your hands rested on his pecs and you started hopping on his cock. your boobs slapped and bounced with each move. you were riding him. loving how your weight causes him to go even deeper inside you. “that’s it, right there. all hot for me. fucking a ghost. better tell your friend or maybe your viewers how it felt to have a ghost inside you.”

“i feel so full, mahito.” you shuddered. he still felt cold to the touch. perhaps your heat could warm him up. mahito’s big hands grabbed the globes of your ass, squeezing your flesh there and slapping it, urging you to ride faster. “that’s it. ride me, human. ride me faster.” he massaged your ass, dragging you against his cock. his hands left your ass and traveled up to your neck. he squeezed tight. your vision became hazy from the breath reaching you, but you still kept fucking him. your clit was hitting deliciously on his dick. you loved how swollen he was inside you. his face contorted into a look of pure bliss. his lips were plump and swollen from his constant lip biting. you added more to that as you bent over and bit his lip. for some reason you didn’t want this but now your body needed it. it craved it. he hit your spot, over and over. you loved how it felt that he was about to split you in two with how big he was. still you kept gaining height then fell down to take him fully in, all the way to the hilt. you did that repeatedly and noticed cream on his cock, was that yours or his? you could smell sex in the air and could smell him, it was sweet almost, this was ghost cum?

mahito grabbed onto your hair, messing it up as he pulled and tugged it slightly. “that’s it. fuck me. fuck.” he couldn’t find the words. you loved bouncing on his dick, loved the face he made. “ahh, mahito. i don’t know if i can take any more.” you winced.

mahito wanted to finish, he had to. again he grabbed your neck and started annihilating you. with his ghostly strength he started pounding inside you from underneath. your mouth was in a wide o as your screams were silent. nobody has ever fucked you like this before.

“that’s it. that’s it. fuckin take it like a good little human. you know you like that.” he growled in your ear as he held your ass cheeks apart as he would exit and entere you. his cock bobbing up, making his balls slapp your cunt. it jumped up and would hit you. you coated it with your juices.

“fuck i think i’m gonna,” you cried. feeling the rise of it all.

“cum. yes, cum on my cock,” mahito urged you, snarling through his teeth. you moaned as you came. circling his cock and crying. mahito clenched your throat and groaned, feeling you contract around him. “that’s it. keep doing that. fuck.” mahito just continued inside you till you felt him about to cum. he exited and started jerking off. non-stop moaning as he cummed all over your chest and stomach. it was so much and so white. it got all over you. it was sticky and thick but still cool to the touch. that’s what was different about him.

“congrats little one. you get to live. but i’m not done with you yet.” mahito licked his lips. you were still trying to catch your breath when something caught your attention. it was the camera. this whole time it was staring directly at you and mahito and it was still recording.

“so, do you finally believe in ghosts?” mahito smirked.

your eyes shot up as you giggled sheepishly, “you heard that?

angel’s little words - i thought about this idea a while back during summer & rlly wanted to do this during halloween. and then i saw @blueparadis and @munsonsins do their collab & i thought it would be perfect! so ty for letting me enter! also isn’t our assistant so smart ＼(≧▽≦)／she left in the nick of time. i hope u liked this tho i get nervous posting different stuff esp since it’s mahito hehe

#cry baby *🧸*#happy halloween #jjk smut #jjk x reader #mahito smut #mahito x reader #mahito fic #mahito x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk mahito #jujutsu kaisen mahito #mahito x y/n #mahito fluff #mahito jujutsu kaisen #mahito headcanons

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wrestlersownmyheart · 7 months

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Hi. I love your stories. I have an idea for a ficlet. I would love one where Randy Orton and the reader go to a haunted house and he protects the reader from all the Scary things

Aww thank you so much sis! Hope you enjoy what I did! 🙂

Title: Haunted House Pairing: Randy Orton X Reader Summary: You and Randy decide to visit a Haunted House on Halloween night and you get so spooked he has to protect you. Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Content/Trigger Warnings: None. Just fluff and an attempt at comedy.

