#there's light again after so much darkness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leashaoki · 3 days

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selfish

pairing: satoru gojo x fem! reader

synopsis: it’s been months since gojo broke up with you, so why is he outside of your window at 4am?

warnings: angst, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, exes to lovers

wc: 4.7k

this post contains nsfw content, minors do not interact.

It’s 4 a.m., and Gojo finds himself at the entrance of your apartment complex. He’s drenched from head to toe, having turned off his infinity hours ago; he just wanted to feel. The cold dampness of his clothes was almost comforting, and the droplets cascading down from his hair to his face were welcomed. Gojo, just for tonight, wanted to feel human.

He isn’t even entirely sure how he got here; it wasn’t a case of teleporting to your place as he usually would. No, Gojo had wandered aimlessly (or so he thought) and ended up here, gazing up at the dark window to your bedroom and wondering what you were doing, how you looked, and how you were feeling. Were you even awake?

It had been a few months since he had broken it off with you, coldly rejecting you when he noticed the signs of you falling in love with him. He was unforgivingly callous with you that night, acting as if you were insane for thinking there was anything serious between the two of you and that it was just a bit of fun.

If only you understood how untrue each and every word that he said that night truly was. Gojo adored you, terrifyingly so; it scared him to no end. He had his reasons for calling things off; he believed them to be necessary, but that didn’t change the gnarling pit that had been festering in his chest ever since. Satoru missed you; he missed you so damn much that his only distraction was throwing himself into mission after mission. But at night, when there was no company but his empty sheets and no voice but the dismal hum of the television, he felt empty, lost, and alone.

He looks up to your window again, his heart skipping a beat when he notices the dim glow of your lamp lighting up the glass. Mind racing, he conjures up thoughts of someone else sharing your bed, touching you, holding you—why else would you be up at this godforsaken time?

His thoughts are interrupted when he sees a familiar face peep up over the window sill, your eyes meeting his. That warm feeling returns to his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt since he saw you last. Gojo notices the way the streetlights around him flicker at his surge of emotion and gets himself in check.

He doesn’t even have time to think about how much of a creep he looks like at that moment before his phone rings. Looking down and seeing your name pop up on the screen, he answers without hesitation, watching as you climb onto your window, sitting on the sill and peering down at him, confused, hurt, and angry.

The call begins, and no one speaks, just the two of you gazing at each other from afar. Gojo thinks to himself how beautiful you look and ponders how much more beautiful you’d look up close. A half smile graces his lips, a greeting—a greeting not mirrored by you. You’re frowning, rolling your eyes to mask the sadness you feel. Much like Gojo’s small smile, you’re both hiding the pain that’s eating you up, threatening to break through the surface at any given moment. Saturo removes his blindfold, stuffing it into his pocket and revelling in how angelic you look up there. It feels like forever passes before you say, “What are you doing here, Gojo?”

He flinches; you never called him Gojo, always Satoru, or his personal favourite, Toru. It felt so cold, so not you. The man swallows audibly, a shakiness to his breath that he’d rather conceal as he sighs, “I don’t know.”

Gojo sees the way you scoff, shaking your head in exasperation. "Gojo, if you don’t know why you’re outside my place, like a fucking creep, may I add, at four in the morning, then politely fuck off.”

“Hey, come on.” His voice is soft like silk, and there's an air to his tone that feels different; there’s no cockiness, no ego, just Gojo. “I wanted to see you; is that such a bad thing?”

“You mean, after you were a total dick and we agreed on no contact? Yeah, Gojo, it kind of is.”

The use of his surname burns again, the blow not having been lessened since the first time. “Just let me in, please,” he practically begs. “I want to talk; I’ve missed you.” Satoru hardly recognises himself; he’d never been one to put his heart on the line, to speak so softly to someone though they detested his presence; not that he blamed you.

He can see the lack of trust in your expression, looking away from him when you speak up next. "Look, Gojo, if you’re looking for someone to fuck, I’m not interested. I’m sure there’s someone else you can call.”

You could act cold and stoic all you wanted; Gojo could hear the hurt in your voice and sense your sadness in the words. It sends a wave of guilt through him. You sound so broken, broken because of him. He’d kill someone for using you like that, to think you thought that of him cut deep. But how else could you see him? That’s the narrative that he’d created when he’d falsely convinced you that he saw your blatant relationship as nothing but fuck buddies. He struggled to see how you fell for that—with the way he couldn’t go a day without seeing you—and how you’d wake up wrapped in his arms with his lips on your ear, whispering how important you are to him each and every morning.

“I wouldn’t do that to you. That’s not what I’m here for,” he begins, shaking his head and noting the way you look back towards him, a look of vulnerability crossing your features. “I just want to talk; let me in, please. You know, I’m not one to beg, but if you really want me to, I will.”

Your silence speaks volumes, raising a brow at the icy-haired nuisance floors below you. The quiet is broken by a sigh from Gojo, and you watch in both horror and amusement as the six eyes himself gets down on his knees on a dirty sidewalk in the rain. He places his phone on the ground beside him, raising his hands in a praying gesture and looking up at you with the most dramatic set of puppy dog eyes you ever did see.

Gojo sees you disappear, and the call ends, the look on his face contorting to one of defeat. He groans, holding his head in his hands and shaking it. Stupid, he thought, how stupid of him to think you’d hear him out, stupid of him to think you still cared after what he’d done. Mildly embarrassed at his current position, he picks up his phone next to him and places it in his pocket. He’s about to stand when he hears the bell chime from your apartment's intercom, followed by your voice: “Come on up. Doors open.”

Gojo doesn’t need to be told twice; he jumps up and runs through the door like a giddy child on Christmas morning. He doesn’t bother waiting for the elevator, sprinting up multiple flights of stairs, and almost skidding past your door in an attempt to stop himself. Bursting through the door with a stupid lob-sided grin on his face, he opens out his arms and beams, "Honey, I’m home!”

He’s met with you scowling at him from the couch, an unimpressed look on your face while you roll your eyes and emit an exasperated sigh, “Hi Gojo.”

Satoru blows the damp locks from his eyes, clearing his throat and wiping that stupid smile from his face, replacing it with the look of a child who’s been scolded: "Sorry, I uh-hey.” He rubs the back of his head, planting himself on the couch next to you, and feels a tinge (more like an avalanche) of hurt when you scoot a little further away from him.

“Are you going to tell me what you want?” He hears the question, but it hardly registers. Gojo’s captivated by the cute pyjamas you’re wearing, your hair being slightly ruffled from being in bed, the smell of your apartment, and how it feels like home. He comes back to Earth when he hears you say his name impatiently, clearing his throat and then regaining his composure.

“Would it not be enough for me to just say I missed your company?” He asks with a toothy smile, desperately attempting to avoid finally addressing his emotions. Gojo sees the way your shoulders drop in annoyance, shaking your head and crossing your arms. He misses the way you used to look at him, eyes full of adoration and laughter at his goofy jokes. It felt like a million years ago, but not long ago at all. Time had been blurred for Saturo since the demise of your relationship.

“If you don’t start talking in the next five seconds, I’m kicking your ass out.”

“Fuck, fine, okay, shit.” He fumbles with his words, running a hand through his hair and sighing. Smooth talker Satoru was gone; this was uncharted territory for him. Looking at the ground, he scratches at the back of his neck and mumbles out a low, "I, uh, wanted to apologise.”

“Oh really? ”You raise a brow, clearly unconvinced, as you tilt your head towards him, an accusatory squint in your eyes. Gojo clicks his tongue; his half-arsed apology clearly wouldn’t do.

"Yeah, I…well, I,” Searching for the words, he wracks his brain for exactly what to say; he couldn’t exactly just confess his undying love for you. No, Gojo needed to explain what the fuck had happened that night. “I feel really bad about the way things ended, you know? You didn’t deserve that, and I-“

"Well, it’s too late.”

Gojo’s mouth runs dry, his heart lurching into his throat. “What do you mean it’s too late?” Panic consumes him, and he’s unable to hide it from his expression—eyes widening, brows shooting up, and his lip practically quivering. “Is there someone else? Have you got a boyfriend? That’s weird because I’ve been kind of keeping tags on you, and I haven’t heard anything about a new-“

“Gojo, I’m not seeing anyone.” You try to ignore his ramblings and admittance to borderline stalking. “But that’s irrelevant; you hurt me, probably more than any guy has... You know I would’ve expected it from anyone else, but not you.” Your voice breaks a little, fighting the waterworks that are threatening to run down your cheeks. “I guess I thought you were different.”

Gojo’s heart splinters, his grip on the arm of the sofa tightening like a vice. His hands begin to shake, and your television turns to static, his powers only growing stronger under the intense emotions he’s emitting. He looks down at the ground, a look of shame falling over his features as he runs a hand over his face. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

"Well, Gojo, you did. A fucking lot, actually.” You scoff sarcastically, shaking your head in disbelief. He flinches at your words, and you continue with a sigh, “It’s okay that you didn’t love me like I loved you; that isn’t your fault. What was your fault? You were not being truthful with me from the start about what sort of relationship we had.”

“It hurts when you call me Gojo,” is all he can say. He wants to slap himself; why was it so hard for him to tell you the truth? You were pouring your heart out to him, and that was his response? Fuck, he thinks, you’re an asshole, Satoru.

"Well, Gojo, I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s hurt.” You stand, ignoring his worried gaze, as you make your way over to the door. Your backs to him as you exhale exhaustively, if not a little sad. You lean forward, resting your forehead against the door. “You should leave Gojo; I can’t. I can’t do this right now.”

You don’t hear him dart up from your sofa, moving inhumanly fast towards you. Gojo’s really panicking now; he has no intention of leaving as he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. Your eyes meet, and it’s as if a current runs between the two of you, ebbing the small gap now separating your bodies. The lights go out in your apartment, and you just know it’s Gojo, with a strange look in his eyes as he struggles to contain both his powers and the strength he’s withholding from his grasp. He cages you against the door, hands planted on either side of your head, and lips dangerously close to yours. Gojo searches your eyes and ushers out a desperate, hurried whisper of your name, followed by, “I love you.”

Everything stills, a thick silence surrounding the two of you. You can’t quite believe your ears, convinced this is some sort of sick joke. “You what?”

Gojo’s eyes go slightly dewy, a somewhat defeated look to his gaze as he shifts, so he’s holding your face in his hands, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you. I love you so fucking much I can’t stand it. You’re… You’re everything. Please don’t make me leave, please.”

“B..But…” You’re so confused, barely grasping what he’s saying to you. He looks so earnest, his eyes burning into you as he waits for a reply, but how can you trust him? His slender fingers softly rub your cheek where he holds you, so gentle and loving that it’s nauseating. “Then why?”

“Why did I do it?” He hums, his voice so low that it sounds distant. There’s a level of nonchalance to his tone; instead, he’s enraptured and hypnotised by the proximity of you both; he’s dazed as he drawls a quiet, “Because you’re weak.” Gojo’s pulled out of his daze by the hurt painting your features as you look away, the way you’ve attempted to jolt away from his touch as if he’s burned you.

“No, no, you don’t understand. Shit, sorry. That came out wrong. I'm not good at this, feelings and shit.” He still hasn’t let go of you; your faces are mere inches from each other; he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Gojo’s an addict for you; drunk off of your presence alone, he’d gone without you for too long, craving you for months. He tilts his head to the side, gently moving your face back towards his and clearing his throat.

“What I mean is that you’re important to me—more important than you could ever imagine. But to bring you into my world would be reckless and foolish; it would be a fucking death sentence. I’m the strongest sorcerer of our generation; no one dares to fuck with me, but you know who they could fuck with to hurt me.” A look of understanding and a little fear come over you, and you let out a shaky breath.

He smiles sadly, “You.”

One of your hands snakes up to his chest, moving softly over the ridges of his muscles beneath the shirt. You can feel the beat of his heart, the erratic thudding matching your own. “Then why are you here?”

He blinks slowly, the hands holding your cheeks gently trailing to hold your jaw so softly that you feel like his most prized possession. “Because I’m selfish. Because I want you despite the consequences.“ Gojo closes the small space separating your faces, licking his lips before his eyes dart to your mouth, entranced by the thought of it against his own again, finally saying, “Because I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

Gojo’s nose brushes against yours, those ocean-like eyes begging you for permission. You couldn’t refuse him now; you never could. The hand resting on his chest snakes up to his shoulder, tugging him ever so slightly to show him and tell him, yes.

A small smile hints at his lips before his mouth touches yours, relief surging through you both at the contact. Gojo holds your face tenderly, kissing you as if you’d break apart before him. He takes his time, gently nibbling at your lips and kissing you almost innocently while his fingers caress your jaw. He hums contentedly, pressing himself into you and craning his neck down to get a better angle. Towering over you, one of his hands trails down to your waist, his soft hands drawing circles on the skin of your stomach.

Gojo savours every touch of your lips against his, flitting his tongue against your lower lip, seeking entrance and sighing when your mouth opens. His tongue dances around yours expertly, tasting you as if you were ambrosia; he was a man starved, savouring every flick of your pink muscle against his.

Gojo deepens the kiss a little, pressing his hips flush against yours. He groans low in his chest when your hands tug at his hair softly, taking your tongue into his mouth and sucking erotically. It sends a wave of pleasure down to your core, and you gasp softly, moaning a soft “Toru.”

You feel Gojo pull away a little, panicking slightly, until you see the look on his face. His eyes are blown wide and glittering in the darkness like stars. His jaw is taut as if he’s grinding his teeth, and his cheekbones are protruding even more than usual. A streetlight outside fizzles and explodes at the same time one of his eyes twitch; he’s breathing heavily, chest heaving.

“Again,” he commands darkly, an air to his tone that personifies his true power; it was as if his voice reverberated around your brain, low and dominating.

It had been far too long since he had heard his name on your sweet lips; the result had his brain short-circuiting. He wanted to hear it again—in your moans, your whispers, and your screams. Gojo feels an ache between his thighs, an insatiable ache that only you can rid him of.

“Toru,” you murmur, looking up at him with your big doe eyes and swollen mouth. A growl festers in his throat, pushing you up against the door and leaning down to nibble at your neck, sucking and biting, leaving his mark.

“Again,” he repeats, his face buried in your skin as he litters your skin with purple marks. Taking his onslaught downwards to your chest, nipping at your collar bones. Gojo’s mind is hazy with you—the need to take you, the need to love you, the need to ruin you, the need to keep you by his side for eternity—or else he swears he’d unleash an untold wrath on this godforsaken planet.

“Toru,” His name leaves your lips again as his lips cascade down, his fingers hooking the hem of your pyjama top so your breasts are free from their confines. He whines at the sight, his hips buckling as you feel his warm, wet mouth around your nipple. Swirling his tongue around the bud, his slender fingers toy with the one unoccupied by his lips, revelling in the throaty gasps that leave you when he tugs teasingly.

“I missed you so much,” Satoru drawls as he slowly gets to his knees. He’s looking up at you with so much adoration, as if you hung the moon from the very sky above the two of you. There’s a softness to his gaze that you’d missed; the formidable six eyes was nothing but ‘Toru’ to you; you hardly understood the Jujutsu world. That’s what made you so special to Gojo; you saw him as human, unaware of how far from that he was.

He tugs down your shorts, watching your face closely for any signs of discomfort. When he’s met with only that needy, eager look in your eyes, he chuckles a little. Your shorts hit the floor, and Gojo licks his lips, a breathy exhale emitting from him. You’re bare before him, and he can hardly contain his excitement to taste you again. His nose nudges the inside of your thigh, planting painfully gentle kisses around the skin. Gojo’s lips worship everywhere but your pussy, teasingly torturing you until you’re whimpering above him. He grins when your hands lace in his hair, attempting and failing to push him closer to your core.

“One more time for me, baby,” Satoru mutters, licking a lewd stripe up your thigh and maintaining direct eye contact with you as he does so. “Say my name.”

“Toru, please,” Your sweet little voice, begging for him, snaps something inside Gojo. His mouth latches on your clit , a strained growl tearing through his chest at the taste of you on his tongue. Pretty blue eyes rolling back, Satoru feeds on you like a man starved, your essence dripping down his chin while he works your pussy like the God he is. Two fingers push inside of you as his tongue stays focused on your bud, your mind in a daze as whimpers and cries leave you.

He curls them perfectly, hitting your sweet spot and having your knees buckle above him. His free hand holds you up effortlessly against the door, as if you were a mere feather in his grasp, while he ravenously feasts between your legs. He’s groaning into you, creating a delicious vibration that has you seeing stars.

“Taste so fucking good.” His voice is muffled, sputtering out amongst your wetness. You can feel it seeping down your thighs, too lost in the pleasure to feel coy as you begin to rut against his mouth. He practically whines, loving the feeling of you humping your cunt against his plump lips.

Gojo knows you’re getting close when he feels you tightening around his fingers, increasing his speed and the pressure with which he’s sucking on your clit. His snowy locks bounce up and down below you at his movements, azure eyes fluttering shut as his full focus is centred on bringing you to your peak.

It doesn’t take long before you're thrown over the edge, crying out something unintelligible, and your body goes slack. Gojo coaxes you through it, his movements slowing but not ceasing as you ride out your high. He bundles you into his arms, and you hardly notice you’re so lost in euphoria, carrying you effortlessly to the bedroom and lying you on the bed below him.

He stands above you, towering over you as he pulls his shirt over his head, a cocky grin on his lips when he sees your eyes practically meld to the shape of hearts. His abdominal muscles are shadowed in the light of the moon; a figure of pure excellence stands before you. He puts those marbled Greek gods to shame, with milky skin melded over a body of pure strength and agility. You wonder if he was crafted by the gods themselves, but that thought quickly disappears when he strips himself of his trousers, your mind going blank when you see the bulge in his boxers.

Gojo smirks, reading your mind. “Nothing on you, babe,” he chimes, ridding himself of his underwear and palming himself, looking down at you hungrily. You pull your top above your head, throwing it to the ground, and sit up on your elbows, parting your legs as a shy smile spreads across your lips.

Carefully, he lies on top of you, a hand coming to stroke at your cheek. “Before I fuck you, I want to make one thing very clear, okay?” You feel his cock rubbing against your cunt, up and down, lubricating himself with your slicks. He bites back a moan at the feeling, swallowing audibly before continuing, “You’re mine now; you’re bound to me. I love you.” He tilts his head, a dangerous look crossing his features. “But I’ve missed this pretty pussy too fucking much, so forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

He slams into you without warning, all the way to the hilt. Throwing back his head and groaning, he lets out an almost maniacal laugh before biting his lip. His gaze returns to you, a maddened look in his eyes as he begins to piston in out of you with inhuman strength. You’re left with no time to accommodate his insanely long cock, a silent scream leaving your lips as ecstasy consumes you. He’s watching you with an open-mouthed, slaw-jacked grin and a feral look to his usually perfect features. Satoru holds you by the waist, effortlessly pulling you to meet each one of his thrusts like you weighed nothing more than a doll. Unabashed moans leave his lips, rutting into you with so much force that the headboard is lodging itself into your bedroom wall.

“Sorry baby, fucking need this so bad.” He groans, pulling one of your thighs to rest on his shoulder and trickling tender kisses down your calf. “Don’t know what I was thinking, shit ah—should've never left you, should’ve never fucking left you. No one turns me on like you do, baby, no one.” Satoru’s rambling, dazed, and brain reduced to mush as he loses himself to his insatiable lust. You’re loving every second, craving what he’s giving you; it’s been too long, too long for a slow and sensuous fuck. No, you needed this; you needed him to show you how much he wanted you.

“See what you do to me, baby?” He coos, his hips somehow moving both faster and harder as he tilts his head down at you like he’s some sort of predator. “Turn me into a fucking animal—fuckkk—I can’t control myself around you, pretty girl.”

“Toruuuu,” You mewl, your back arching off of the bed as your legs begin to shake. He snarls at his name falling from your lips so lewdly, his cock throbbing inside of you. Satoru snakes his hand to your clit, rubbing quick circles onto the bud as his relentless pace doesn’t let up.