NOTE: I have never done a Haunted House before, so bear with me. I hope I did this correctly.

Haunted House

“I don’t know about this,” you said, taking Randy Orton’s large hand. “I’ve never been in a haunted house before, Randy.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Randy coaxed, his bright blue eyes flashing. “It’ll be fun. Besides, you can’t go to a Halloween carnival without visiting the haunted house.”

You were both dressed up for Halloween as Han Solo and Princess Leia from the Return of the Jedi. Your costume was complete with the golden bikini and a super long clip in braid.

“Yeah but they say this house is actually haunted,” you argued. “Like, for real. That’s like deciding to pay the Amityville house a visit! Are you crazy??”

Randy chuckled, and brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. “Why so scared? I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t doubt you’d try,” you replied, “But how are you going to protect me from a ghost, or worse, a poltergeist?”

He chuckled again and led you up the walkway toward the house. “It’ll be fine. If it gets too bad, we’ll find the nearest emergency exit and leave. Deal?”

You nodded reluctantly, “O-okay.”

You went through the, what used to be, white gate of the picket fence which framed the large yard and walked toward the front door. A small group of teenage girls were behind you, already giggling hysterically.

“Somehow, I think if we’re stuck in front of them the whole time, I’m gonna be ready to climb the walls before this is over,” you remarked, with a roll of your eyes.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be more quiet when they get scared,” Randy chuckled deviously. “And I can always scare them worse than this house would.”

You nodded your agreement with a soft hum of approval.

He was telling the truth. Randy was an insanely attractive man, but he could definitely turn into a scary lunatic when he wanted to–usually when he was wrestling or filming a segment for the WWE.

You stepped up to the first step of the porch, and–

“ROAAAR!!” A Freddy Krueger leapt out from behind the open front door.

At the same time, you jumped out of your skin and your hand shot to your chest as the teenagers squealed, and Randy laughed aloud.

“This is gonna be fun,” he exclaimed.

“If you say so,” you said under your breath.

You both stepped into the house, followed by the annoying teenage girls, and you were already cringing when a goblin flew by your face, shrieking in laughter, it’s ragged clothing brushing across your cheek.

“It’s just a bunch of jump-scares,” you griped to Randy. “Can’t we just forget about this?”

“Once you enter, you don’t exit,” came the killer’s voice from the Scream films. Right behind you. You turned and immediately screamed at seeing Ghostface run at you.

“How the heck did he hear me,” you demanded. “I wasn’t talking that loud. Randy, this is freaky.”

“Relax, babe, it’s just part of the show,” Randy said, leading you forward. “I won’t let anything touch you.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly, letting him take your hand and lead you further into the house.

You both turned down a hallway and immediately heard a door slam in the near distance followed by a woman’s scream. You couldn’t decide if it was sound effects or if the “for real” haunted house was beginning to show its true colors.

That thought nearly sent you into a panic. “Randy, I really want out of here. Please.”

“Okay, baby, we can leave,” Randy said, turning you toward the way you’d just come. He affectionately squeezed your shoulders. “We’ll go back out the front door since we already know what is lurking there.”

You nodded as he led you, and you immediately felt bad. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to do this.”

“No worries, babe. It’s not a big deal. I just thought since you’d never been to one that it’d be fun for you. If it’s scaring you that bad I don’t want you to do it either.”

“Sir,” an authoritative voice said from behind the two of you. You turned and saw that “Freddy Krueger” was acting as hall monitor, so to speak. “Sir, you’re not allowed to leave back through the front door. I’m afraid you have to go through the remaining haunted house to get to the actual exit.

“Please,” you started. “I’m freaked out and I just want out of here.”

“There’s only a couple of hallways to get through ma`am.”

It was surreal for Freddy Krueger to be speaking so politely to you. But polite or not you wanted out of this house and you wanted out now.

“I don’t care. I’m not going and you can’t make me,” you said feeling childish, but nonetheless justified.

“Ma`am…”

“Look, Freddy,” Randy started sarcastically, popping his knuckles and clearly losing his patience. “We’re going out the front door. If you don’t like that, I don’t think there’s a lot you can do about it.”

“I can stop you from going through the door.”

Freddy was getting pretty snarky.

“And I can slap the taste out of your pizza-faced mouth,” you said in retaliation.

“Now listen,” Freddy started, pointing his finger blade at you. “I-”

“Don’t you dare point that blade at me,” you cried indignantly. You let loose and slapped him across the face.

“HEY!” Freddy was suddenly angry and latched onto your arm with his gloved hand.

“OW,” You cried, as the metal of the glove dug into your skin. The blades were thankfully dulled down to where it didn’t actually cut you, but it still hurt.

“Okay, that’s it,” Randy said a second before driving his fist into Freddy’s face.

Freddy was down for the count.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Randy said, taking your hand and heading for the front door.

You both hurried through the door and were instantly out in the cool night air.

“Thank you, baby,” you said softly as you walked away from the house and headed out of the carnival toward Randy’s car.

“No one's gonna put their hands on you on my watch,” he said, as he walked you to the passenger’s side of the large SUV. “No one.”

He opened the door for you and helped you into the seat, before gently closing the door again. Then he was jogging around to the driver’s side and getting in himself.

“I love you, Randy.”

He looked over at you and smiled. “I love you too.” His dimples appeared then. “In fact I was going to do this after the haunted house, but Freddy screwed it up,” he chuckled, pulling a velvet box out of his costume’s pocket. He opened the box to reveal a diamond ring. “Y/N… Would you marry me?”

“Oh my God, Randy! Yes!” You squealed the words and latched onto him kissing him passionately. “Yes,” you said again, as he placed the ring on your finger.

“I’m glad.” He said, reaching over and kissing you softly. “You’ve just made me the happiest man on earth.” He started the car as you admired your ring.

“And you’ve made me the happiest woman on earth,” you replied, gazing at him. “Let’s go home and celebrate,” he said with a wink.

THE END

If you want on my tag list, just ask! 😃

Tagging:

@oreillystolemyheart @lookalivesunshine-x @shortyiceheart @vebner37 @claymorexpunisher @kalliravenne @swamptrashwithasideofsass @beardedbarba @emisrose @sweetpea-1970 @sassymox @pikapuff-316 @heavymetalgirl420 @bigpsychicbagelauthor @darktammy @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @sultryfandoms @blondekel77 @demonqueen29 @amariemoore @letsgivethisonemoreshot @thelastemzy @springgirlwaiting4fall @vampirepixi @wwenhlimagines @louisianalady @swthrt890 @librathepheonix13 @justanerdwholikestoread @kiwiedge @ironshamelessyouth @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @moonwolfdemonprincess21 @moxkindagirl @jstarr86 @oliviasinematic @southerngirl41 @claymoresofinfamy23

#Randy Orton #randy orton x reader #randy orton imagine #randy orton fan fic #randy orton fanfiction

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what-are-wordsss · 18 days

Text

A Haunted House with a Picket Fence to Float around and Ghost my Friends

Ghost x Reader (Platonic)

Ghost has been having a hard time lately. What can you do to help him?

Ao3 Link

Retirement was killing Ghost. It had been a year and a half now and the lack of routine, the loneliness, everything... he couldn't handle it. All he did lately was rot in bed, not getting up unless it was to use the bathroom and maybe grab a protein bar and water bottle. What was the point anymore? No friends, no job, what did he have to get out of bed for? What was there to live for?

He was forced into retirement after the death of Soap and an injury he obtained in the mission after.

You were the newest member of the TF141, joining shortly before Ghost left. You two didn't get to know each other well, but you knew each other enough. Well, enough to get each other's cell phone numbers and keep in contact.