"God, you’re so fucking cute.” He practically chokes on his words, feeling his own orgasm grow dangerously close. His tongue flits out to lick his lips before he leans down, his mouth merging with your own filthily, all spit and teeth as he whines into your mouth.

You start tightening around him, and he cries out, shaking his head and groaning into your lips, “Hold on for me, baby; I want you to come with me. I'm so fucking close, just fucking-." Gojo cuts himself off and sits up, hands gripping your hips, while he begins to truly ruin your core. It’s so messy—your slick coating his cock and balls, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. The room smells like sex; the sounds that fill it enough to make a woman of the night blush. “Ah baby, shit shit, that’s it, cum for me, baby, gonna fill you up, yesyesyesyes.”

The two of you reach your peak together, with you crying out his name and Satoru whining above you. His hips stutter as he paints your insides white, rope after rope filling you up. Satoru’s forehead drops to yours, both of you breathing heavily and grasping at each other like your lives depended on it.

After a few moments, Gojo rolls beside you and lies facing you as he peppers your face with kisses. His demeanour completely contradicts the one from a few minutes ago; he’s soft, giddy, and playful. There’s so much love in his gaze, making up for every peck he’s missed out on these last few months as his lips press against every part of your pretty little face.

“Soooo girlfriend,” Gojo chimes after a while of pestering you with his affections, playing with a piece of your hair as a playful smirk paints his features. “Tell me how much you missed me.”

664 notes · View notes

missydior · 2 days

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PRETTY IN PINK ୨୧

♡: when an unfamiliar face tries to steal you away, oscar is there to remind them that you are his.

notes: oscar piastri/reader, established relationship, protective & somewhat possessive demeanour, unwelcome attention from strangers, pet names, fluff, kisses & hugs.

– based on this request ☁️

word count: 1.8k

a/n: thank you nonnie & i love this req since i am the pretty-pink girl of my neighbourhood lol. as some know, i am not much of a lover of toxic tropes or that dark romance genre so i apologise if this isn’t the kind of ‘possessive’ you were thinking of, i was craving some soft & loving osc. <3

♡ ✧ 。*・.

The aroma of petrichor against warm pastries from the L'Amour du Pain Vieux bakery nearby lingers, skies over Montréal grey with the lull of clouds where hints of the early afternoon light dance through and upon the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve below, a gentle remnant of dampness about the smooth stone streets from rainfall earlier in the hour that has since come to a halt.

With qualifying to commence in a few hours – highlighting the true beginning of the Canadian Grand Prix where your boyfriend hopes to secure the finest result possible – there is a heightening feel about the paddock as you wander through, latte of oat-milk and vanilla balanced in one soft-skinned hand, donned in your favourite, little dress like blushing, pale peonies.

After an early albeit comfortable, familiar morning waking beside Oscar in your shared hotel suite amongst the quiet luxury of pretty, minimal décor – mussed bed sheets of lush cotton, cashmere throws and interlocked limbs – shared, slow kisses and breakfast consisting of sweet, syruped pancakes and coffee, before greeting the true day ahead, you are most excited.

Amongst conversational journalists with inviting, saccharine smiles merely for enticement and photographers who do not hesitate to notice your face, the lovely and pretty diamond that is Oscar Piastri's lovable girlfriend, you have never quite opposed to the media attention so long as you have him by your side.

"Hm." Chanel ballet flats of embroidered ivory and light-pink clicking on the path, comforted by your sweet treat in hand whilst balancing your iPhone in the other – a brief conversation with your lover concluding he would be busy for another couple of minutes at least due to press conferences – you are mostly contently lost in your own daydreams.

"Excuse me?"

It is the sound of a voice addressed in your direction that has you faltering in your gait, pretty head tilting just the slightest to glimpse over your shoulder just as the sudden voice and approach of a male has you somewhat shy.

"Sorry, I feel like I know you from somewhere," He is youthful, perhaps the same age or a year older than the aforementioned by looks, dressed rather comfortably in a clean, white shirt of linen only half-buttoned against the beige hues of his trousers, Française Cartier watch glinting on his wrist.

His mouth curves on a smile, eyes like caramel dancing over your face and lower until he allows himself the fleeting, silent glance at how the neat edges of your mini dress hug your thighs before straightening his stance once again, lithe fingers threading through his styled, light hair.

The words leave you a touch perplexed given you certainly do not recognise him and lack any recollection of his face, laughing uncertainly as you tuck a stray hair behind the shell of your ear with the clink of a rose quartz bracelet about your wrist, the sound sweet as an angel's.

"I'm sorry, I don't think–"

"It's alright, I don't either." The man continues with an amiable shrug as though pretending to understand or assume what you had been meaning to say, countenance turning more charismatic on the edge of a revealed dimple, "My name's Jacques, love."

There is something in his gaze and the execution of his demeanour which has you hesitating, rosebud mouth parted ajar whilst you glance about momentarily even when the hint of a natural, polite smile remains.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jacques," You reply quietly, the expression you hold towards him is a pleasant one despite yourself, although not enough to reveal the slight discomfort that lurks in the depths of your stomach, "But my boyfriend is–"

"Right here."

As if the mention or mere thought of him was an innate manifestation, you are greeted with the presence of a certain, handsome individual where you recognise the warmth of his aura just as fingertips are felt on the curve of your vertebrae against a splayed palm.

You cannot deny or refuse the immediate beginnings of a soft smile and the ease flourishing within you as soon as his touch is known, the lingering scent of his cologne with hints of patchouli and rosewood permeating, an incline of your head allowing gazes to meet momentarily in mutual greeting.

He stands tall beside you, the limb draped around your waist a familiar presence whilst eyes of an intimate, rich hue that remind you of coffee and autumn dance between yourself and the other man who now stands a touch awkwardly with a dissuaded visage.

"Is this man bothering you, princess?" His tone is honey-like, a smooth and lowered baritone that you adore, though there is the telltale sign of his fingertips that press a touch firmer against your hipbone, and the arch of a brow, that demonstrates the silent brewing of protectiveness in the midst of his affections for you. Oscar Piastri is an affectionate sweetheart, true to his feelings and honest in generosity with the renowned presence of patience, though can be a defensive figure when the subject concerns his girl.

"Not really. He was just being friendly," Your cadence is light and sweet with imploration, the subtle gesture of a kiss left against his cheekbone in comforting warmth as you balance on the edge of your toes momentarily.

You are sweet, almost too much so with your pretty looks and the faint glimpses of innocence there even though you know exactly where you stand; it has Oscar longing to return to the quiet privacy of home where nobody will harass you both for attention, where he can have you to himself even if only for a little while.

Jacques chuckles, almost uncertainly in a manner that juxtaposes his previous incentive whilst tucking one palm into the concealing wool of his tailored slacks when he nods, "I was just saying 'hello', no harm done."

The Australian does not seem particularly reassured though there is no instigation for a disagreement, looking over the other only a moment longer without another word before he's silently coaxing you against his side when he walks with a gait somewhat quicker than his usual.

"Wait," Your kissable lips touch a little upward in uncertain wonder, though you follow his guidance easily, a touch intrigued by his lingering silence that lacks explanation, "Where are we headed? Was I doing something wrong?"

There is no initial comfort or answer to your inquiries as he looks forward, evidently lost to his own thoughts whilst internally calming himself from the dwindling ache of his possession over you, a muscle in the line of his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly.

A boring press conference consisting of being asked the same questions like a repetitive, tedious dance had already left him a touch bitter, and the sight of a stranger trying to steal his girlfriend's attention away only aggravates him further.

Eventually, your shared walk leads to the quieter alcoves of the McLaren hospitality comforts until he's nudging you backwards through a white-varnished door, breathing in the sweetness of your perfume – Good Girl: Blush – with hints of almond against sweet peonies, vanilla and coumarin.

"You weren't doing anything wrong," Oscar murmurs, his arm entwined securely about your figure as his lips ghost over the outer shell of your ear near the glimmer of divine, embellished earrings he gifted you on your birthday after he had seen you admiring them through the glass of a jewellery shop once, swallowing slowly.

It is a quiet, comfortable room – one that he often confides in the refuge of when in need of fleeing from the never-ending attention and demands of his profession, an inviting, plush chaise lounge of white cushioning, shelves and cupboards of various items.

Your glossed, pouted lips touch into a delicate pout of mystery, a gentle sound of consideration and acknowledgement leaving the back of your throat whilst arms drape loosely around his neck, the edges of your thumbs tracing along his nape where you feel the soft hairs there.

"Then what was it?"

"Nothing." It is an uncharacteristically brief reply, though the manner his lightly-calloused palms cradle the small of your waist until he cannot quite restrain himself from the tightened grasp there with a brief glance towards the closed door, exhaling through his teeth in some kind of defeat, "I'm... Do you want me to be honest?"

The question is uttered so softly that the question leaves you a fraction breathless, heart thrumming within the interns of your rib cage like a dove locked away as you nod.

"I always want the truth from you, Ossie," You respond in a lull so saccharine it sounds like a sing-song of delight, the edge of your index finger and thumb dancing downwards against the soft fabric of his sweater before pausing when you meet his eyes through your lashes.

Oscar sighs, though there is the slightest of reservations of a smile the corners of his mouth at the manner in which you address him, a nickname reserved especially for when the two of you are alone together and intimate.

He does not immediately bless you with an answer, tilting your head towards him in silent, shared invitation before your mouths melt together. It is slow and sweet, tasting one another and your belongings forgotten on the nearby, makeshift desk of polished oak, a sweetened hint of café au lait on your tongue.

"Seeing that man," He begins between chaste kisses, not quite allowing you the liberty of shying away as he holds you close until your back nudges the ivory-coated wall behind, near drawn photographs of memorabilia from old Grand Prixes, "And how he looked at you, it made me want to–"

He pauses, inhaling audibly as though trying to meditate on his own emotions in that moment, his hands feeling over your body like a sculptor and his finest work before he swallows the remainder of his sentence with a kiss.

Oscar Piastri is an undeniably attractive man when he's possessive over you, touching every inch of you like his belongings, muttered sweet nothings and vows of devotions against your tongue. It is a warm feeling, knowing he will always protect you without hesitance. And he does, cherishes you like the pretty doll you seem to be, because he cares in some earnest, undying reality.

"I love you."

The punctuation of another kiss, "I love you more." And he traces the jut of your ribs through the thin, velveteen fabric of your rosé dress when he holds you close until you're flush together, sighing against your lips, "I will never let anybody hurt you, ever. Understood?"

"I understand."

♡ ✧ 。*・.

#୨୧ my works #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

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roosterforme · 2 days

Text

Aim for the Sky Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After you and Bradley make a mess and clean it up, your first wedding anniversary is in the books. There are so many changes going on, it's hard to keep track of everything. But some things seem like they will always stay the same, like the love you feel for him.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, cum play, food play, swearing, pregnancy

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

The sound of the ocean and the twinkling of the stars in the night sky were the only things Bradley recognized in the dark besides your body. You were on his lap, rolling your hips slowly against him, teasing him with your warmth and your voice as your lips met his ear.

"You're the best husband, and soon you'll be the best daddy. The Nugget and I decided we're going to keep you around."

Bradley groaned softly as he rubbed his palm along your belly. "Yeah, you ruined that for yourself as soon as you fed me. I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

You laughed softly before pulling your lips away from the side of his neck. "I forgot to ask. What's in the bakery box?"

"Huh?" he grunted in response as you pressed your soft thigh against his erection through his jeans. He thought he was supposed to know what you were talking about. It sounded familiar. A bakery box. But your hand was unzipping his pants now, and he was a lost cause.

"The bakery box, Roo," you whispered, voice laced with amusement. "On the backseat?"

"Oh," he sighed as you stroked him. He couldn't read your expression in the darkness, but he knew you must be smiling. "I got you a cake. A confetti cake for our anniversary."

"You did?" You sounded delighted as you added, "I want to see it."

Bradley let his head tip back against the side of the interior of the Bronco. You already pulled your hand back out of his pants and started crawling away from him. "Sweetheart," he whined. "I thought I was just about to get lucky."

He felt cold where your warmth had just been, and he let himself be annoyed for a few seconds until you softly squealed, "Ouch!"

"Shit, what happened?" he asked, realizing he wasn't sure exactly where you had crawled off to. He put one leg up to block the open tailgate while he dug around in his pocket next to his hard cock for his phone.

As soon as he turned on the flashlight, he realized you were already looking over the back of the seat, digging around under the blanket to find the cake. "I pinched my finger. I'm fine," you muttered. "Let me have your phone."

He handed it to you before he flopped down onto his back. You used the flashlight to locate the dome light as well, and soon that was shining directly into Bradley's eyes as he palmed himself for some relief. "Can't the cake wait until we get home?"

You turned and looked down at him over your shoulder with a little pout on your lips. "But I'm hungry again."

He would never deny you anything you wanted. As he got to his knees and scooted over next to you, he kissed your cheek. "Did you look at it yet?" Bradley reached down onto the seat and carefully opened the box to reveal the pretty, round cake with white icing and rainbow sprinkles. Then you started laughing. Apparently, in his horny state, he'd also forgotten what he had the baker write on it.

Happy First Anniversary. Thanks for marrying me and having awesome tits. I love you.

"Bradley!" you wheezed. "You made someone write that on a cake!"

He grabbed you up without putting too much pressure on your belly and said, "It's all true." He kissed down the side of your neck and back up to your ear as your laughter turned to a soft moan. "Now, can we turn off the lights and get back to where we left off?"

Your stomach growled so loudly as you met his eyes, it was almost comical. "I'm sorry, but I'm just really hungry, and I think Rose the Nugget is, too."

Bradley was absolute putty in your hands as soon as you used her name. He kissed you sweetly and whispered, "Then let me make sure my girls are well fed."

He guided you over the pavement in the darkness and got you buckled into the passenger seat. Then he opened the back door and said, "You know, I never ever let anyone else eat in the Bronco before you. I still don't even eat in here." He cut into the cake and put a slice on one of the paper plates he brought along. "But apparently I have no boundaries when it comes to my wife and my daughter."

When you turned around, he handed the piece of cake and a fork up to you, and you beamed back at him. "Thanks, Daddy."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get his body under control so he could drive home. He closed the back door and walked around the front of the Bronco. You were smiling and licking the frosting from the fork when he climbed in with his pants still unzipped. He was still almost painfully hard, and he was desperately praying there was still hope for some relief on the horizon.

Bradley drove carefully around the orange cones and out onto the road that ran along the main strip of Coronado. The indecent little sounds you were making had him jealous of the cake, and then you held out your fork to him. "This is so good. You need to try it."

"I told you I don't eat in the Bronco," he muttered before opening his mouth wide for you to feed it to him. "Holy hell. Gimme some more."

"Right?!" You fed him another bite and another one. By the time he was parking in the driveway, there was icing in his mustache, and he was still unbearably horny.

Bradley handed you the keys, kissed your lips so hard you gasped, and said, "Go unlock the front door." He watched you scamper up the walkway as he grabbed the bakery box from the backseat before following you inside. "Now get undressed," he said, giving you a firm smack on your ass that left you biting your lip as you looked at him. "I'm serious, Baby Girl. Take it all off and wait for me in the kitchen."

"He's so demanding," you said, either to yourself or to the baby, and regardless he laughed as he pretended to throw a treat out the back door so Tramp would go outside. Then he was right on you with the cake in his hands as you pulled your dress over your head and let it drop to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your little Mrs. Bradshaw panties.

"Those are some awesome tits," he whispered, setting the cake down and running his hands up the soft swell of your belly and all the way up to stroke your nipples.

"You're obsessed right now," you told him. You weren't wrong. He was about to bring his lips down to play with you, but he narrowed his eyes and reached for the cake instead. "What are you doing?" you gasped as he dunked his fingers into the icing before spreading it all over your breasts.

"I'm still a little hungry, too," he murmured, tracing your nipples slowly with his messy fingertips until you were trying to grind yourself against him. He slipped his thigh between yours, and you moaned his name as he brought his lips down to taste the exquisite icing on your perfect skin. Everything was sweet and warm as he buried his face in there, licking and sucking on you until you were as far gone as he was.

With your arms around his neck and your pussy rubbing against him, you begged for it. "I need you to fuck me. Please!"

He couldn't say no to you on a regular day, but especially not on your anniversary. He spun you around, pulled your satin panties to the side and bent you over a little bit over the counter. He got his cock free, and with a snap of his hips, he thrust himself inside you, and he was rewarded with his name echoing off the kitchen walls.

"Feel good?" he grunted as he slipped one hand in the front of your panties and squeezed your gorgeous breasts with the other.

"So good," you whispered as he rocked himself into you a little harder.

He pressed his nose to the back of your neck and inhaled the smell of your skin and the icing which he got everywhere. "I thought we'd have slow and sexy anniversary sex. I didn't know I'd end up fucking you hard over the kitchen counter."

"Blame it on the cake," you whined, reaching for his hand which was on your tits and guiding his sticky fingers up to your lips. Bradley had no idea how he was still going. You'd had him wound up all night. And the way you were circling each digit with your tongue was so fucking hot.

When he pinched your clit, you bucked back against him. When he did it again, he soothed you with some slow circles, and he knew you were getting close. He could feel you starting to clench him a little tighter as your moaning got louder. You sucked on his fingers while your pussy treated his cock to your orgasm.

"God, you feel good," he gasped, fucking you through your highest peak. But he still had some left in the tank. You seemed to be a little surprised as you looked at him over your shoulder, and he was sure his eyes were wild and his face was red.

You spun to look at him as he stared down at his hard cock, bobbing excitedly and glistening from your wetness. You took his chin in your hand and kissed him on the lips. "Is it my turn to have a little fun?"

Bradley nodded, because he didn't even care what you did right now, he knew he was going to love it. This time you were the one coating up your fingers with icing, and you jerked your hand up and down his length while he gripped the edge of the counter. Just the idea of the confection mixed with the flavor of your pussy had him bucking into your hand. "Let me taste it," he whimpered, and your bright eyes grew a little wider, but you brought your hand up to your own mouth first. "Please," he begged, watching you lick your palm.

"Oh my god," you gasped, eyes drifting closed as you dipped your index finger between your lips.

"Please," he asked one more time, afraid he might just cum all over your body and the floor. You looked up at him and reached out to part his lips with your thumb, and then you carefully placed your index and middle fingers on his tongue. He sucked at the flavor and swiped his tongue between your fingers. He swallowed it down, convinced that this combination was one of the best things he had ever enjoyed in his life.

He cleaned off your whole hand as you watched in awe, and when you realized he was still hard, you used his help to get yourself kneeling on the floor in front of him. Bradley lasted exactly eight seconds with your tongue circling his cock while you licked at the icing and sucked on him. "Fuck!" he barked, tapping the back of your throat as he came. "Holy shit." Then you had the audacity to show him the mess he made on your tongue before you swallowed him down.

"You taste very good mixed with icing too, Roo."

Bradley was so fucking in love with you and everything you did. He would marry you a hundred times over just to get all of the sweet and filthy moments with you. "Why don't you get back up here and let me try it for myself?"

You were all too happy for him to help you to your feet so he could slip his tongue between your lips. You were absolutely right.

----------------------------

When you woke up on Sunday, you were a little sore. Bradley was still sound asleep, and he looked exhausted himself. The Nugget was rolling around on your bladder, and you had to quickly shimmy walk to the bathroom. Your husband did a bit of a number on you in the kitchen with the rough sex.

You reached for the toilet paper and mumbled to yourself, "Maybe he was right. Maybe anniversary sex is supposed to be a little calmer?"

"Blame it on the cake, Sweetheart." You looked up as Bradley strolled into the bathroom completely naked. His cock even looked impressive when he was soft, and his hair was wild from the way you'd been running your fingers through it before you fell asleep last night. He grunted as he yawned. He was perfect to you.

"I can't believe we've been married for a year," you whispered as he leaned down to kiss your forehead as you sat on the toilet. This was probably peak domesticity right here, and it made you smile.

"How's my Nugget?" Bradley asked before kissing your forehead once more.

"Almost made me wet the bed," you told him as you stood up. "I slept very soundly last night, but she woke me up by thumping on my bladder."

His brown eyes lit up as he put his hands underneath your shirt. "Is she still thumping?" You knew immediately that he was able to feel her as a smile bloomed on his lips. "Hey, Rose. It's Daddy."

"So that's really her name? We're definitely going with that?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed, eyes closed as his palm circled your belly button.

You kissed his cheek and then his temple. "Your excitement always makes me even more excited."

When he patted your belly again, he asked, "Are you going to brunch with Cam and Maria?"

"Yeah, but I don't need to be there for another hour. Do you want me to make you breakfast first?"

Relief filled his features as he turned on the sink and looked in the mirror. "Please. Then I'm going to try to finish up the playset. And don't forget Bradley Ross is coming over after work tomorrow." Bradley Ross. Bradley Ross. The name was familiar, but you couldn't place it. "The contractor? For the attic?"

"Oh! Yes, of course. Bradley Ross," you told him, having completely forgotten that your house was about to become a construction zone. "I hope he can finish it before my parents come out for Christmas."

"That's the goal," Bradley muttered as he looked at his hair. "We can throw them upstairs so I can do whatever I want to you in our room all night long. The separation will be key." You snorted as you started to get your toothbrush ready, and then he turned to you and said, "Nat commented on my gray hairs the other day."

He looked perhaps a little bit concerned. "Did she?" One thing you really appreciated about your husband's best friend was the way she picked on him. It was good for him to have a friend who gave him shit. It probably helped build character in him, similar to the way Cam usually gave you a hard time. But you wanted to make sure his feelings weren't hurt, especially not about his. "What did she say?"

He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "That it's getting a little noticeable. At my temples."

"It's so fucking sexy," you told him, reaching up with your fingers and running them through his hair. "God, Roo. Women eat this shit up."

"They do?" he asked, perplexed.

"Oh, definitely," you promised. "A handsome man with some gray hairs? Jesus, I'm going to have to start keeping a closer eye on you when we go out to the bar."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "You'll have to do nothing of the sort."

"That's right," you whispered with a smile. "Your sexy hair belongs to me, Bradley."

He stood behind you while you brushed your teeth, and he kissed your neck. "I'm afraid you're stuck with all of this."

----------------------------

You were sitting in the kitchen after work on Monday, eating a sliced up apple that you were dipping into hot sauce while you talked to your parents over FaceTime.

"We could come out the Tuesday before Christmas," your mom said for the fourth time.

"I already told you, just let me know when you're coming, and we'll pick you up from the airport," you said, also for the fourth time.

Your dad was already in his pajamas since it was three hours later on the east coast, and you could tell your mom was annoying him as much as she was annoying you. "I sincerely hope you eat a real meal besides that," she said, looking at your snack in disgust.

You wanted to roll your eyes. You were about to call Bradley in from the backyard where he was throwing a tennis ball for Tramp so you could make him deal with her for a little bit. "I'll eat a real meal later, mom." Just then, there was a knock at the door and you hopped up. "Oops, that's probably the contractor. I'll talk to you later! Bye, love you!"

Saved by the distraction, you shouted out the back door for your husband to come in. And that's when you met Bradley Ross. He kind of reminded you of your own Bradley, just a little bit older. When the three of you ended up in the attic space, he looked around at it like it was the most beautiful diamond in the rough he'd ever seen, when in reality it looked like a disaster that your husband demolished.

"Wow," he told you, measuring along each wall. "This is going to come together perfectly. What a beautiful space. I'm sure you'll cherish it."

"Right," your husband told the other Bradley while you tried not to laugh. "Look, having a cherished attic is great and all, but we just really need a space for my wife's parents when they come out to stay, especially after the baby is born."

"You'll have both," he promised.

Your husband rubbed lazy circles on your back as you wrote out a check for the deposit on the kitchen island and listened to Bradley Ross go over the detailed plans. Two more bedrooms and a full bathroom? Part of you couldn't believe there was enough room up there to accommodate all of that, but you would just have to trust this man's life changing vision.

You handed him the check and took his business card. "I'll be back on Wednesday to start the project," he said as you entered his number into your phone.

Once he was gone, you looked up at Bradley and said, "We should probably get a Christmas tree soon. And maybe some lights? I'm used to us going to my parents' house. We never decorated before."

He chuckled. "I haven't decorated for Christmas since my mom died, but if you want to, then I guess I'll get into the holiday spirit."

"You better get used to it," you informed him as he tugged you toward the bedroom across the hallway from yours which would become the nursery. "After Rose is born, you're going to need to go overboard with it."

"I love going overboard," he told you, as if you didn't already know that about him. "Speaking of which... all of the stuff we ordered on Friday got delivered today. Wanna take a look?"

You squealed with excitement as you saw that he had opened up the boxes and set everything on the floor in the empty room. "Roo! The crib bedding is adorable!" When you went to kneel on the floor, he insisted on helping you get down comfortably. That's when you opened the bedding and ran your hand over the pastel airplanes. The fabric was soft, and your eyes got a little misty as you imagined your baby snuggled up on them.

Bradley knelt down next to you and kissed your cheek. "I was thinking your dad and I could put the crib together when they come out in a few weeks? I know how much he likes working on little projects like that."

You threw yourself into his arms so quickly, he grunted in response. "He would love that, Bradley. He would absolutely love that." And now it was too late to try to get your hormones under control again as you started sobbing in his arms.

He kissed your ear and whispered, "That will give me time to paint in here while you're out of the house. Maybe you and Nat can go see a movie and go shopping or something. I don't want the paint fumes to bother you since this room is so close to our bedroom."

"You're so fucking considerate." You hugged him tighter and straddled his legs, and soon he was on the floor underneath you as you both laughed. "Can we start calling it the nursery? Rosie's nursery?"

"That's music to my ears, Baby Girl. And you know what? I also kind of feel like picking out a Christmas tree now."

"Yeah?" you asked in excitement.

He nodded up at you and let his hand slip down to your belly. "Yeah. How about we go look at paint colors and trees? I want an enormous one that looks like it's covered in snow." He gave you a little shrug and said, "You know, since we're hardy east coast people."

"And we're having a hardy east coast baby."

The two of you ended up at Home Depot until they were closing. Bradley picked out an eight foot tall tree and string lights, and you decided to ask your parents to bring out some of their ornaments with them. You also had approximately fifty little paint samples in your hand while you watched Bradley awkwardly shove the tree into the back of your red Bronco.

"I'm leaning toward this lavender? Or maybe a light gray? Blue could be nice though, so it looks like the sky."

"Let's hang them up in Rosie the Nugget's nursery for a few days before we decide," he crooned as he buckled you in.

You already thought you might melt onto the floor as you ate a little snack while he drove home, and then you realized he would soon have someone else to buckle in. "Bradley," you mumbled around your granola bar. "I can't tell if I'm horny, emotional or just starving again, but the way I need you to install car seats in both Broncos while shirtless is absolutely essential to my wellbeing."

He chuckled and said, "I'm certain I can do that for you."

You crunched through the rest of your granola bar in contentment.

------------------------------

The month of December brought about a routine of sorts that Bradley was kind of in love with. You were just about to start your third trimester, and it seemed as though your belly was growing noticeably every day now. You came home from work so horny most days, the two of you ended up sneaking off to your locked bedroom for a quickie while Bradley Ross worked his magic upstairs. Then inevitably there was a more leisurely round of sex before bed where more time could be spent admiring your perfectly round belly and delicious tits.

"Which day are your parents flying out again?" he asked you as he peeled your underwear slowly down your legs leaving your soaking wet pussy bare for him.

"The twenty-first," you whimpered as he stroked you and kissed along your tattoo. "Can we talk about something besides my parents while you're down there?"

"Sure," he replied smoothly. "How about you tell me what you want for Christmas?"

"Roo," you whined as he licked your clit to your exact personal preference. "I want a million orgasms."

He smirked with your clit between his lips and said, "Already wrapped and under the tree for you. What else?"

Your hands tangled in his hair as he worked you up. You were babbling incoherently so he intentionally slowed his tongue, and you started to panic. "Everything I want is for the baby or the nursery! But maybe we can go on a little babymoon trip?"

Your eyes were wild as you were looking at him over your belly, begging him to keep going. But honestly, your idea sounded pretty great, and he was going to look into it. "Anything you want, Sweetheart. You get to have it all." He proved it to you by letting you have one of the million orgasms early.

-----------------------------

Oof, these two are really enjoying her pregnancy hormones and her cravings. Up next we have a California Christmas with Roo's in-laws, and honestly so much more. Thanks for reading! As always, if there's something you'd like to see in this series, shoot me a message! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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vanilladove · 3 days

Text

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹ sinful angel

gif creds the-chikyuu-times

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ pairing: hacker!fyodor x camgirl!reader

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ genre: dark content (?), smut w/ plot; 18+ only mdni!!!!!!

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ content warnings: light bsd manga spoilers, dubious consent + manipulation, sexwork mentions, sex toy use, slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, some degrading (+ lots of praise to balance it out)

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ summary: you've caught the eye of cybercriminal fyodor dostoevsky, who regards you as his sweet angel. watching you isn't enough to satisfy the lurking demon, who wants nothing but to corrupt you. translation notes: "milaya" = sweetheart, "shlyukha" = whore

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ word count: 5.7k

Fyodor sighed in annoyance, running his hands through his dark hair as he looked at all the computer screens in front of him. He was tracking down an arms dealer that was nothing but a pawn ready to be disposed of. The monitor displayed footage from the dealer's apartment, and showed him standing in the lobby making a phone call.

By the way he was hurriedly whispering, Fyodor could tell he was trying to be discreet. It was useless. The dealer was too occupied trying to hide his words from the security guard that he didn't even realize Fyodor had hacked into his phone and was listening in on the whole conversation. It had already been thirty minutes, and the hacker felt restless, waiting for the stupid pawn to just go back to his room and find the sweet gift awaiting him—another henchman ready to shoot him dead.

The dark haired man anxiously bit his fingernail until he heard something—no, it must've been the voice of an angel—through the recording of the dealer's phone conversation. His eyes narrowed onto the source of the voice from the screen.

There you stood, wearing a pastel pink and white lacy top, white cotton maxi skirt, white flats, and a ribbon in your flowing hair. You sweetly greeted the security guard, giving them a fresh pastry that you'd presumedly just bought. Your saccharine voice and mannerisms struck Fyodor's cold heart, snapping him out of his boredom. A precious anomaly in a world of pawns and subordinates, an angel.

His magenta eyes followed your movements towards the elevator, and his fingers instinctively typed in code to display the elevator's camera feed onto a different monitor, noting your floor number and the room number transcribed onto your keys. Pulling up another set of cameras for your floor's hallway and your attached balcony, Fyodor watched as you entered your unit and set your bag down on the dining table, pulling out a strawberry custard tart and going to the kitchen to pull out a mug and a teabag. He smiled, watching you brew his favorite blend of black tea and pulling out your laptop to find a show to watch while enjoying your midday treat. In his eyes, you were a woman of fine taste. An elegant lady that held herself to the highest standards of purity and grace. Your apartment was clean, with the right amount of cute, feminine touches and white lace everywhere. Truly a sight for sore eyes, and the perfect relief for an overworked criminal mastermind like himself.

The dealer's phone call suddenly ending interrupted Fyodor's daydreams as he turned his back to the screen showing you and watched the dealer take the elevator. He guessed it would take forty-five minutes or so to get the job done and cover all the tracks of the murder. After that, he promised his attention would be on you again.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Fyodor Dostoevsky was a lonely man. Throughout his many lifetimes, he'd never sought out a companion, nor did he necessarily have the desire to. More and more, he found himself displeased by the new generations of sinners, unimpressed by virtually everyone. He didn't care much for consuming media, but for some reason he had a strong urge to watch the movie with you. Judging your character, he was sure you were watching some cheesy rom-com or a soapy drama. He was intrigued and bewitched by you and your sweet nature, which was why he couldn't help hacking into your laptop to see what you were watching, planning a 'movie-date' of sorts in his mind.

What he wasn't expecting to see was you spread open, in white lace lingerie and stockings, touching yourself.

Fuck, were you recording yourself?

His eyes widened, watching your manicured nails circle around your glossy clit, panting as you ran your fingers up and down your opening. Your thin panties were pulled to the side, leaving your bare cunt on display, slick dripping down. You whined and bucked your hips as you slipped two fingers inside, whining from the stretch.

"A-ahh, f-fuck—" You whimpered, your arousal leaking more from the pressure of your movements. You were moaning louder now, your other hand coming underneath your knee to expose your stocking and give a better view to the camera.

"Mmm—I'm gonna cum—make sure to watch, 'kay?"

Fyodor watched in utter shock as he witnessed you in a complete state of lustful pleasure. His angelic fixation was actually nothing more than a sinful temptress, a camgirl. As disappointed as he wanted to be, he couldn't ignore the strain against his pants. Seeing your blissful state, the bunched up lace, and listening to your sweet voice was enough to make him painfully hard for you.

With a groan, he leaned back into his padded chair, freeing his pulsing cock and tightly stroking up and down his length, eyes squinting yet open so he could still see your sensual body on the monitor screen.

He shamefully squeezed his leaking tip, trying to time his movements with your soft moans. Fyodor carefully trained his gaze on your pussy, closely watching your arousal drip down your slit, and how you gradually squeezed your thigh harder for relief.

You suddenly popped your fingers out and rubbed fast around your now swollen clit, body moving slightly as you heaved your chest from the feeling. You were practically whimpering at this point, close to finishing. Fyodor stroked faster to match your neediness, starting to buck his hips into his hand. His face was surely flushed a rosy pink by now, matching the color of his darkened tip.

“C-cumming—guys, I’m cumming—” You jerked up slightly, fingers leaving your clit to lightly spread your folds as your cum dripped out of your loosened hole, dampening the fuzzy white blanket below you. Your legs were shaking a bit as the orgasm washed over you, but Fyodor’s eyes widened again after you slowly wiped the excess cum around the outside of your pussy and the crevices between your thighs, leaving your skin glossy and shiny. You giggled sweetly, causing more blood to rush straight to his hard cock.

“Ahh, I kinda made a mess, didn’t I?! Let’s try this one next~!” You slowly pulled out a pink dildo, kissing the tip of it loudly and carefully rubbing it around your slit to lubricate it with your juices, gasping anytime it hit a sensitive spot.

God, you vixen. You knew what you were doing.

The hacker couldn’t resist, sweat starting to bead at his forehead as his breath got thicker in the air, cock feeling heavier and tighter while watching you tease yourself with the sex toy. He couldn’t help but wish it was his cock instead of that fake dildo that was slipping in and out of his pretty angel’s cunt as he fucked up into his fist more intensely. Borderline growls left his lips as he tried to chase his own release, which he cursed himself for since it wasn’t coming out fast enough.

As your own moans got louder and more broken, Fyodor could feel himself getting equally as lost into his own delusions, trying to satiate the long suppressed lustful desires. One orgasm wasn’t enough, he needed—no, craved—more, and long after your stream had ended, he couldn’t hold himself back from exploring your page, going through your different videos with one hand stroking his unsatisfied dick.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Catching his breath, Fyodor cleaned himself off afterwards, feeling ashamed yet incredibly turned on from his actions. It was probably the hardest he’d came in a long time. As much as he wanted to continue to obsess over you, he was rudely interrupted by Nikolai barging into his space. Fyodor turned his chair immediately and glared at the white-haired jester.

Nikolai smirked mischievously, “What the hell, Dos, you watchin’ porn or something?” He taunted, causing Fyodor to scowl and throw his dirty napkins at him, which Nikolai swiftly avoided.

“None of your business…and knock before you enter my room.”

Fyodor gritted his teeth. Was it his own noisy groans or the audio of your moans playing out loud that Nikolai could hear? He secretly hoped it was the former since he didn’t want anyone else hearing his angel’s precious voice, especially not in such a lewd state.

“Well whatever, I was just letting you know that I killed and disposed of the dealer, so I expect my payment.” Nikolai waved his hands dismissively before pausing, tilting his head in a coy manner before grinning at Fyodor again, “By the way, if she’s a cam girl, you can usually tip her if you want a more personal interaction.”

Fyodor narrowed his eyes again, throwing more badly-aimed tissues at Nikolai. “Get. Out.” He threatened sternly, sick of Nikolai’s antics. The jester didn’t care, only laughing pridefully and singing “Dos likes a girlllll~” before leaving.

After waiting for his footsteps to disappear, Fyodor pulled up your account again. Coincidentally, you went by the alias of “angel” and dedicated your whole page to a soft, lacy aesthetic, becoming the perfect sinful object of desire for your subscribers. He found the paid chat and calls for your account, and swiftly made an encrypted account to send you a message, noticing you were still online.

demonfyo: My angel, how are you? Your beauty has entranced me, and it’s all I can think about…

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: hiiiiiiiii~♡ oh, how you flatter me demonfyo, i’m blushing (￣▽￣;) i’m feeling very playful atm hehe what abt you?

demonfyo: I’ve been trying to pray and repent all night, but I can’t get your pretty pussy and voice out of my thoughts.

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: sounds like my charm is working hehe ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა i'm happy i could help you get off lots ♡

demonfyo: Can you bless me with a short call, darling? I need you.

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: yesyes! do you want to do a video call? ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

demonfyo: No, I just want to hear your sweet voice for a bit before I go to bed. Is that alright?

The incoming message notification sent your heart racing. Somehow, the new user had caught your attention. Swinging your legs cutely on your soft sheets, you couldn’t help but feel giddy about the mysterious sender. Typically, those who paid for messages got straight to the point, often explicitly stating their feelings towards you with no filter or immediately requesting a personalized video call. Seeing someone address you so adoringly certainly pulled on your heartstrings a bit, and the mystery behind what the new sender wanted was making you excited. You pressed the call button, anticipating the voice on the other side.

You cleared your throat, "Hihi, This is Angel~! Is this demonfy—"

"Fyodor. Call me Fyodor, angel". Your mysterious caller's deep, husky voice startled you. From the way he was messaging you, you half expected it to be some horny old man, but the man calling you sounded attractive. Fuck, you were getting a little turned on—thanks to your secret voice kink.

Of course, your small reactions didn't go unnoticed by Fyodor, who was intently watching you on his monitor. He smirked pridefully after seeing the rose on your cheeks and the way you slowly clenched your thighs together from hearing his voice.

"F-Fyodor. Umm, h-hi. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?" You quickly tried to regain some composure, nervous about talking to someone desirable, not just the usual degenerate. It didn't fool Fyodor, though, who you could hear sneering on the other side. You bit your lip—even his laugh was hot.

Fyodor spoke slowly, "Stuttering, huh...Do I make you nervous, milaya?" Your breath hitched, which he caught again. You were too fun to tease. "You're not used to being intimate with other men? Even though you're a camgirl?"

"N-no, it's not that...I'm just not used to non-sexual conversations." You huffed, trying to sound less flustered, "And I don't get intimate with other men; it's just me in front if the camera. N-not that I'd be opposed to having a special guest though—!"

He smiled at that, noting how hot and bothered you were getting, "Would you do it with me, then? I could make you feel better than that cheap pink dildo."

"W-what?!" You quickly shot out, gripping the sheets for balance, drawing another mocking laugh from Fyodor, which made you instantly regret it. Pull yourself together, girl! Maybe he's trying to roleplay!

"Yes, I would,” you muttered, trying to recover your confidence and add a flirty tone to your voice, “Would you whisper dirty things in my ear?”

Fyodor tilted his head, watching you bite your lip before whispering sweetly into the microphone, “Only if you begged me to, my sweet girl. You like my voice that much?”

“Maybe~” You teased, starting to feel tension build up again in your core. You lightly moved across your sheets, trying to relieve some of your pent-up arousal—even though you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Fyodor sighed watching you sink further into your bed, eyes starting to gloss over.

“Touch yourself and dream of me tonight, and it might happen,” your caller whispered, admiring you through the screen and smiling when you gasped and gripped the sheets tighter. “Sweet dreams, my pretty angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He whispered the last part to himself and ended the call before you could even process what he said or respond, making you double back at the empty screen.