Well, until Ghost dropped off of the face of the earth. He stopped contacting anybody on his old team and stopped answering messages and calls. It worried everyone.

You didn't have the time to check in on him for a few months, occasionally sending a message to check on him in your free time, but he never answered you. It worried you to no end. But you were in another country on a mission; what could you do about it until you got back?

The first thing you did as soon as you got some approved leave time was head over to his place. You hesitantly knocked on his door. You weren't sure what you'd find. There was no answer and after a few minutes, you knocked again.

"Simon?" You called out. "You there?" You could see a small light on through the window. You tried the door. Unlocked. That worried you. Ghost was paranoid by nature, why would his door be unlocked? "I'm coming in, okay?" You yelled, opening the door.

You entered his flat, not sure what you'd see. There wasn't anything in the living room, no signs of Ghost or anything else.

You walked by the kitchen on your way to his bedroom and peeked in. Nobody there. You knocked on his bedroom door and listened. There was no answer, but you could hear a slight shifting. He was in there.

"Hey, I'm coming in there. You better be decent." You joked, trying to conceal your worry and panic about the whole situation. You pushed the door open and looked in.

Ghost was lying on his stomach under his pile of blankets on his bed, just looking at the wall. His eyes flittered to you for a moment and then he looked away. He didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed about the situation. He just felt tired and numb.

You frowned, looking him over. He looked like hell. His hair was greasy and shaggy; he always kept his hair in shape. He was unshaven and he had dark bags under his eyes. You could tell that he had lost some weight. It was... kind of sad, honestly. You felt bad for him.

You kneeled beside his bed, looking at his face. "Hey... what's wrong?" You asked softly. His eyes darted in the other direction, avoiding looking at you. You sighed and set an arm on his arm. It was obvious what was wrong with him, he was depressed.

You stood, taking in the state of his room. There were protein bar wrappers all over his side table and a warm water bottle. At least he was eating and drinking, you supposed. Ghost tried to hide his disappointment when you left the room, but you swiftly returned with a glass of cold water and a sleeve of saltines.

You moved some of the stuff aside and set the stuff down, sitting on the side of the bed. You brushed some hair out of his face gently. "Why didn't you call me, Simon?" You asked quietly. "I would have asked Price for some time off earlier."

"Embarrassing." Ghost whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"You're sick, that's not something to be embarrassed about." You spoke.

"I shouldn't be." Ghost shook his head. "I'm better than this. I'm better than this... depression, this weakness." You smiled sadly.

"That isn't how it works, Simon... You got injured, you got put out of work, you lost someone really important to you. You're allowed to be struggling. It doesn't make you weak." You said softly. "But you'll get out of this. I'll help you, okay?"

Ghost didn't say anything, turning his head so he faced the other direction. You sighed and put a hand on his back. Ghost felt his heart drop at that and he wasn't even sure why. "Simon..."

"You can't fix this, okay? You can't fix me." Ghost said.

"I'm not trying to fix you. I'm trying to help you feel better. There's a difference." You explained. "Now come on. Sit up for me, okay? I got you some water and it's getting warm." He shook his head and you stared at him for a minute. Your heart hurt, seeing him like this.

You were stronger than you looked and you stood up, grabbing him under his arms and flipping him, dragging him to sit up against the back of the bed. He looked indignant at this, too surprised to really do anything about it. You sat back down on the bed, grabbing the water and holding it out to him. "I'm not letting you waste away anymore. Now drink. At least half of it, please." You asked.

He looked at you for a moment, like he was going to say something, but he eventually complied, grabbing the glass with shaky hands and taking a few sips until it was gone. He was thirstier than he thought, and the cold water felt good against his throat.

"Thank you." You smiled at him and took the glass back. "Do you feel up to eating something? I just brought crackers, nothing big. You didn't really have much anyways." You said. He nodded silently. You opened the pack for him and got a few saltines out for him, handing them to him. He ate a few. He was ashamed of himself, being taken care of like this, having let himself get this weak. He was better than this. The thoughts brought tears to his eyes and that made him feel worse.

He wiped at his face and sniffled. "This is pathetic. I don't cry. Why am I crying?"

You set the crackers aside, putting a hand on his leg. "You're allowed to cry. It's not pathetic. Crying is good. It's better than holding everything in." You assured him.

He looked away, the tears finally falling down his face. He didn't say anything else and neither did you as you pulled him in for a hug. He buried his face in your neck and just silently let the tears fall, his shoulders shaking. You held him gently, rubbing his back and rocking a little. You hated that he was so upset. You hated he got this bad and you weren't here to help him through it. You tried not to think about it; you were here now and that's what mattered.

He pulled away when he calmed away and he rubbed his face. "I'm sorry." He apologized, looking at the wet patch on the shoulder of your shirt.

"It's okay." You reassured. "It's a shirt, it will dry. You're more important, I promise."

He wasn't sure what to say. He didn't feel important.

"How long has it been since you showered?" You asked him. He shrugged, embarrassed at this answer.

"I don't know. It's been a while." He said. You nodded.

"Okay. How about this? You get in the shower for me; you don't even have to wash up if you don't feel like it, you can sit in there if you want. And I'll help you shave. And then I'll leave you alone for a while, okay?" You asked. You wanted him to at least feel a little better and showering and shaving helped with that a bit, you knew.

He hated that he let himself get this bad. He knew you wouldn't let this go, though. "Okay. I guess." He said quietly.

You were grateful that he didn't argue with you. "Thank you. I'll get you some clothes, you can go ahead and shower if you want." You said.

He nodded. He dragged himself out of bed and stretched, his bones cracking and his muscles stiff and sore from laying there for so long. He limped his way to the bathroom (a side effect of the energy that resulted in his retirement) and you went to his closet, trying to find some clothes for him. You ended up grabbing some sweatpants, a hoodie, and a towel for him.

You knocked on the door and opened it. Ghost had already gotten into the shower. You set the clothes and towel on the counter for him. "Come get me when you're done, okay?" You asked. He hummed in response and you left him to his own devices.

You cleaned up his bedroom a little while he showered, waiting for him to finish.

He eventually stepped out of the bathroom and spoke up, "Hey."

"Hey." You smiled at him. "Feeling any better?" You asked. He nodded.

"Yeah, kind of. Thank you." He said quietly.

"Of course, Simon. That's what I'm here for. It's what friends do." You said softly, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Now come on, let's go work on shaving." You led him back to the bathroom.

There was already a stool in there for when he had to sit to do things so you were glad for that. You sat him down and started digging through his cabinets for what you needed, pulling out a razor, a washcloth, and some shaving cream.

"Ready?" You asked. He nodded. You turned on the warm water and wet the washcloth, wiping his face with it gently. When his face was wet enough you got some of the shaving cream on your hands and rubbed it on his face, careful not to make too much of a mess with it.

You grabbed the razor and wet it under the running water. You started at the sides of his face, pressing down gently and dragging the razor along. You did your best not to nic him. You washed the razor off after each swipe and were just as gentle each time you went back.

Ghost watched your face as you focused. Your eyes were intense and the tip of your tongue stuck out a little. It was kind of cute.

When you were finished, you grabbed the washcloth and wiped his face again, getting rid of any extra shaving cream and blood from any small wounds he might have.

You helped him stand up and look in the mirror. He stared at himself for a minute. It was refreshing, seeing himself looking nice for on7ce. His hair wasn't a greasy mess and he was clean-shaven for the first time in months. It made him feel a little bit better about himself. It gave him a little hope, he realized. Maybe he could do this. Maybe things would be okay.

"Thank you." He said quietly, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

You smiled softly. "It's what friends are for."

#guys i had to google how to shave for this #i havent had to shave my face for the first time yet #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #tw suicidal thoughts #tw depression #title from i know the end by Phoebe Bridgers

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