You pouted, already missing Fyodor’s voice, but that didn’t take your attention away from how wet you were. Even your fatigue couldn’t stop your heartbeat, and you hastily opened your drawer of toys and reached for a baby pink vibrator, silently cursing yourself for being so horny and cursing your caller for leaving you hanging. You laid back in your bed, pulling aside your shorts as you covered you eyes in shame. No one had ever had this much of an effect on you. Imagining Fyodor’s sultry voice, you turned on the toy and moved it downwards, unaware of the violet eyes trained on you and following every movement and sound.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

You closed your laptop and stretched after editing some videos to tease your fans with. It was raining hard outside, ruining your plans to go out and get your usual strawberry tart. Sighing and opening your fridge, you thought about what to make for dinner.

You settled on pasta and grabbed a pot, filling it with water and turning on the stove. You went to grab some noodles before turning around and realizing the stove wasn’t turning on. Confused, you tried pushing the buttons on your oven and microwave, but they weren’t responding. A power outage? Strange, but at least your internet was still working. You really needed to call maintenance, but it could wait. You instead opened a food delivery app, ordering some vodka pasta and tiramisu and laying down annoyedly on your couch, drinking some rosé that you poured for yourself. Resting for about 20 minutes, a knock on your door woke you up.

A bit buzzed, you walked to the door and opened it to see your delivery person. He had shoulder length dark hair and a big hat was covering his face.

“Thanks!” You said sweetly, grabbing the paper bag from the man. He nodded slowly and you noticed the drops of water beading off the front strands of his hair. Oh, right, it was pouring outside. “U-Um, wait! Before you go, let me grab you a towel and some tip money. I feel kinda bad about the weather.” You tried to offer some sympathy and set your food on your dining table before going into your room to fish out some extra change from your wallet. Rushing back to the door, you were surprised to see that the delivery man was gone, and your door was now shut.

“Where did he go?” Muttering under your breath, you opened the door to look out into the hallway before sighing and closing the door. Maybe he was in a rush…at least you got to keep your money…

Your eyes widened right after closing the door, though, and a shiver ran down your spine as you felt warm air against your ear, “Hello, my angel.” You shrieked as you whipped around to see the same delivery man without his hat and a pair of glowing purple eyes staring back at you menacingly.

Alarmed, you tried to open the door and scream loudly for help, but the dark-haired man pulled your body against him and put a hand to your mouth, the other pulling you in and and resting on your back. “Why so scared, milaya? Didn’t you want to see me last night?” You yelped instinctively as you recognized the husky voice, which made you turn cold.

Fyodor.

“F-Fyodor! W-What are you doing here?!” You tried to back up, but he followed you, still holding you tightly as your back hit the door. He only grinned evilly, eyes low and mentally undressing you—not that your floral lace set was hiding anything, especially since you were bra-less and only had a skimpy white thong on. His hot breath fanned over your face as you took him in. He was much taller than you with a relatively thin frame, and his voice matched his ghostly, handsome appearance—like the attractive villain in a movie. But his touch was cold, so cold.

“You’re so beautiful, angel, yes, much more in person,” he whispered lowly, dragging his lips down from your ear to your jaw, “I’ve always taken a liking to pretty people, and you, milaya, are no exception.” You were shaking, fearful of his intentions—it was no secret that people into your work were suspicious (wut ._____.). He looked up at you with an almost predator-like expression. “I’m going to move my hand, okay? If you know what’s good for you, don’t scream. Understand?”

He was taunting you, but you were to afraid to fight back, and you nodded slowly in compliance, earning a cunning smile from him as well as a peck on your forehead as he moved his hands away from your mouth to slowly caress your cheeks. Your mouth was sealed shut from fear. “Good girl…I’m going to reward you now.” He whispered slowly before moving his head down to capture your lips in a slow kiss. You tried to keep your eyes open, but they closed upon feeling his soft touch.

Despite intruding into your apartment and forcing himself on you, he kissed you sensually, like a lover. Your hands pressed against his chest, but as he slipped his tongue in your mouth, your hands went to tangle in his long hair, still slightly damp from the rain, drawing a low groan from him. His knee came in between your leg, and the sudden pressure made you moan into the kiss, the shock causing you to break away from him and pant to catch your breath. You cursed your face for betraying you—your cheeks felt hot and you were sure you were blushing like crazy. Not to mention the fact that you could feel your nipples hardening beneath your long sleeve top.

As much as you wanted to blame your body’s reactions on the rosé you were drinking earlier, a part of you knew it was because of his voice, which you’d been fantasizing about since the call. Not to mention, being a cam girl made you turned on by the thought of your caller visiting you. As ashamed as you were, you knew Fyodor was enjoying every bit of your internal struggle, the sly smirk still on his face as he felt your heat on his clothed thigh. He quickly went to your neck, nipping and kissing your sensitive skin, somehow knowing where your sweet spots were and leaving light hickeys, making you whimper every time. His leg simultaneously grinded against your cunt, weakening the little balance you had left. You were starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy, wrapping your arms around Fyodor’s shoulders and playing with his hair.

Before pulling away and lowering his leg, he gently kissed over your hickeys along with the tears starting to prick your needy eyes. “Fyodor…” You started quietly, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact. He gave you a soft smile before tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear. You looked so cute gripping onto his shirt for what seemed like dear life, too flustered to even look up. How easily his pretty vixen fell apart for him.

“Yes, my angel?” He responded, still gazing at your face affectionately, like he was deeply devoted to you.

“Can we…” You trailed off, not sure what to say since your heart, head, and arousal were all screaming different things at you. Fyodor stroked your face with his knuckles slowly, enjoying how fragile you were under him, how corrupted your mind became. His questioning deep hum vibrated through your body, making you shiver and hold your breath.

The demon had captivated his innocent angel, bringing out her most sinful desires and conjuring the unholy courtesan that she really was. “C-can you fuck me? Please, Fyodor, I want you—“ You begged, forcing your doe eyes to look into his piercing orbs. His lips twisted upwards, and he slowly stepped back from you, turning you around and leading you backwards to your nearby plush couch, encouraging you to continue.

“I dreamt of you last night after our call, but it wasn’t enough. I tried so many toys, but I really wanted you…” You whined, making Fyodor push you back faster. “I kept thinking about how good your dick would feel inside of me, and the things you would say to me. What kind of things do you lik—“ Your rambling was cut off by your legs hitting the edge of the couch, and Fyodor swiftly pulling you seated into his lap, your back hitting his lean chest.

He seemed to be satisfied with your pleas, not pushing you for anymore and driving you into an embarrassing silence. He rested his head on your shoulder and exhaled, lazily wrapping his arms around your waist, “I know, angel, I’ve been watching you.” You moved your head an inch to the side, even more flustered about your words.

“…Oh, on my website and livestreams?” Fyodor shook his head slowly, making your stomach drop. He grabbed your chin and moved your face around your room.

“No, here, there, and…here!” He guided your face from your smart fridge to your balcony camera and finally to your laptop camera. He smiled upon feeling you gulp nervously. “Ah, I guess I watched your livestreams and videos, too, but it’s more fun to watch you alone from different cameras,” he mentioned it too naturally, like that wasn’t considered creepy or an invasion of privacy. He frowned teasingly, “You should really get a stronger security system, angel. Lots of hackers are out there, and they love to target helpless, sweet girls like you.” He smiled to himself; not like any security systems could protect you—he could bypass all of them.

“Oh, about that…you wouldn’t mind streaming this, would you?” Your body froze, but he continued. His hands left your waist to glide down your arms, moving his fingers on top of yours. He reached over to your laptop and dragged your fingertip on top of a key to unlock it, going over to your bookmarked website and hitting the record button to start a livestream. He hid the live comment notifications, so your attention would be only on him. Your heart was beating rapidly as you were too shocked—realizing that Fyodor was a cyberstalker and about to make his presence known—trying to move his hand, but the one minute timer was already counting down on the screen.

Fyodor sighed after seeing your appalled expression, seeing the timer at 50 seconds. "Angel, that's no good...your viewers won't like it if you don't show them a pretty face. I want you to enjoy this as much as I will." He pushed you off his lap onto the floor, and the force of your knees hitting the floor finally brought you back to the present.

"H-hey, wha—" You snapped, placing your hands on Fyodor's thighs to steady your kneeling figure. He only looked back at you lovingly again while petting your head. Shit, that expression made you wet weak.

He bent down to your level to kiss your lips while looking into your eyes with a sympathetic expression, "Please, angel, be good for me..." You closed your eyes for a moment to savor it, "Or at least do it for your loyal viewers." He smirked, reminding you of your job. To perform. He was just giving you the option to enjoy it or not.

You only turned your head and pouted, earning another snide laugh from Fyodor, before he swiftly pulled off his pants and boxers, revealing his springing hard-on. Your eyes widened. It was long, not too thick, and the pale mauve-ish tip was already starting to leak some pre-cum. Definitely bigger than your dildos.

He clicked his tongue, "Angel, time's up." The counter was at five seconds, and Fyodor placed his hand behind your head, pulling you closer to his length. "If you're still embarrassed or upset, you can just start—no need to do an introduction." He cooed, offering some faux condolences which made you narrow your eyes at him for trying to mansplain your own job.

You heard the beep notifying you that your stream had started, so you lowered your head to his tip and kissed it softly, using kitten licks to collect his arousal around the slit. His hand gripped your hair tighter as he sighed from your motions, pleased that you were complying. Flashing doe eyes at him, you ran your tongue up and down his cock, placing kisses along the way and paying special attention to the throbbing veins around the side. He let out a low growl. The intimate, sweet way you worshipped his dick was perfect.

"Angel..." He grunted, pulling your head back and signaling for you to stop teasing him. You sat up straighter and kissed his sticky tip one last time before gently taking it into your mouth and sucking slowly, working your way down to the base while swirling your tongue around his length. You looked up to see him flushed, now moaning in heat from the way you passionately sucked him off like a lover—not to mention how well you were taking him despite his big size. "Mmmm—you're doing so g-good...God y-you little—a-ahh—"

Fyodor threw his head back in ecstasy, your small bobbing motions and the sloppy sounds making him breathe heavily, both of your eyes clouded over with pure lust. Watching him become weak under your tongue was gratifying to say the least—you were clenching your thighs together, sure the viewers could see the wet spot on your thin shorts. His cock felt heavenly in your mouth, but you really wanted him in your—

He pushed your head flush against his pelvis, and it took everything in you to not gag from the abrupt intrusion as his tip poked the back of your throat. "I'm close, take it a-all, milaya—" Fyodor's groans got louder as you slowly pulled away, sucking along what you could and using your hands to pump whatever was left. You hummed along his cock, the vibrations making him close his eyes and tug on your hair, tears forming and starting to run down your face. He heaved deeply as he opened his eyes to look down at your pretty face, stroking your soft skin adoringly. You could tell he was close, so you moved closer to his tip, running your tongue across his sensitive slit, driving him over the edge. You sturdied yourself against his thighs as his cum spilled down into your throat, making you moan.

Fyodor pulled your strands harshly, angling your head to ensure not even a single drop leaked out. You turned to the camera, opening your mouth to prove you swallowed it all, and cleaning the residual cum on your mouth with your fingers before sucking them clean, the sight getting Fyodor hard again. Your lewd actions prompted a deep laugh from the dark-haired man, who was coming down from the heaven you'd just sent him to, "My angel has quite a dirty mouth on her, doesn't she? You seem more like a succubus to me."

You simpered cheekily, stripping what was left of your floral lace set, teasing Fyodor and reveling in his intense gaze. You slowly rose up and sat in his lap, purposely pressing your ass against his stomach and spreading your folds with your fingers, teasing his tip with your entrance, making you hiss in lust. "Hey, Fyodor, can you put it insid—"

You were cut off with a harsh slap to your pussy and a rough yank on your hair, making you squeal in pain and pushing you back down against his chest. Fyodor pulled your hair at an upwards angle to face him, glaring into your lively eyes and inciting fear into them. "Don't forget I'm the one that's in control, shlyukha." His warning sent shivers throughout your body, and you nearly screamed when you felt him thrust into you, walls tightening around him, and you choked as he pushed deeper inside you, body stiff from how he just punished you.

He only smirked as he heard your whines and whimpers, which he knew would soon be replaced by pleasured cries because of how wet you were from giving him a blowjob. He kissed your tears away before guiding your hips back and forth on his cock, being more gentle and placing more kisses down from your ear to your neck. Upon hearing soft moans leave your lips, Fyodor drew small circles on your puffy clit, using his free hand to clasp your hands behind your back. Smirking after feeling you start to ride him to meet his thrusts, he playfully bit your ear, "Ha, I knew deep down you were just a sinful little slut."

More tears fell from your eyes as you felt Fyodor's dick reach your g-spot, the sensation sending a burning fire through your body. It was intense, much more so than anything you'd done solo. It was like all you could focus on was him, how rough yet passionately he was fucking you, how your head was full of his sultry, deep voice only, and how stuffed you were of his cock. You could feel yourself starting to unravel at any moment, moaning loudly as Fyodor pinched your sensitive nipples while gingerly kissing and nipping at your hickies.

"F-Fyodor, you're so m-mean". You murmured, the different sensations making you quiver under his touch. The blinding pleasure lolled your head forward, your front strands of hair covering your eyes, but you could still see Fyodor's magenta orbs cutting into yours through your peripheral, holding an intimidating expression.

His fingers swiped some stray layers to the side, his panting breath fanning over the shell of your ear, "I never said I was a nice man, milaya." You bit your lip after feeling him kiss under your ear, his gentle touches mixed with his unrelenting assault on your pussy driving you to your climax. Fyodor smiled as he felt you squeezing his cock so desperately and watched how your eyes fluttered, lashes wet from your tears but still framing your eyes so beautifully. "You're close, aren't you, angel? It's fine, let it all out on camera. Let everyone see how indecent you are." His finger circled faster around your clit and he groaned feeling you clench around his length again. "Show your loyal fans how much you love being fucked by a stranger." Another faint bite to your neck sent you to the edge, as you cried out from the force of your orgasm washing over you.

Sighing from relief, Fyodor slowed your bouncing movements with slow strokes to bring you down from your high. Catching your breath again, you turned to face your cyberstalker, eyes dreamily looking at him, secretly tugging on his cold heart. You brought your face up, yearning to kiss him, but he only tilted your chin down and kissed your forehead instead, making you pout as he stared at you blankly. "I-I can't kiss you?" You asked, suddenly shy. Fyodor exhaled slowly, finding your faux innocence adorable.

"So needy...this isn't enough for you, my angel?" You yelped as he roughly pulled you down on his member and came inside of you, the abrupt warmth flooding your insides and drawing a low moan from you. Fyodor kissed your neck before letting your restricted hands go and shutting your laptop to end the livestream. His phone buzzing made him turn his head, and he calmly moved to pull out of your snug cunt. He grunted as he felt your pussy gripping onto his cock tightly, trying to milk him completely dry. You whimpered when he finally pulled out, feeling empty and stretched out, already missing him pounding your walls as his cum flowed out of you. He kissed your reddened cheek to offer some ease and sat up from the couch, grabbing his discarded clothes from the floor.

"You're leaving, Fyodor?" You looked up at the man, now fully clothed and checking his phone. He gave you an unreadable smile and glanced at you longingly.

"Yes, milaya. I have business to attend to." He ruffled the top of your hair gently before walking past your figure. Hearing you huff in disappointment, he looked back and smirked, "I may come back sometime, though, angel. If you beg nicely enough..." Your eyes sparkled upon hearing his words, which almost made him go back for another round. He held a hand out to signal his leave and disappeared like a ghost from your space, like he didn't just break in arrive, leaving you with your cold dinner.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Walking out the door, Fyodor grinned arrogantly upon seeing the livestream recording that had successfully downloaded onto his phone. You didn't know, but he'd already hacked into your laptop before visiting and made the stream private—there was no way he'd let anyone watch him corrupt his pretty angel.

Now all he had to do was watch and wait. Wait for his angel to summon the demon she had sinned for again.

#vanilladove #vanilladovebsd #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader smut #bsd smut #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky x reader smut #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #fyodor texts like an old man it’s canon idc #why do i always write long smuts smh #im changing my layout i feel like it's prettier now -v-

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sometimesanalice · 2 days

Text

California Dreaming

Summary: At sometime past 4am, the last thing you would have ever expected was to receive a call from Bradley Bradshaw. But time is a funny thing it feels like it might be running out.

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5.6K

Warnings: angst and a bit In-N-Out slander

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on its own!)

You’re pulled from the light sleep you’d just barely managed to slip into by the sound of your phone ringing.

Although you weren’t too sure if your mind was playing tricks on you again. And in that liminal space between awake and asleep, you didn’t trust yourself to know the different anymore. Sleep and you haven’t been on the best of terms over the couple of months, and you had the dark circles under your eyes to prove it.

Your boss had told you about the chatter he’d heard about a position opening up soon at the West Coast office. It was an opportunity that would be perfect for you, minus the fact it would involve uprooting your entire life and moving across the country. You still hadn’t given him an answer yet whether he should put you forward for it or not. But you’d taken to sleeping with your ringer on just in case you were needed for anything, not wanting to close the door completely. And you’d woken up in a panic more than once thinking you’d slept through an emergency call, only to see absolutely zero new notifications.

Just when think it might have been another stress induced fluke, it goes off again.

Bleary eyed, you scramble to reach it. Wanting to silence it to not wake up your boyfriend from his more-peaceful-than-yours slumber. Only half-consciously noting it’s sometime past 4 AM.

However, it’s the name splashed across the screen that makes your heart stop.

𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗟𝗘𝗬 𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗪

You sit straight up, the crisp white sheets your boyfriend preferred pooling around your waist.

“Bradley?” You don’t even remember hitting the green button before the phone was up to your ear. “Bradley? Are you ok?” The words come out a sleepy slur all jumbled together by your sluggish tongue.

He’d texted you when he landed back on US soil; a silly selfie with crinkled bag of McDonalds in his hand and the American flag in the background. It had made you grin like an idiot when your phone had lit up with it.

You knew that he had been called back to Top Gun, but that was as much as he’d been able to tell you.

With the time difference, it makes it the hour too early for you, but also too late for him. He should be asleep right now. But you know Bradley, he wouldn’t be calling right now unless it was about something important.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I know it’s late there,” Bradley apologizes. “Or early, I guess.”

Tired. He sounds so tired.

You didn’t doubt he was still probably fighting the jetlag that came with being in San Diego after living in Japan for the last year and a half. But it was the weariness in his tone that had you concerned.

“But you’re ok?” you press. You needed to hear it.

“I…” he pauses, then sighs. “Yeah, kid. Everything’s fine.”

You blow out a relieved breath, rubbing at your heavy eyes.

“Good. That’s good,” you nod, reassuringly. Not that he can see you.

He is safe. He is ok. That’s all that matters to you.

Jack groans your name. “Seriously?” The word drips of exasperation and annoyance.

You wince. Less at its sharpness, but more at the feeling like you can’t seem do anything right lately.

You and your boyfriend have been together a little over two years now. You have a comfortable life together in Boston, nice even. But you shook the snowglobe of your relationship when you’d first mentioned the possibility of a promotion and moving, and it still felt like you were waiting for the remainders of all those stirred up flakes to settle back down.

“Give me a minute, Bradley,” you whisper into the phone, “Don’t hang up.” Your voice is so quiet you’re not even sure he heard you.

You turn towards your boyfriend, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but he’s already rolled over away from you.

A literal cold shoulder.

Your eyes trace over the exposed skin of his back. It’s dark, but you could point out where every freckle is on him with bullseye precision. Sometimes you weren’t sure if he knew you as well.

Like when he’d bring you red roses, a flower you’ve never felt one way or another about. You’d tell yourself it’s the thought that counts, that it’s the gesture that matters. But for as many times as you’ve bought your favorite flowers yourself and displayed them on the coffee table in your shared living room, Jack has never once brought them home for you.

It made you wonder sometimes if he even truly wanted you, if he cared enough to pay attention. Or if he was just content in the fact that you’d be there.

And then you’d feel guilty for even thinking that in the first place.

But you didn’t just break up with someone over flowers.

Or the way he always seemed to make plans for you with his friends without ever asking you first. Or the way he was never more attentive to you until the two of you were in front of a group.

There��s a sliver of moonlight peeking through the edges of the blinds of your bedroom. A set of curtains would have solved the issue, but you’d never been able to get Jack on board. It was something you there thankful for now as you tiptoed out of the room with just enough light to make sure you wouldn’t trip over anything.

You ease the door gently closed behind you, feeling some of the tension melt from your body.

“Ok, I’m back,” you tell your best friend.

“I take it we woke up Jack?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, padding towards the black leather couch in the living room. You fight back the hiss that wants to be released when your bare thighs touch the ice-cold material. The October chill had a way of sneaking in everywhere. “He’s got a big pitch presentation on Friday,” you say, feeling like you need to explain, “So he’s just a bit on edge right now.”

Bradley makes a noncommittal sound, something close but not quite like a disapproving rumble. You distract yourself from reading into it too much by turning on the lamp on the side table to its lowest setting. A dim glow illuminating the living room.

“Tell me, how’s California?” It’s a pivot. You know you’re trying to smooth things over; you’ve been doing a lot of that lately.

“Sunny.”

You snort and roll your eyes.

“It seems you left good jokes back in Japan,” you tease. You pull your knees up to your chest and reach for your favorite soft knit blanket, tucking it around you. “Be honest, how many things did you forget to pack this time?”

Bradley groans your name. This time you smile.

“I had to take scissors to my favorite pair of Levi’s, because I didn’t bring any shorts for the beach.”

Picturing the pained look on his face as he desecrated his favorite jeans nearly sends you into a fit a giggles. But out of respect for the fallen and your best friend’s feelings you press your lips together, the corners pulling up on their own.

You can’t resist lightly teasing him though, “Beach jeans? That sounds like a choice.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Bradley says, solemnly. The drama queen.

“Is there someone who saw you in them that I could bribe for some new blackmail material?” you ask. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my hands on anything truly juicy.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, kid, but I looked damn good in them.”

This time you don’t hold back the laugh, only muffling it with a hand over your mouth when you realize that your boyfriend could probably hear you through the closed door.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Give me some time and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll make some space in my Bradshaw Blackmail folder in the meantime.” Bradley’s warm chuckle in your ear makes the room feel less cold. “So what else have you been up to?”

“We haven’t had a ton of down time, but I did hit up an In-N-Out with Natasha the other night.” That was a name you were familiar with. You’ve never met Bradley’s fellow aviator and friend, but you were happy he had someone with him there that he was close to. “It was the same one I took you to when you came to visit after I finished Top Gun the first time.”

It was a fluke of fate that you’d been sent to the West Coast office for some training around the time that Bradley was on leave before being sent back to his squadron. The overlap was only for a few days, but the two of you had made the most of it.

“Who knew you were such a sentimentalist?” You lean your head back against the couch.

“It’s the closest one to base,” he justifies, “Although, you’ll be happy to know their milkshakes are still trash.”

You grin. “Hey, I never said they were trash. That was all you, Bradshaw.”

You’ve only been there the once, but it had been fun getting to experience it with him for your first time. He’d ordered more than enough food for two people, making sure to get some of the more classic not-so-secret menu items for you to try. And the Neapolitan shake had been fine, but the ones from the ice cream shop in your hometown where Bradley had had his first job were much better.

“Your face said otherwise,” he bats back.

You hum noncommittally, not wanting to concede. It was more fun for you this way, even if he was right. Not to mention no one knows how to read your face better than Bradley does.

When you don’t argue, he continues, “There’s even a rumor going around that they might want to keep some of us around longer. Like they’d form a new squadron that would be stationed here.”

You perk up, “In San Diego? You could be there permanently?” Between his deployments and moving around from base to base, you don’t think he’s been in one place for more than two years since he went to UVA. “That would be amazing.”

“Yeah, it really would,” Bradley agrees, he sounds hopeful, “But I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

‘Hope for the best, but expect the worst’ was the motto he seemed to live by. He’d had the rug pulled out from underneath him more times than anyone else you knew.

The two of you are quiet for a moment.

You don’t want to push him into talking about whatever the reason is that he’s called so early in the morning. But no matter how many jokes you trade with him, it’s still in the forefront of your mind. And try as you might, you can’t shake that feeling of unsettledness that was resting heavily on your chest.

Outside your living room window, the streetlights are bright against the dark sky.

You’ve told him more times than you could count that he could call you any time, but Bradley being Bradley has always made it a point to call during hours that were convenient for you, even if that meant he was still up at some ungodly hour.

But that was so him, always putting everyone else ahead of himself.

With the confidentiality that goes hand in hand with his job, you know he can’t talk about the specifics. It was something you were used to after nearly a decade of Naval service behind him.

You nibble on your lower lip, weighing your words.

“How’s it been with…” You trail off, but you know he knows who you’re referring to. You run a hand up and down your calf, trying to warm up quicker.

Mav? Pete? He’d been Captain Mitchell the last time you’d seen him back when you were in high school, you weren’t sure what his rank was now.

Mav has always been the number one topic on Bradley Bradshaw’s No Fly List. The few times you’ve dared to bring it up in the past had been shut down quicker than you think he could probably fly his jet.

Bradley told you last week in a text that had simply read He’s here. You didn’t even have to ask who he was. It had been just as much of a shock to you as you imagined it probably was for him seeing the man who had derailed his dreams when everything else in his world had already fallen apart.

It was a story you’d always thought there had been more to, but between the two of them you’d always be Team Bradley. That’s how it was supposed to be for best friends.

You can feel Bradley mulling over his answer. “It’s been… motivating.”

The way he says it you can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. And maybe he doesn’t even know himself.

You sit up straighter on the couch. “Oh?” you say, casually. Neutrally. Not wanting to let your inflection to color Bradley’s response.

Their reunion has been a long time coming, you just wished you could be there for him with this the way he’s always been there for you. Not just on the phone, but there by his side.

Bradley sighs again, it’s heavier this time. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s probably roughly running his hand down his face, the way he always does when he’s really, truly frustrated. Like he’s trying to free those too big feelings from trapped beneath his skin.

“I’m flying with him for the first time in my career. I want him to see why I’m here. I want to show him.” The anger, the hurt rings though loud and clear. But so does the determination. “These patches I’ve been called back are the best of the best that there is. And I’m one of them, kid. And I got here on my own, without him.”

You wait to see if he is going to continue or not, wanting to give him the space to talk through his feelings, but he’s gone quiet again.

“You’ve worked so hard for this, Bradley.”

“It was all I ever wanted,” he says, his voice rough, “To be like them.”

Like Mav. Like Ice. Like his dad.

You’d been there for the fallout. He’d been crushed when he didn’t get to go to the Academy, the self-destruction that followed had been hard to watch. You’d seen the way he had to pick up the pieces of his life. The way the boy had quickly had to become a man. Every choice Bradley has made since then has been with one purpose in mind.

He’d set out to be a Naval aviator and he’d achieved it.

“You should be so proud of yourself,” you say, softly. “I know I am.”

You imagine Mav is proud too, but you don’t say that part out loud.

After all, he practically helped raise Bradley- in his own way. Always calling whenever he could. Sending presents. Spending his leave time with the Bradshaws. They’d been a family.

“Sometimes-” Bradley cuts himself off, trying to collect his thoughts. You can almost feel the tormented whirlwind of them through the phone. “Sometimes,” he starts again, “There are moments, when I see him fly- it’s crazy shit that no one but him can do- and I forget. Just for a second. But then I remember and it’s like I’m eighteen and feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut all over again.”

Your stomach twists in the same way it always does when you’re reminded of that rough period in time when the two of you were just teens. And now that you’re older, your ache even more for the boy whose whole world was so turned upside down by the one person he thought would never let him down.

“When we’re flying together, I’m reminded how it could have been. How it should have been,” he corrects himself, roughly. “I thought I was fucking over it. It’s been fifteen years, kid. And I’m pissed at myself because he should be nothing to me, I shouldn’t care what he thinks.” His voice is a hoarse rasp. “Why can’t I get over it?”

It’s times like this where you can feel every mile between the two of you. Every inch of space in your long-distance friendship. And it chafes at you that all you can be is an ear for him to vent to rather than a shoulder for him to lean on.

“There’s no version of this where it wasn’t going to be tough. And I don’t think you trying to brush off who he was to you, like none of that mattered, is going to make this any easier for you,” you tell him. “Not with the history the two of you have. And you can’t punish yourself for having feelings about it.”

“I told him no one would mourn him if he burned in.” He all but blurts it out.

Your suck in sharp breath and you shake your head in disbelief, “Bradley, you didn’t.” There’s no hiding the shock in your voice.

You know there’s an unspoken code of conduct between aviators from the things you’ve picked up from the way he’s talked about his career and fellow Naval officers over the years. That when everyone’s lives are so dependent on each other to look out for one another, there were certain things you didn’t joke about. Things you didn’t throw around, not even in the heat of a moment.

“Shit, shit,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You don’t know what to say to him. It’s silent in your darkened living room. The only sound is of his affected breathing over the phone.

You can’t keep dancing around things with him anymore tonight. He cracked open the door, but now you’re the one pushing through it.

“Bradley, what happened?”

His voice is strained when he speaks again, “We had a couple accidents during training a few days ago- no one was hurt.” He is quick to clarify, and you know it’s for your benefit. “It was a bird strike and they had to eject, but they were cleared to fly the next morning.” It hits too close to home all the same. You don’t worry about anyone the way you worry about Bradley. “Mav found me in the Ready Room later that night, and it was just the two of us alone for the first time since everything happened. He was talking to me like I was the kid he’d helped raise, instead of the one he’d fucked over. And then all that anger came rushing back. So I did what I always seem to do, I went for all the things that I knew would hurt him the most.”

You squeeze your eyes tight in sympathy. You’ve been on the receiving end of Bradley’s sharp tongue before. You’ve never held it against him, but you’ve also never forgotten the way his words sliced straight through you.

“I knew it was fucked up as I said it, but in that moment it felt good to hurt him the way he hurt me,” Bradley says, quietly. Every word feels chewed on, like they’d be covered in indents of his teeth. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look in his eyes, kid. I really fucked up. It’s been eating at me ever since.” He pauses and clears his throat. “I hate that part of myself. I hate that I said that to him, regardless of the shit we’ve been through.” His voice is pinched, tight. “My mom would be so disappointed in me.”

The guilt in his voice is unmistakable and it's a confession you can tell that takes a lot out of him. No one holds on to regrets- or grudges- like he does. Even if the one he’s holding it against is himself. You know this is going to be something he’ll carry around with him for a long time to come.

But it is the way he stumbles over the mention of Carole that cracks your heart open.

You had grown up adoring her. She’d been lightning in a bottle. Her smile was always the brightest in the room, and her laughter always made people stop to look wanting to be in on the joke too. There was no one quite like her.

And after she died, you’d mourned that loss too. You still carried the evidence of that love with the scar issue on your heart. But for Bradley, that was a wound that no amount of time would ever fully heal for him. Forever a reminder of who wasn’t there.

He’d already lost so much. First, his dad. Then his mom. And now with his uncle.

Bradley had told you about Ice and his passing. You knew they had come to an understanding in the after of everything. It was a relationship held together by a monthly phone call or two, and a dinner invite whenever Bradley was in town. He’d called you during one of his breaks on the morning he found out, troubled because he didn’t know he’d even been sick.

Just more time missed with someone who had meant something to him.

You didn’t want him to regret saying those harsh words without the chance to make amends. You didn’t want him to miss out on any more time with people who wanted to be there for him. You didn’t want him to shoulder around that pain and resentment anymore. A decade and a half of it was more than enough to carry that around. You didn’t want him to forever push away the one person who probably cared for him just as much as you did.

“So apologize,” you gently urge him. “Talk to Mav and apologize. For him and for you.”

He sighs, heavily, “It’s not that simple.”

Gone is the quiet girl in her dark living room. You want him to hear you. “It really is though, Bradley. Tell him. Pull him aside after class or get there early. Or take him to that bar on the beach you told me about and buy him a beer. Don’t let this be a thing you can’t take back. You can still apologize.”

“I-I don’t think I can. There’s not enough time for that now.” His words are stilted.

You feel your eyebrows pinch in confusion, “Aren’t you guys there for a couple more weeks?” He doesn’t answer you right away and you feel a chill drift across you, even under your blanket. “Does that mean you’re shipping out soon?”

“It’s why I called.” There’s something more serious in his tone, you’re talking to the Naval officer now. “We got the orders, we ship out tomorrow. Or later today, technically.”

There’s a swooping sensation in your stomach and it feels like the floor has fallen out beneath your feet.

“Goddamn it, Bradshaw. Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Your voice wavers.

“I know, I probably should have.” At least he has the good sense to admit it. “I just wanted to talk to you, like normal. Although we didn’t get very far before I derailed the conversation,” he says, self-deprecatingly. “Do you think you can give me a few more minutes of normal, kid?”

You know there’s not much you can ask, and even less than he can tell you. You’re surprised you even allowed to know this much.

But you don’t need a dossier of confidential government information to tell you that whatever he’s being sent to do is dangerous, because you’d be able to read even the most redacted version of Bradley Bradshaw. You’d known something was off from the very moment you’d seen his name lighting up your phone.

You don’t want him to feel your anxiousness, you don’t want to add to whatever else he’s currently going through. Bradley called you because he wants to let his mind relax. So if he wants normal, you can give him normal. You can give him as much as he wants, as much as he needs.

“I’m sorry for making fun of your beach shorts.”

Bradley huffs a soft laugh, “No, you’re not.”

“You know,” you muse, fighting to keep your tone light and airy, “I haven't played hooky in a while and I have some miles to use before the end of the year.”

“You want to come out here?” The suggestion works just like you hoped it would, he sounds less troubled than before.

“I could use some Vitamin D and a milkshake. Do you know a good place to make it worth my while?”

“I might. It depends on your opinion is about Neapolitan shakes though.” Your nose scrunches up on its own. “Are you making that face, kid?”

“No,” you reply too quickly.

“Liar.”

You smile to yourself. “I’ll even let you pick me up from the airport and you can finally show me that Bronco of yours in person. It only seems fair that I get to see what all the hubbub is about after I’ve spent hours letting you talk my ear off about it: V8 engine this and four-speed manual transmission that.” You do your best Bradley impersonation and earn an amused scoff from him.

He’d bought it right before he’d been sent to Japan. Ice and his wife had been looking after it for him while he was away. Bradley had even documented his reunion with it after landing back on US soil by sending you a video of it with him humming the Peaches & Herb song in the background.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Bradley says. You think he might be smiling too.

It’s all to easy for you to slip into a normal conversation with him. He asks about your mom and stepdad. You don’t mention the possible promotion, but instead tell him about the passive aggressive microwave fish debacle that plagued the entire floor for days.

The two of you talk about nothing in a way that feels like everything. And every chuckle you pull out of him feels like a victory. Your tired eyes flutter shut on their own, with them closed you can almost pretend he’s sitting right next to you, until a yawn slips out of you without your permission.

“It’s getting late, I should let you go.”

You want to keep talking to him, but you can imagine the circles that have already formed under his eyes over the last few days. “You should get your sleep. Rest up, because we have big milkshake plans…and you’re not allowed to stand me up. Got it, Bradshaw?”

“I hear you,” he promises. “Try to stay out of trouble until I get back, kid.”

“No promises.” You feel your lower lip wobble.

“Atta girl.”

You laugh. It sounds a little watery to your own ears, but you hope he doesn’t hear it. You’re grateful he didn’t choose to FaceTime you. It’s probably for the best he can’t see your face, you’ve never been a very good poker player.

“Be safe, Bradley.”

You’ve already decided that you’ll let him be the one to hang up first. You didn’t have it in you to hit the red button before he did.

He blurts out your name. “Wait.”

“I’m still here,” you answer, quickly.

You hear him sigh in relief. “I-You know you’re my favorite, right?”

“I know.” Your throat gets thick and your eyes prickle. “And you’re mine.”

“Yeah?”

Your friendship with him as always mattered the most to you. It wasn’t even a question.

“Of course. I didn’t make very intricate embroidery floss friendship bracelets at summer camp when I was thirteen for just anyone, you know.” You’d spent hours making him one in his favorite colors. He’d worn it until it fell off and then asked for another. “You’re my favorite too,” you repeat, wanting him to hear it again.

“Ok. Ok, good,” Bradley says. He lets out a slow breath. “See you soon for milkshakes, kid.”

“See you soon.” It comes out a reedy whisper.

You stay on the line until he hangs up.

And only when the screen goes black do you allow yourself to give into the emotions that had been surging up inside of you.

With the corner of your blanket, you wipe at the tears that are making hot tracks down your cheeks. There’s a hollowness that has settled in your chest that you don’t think will go away until he tells you when to book your ticket to come and see him.

It doesn’t matter that you remind yourself that he is one of the best at he does. Or that you know he’ll be with other people who are just as good as he is. In all the years he’s been in the Navy, you’ve never once heard him sound that unsure before, and it’s rattled you.

It’s not that you didn’t know there was risk every time he sat in the cockpit of his fighter jet, even if it was just to train. But this was the first time it’s ever felt like he was preparing you for the possibility that you might never see or hear from him again.

You didn’t want to imagine a world with Bradley Bradshaw in it.

He’s never once broken a promise with you, and he wasn’t allowed to start now.

You don’t know how long you sit there in the dark with only your feelings and the sound of the clock on the wall for company.

Your eyes drift towards the closed bedroom door, where you’re sure Jack is sleeping unbothered on a soft mattress between stark white sheets.

It hits you then that he hadn’t come to check on you.

It’s still just as dark outside. Only the little lamp next to the couch offers any light, as you look around your living room.

You’d liked all the exposed brick when you’d first moved in, had imagined all the ways you could soften the apartment with things to make it more cozy for you and your boyfriend. More like the two of you.

But the books on the bookcase had been carefully chosen to fit a neutral color palette, while all your favorites had been moved to the smaller one in the office. Their colorful covers hidden away. The spot where you thought some kind of landscape painting could have gone, had a photograph of a sepia-toned city hanging there instead. It was still art, but it was the kind of thing that had been made to disappear into the background.

You keep waiting to see a piece of yourself reflected in the room, some mark of you that had been left behind in the home you live in, but other than the black and white striped rug that had been too good of a deal to pass up on at a store with a no return policy, none could be found. You didn’t see any of yourself there at all.

You thought that you’d been making compromises, but it’s dawning on you that all along really what you’ve been doing is making concessions. A one-sided partnership. When all you ever wanted was to share a life with someone.

Earlier you found yourself making excuses to Bradley, but now it felt like something you weren’t sure you wanted to look past.

You are tired.

And not because it’s sometime around 5 AM now. You’re already well past the start of a new day.

You’re tired of being the one to trying to make something work.

You’re tired of being the one who always makes a genuine effort.

You’re tired of red roses.

Maybe people did end relationships over flowers. Or the art on the walls.

Grabbing your phone, you open your email ignoring all the messages that are already waiting for you, and start typing out a message. When you’re done, you read it over a couple of time before sending it off to your boss. The whoosh that follows as it bounces off the exposed brick in the quiet living room feels like progress.

You didn’t want to miss out on any more time either.

Not with the people who mattered the most to you. The people you mattered the most to.

Leaning over the arm of the couch you turn off the lamp and stretch out to get comfortable on the cushions underneath you. You tuck a throw pillow under your head and drape the blanket over you.

From this angle, you can almost pretend the city lights look like stars.

Your alarm is already set, and if you’re lucky you can doze a bit longer before it will go off all too soon.

But it’ll ok if sleep doesn’t find you.

You’re already California dreaming.

Who gave me permission to do this to myself?! Oh my heart. Don't mind me, I'm just in my angsty era. Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

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scoonsalicious · 2 days

Text

7.1 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, discussion of feelings, nudity, mentions of some sexy stuff.

Word Count: 3.2k

Previously On...: Idk; it's been so long. Who can even remember? Just kidding-- Bucky blew off his plans for a 'friend-date' with Lily to talk to you about what happened that morning.

A/N: And we're back!

Hi, besties! I confess to not getting as much writing done as I had hoped on my break-- cursed writer's block! Then, last night, I ended up scrapping most of the writing I did do and started over, lol. However, I've got a bit of a back log again, and a four day weekend starting tonight, and now that I feel reinvigorated with the story, we'll be able to resume our regularly scheduled program!

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You pulled up to the destination Bucky had sent you as dusk was falling. Langston Park. A weird spot for dinner, you thought, but you’d double-checked the location with Bucky, and he’d assured you that you were in the right place.

Glancing at your map, you noticed that the pin he’d sent you was a little ways up a trail. You parked your truck and double checked your bag to make sure you had your pepper spray at the ready– not that you were afraid that Bucky was going to harm you– just that, a woman alone in the woods at dusk? You could never be too careful. It actually went against your better judgment to go in there at all, but you trusted that Bucky wouldn’t lead you into danger.

If I do come across something unexpected, you thought to yourself, please let it be the bear.

You cautiously made your way up the trail, using the nearly useless flashlight feature on your phone to keep yourself from tripping over anything. It was difficult adjusting your eyesight from the bright light of the map you were following on your phone screen to the darkness gathering around you. After you’d been walking for about fifteen or so minutes, you had to turn left to go off-trail, cutting off your access to the dwindling daylight even more. You gently pushed branches of leaves aside as you made your way through the woods, until you noticed a soft, orange glow coming from up ahead of you.

When you broke through the tree line, your breath caught in your throat. The pin Bucky had sent you had led you to a small clearing nestled along a stream, with a melodious waterfall cascading down into a pool that held a handful of floating lanterns. The entire clearing was lit with hanging lanterns that gently swayed from the branches of the surrounding trees, washing the entire space with low, warm light. Spread out on the ground was a large blanket with some throw pillows, extra blankets, and a picnic hamper. And in the center of the clearing, crouched Bucky. He’d appeared to have just finished setting up his phone to stream some soft music. The entire tableau was the most romantic thing you’d ever seen.

“Hey,” you called softly as you turned your flashlight off, dropped your phone into your bag, and made your way into the clearing.

Bucky stood and turned to face you, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Major, hi,” he breathed. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Did you do all this for me?” you asked in awe as you looked around, taking in your surroundings. You could feel a lump form in the back of your throat, and you had to actively tell yourself not to cry. No one had ever done anything so absolutely romantic for you in your entire life. Not once had Connor ever made a fraction of the effort Bucky had made tonight.

Bucky’s face took on a look of panic. “Is it too much?” he asked, nervously glancing around as though he were trying to judge it anew through your eyes to see what you might find wrong with it.

You smiled, reaching for his hand to offer a squeeze of reassurance. “It’s lovely,” you said. “No one has ever done something so amazing for me, Bucky. Thank you.”

Bucky visibly relaxed at your words. “Figured I owed you something special, to make up for this morning.” He motioned to the blanket, guiding you to sit down with him. “I brought dinner,” he said, opening up the basket. Inside were several subs, a couple of bottles of lemonade, and a few bags of chips. “Sweet onion teriyaki chicken with cucumbers, extra pickles, and red wine vinegar,” Bucky said, handing you a sandwich. You held the sandwich to you for a moment, your chest filling with warmth at the fact that he’d remembered your offhand comment about your favorite sandwich.

You put the wrapped sub down on the blanket in front of you. “Could we talk before we eat?” you asked him. “I’ve got some things I want to clear up first.”

Bucky swallowed and nodded, putting down the sandwich he had gotten for himself and looked up at you through his lashes. “Go ahead, sugar,” he said.

You took a breath. “I get why you didn’t tell Lily about me,” you said slowly. “It’s new, and we’re not even really anything. So, what’s there to tell her, really? Plus, she and I didn’t really have the best first impressions of one another, so that part, I understand. What I don’t get is why you felt you needed to lie about being out on a date at all.” Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but you weren’t finished.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how many calls I got toward the end of my marriage that went just like the one you had with Lily last night. All the times Connor assured me he was just “out with the boys,” when, in reality, he was with his mistress. So, I guess, hearing you tell Lily you were with Sam for a ‘guys’ night’ was kind of triggering.” You sighed, heaving your shoulders. “I need to know, and I need you to be honest with me: Is there something going on between the two of you? Is that why you felt the need to lie to her about being out with me?”

Bucky shook his head vehemently and made a face of mild disgust. “Major, no– there’s never been anything between us,” he said. “I won’t lie, Lily is very important to me– as a friend– she was the first new one I made in almost eighty years, and she stuck by me when I was going through a really difficult time in my life, when I really hadn’t given her much of a reason to, but in terms of anything romantic, or sexual? Never.”

You tilted your head, considering his words. He seemed sincere, though if you had been a good judge of when a man you had feelings for was lying to your face, your marriage to Connor would probably only have been a fraction as long as it was.

“Alright,” you said, choosing in the moment to believe him, “so, if you’re as close as you say, and there’s nothing romantic between the two of you, it makes it even stranger that you lied to her about being out on a date last night.”

Bucky looked down, toying with a loose thread on the blanket you both sat on. “At the time,” he said, not looking up at you, “not telling her the truth seemed like a good idea. It didn’t really cross my mind that I was lying… more like ‘just not telling her the truth yet.’ I was really looking forward to seeing you again, doll,” he told you, his eyes now rising to meet yours, “ and telling Lil… well, it felt like I was needlessly complicating things."

You let out an exasperated sigh. “None of that explains to me the why behind it, Bucky,” you said. “Why would telling your best friend complicate things?

“I just didn’t want her getting involved in our business before the two of us even knew what our business was,” he said, as if that made everything clear.

“But, shouldn’t your best friend knowing your business be, I dunno, a good thing?” you asked him in frustration, wanting to reach out and shake him. You felt like you were going around in circles. “Shouldn’t she be happy for you?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed. “Of course she’ll be happy for me. It’s just…” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Lily’s always had… opinions about every girl I’ve ever dated, and she’s never made it a point of keeping them to herself. I mean, most of the time, she ends up being spot on, and the relationship flops, but this…” he moved to place his hand over yours where it rested on the blanket, “with you? I wanted to enjoy it before she makes those opinions known.”

You turned your hand over and squeezed his. The full truth of the situation had clicked into place for you at his words, and the realization brought both intense clarity and an all too familiar heartache. “All my life, I’ve been… impulsive,” you told him. “I jump head first into things, without thinking about the consequences. It’s how I got into the Army, ended up with Connor, hell, even how I started my business. Sometimes it works out, but…” you heaved a sigh, “usually it tends to blow up spectacularly in my face. I don’t want this to blow up in my face, Bucky.”

The confusion in Bucky’s face as he took in your words was evident. “What are you saying, doll?” he asked.

You took a moment, considering your next words carefully. “I… I really like you,” you began as a wide grin broke out across his face. “Probably more than I should for a person I just met a few days ago, but the truth of it is, I’ve seen this story play out before, and I’m not sure I could handle opening my heart to you, only to have you leave me for the best friend you swore I’d never have to worry about.”

Bucky took both your hands in his own, a look of desperation crossing his face. “Sugar,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Major. I don’t know how many other ways I can tell you that I just don’t see Lily that way,” he said. “Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any dame the way I see you. You’ve got me feeling all kinds of ways I’ve never felt before.”

His words were sweet, and you felt your heart soften, but you had to remind yourself: you’d heard words just like it before. “Look,” you said, pulling your hands away from his, “maybe you don’t , but it seems pretty obvious, even as an outsider, that her feelings for you are stronger than just friendship. I don’t want to lose my heart to you if you’re going to realize that you belong with someone you’ve known for years, instead of a one-night stand that went on for too long.”

Bucky reeled back as if you’d slapped him and closed his eyes in a grimace. “That is never,” he began, a pained expression clouding his handsome face, “ever all that you could be to me, Major.” When he opened them again, his eyes were boring into yours, the blue gone cobalt in the growing night. “I’m not going to wake up one day and decide I want to be with Lily. I’ve had four years in close proximity with her for those feelings to develop, and they never have. I honestly can’t see why that would change, especially now that I’ve met you.”

God, you wanted to believe him, but you’d already played this role and it had nearly destroyed you, despite how nonchalantly you acted about it. “Does she know that, Bucky? Because, to be completely honest with you, on the night we met, both Nat and Wanda advised me not to get involved with you, because of her.”

His face blanched at the admission. “What?! Why would they say that?”

“They warned me,” you clarified, hoping that you weren’t betraying any trust with your new friends and only feeling mildly bad that you were divulging Lily’s secret, “that Lily wasn’t a ‘girl’s girl;’ she was a ‘Bucky’s girl,’ only, you didn’t know it.”

“But she–” he spluttered, “she– we– she never– she’s never said anything. She’s never acted…” He was at a loss for words, and you could tell that the information had genuinely taken him by surprise. Despite what Lily may feel for him, it didn’t seem like he ever suspected it.

“Maybe I should leave you to think that over,” you said, making motions to start standing up. “Thanks for the sandwich.” Before you could even get your legs under you, though, Bucky reached out a hand and grabbed your wrist.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, gently tugging you back down to the blanket. “Why are you leaving?”

You shrugged, confused. “I figured you’d want some time,” you told him. “Decide what you want to do about her feelings.”

Bucky looked at you like you were crazy. “Doll, in what world do any feelings Lily may have about me concern how I feel about you?”

“I just assumed…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“Assumed what? That just because she’s got a crush on me, I’m gonna ignore this thing between you and I? That I’m gonna develop feelings for her, outta nowhere, I might add, and just forget all about you?”

You shrugged your shoulders sheepishly. “Yeah, actually,” you said.

“You idiot,” Bucky said, shaking his head with a gentle smile and a soft laugh. He put a hand behind your head and pulled you forward until your foreheads were leaning together. “I sincerely mean this when I tell you I don’t give a fuck about Lily’s feelings,” he said.

You both widened your eyes at the perceived callousness of the statement.

“Fuck,” Bucky backpedaled, backing his head away from yours a little “that came out soundin’ awful, and definitely not how I meant it.” He ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Of course I care about her feelings– she’s my friend– I just mean… shit. Just, obviously, I feel bad if me not reciprocatin’ hurts her, but there’s nothin’ I can really do for it, y’know? Because it doesn’t change my feelings, and it’s not gonna change my feelings.

And shit, you believed him.

“You know what?” Bucky said, as if an idea had suddenly come to him. “Here.” He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out his military dog tags. Lifting them over his head, he slowly draped them around your neck.

“Bucky,” you said, fingering the embossed metal, “what…?”

“Think of it this way,” he said, “you, of all people, know what these tags mean to a soldier. Since I came outta cryo, came back to myself, not a single person has worn them, ‘cept for me. I’ve had girlfriends ask– hell, Lily’s asked– but it never felt right.” He brushed a strand of hair back from where it had fallen into your face when you’d looked down at the tags. “But with you, it feels right. So, if you’re afraid that I’m gonna up and decide that I’d rather be with Lily, or fuck, anyone else but you, I want you to look at those tags and remember that you’re the one I’m picking, Major.”

You swallowed. You did know what those tags meant. Commitment. Trust. An unbreakable bond. Wordlessly, you reached around to the back of your neck, unclasping the chain that rested against your skin.

Bucky watched your motions carefully. “Yeah,” he said, licking his lips nervously, “that was probably me moving too fast, huh? I get it– you don’t have to wear them if—”

“Shut up,” you said gently, as you removed your own dog tags from around your neck and fastened them around his. “I don’t need to wear two sets, and your neck looked so lonely without one.”

Bucky held up one of the tags so that he could examine it, and you caught the moment he registered your name and information catching the candlelight.

“Sugar,” he said, his voice cracking on the nickname.

“You’re not the only one making a choice, Bucky,” you assured him.

He leaned in closer, taking your lips with his own, the kiss filled with the fire you’d come to associate with him, and only him.

When you pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, and you could make out the glassy sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

You admired the way they hung from his neck for a moment, and were overcome with the sudden urge to touch them. You placed a hand over the dog tags, your name, now resting over his pounding heart. Bucky cupped his own hand over yours, pressing it against his chest.

“These look awfully handsome on you, Sergeant,” you told him with a soft smile. Bucky let out a low groan and you looked up at him, eyes questioning. “What is it?” you asked him.

Bucky’s face turned bashful and he shook his head. “Nuh uh,” he said. “Forget it.”

Oh, you weren’t going to have any of that. “Come on, Bucky,” you said, playfully poking him in his rock hard stomach. “You can tell me anything. I’m wearing your tags now,” you added in a singsong voice. “We’re practically going steady.”

Bucky’s gaze on you darkened, and he tugged at his lip with his teeth. “Okay then, if you’re sure you really wanna know.” You mirrored him, biting your lip and nodded eagerly. Of course you wanted to know what was going through his head to cause him to make such sexy sounds. “Just imagining what you’d look like wearing nothing but the tags, sugar,” he responded, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Bet it’d be the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

Well, if you weren’t going to take that as an invitation. Raising an eyebrow in his direction, you got up so that you were standing before him. Bucky moved forward, as if he were going to follow you up, a question ready on his lips, but you leaned down and gently pushed him back to the blanket, so he was propping himself up on his elbows.

Not once breaking eye contact, you slid your hands to the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up, over your head before tossing it to the side. Next, you toed off your shoes while you worked the buttons of your jean shorts, letting them slide down your thighs until you were standing in just your balconette and panties. You didn’t even care that you were in the middle of a public park and you were undressing for a man. All that mattered was that you were undressing for this man, and in the moment, you were willing to do almost anything he asked of you.

Bucky’s eyes roamed your body from head to toe and back again, but you weren’t finished. He’d said ‘nothing but the tags,’ after all. Reaching behind your back, you skillfully unhooked your bra, but didn’t pull it off, instead letting it sit on your chest while you slowly shimmined your panties down your thighs and kicking them off to join the rest of your discarded clothes. Bucky’s breath hitched as he took in your near nakedness, and you almost giggled at the visible tenting taking place in his jeans.

Clutching the bra to your chest, as if you were shy, you slowly got down on your knees and crawled up Bucky’s thighs. Finally, you let the bra fall away, and Bucky’s wide eyes never left your breasts as he licked his lips. You palmed him through the fabric of his pants.

“I believe I once said something about wanting this down my throat,” you told him with a wicked smile.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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devildom-moss · 1 day

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Flowers for Them (Lucifer)

Continuation of a request where MC returns the favor for the characters giving them roses. Kind of a sequel series for the Roses for You series (links here)

Lucfier x gn!MC

(Suggestive)

Word Count: +700

Pink wisteria

Lucifer had been working so hard recently, and with Diavolo’s latest project taking up much of his time outside of school, you rarely saw him over the past few weeks. Even when you offered your help, Lucifer insisted that he had everything under control.

“As long as I have you waiting for me, I can handle anything.”

His words popped into your mind as you snuck into his bedroom. You were determined to surprise him and melt his heart, and you were certain that seeing a vase of pink wisteria and you, waiting patiently for him to get home, would cause Lucifer to break into that shamefully delighted smile that only you could bring out. After setting the vase on his coffee table, you plopped down on the edge of his bed.

The entire room smelled faintly like Lucifer, but his bed clung to his scent more – or maybe his scent clung to the bed. Then again, maybe they held each other so desperately for the sole purpose of luring you into Lucifer’s bed. His scent was a comfort to you, and as the wisteria slowly perfumed the room, you found yourself inching up his bed until your face was buried into his pillows. Before you could think to pull out your phone to check on Lucifer’s whereabouts, you had fallen asleep.

When Lucifer returned, he entered his room without turning on the lights. However, the unexpected floral scent caught his attention before your gentle breathing did. He blinked a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was just enough moonlight filtering in through his windows that Lucifer could see the light pink petals of the flowers you left and your familiar outline, curled up in his sheets. He sat down at the foot of his bed and stared at the flowers before turning back to you with a gentle grin. Lucifer laid back in his bed so that he could face you. His rough hand reached out for you and caressed your cheek where the moonlight had been lucky enough to touch you, casting a shadow over your face.

The gentle caress of Lucifer’s hand caused you to stir in your sleep, and as you opened your eyes, his sweet smile – the one you were hoping to see – came into focus. He patiently waited for you to adjust to your surroundings and return his grin before he inched closer and snuggled into your chest. Only when he had buried his blushing cheeks against your body did he find the strength to whisper, “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

“Good surprises, at least, right?”

“Wonderful ones. Thank you.” His tone was so soft and gentle, and you could tell that he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to someone being sweet to him like this. Diavolo had made his attempts, but it wasn’t the same. When you were kind to him, every bit of tension melted from his body – and he melted right along with it. “What kind of flowers are those?”

“You don’t know?” you scoffed – surprised that he couldn’t identify them.

“I know it’s a human world plant; give me a break. It’s dark, I’m tired, and human world flowers aren’t my forte,” he grumbled against your chest. His pouting struck you as cute, and you kissed the top of his head in response.

“They’re pink wisteria, baby boy.”

Lucifer squirmed at the pet name and quickly readjusted in your arms, hoping you wouldn’t realize the effect you had on him. “Did you pick them for a special reason, or. . . is it just because they’re pretty?”

You laughed. He was surprisingly shy today, dancing around the question he really wanted to ask. “Do you want to know what they mean?”

“Yes.” If he had not been so comfortable and at ease in your arms, Lucifer would have been mortified at how transparent he was to you. With little thought, he quietly added, “please.”

“It means a number of things: affection, tenderness, lust. It’s a symbol of devotion that can transcend death, and for humbling yourself before a lover. And it’s given to say, ‘I cling to you.’” Your grip tightened around Lucifer slightly, as if to say, “as I do now.”

Lucifer could feel his face burning and his heart racing. How were you able to make him feel like this so easily. He gulped before speaking, “Did you rest well in my bed?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty comfortable,” you admitted. “Why?”

“I just wanted to make sure you got some quality sleep,” Lucifer pulled back to stare at you before continuing, “because neither of us will be getting any more rest tonight.”

#requests #gn!mc #lucifer #obey me series #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #does Lucifer come off as the soft subby baby boy behind closed doors that I know he is?#I am once again asking to dom this pathetic uptight dad #he needs it right?#obey me

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calaisreno · 2 days

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Prognosis

974 words / Prompt: Apology (Sequel to yesterday's Diagnosis)

I follow John up the ladder from the Sumatra Road station and into the narrow tunnel that led us there.

As we emerge into the waning daylight, I take a couple of long strides to catch up with him.

“Did you mean it?” I ask. “Do you forgive me?”

John keeps walking. “Of course I do. You didn’t actually have to make me think we were about to die, you know. I forgave you the minute I saw you.”

“But. You’ve stayed away. I wasn’t sure…”

John stops walking, stares down at the pavement.

“I used to talk to you when you were dead.”

I wait, silent. What I want to know, I can’t ask.

John begins walking again. It’s almost completely dark by now, the grey gloom of November in London.

“I shouldn’t have…” I begin. I’m so bad at this. Just talk, tell him… “I mean, I don’t know how to apologise. What I did that night in the restaurant— I shouldn’t have made light of it. I was so glad to see you, and I wanted to make you laugh. It was stupid of me to interrupt your date like that. I assume Mary was upset too.”

“Not at all.” John gives me a wan smile. “She seemed thrilled at your return.”

“John.” I flail a bit, having no words. “I’ve been gone two years, and I should have realised you’d move on. I hope… I hope I haven’t ruined things for you and Mary.”

John stops again, frowns at me. “Oh. No, that was just a date. She works at the surgery, and everyone kept pushing me to ask her out because it was clear she fancied me. Finally, she did the asking, and I accepted because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She knows we can’t be more than friends.”

Another mystery. “But… why?”

John sighs and turns away.

I catch his arm. “Please tell me. What did you say when you talked to me… while I was… dead?”

“I talked about my work sometimes. I was doing shifts in the A&E then, drinking too much, being a dick to everyone who cared about me. I was drowning and didn’t know how to save myself. So I talked to you.”

“Did it help?”

“It did. I walked, and you would be there, at my side. It sounds a bit unhinged, I know. A couple times your brother followed me in his car. I got in and we chatted. He was considering sectioning me, I think. But he could see I was functioning, so he let me go.”

“When you talked to me, what did I say?”

He smiles. “The usual. Complaining about how bored you were, asking me to buy those biscuits for you, deducing people in the shops… telling me I was drinking too much. You used to disappear when I had a few too many, so I stopped doing that.”

“And you talked to me. But you don’t answer my texts, and you haven’t been to see me since that night. Why?”

John looks up at me. “Let’s walk.”

A bus goes by. I think a bus would be better than dragging John into another train station. But John wants to walk, and if that’s the only way he’ll talk, I will walk to the ends of the earth, just to hear his voice again.

“I missed you, John. So much. I wanted so much to tell you why I did it, why it mattered.”

“I know. Mycroft stopped by the morning after you popped up in the middle of my date. He explained. I am grateful, you know.”

“But…” I huff in frustration. “I realise that after two years, I can’t expect you to simply move back to Baker Street and start making tea for me. But I miss you.”

“I missed you, too. And I do want—” His pace slows. “There was something I said to you. I mean—”

“To my ghost.”

Eyes straight ahead, he smiles, sad. “Yeah, that. Every time I said it, you disappeared.”

I take John’s arm. “Say it.”

He stops walking. His eyes are closed, his head bowed. He whispers. “Please don’t disappear. Please.”

“John, please. I won’t disappear. I’m here, alive, and I’m not leaving you again. Never again. Please, just say it.”

I lean close to hear his words, so soft.

“I love you.”

Eyes still closed, he sways, tears coursing down his face.

I hold him steady. “Look at me, John.”

John is a soldier. He followed me into that train carriage that turned out to be a bomb. He stood with me while the timer counted down the last minutes (he thought) of our lives. I believe he would have followed me into the hell I’ve been in for the last two years, if I’d only asked him. If only I had.

“Open your eyes, John.”

He obeys. The face I love, the face I’ve imagined for two years. I felt his presence at times while I was on my mission, heard his voice inside my head. But I needed to focus. I had a job to do, and John’s life depended on it.

If I’d been left alone, nothing useful to do, no danger dogging my steps, if I’d trudged the streets of London so full of grief I couldn’t speak, I might have imagined him walking beside me. I might have said it to him then, at last.

“John, I love you too.”

We will heal, with time and talk.

Life at 221B Baker Street is better than before. Bad dreams are soothed in the nighttime, and mornings in our bed are quiet and soft, hearing the rain shush against our window.

“You don’t need to defend what you did,” John tells me. “I know why, and I love you for it.”

🥲 I wish you happier tears today! Thanks for reading; you can find my month of stories on AO3: Trifles 3.

#mayprompts2024

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sassy-cass-16 · 18 hours

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Oh god I promised myself no bell’s hells meta until c3 ends but my brain is turning the “can she be trusted?” line over and over like chicken at the shawarma shop. because there are layers to that.

more under the cut because i let this run away from me:

so first off, there's the obvious: dorian initially seems to start to address the whole group, everyone who's left in the inn room, but turns and just locks eyes with orym when he asks. orym, who of everyone has the most reason to be biased against laudna right now. orym, who just got into a fight with laudna over the sword that killed both of them and orym's husband and father-in-law. that's who dorian thinks to ask, because he trusts orym not to let his judgment be clouded.

dorian first saw orym again after months of being separated, like, three days ago, and despite how much orym has visibly changed in those months, dorian doesn't hesitate to believe that orym will still be objective. he trusts that orym will be the one to look at this situation and tell him the truth.

because dorian has experience with orym telling him the truth. dorian knows firsthand how willing orym is to shuck his personal feelings in favour of what's true. dorian just saw what he could have become, had orym not stepped in to stop him taking the circlet of barbed vision. he owes the fact that he's alive and beholden to no gods to orym's willingness to be rational and objective in a situation involving a powerful magical item. by his own admission, "i wouldn't be here without you."

so of course dorian trusts him right now.

and there's something to the exclusion of the others, with that. dorian doesn't look to fearne and orym, although that would make sense because he's known the two of them the longest. he doesn't look to chetney, who's proven to be able to get a handle on this with the scream needle compromise. he doesn't look to ashton, who's been extremely levelheaded through this whole mess. he looks at orym, exclusively. he is asking orym, exclusively. not the group, although everyone decides to jump in to answer and then imogen comes through the window to complicate the matter. just orym.

dorian is the kind of person with a lot of potential for darkness in him. he hides it well because he's also deeply kind and friendly, but it's always been there. he's just been through something massively traumatic, and that was after the original circlet conflict back in exu prime. he had his alignment forcibly changed from good to neutral. but even after all he's gone though, orym's alignment is still good.

as much as orym doesn't want to be a leader and prefers to be a protector and follower, he does very well in situations where he takes on an amount of responsibility. when he's in some level of control over a situation, he takes to it naturally. he's a very good babysitter to his gaggle of weirdos. the "can she be trusted?" might have been an attempt on dorian's part to give orym a bit more control here. to reassure him that regardless of anyone else's feelings—regardless of how laudna's reaction might have affected him—orym deserves to be trusted, and he can make a decision that dorian will trust.

back in exu and all the way into early c3, dorian and orym slotted into a sort of parental position in their groups. watching over the crownkeepers' clothes when they went skinny dipping in exu. orym repeatedly steering everybody away from bad ideas. matt even described dorian leaving dariax in zephrah in 4sd as "dad just going out to get cigarettes." there's always been that underlying sense of "we are two of a pair" with dorian and orym. not to say that either of them don't see the others as adults, but they do have that rapport of being the babysitters in the gaggle of weirdos.

that kind of bond is just part of their dynamic. but especially in light of what's been happening while they were separated, and then what happened between them earlier that evening, "can she be trusted?" is a reminder of that bond. orym's been lonely, by his own admission, and one of the secrets he divulged at nana morri's was "i really miss dorian." he broke down crying during his last message through the sending stone, and then again on the bench not a few hours before this whole incident went down.

dorian came to comfort him. he flat-out said to orym's face "i'm here now." he reminded orym that he needs to rely on other people, that he can't always be the one saving everybody else. he gave orym the room to not be the strong one, and told him he has that room because dorian's there to support him. they can be two of a pair again.

he knows orym's been feeling like he can't do anything, like he had to resort to what he stopped dorian from doing with the circlet. and so dorian both gives him a choice to make, something to do, and shows him that he still trusts him unconditionally. "can she be trusted?" also means "i trust you" and "i'm here with you" and "this is how we've always been."

we know from liam in 4sd that orym has feelings for dorian that he's not sure are reciprocated. but even regardless of the romantic element here, dorian and orym have always had a partnership. they have always been two of a pair. the sequence of events leading to "can she be trusted?" is a perfect microcosm of he relationship between the two of them. it's just incredible.

#critical role #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #campaign 3 #dorian storm #orym of the air ashari #dorym #bells hells #cr meta

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xo-cod · 3 days

Note

could you tell us more about ghost and price in the au? 👀👀 i love bridgerton so much 🥲💕

of course nonnie, i hope you enjoy. idk if i'll ever write it but it's so fun to think about lmao. i included gaz/soap/könig just in case :) 🤍

continued from: here

price: the leader, the gentleman of the bunch if you will. but just as witty and cunning as the rest of his comrades, though that side isn't often shown. he lacks affection and warmth after years of spent alone, he's especially learnt not to trust and rely on people. bears the burden of his team, holds many responsibilities from his higher position that keeps him occupied. upholds his honour and role in society as the viscount but he is unmarried and purely looking for someone that ticks off the boxes for being a viscountess, at best looking for an understanding of sorts since love is a fickle thing and he doesn't believe feelings should be mixed with business. that's not to say there isn't a heart that beats under all that armour. perhaps you may be his undoing

ghost: maybe the brute would interest you, his devious ways certainly able to spark a light in someone. he's blunt and brash, harsh and cold. doesn't really converse to anyone that isn't his companions, fiercely protective and loyal to them, holds them in a high regard. he is knighted like all of them, fulfils his duties during the day and fights during the night. the years of abuse have taken its toll on him, doesn't believe he could love or that it could be reciprocated. he bears a dark past, harbouring secrets he's vowed to keep to the grave but perhaps you may be the one to tempt his heart, to show him the true love he's always yearned to have. to ease some lightness in the darkness he carries

gaz: the mastermind, he is the sarcastic witty type when conversing. being of a higher class has brought about many attention, attention which isn't something he rather enjoys. gaz is a man of few words, usually appreciating intellect of an individual someone who challenges him and keeps him thinking. his time is mostly occupied with his responsibilities but there's a soft ache that runs through him in the stillness of the night all alone and away from the buzz of society. something in him dares to linger on a dream, a hope that perhaps he isn't an unlovable as he thinks himself to be. perhaps you may be the one to secure the viscount

soap: lastly the playboy! he's got that devilish smirk that results from having a decent conversation to all hot and flustered in bed. but to him sex doesn't equal love. he's rather emotionally closed off, love has usually been full of pain so he gave up. sex is good enough, gets rid of the physical need of a soft body and he doesn't see them again afterwards. he does allow himself the pleasure but of late as he grows older he finds himself wanting more, something he can't seem to find in the other ladies in the town. maybe you'd be the rare diamond he's after, able to quench his desire for a lover

plus könig: the earl, he's calculating and calm. rarely ever seen conversing with others outside his circle. societal events aren't much his thing and he won't go if his presence isn't required. könig again doesn't care much for love, looking for a countess and nothing more. he too doesn't much believe in love, won't allow his heart to even entertain the thought so he closes himself off away from others. he just needs someone that's compatible on paper, to secure his right in his position. but maybe you could teach him that love isn't black and white, that perhaps he too can indulge himself for once in his life (tolerates the 141, personal beef with ghost)

it's a fun idea to think off, sorry if it's repetitive. i haven't yet fully thought this out so there are mistakes but i hope you liked it anyway :)

#asks #i'm just as confused as you are honestly 🥴#simon riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #141 x reader #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #könig x reader #könig #bridgerton!141

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squirmifyoulike · 19 hours

Text

It's the middle of the night, and you're walking down the street by yourself. There's not a single soul out tonight - at least, you don't think there is. As you're walking, something rather... Peculiar... Catches your eye, so you stop to look.

A large infographic poster has been stuck to the side of a building. However, this isn't just any infographic poster - it's warning you about preds. Curiosity gets the better of you, so you stop to read it.

There are many bullet points and small paragraphs explaining what a pred is, and how to avoid them. In addition, there are also live photographs posted next to the text. Admittedly, your eyes are drawn to the photos. The text is important and has details on how to be safe and avoid preds... But it's impossible to focus on anything but the photos.

So, you scan over the photos printed in the infographic. They're all photos of a pred with a round, bloated stomach - obviously having just eaten. There's even some photos of the inside of a pred's stomach, which, according to the poster, were snapped by a brave prey in their final moments, and then sent to scientists, to help them understand how a pred's digestive system works.

The imagery sends a shiver down your spine. This is all so... Much. Perhaps you need to be more careful. Maybe-

Your thoughts come to a screeching halt when something dark and wet covers your vision, and then, a deep gllrk sounds. Abruptly, you're lifted off the ground, your feet dangling in the air. You try to shout and fight back, but it's of no use; you're already travelling down someone's gullet with just a few light swallows.

Within seconds, your form has vanished, with the last of you disappearing past the pred's lips and down their throat. Your form easily glides down their throat, and then, spills out into their stomach, which swells and rounds out because of you. The pred lets out a satisfied sigh, and they rub and pat their stomach, satisfied. Although... The pred must admit - they're a little curious as to what had their meal occupied enough to not hear the pred approaching them. They look up at the infographic... And when they do, they find themselves chuckling. The sensation of them chuckling, for you, is unpleasant - their stomach tightens and jiggles in response to their chuckling, with the stomach walls grinding into your skin hard.

"Oh, that's so ironic," The pred says, looking over the poster. The squirming in their stomach has them smirking deviously, and they pat their belly again. Then, they click their tongue, and continue speaking.

"It's a shame this didn't help you. Buuuut... since it obviously wasn't helpful... There's no need for it anymore." After speaking, the pred reaches up and takes the infographic poster down, careful not to rip it. They look it over one more time... And then, a vicious grin comes on to their face.

"Did you get to read the bullet points about digestion?" They ask. In response to this question, you freeze... And then, you start to shiver. Your shivering only satisfies the pred, and they continue on.

"This poster doesn't even begin to accurately describe what it's like," They go on. "But don't worry... Over the next few hours, you'll be learning every little thing about a predator's digestive system~"

Their words make you thrash and struggle against their stomach hard. There has to be some way out - maybe upset their stomach -

But in response, the pred only laughs. They crumple up the poster, and then, they toss it in a nearby trashcan.

"Come now, don't be like that... If it makes you feel better, you look so good filling out my waistline~"

Of course that doesn't make you feel better... But the pred doesn't care. Now that you're sitting in the middle of their gut, your feelings don't really matter to them at all. They're content to enjoy their meal... Thoroughly... Which will be heavenly for them, but not so much for you.

#v.ore #soft vore #tw vore #vore tw #digestion #fatal vore #tw fatal vore #implied digestion #unwilling prey

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ghostybaby000 · 1 day

Text

After Hours | Part 4

Part 1

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Summary: I recommend going back to part one (above) to begin this juicy read!

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: 18+, guns, yelling, light flirting, future smut

(Not fully edited, apologies fro any inconsistencies!)

The next few days you found yourself thinking over your lesson with Simon and how you had wanted to tell your manager that things had changed. You still felt anger, not as greatly as before but enough so that it made you feel physically hot when thinking for too long of it. You broke from your thoughts as an ad came over the television, something about pain relief or migraines. You took the break from your show to grab a snack and make your way back to the couch.

It had been 3 days since you had worked, and it left you feeling bored and lonely not having any sort of interactions with people other than the occasional text or call. There was no attempt to try and change the incredibly rude managers mind about working so you decided to try and improve on things you hadn’t gotten to do. You had found ways to entertain yourself by going for walks or trying new recipes, anything that kept you moving and out of a slum. If you had let yourself sit in bed you may not have ever wanted to leave.

The rest of the day is calm, the small house noises making it feel all the more abandoned. The tick of the old clock in the living room, the hum of the fan in the bedroom, the sounds the washing machine made you feel drowsy. Enough so that you decided to drift into a nap, one that you felt was deserved after the day’s chores.

You felt yourself jolt awake to the sound of your phone ringing on the countertop. You scramble to get to the phone, not wanting to keep the person on the other line upset. You slide on the wooden floor as your socks and sleepiness weren’t helping to make your way up and over quickly, finally reaching your phone and reading the bright screen.

‘Manager Trevor’ You let out a sigh that made you feel a little dizzy after sitting down at the counter, you had to pick up.

‘Hello?’ You sounded tired and tried to clear your throat before speaking again.

‘Yes, hello Y/N. It’s about time-I tried calling you 3 times already you think you would of answered.’ He sounded angry, as if he had been speaking yet again to someone in a harsh and rude manner.

‘I apologize, I fell asleep. What did you call fo-‘ you had been cut off when he began speaking again, not to your surprise.

‘Yeah listen- I need you to come in this week, the rest of the week in fact.’ Your eyes opened father now, his words taking an extra moment to process.

‘I thought I wasn’t mean to come in, you said I shouldn’t because of the pay.’ You wiped your eyes as you took a moment to look outside, it was dark. A quick glance to the clock had shown you that it was past eight o’clock and you had slept for far too many hours.

‘Yes I’m aware of what I said, Y/N. I’m telling you now I need you to come in, for reasons I don’t have to explain to you-so can you come in or not?’ Silence sat on the line as you heard him huff, a clear indicator that you shouldn’t say no. You had needed the money anyways and decided to just be grateful he called you and not another worker.

‘Yes I can come in, no problem.’ You both gave a short goodnight as you let the phone sit back on the counter.

You had work, you would be able to pay the mortgage, you would be able to see Simon again! You had thought before of Simon and his lesson to you, trying to remember the stances he and taught you, and even how to hold the gun. In the shower you found yourself holding the invisible weapon pointing it at a shampoo, and when doing laundry you tried to remember the foot and hip stances. You find your heart rate picking up as you recognized that this week you might learn to fire the gun, although it still made you a bit nervous when considering how much time it had been since you had last held the weapon. While this was true, the gun had nothing on the nervousness you felt when he had touched you that day, something you promised to not forget.

The next morning you make your way into the same building, settling into your position and starting your work. You felt good working, and chatting with those who came in asking about where you had been in the previous days. This pattern repeated as you kept working the next day and the day after that, when you saw him again.

He had come in with an extra to the usual group, making 4 men walking through the shop looking at the ammo and chatting about what would be best for the day. Ghost didn’t motion towards you or even look in your direction, as if your lesson had never happened. You didn’t take it to heart as this was how he treated you before the interaction, and told yourself that it was typical behavior for him.

The four came up to the desk, purchased their things and headed to leave the shop. Ghost had held the door with one arm, the other holding ammunition as the rest of the group shuffled out of the small shop, taking the smallest moment to look to you. You met his glance as he gave a small head nod, and let the door to the shop close with a chime. You felt your palms become sweaty as a small smile found its way across your face. The butterflies were so pestering now that you couldn’t ignore them raging in your stomach, and decided to have lunch.

The next few days were all the same, no sight of Ghost or his colleagues in the shop, speaking with a few people about the weather and plans for the summer, your manager giving remarks that left you feeling nasty. It was now time to close the shop, the same visions of your interactions with Simon playing through your head as you heard rain pattering on the tin roof while you locked the door. You felt yourself smile again at the thought of shooting with him tomorrow night as you made your way to your car.

The next day you wait with baited breath as customers come in and out of the shop, it was a busy day now and you had to pull yourself into a work mindset to get to everyone in a timely manner. You did your job well, making sure everyone had been attended to all the while being friendly and approachable. The day came to a slow end as the customers died down, only now returning golf cart keys and giving their good evenings to leave. You felt yourself sadden, realizing that through your rush of customers you hadn’t seen Ghost or his usual group. You had waited for tonight like a child waiting for a candy store to open, eager for more the second the store closes.

Your manager was leaving now, a few hours earlier than you had expected-not that you would complain of such a thing, not taking time to say goodnight or bother with a wave as he left through the back exit. Your eyes were now slowing as they looked out the windows to the front of the shop, your heart began to sink. You had been so busy earlier-there wasn’t a chance that you had missed him was there? Military men and women had been checking in and out frequently but you were sure that you would have noticed his typical group had you seen their faces. The last few customers made their way in, leaving you with a goodnight or wave goodbye and you had decided that you would lock up and go home. Your energy from the day had already been depleted, taking a short lunch to help customers had made you feel tired and you needed to rest.

You begin to pack up your things, taking notice of all the rooms in the building to ensure they were empty, before grabbing your things from your locker with a huff. You made your way out into the main room, turning off the lights as you paced through the building, the only light being the one in front room that you could disable before walking out. You reach down to pick up the lock box from under the desk when you hear it.

*tunk*tunk*tunk* you freeze.

Taking a small breath in you slowly stand from where you had been crouched, someone was tapping on the window.

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velvethana · 1 day

Text

PHONING... 𓂃 ࣪˖ While You Were Sleeping. ⭒ drabble

Against your better judgement you find yourself always returning to him every single time, unspoken feelings lingering in the dark.

There were many times that you had woken up, bathed in the sunlight peeking through the window in a sick game of hide and seek. The settling realization of where you were: in a bed unwelcome, you begin to pick up your clothes as well as the pieces of your heart.

After the fourth or fifth time, you'll get into a routine. Firstly, returning the shirt you'd stolen incidentally in the entanglement you'd found yourself in the previous night. Secondly reminding yourself how you had gotten there.

Dreadful conversations over some cheap alcohol resurfacing in the morning light, a harsh shot of pain in your temple as you remembered the way you'd previously stumbled over your words. How easily he made you flustered when you'd swear to anyone who listened how much you hated him.

The familiar chorus of texts coming from your friends practically pleading for a response.

"Don't tell me you're with him again."

That familiar feeling of embarrassment creeps up again as you study his face in the dim light, the shadow of a curtain just barely covering it up. How peaceful he looked in the moment and for a second you allowed yourself to believe that he was yours, in the same way that you were his.

You slipped up, that was all it was you'd tell yourself as you recollected yourself in the mirror. As quiet as possible to not wake him up because for some reason, you didn't want to disturb his peace. As if somehow affording him that kindness would make up for your own sleepless nights at his hand.

If anyone were to ask where you'd been, you'd do your best to think of a lie. Something believable and not too quick-witted. It had to be plausible but not too ready on your tongue as if you had been thinking of an alibi, itching to convince yourself.

They'd ramble on and on about how much better you deserve as if you weren't lying in a bed of your own making.

A torturous dance between something and nothing.

The urge to run away from something new. A dangerous deadweight looming over your head and shoulders. Just one more kiss and you'd be done. One more night where you feel like his.

Sometimes the moon looked brighter than the sun to you. The hushed words he spoke to you in the moonlight were much more preferred to the silence of the early mornings when you knew he'd inevitably be swept away from you once more.

This time, though, was different.

The usual routine you'd followed each and every time suddenly melted away in the palm of your hands, slipping through the cracks like water as your hand hesitantly hovered over the doorknob.

A sticky note asking for something from you- after all he had taken and given. One simple request.

"What if this time you stayed?"

If only you had been aware of the nights he’d spent tracing circles against your skin, waiting until you were asleep to close his eyes.

How when he closed his eyes to fall asleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about you so long as you were near him. No matter how far away he had been he would always find his mind and heart returning home to you.

Wordless and defeated, you crawled back into the comfort of the familiar silk sheets. It was strange, new. The feeling of his arms winding around your waist had your head spinning as he pulled you close, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

This time, you had stayed. A simple favor from the heart beating so close to your own, bonded together by an unquenchable yearning for the other.

You would learn to be very gentle with this fragile heart and in return he would make sure that you never have another morning where you felt undesired.

જ⁀➴♡ phone in ᝰ.ᐟ

#. ˚◞♡ while you were sleeping #. ˚◞♡ enhypen #. ˚◞♡ lee heeseung #⭒ extras [🪞]#enhypen #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #lee heeseung #kpop x reader

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 days

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 117

Part 1 Part 116

Things should speed up after that, but they don't. Life drags, the way it always does when you're caught up on it—the minutiae of days slipping by in inches.

Eddie revels in it. Every day, at home, at school, in bed, at Steve's side. He revels even more when their school sentence is stayed for a few weeks of uninterrupted quality time.

It should feel new. They’ve redefined the lines that lie between them, tied a red string of fate between both their hearts.

It should feel new, but it doesn’t.

Not much changes, really. Steve was right. They were already everything, and this doesn't change that. The kisses are nice though, warm, and soft, and wanting in the morning light filtering in through the curtains.

They’re nice in the dark, too, fingers fumbling to try to find faces. Eddie likes all of it, everything, as long as it’s with Steve.

Steve, who never takes the ring off. It makes something squirm in his stomach when he looks down and sees it there. He finds himself reaching out to touch it, spinning it around and around in quiet moments.

Steve always lets him, leaning into Eddie’s space like he likes it. Eddie’s always leaving spaces in his life for Steve and hoping he’ll fill them up.

So, when Carol kidnaps Steve in the middle of a lazy afternoon spent twined around each other, Eddie waves a jaunty goodbye as Steve climbs into Barb’s backseat and gets to work.

He starts with their nicest set of flannel sheets, some scissors, a sewing needle, and a dream. They won’t have money to replace them for a while, but needs must.

It takes hours, long enough that he’s been periodically feeling for Steve’s location, checking he’s not on his way home. It takes so long that he’s starting to hate the red plaid of the sheets he’s transforming.

He tacks them up, anyway, tucked back into what Eddie can loosely call a free corner of their bedroom, pressed up to the overflowing dresser. He tries to make it flow nicely, make the flaps he’d cut and sewn overlap just enough to make a hideaway, give them enough space to be entirely pinned back like curtains with the ties he’d sewn on.

The Christmas lights are harder to pin down. He spirals them through the top of the curtain, liberally using safety pins to keep them in place, stretching the plug past sanity to get it to reach the closest outlet.

For his final contribution, he rushes out to steal one of the cushions from the side of the couch, pushing it tightly into the small space. Hopefully it takes Wayne a while to notice its absence and come looking for it.

The effect isn’t pretty. It’s misshapen, and wonky, and Eddie’s just glad the sheets are a dark enough red to hide the blood from his pricked finger. But when he turns off the light and climbs in, the lights are that same comforting white that bathed Steve in the Upside-Down. And they cradle him in their embrace, just the same as Steve’s closet used to when he’d had all his clothes hung neatly within it.

Eddie’s bedroom isn’t big enough for a closet, but it’s big enough for this.

Steve threw away his last Harrington key and in the process he’d lost the one bastion of safety he’d had in that house. If what happened on Halloween happens again, where will Steve run to?

He’d carve out a closet for him if he could, but he doesn’t have wood, or spackle, or whatever the hell he’d use to make one. He’d carve one in his heart if could, but Steve won’t be able to squeeze his way in.

It’s ugly, and cheap, but he hopes it’s enough. He lets the sheet close around him, and settles in to wait for Steve to come home.

Eddie wakes up to Steve’s warm hand brushing his shoulder and gasps, momentarily breathless at the sight of his angel bathed in all that white light. Steve himself looks floored as he looks up at the lights safety-pinned to the roof of the little shapeless structure.

“What is this?” he asks, reaching his hand out to brush the sheets delicately, as if afraid they’ll shatter.

Eddie pauses, suddenly terrified this is rude, somehow. Like pointing out Steve’s proclivities for small spaces is a step too far. But then Steve smiles, the lights flickering against the gold in his eyes, and the gold in his hair, painting him with the holy light Eddie always sees in him.

“I don’t have any money,” is the first thing Eddie inexplicably blurts out. But, Steve’s still smiling, so he keeps digging. “So, sorry if it’s shitty. But my room’s not really big enough for a closet?”

Steve’s smiling, bright and angelic as he finally turns and meets Eddie’s eyes. “Did you cut up our warmest sheets to make me a fake closet?.”

Eddie grabs a curl to hide his lips as he nods, abashed when Steve paints what he’s done with such stark lines. “Merry Christmas?” he says, even though Christmas is still weeks away.

Eddie’s hair gets caught between them when Steve leans in for a kiss.

Steve spits it out of his mouth, and it lands wetly against Eddie’s own cheek, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because Steve’s beaming as he says, “I love it,” and leans in to plant another one on him.

It turns out to be just big enough for two.

#steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #Eddie talking about hollowing out his body to let Steve have a safe place inside him....is this peak romance? Asking for an aro person (me)

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villainofmyownstory · 3 days

Text

Day Zero

chapter 5: The one where everything is still difficult

masterlist

taglist

AO3

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: It is hard to convince a man that you are telling the truth. You want him to finally trust you and let you stay. If he wasn't so stubborn and… drunk.

tags: AFAB reader, plus size reader, dog german shepherd, alcohol

author's note: I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter. I'm not proud of it, but I think that finally the story becomes more interesting and you will like it.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Chapter 5: The one where everything is still difficult

Day 732

Sounds coming from the kitchen get your attention. No. Smells. You involuntarily feel yourself drooling. The burping in your stomach intensifies.

Your mind is in high gear and all you can think about now is food, hunger. Thirst.

You have eaten so little for days. You have tried to ration and preserve as long as possible the rations you took on the trip. You had no luck and didn't find much fresh food along the way. You only found a few cans. Not to mention a warm, home-cooked meal. It's probably been months since you last managed to heat something up. Not to mention cooking. And you used to love spending time in the kitchen, buying and trying new ingredients, testing brand new dishes.

“Thank you for the possibility to take a bath.... And for the rest of the things.”

You stand on the threshold of the kitchen, speaking uncertainly. You step from foot to foot. The man stands with his back turned to you, clearly preoccupied with something. He just waves his hand, indicating with his finger for you to sit down on a stool by the kitchen island.

As you sit down, you notice Riley standing against the wall, greedily eating what Ghost has put into a large silver bowl. The dog doesn't even stop eating for a moment to look at you.

You look around the kitchen, which, like the hallway and bathroom, is dimly lit, with only the light above the countertops. Only where Ghost is standing is it bright enough. The rest of the room is plunged into semi-darkness. While waiting for any interaction with the man, you curiously look around the room. As in the adjacent room you were in shortly after you arrived, there are all sorts of things arranged in towers on each shelf. Mainly food. Cans, jars, packages of dry food. Everything evenly and neatly stacked.

“I made tea.”

The man breaks the silence, puts a mug of hot brew in front of you

“T-tea?"

You exhale something like a squeak, you did not want to sound like this, however, you are very surprised. But God, warm tea? You had already forgotten that such a thing existed. Since you had a hard time finding drinkable water, you did nothing but simply sip to quench your thirst.

You immediately grab the ear of the cup, put it to your lips and drink, it's nothing that the hot drink steams your mouth, tongue, esophagus. Out of greed and thirst, you quickly drink the entire contents of the cup. You wipe your wet mouth with your hand.

“Thank you.”

Sighing loudly, you set the cup down on the countertop, looking at the man again. Another long moment of silence passes. The man still stands with his back turned to you. Unwittingly, your gaze falls on him. You admire how he moves with graceful and delicate movements in a tight space of the kitchen.

It's a rather peculiar sight, considering his physique. He is a tall and broad, well-built man. Now you can get a better look at him, although he still wears a dingy balaclava on his head, covering his face, hair and neck. He is not wearing a full uniform. His broad shoulders and muscular arms lightly cling to a long-sleeved black cotton shirt. To you, even without all the military equipment, Ghost's silhouette is intimidating. It causes an unpleasant squeezing in your stomach and a quickened pulse. You still don't know what to expect from him. According to you, he is unpredictable.

A pleasant smell that spreads more and more in the kitchen catches your attention, some spices, think rosemary, pepper, sour tomatoes, maybe mushrooms. and yes, you definitely smell fried blood meat.

It's just too much.

You close your eyes for a moment, hoping that you're about to smell the food that creates such an unusual and delicious aroma. The burbling in your stomach intensifies, probably the tea you drank has awakened your empty digestive system from lethargy.

“Eat.”

A large, deep plate filled to the brim with food lands in front of you.

Stew.

Potatoes and meat. You shake your head in disbelief.

Have you made it to heaven? Is this some kind of reward for two years of uneven and hard struggle with yourself to survive?

“Thank you... Ghost.. for everything.”

You swallow your saliva loudly.

This is probably the best meal you've ever had. The meat is tender, the vegetables are slightly firm, the whole thing is lightly seasoned, the sauce is delicate, so you can feel every flavor and texture.

“It's just food.”

Ghost burbles, sitting down across from you, and begins to eat.

“After dinner, we need to talk.”

You don't think you've eaten a meal this fast in your entire life. If the man wanted to convince you with this or apologize for his behavior. Then you don't mind if he rewards you every night for his behavior toward you in this way.

The house is big, really huge. One that could house a multi-generational family. After a meal, or rather after eating two portions, Ghost led you to another room on the other side of the house. A small one in which most of the space is taken up by a large desk. The man takes one of the maps stacked on one of the bookcases against the wall and places it on the desk. He sits down on the other side of the desk facing you.

With another mug of tea in your hand, you sit more comfortably in the chair, looking at the map with some interest.

“Do you know where we are?”

Ghost asks the question, without taking his eyes off the map.

“I didn't see a sign with the name of the city when I came here, but I more or less know that I've been heading in the direction of the tower all along, which is west.”

You lean over the desk and point with your hand to the area you think you are more or less in. A possible location of where you are now.

“Not quite.”

Ghost points his finger at the map, a decidedly more distant point on the map than the one you just showed

“We are here.”

You stare intently at the map, not convinced it's possible for you to have walked that far. You nod your head negatively. Not believing that you've made it this far. The distance you traveled seemed too far.

“I walked for a long time, but I was sure that I hadn't come such a long way.”

“How long?”

The man finally takes his eyes off the map and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks at you closely.

“Actually, I don't know. It's been a long time since I stopped counting days.”

You sigh, clasping your hands nervously, your gloves still damp.

After a moment's thought, you add

“I think I've been walking for three or four weeks.”

Taking another sip of tea, you look at the map again

“I don't even know how long it's been since.... since...”

“Day Zero.”

He interrupts you, saying the words in a low, slow tone.

“Oh, it's... is that what you prefer to call it?”

“Yes. This day has been so named.”

Ghost moves closer, placing his elbows on the edge of the desk. Not giving you a chance to ask another nagging question.

“So how did you manage to survive for two years?”

He asks another question, looking at you more carefully, squinting his eyes.

You snort in slight nervousness.

“Honestly, I don't know, somehow.... I got lucky.”

You tell the truth, yet you nervously squeeze the fabric of your gloves, you always try to soothe your nerves this way in such stressful situations. Focusing your mind on something else.

“Who were you with?”

“Alone.”

You answer quickly and finally lift your gaze. You look into a man's dark eyes.

“Yes, definitely. And I was at the Manchester City game yesterday.”

Ghost tilts his head to the side. Despite the mask on, you can see that the man is not smiling. Quite the opposite. He's tense, not looking away from you for even a second.

“I don't know how to prove it to you. All this time, damn it, all this time I've been alone. Alone. I haven't seen a LIVING person since that day!”.

You raise your voice.

Riley, most likely hearing your raised voices, runs out of the kitchen and stands next to the desk. He looks either at the man or at you. As if he is concerned about the situation.

More questions, one after another. Why, how, when, how much, really? And so on, and so on. The questions multiply. The same, but asked in a different way.

Not sure how long it lasts, a few minutes, maybe more than an hour? It all blends into one. However, long enough to feel the growing fatigue. This tiring and tedious interrogation is probably aimed at catching you in a lie, question after question. After another answer, you hear his next question again, monotonous slowly spoken words. And so on and so forth. After each of your answers, without changing his tone, he asks you another. Word against word.

He has certainly done this more than once in the past. You can see the experience in him, the confidence, the composure. He will be the one to break you before you break him. He'll keep asking you until you're finally jaded and tired, agitated by his behavior and dreaming of one brief moment of peace and quiet. Eventually you will give in and say what he wants to hear.

Finally, you rub your eyes with resignation and say in the hope that he will agree to your suggestion.

"Can we end this interrogation?"

"Interrogation? Hm... We're just talking to each other. We're chatting."

The man rolls up the map, putting it back in its place on the shelf with other papers, and slowly gets up

"But fine, we'll finish tomorrow. Follow me."

The room where you will spend the night is very small, with bright, bland walls. Almost like the storage room under the stairs where Harry Potter lived. In truth, given the size of the house, you can bet that there are bigger and nicer rooms where you could sleep. However, at this point you only dream of putting your head against the pillow and finally falling asleep.

Unfortunately, sleep is not coming. Although small, the narrow bed is very comfortable. Certainly more comfortable than the ones you slept in last time. If you slept in a bed at all. It's curling up in a ball in the sheets, changing position every now and then.

Riley protested for a long time by clenching his paws when Ghost tried to lead him out of the room. The dog wanted to stay with you.

Of course he wanted to.

It was amusing to watch the big man speak to the dog in an affectionate and pleading tone. Lightly pulling him by the dog's collar or trying to lift his heavy body off the floor. And Riley had nothing to do with his words and simply chose you. You didn't even have to say anything. You sat on the edge of the bed watching the whole overly comical situation. You felt it wasn't worth it, better not to make your situation worse.

It was Riley's decision, not yours.

The calm, rhythmic loud breathing of the dog finally puts you to sleep after many long minutes.

For the first time in a long time you find yourself in the arms of Morpheus. You sleep through the night, not once waking up with fear.

The first peaceful night.

Day 733

When you wake up, the first thing that catches your attention, still drowsy, you notice that you are not shivering from the cold. Every morning since time immemorial has started the same way. Icy limbs and shivering body, you often even moved your jaw involuntarily because you were so freezing.

This time it's pleasantly warm. Strange. Lying motionless in the warm bedding, you try to assimilate the astounding new situation. A few more moments and you remember where you are. At Ghost's house. Well, yes. Not in some abandoned, cold building somewhere in an unknown place far from civilization.

As you leave the room you notice the absence of the dog's presence and the same shrill silence as at night. You can hear nothing, no signs of presence, busyness in the kitchen, footsteps, no one and nothing. After the morning toilet you head to the kitchen and a peculiar sight appears to your eyes. On the counter lies a piece of paper and a covered plate.

“I'm on patrol with Riley.

Don't do anything stupid.

I see you.”

You smile under your breath. Bluff. Surely there are no cameras in the apartment. Supposedly why would he mount them in the house, use up such precious electricity. Surely he wanted to trick you. He probably wanted to scare you so you wouldn't do anything stupid or relatively dangerous and start searching his house. Still, this stubborn man didn't trust you. That was obvious.

Sitting down at the kitchen island, you look down at your plate. Another surprise. The meal looks decidedly better than what you've been eating for the past few months. You can afford to indulge in a little luxury and quickly take your plate and heat it up in the microwave. Moments later there is a familiar sound, long unheard.

Truth be told, as if someone had told you a few years ago that you would start crying because of hot running water or squealing because of hot tea or a heated meal, you would have laughed out loud, shaking your head in disbelief.

Overall, the last few years have changed you a lot. They have reshaped you. They have changed practically everything. And despite so many days of breaking down, wishing for death after being left alone. After tonight, you feel as if new life has been pushed into you. Once again.

Oh and if only the demeanor of this giant, cranky, uptight man had been a little different. But it seems you can't have it all at once. Riley and finally a little civilization should be enough for you.

It had to be enough.

After eating, you must conclude with a hint of jealousy that even under such difficult conditions the man prepared a really tasty meal.

Not caring about the threat of being watched, you decide to look around the house. At least get a little familiar with your new surroundings. There seems to be nothing better to do. The idea of going outside in search of Ghost and Riley crosses your mind, but you immediately drive those thoughts away. After checking the door and a few windows. Of course, everything is locked. There is no way out. You decide not to struggle with the locks. Not to do any damage, because surely when trying to open the locks something would get hurt. Either you or the locks, which anyway looked very solid and difficult to open with some ordinary wire. It is better not to risk another argument with a man. Getting acquainted with the place also seemed tempting. Considering that at first glance it was clear that the man was well prepared for months, years of living in post-apocalyptic conditions. In the kitchen, apart from a lot of tightly packed long-life food, nothing else could be found. Lots of cans, packages, cardboard boxes. On the lower shelves, water purification devices, spare field stoves. The pantry is also not surprising. Well, maybe it is, the amount of food would certainly be enough for a family or even several. Not just for one person.

Looking at one of the labels, you notice that they are not familiar to you. They are definitely not the kind of things you find in a store or other abandoned houses. You can't deduce much from the description, the long expiration date, the ingredients, the preparation instructions. Calorie count. No company name, bar code or place of manufacture. Nothing.

The shelves are bowed by the number of evenly stacked items. Which seem specially prepared for the situation. Nothing like the packages usually found in abandoned houses or stores.

Walking around the house you notice that in no place on any wall or shelf is there a single photo. Not a single empty frame. A bright rectangular mark on the wall. Nothing. It's as if no one had lived here before, or perhaps Ghost had buried the remains of the former tenants. Not wanting to see unfamiliar faces that looked reproachfully at the new tenant every day.

There is another option that now comes to mind. One more possibility. Something that was not quite so obvious. However, seeing the large amounts of accumulated belongings and food. It could have been that before day zero, this was his home.

If you had been even a little brave you would have asked him all the questions that were bothering you. But his manner, his tone of voice, his whole persona were so intimidating that you preferred not to know anything. Not to upset him, not to expose yourself. Just like at school. Stand aside and pray that no one notices you and ridicules you once again.

If ignorance, lack of questions and compliance are to make you stay. You are able to agree to this.

Many doors in the house are also closed. You are left with only the rooms you were in yesterday. After looking through the contents of the bookcases in the pantry and going through some maps and documents in the small room where you were interviewed yesterday, you found nothing of interest. Which would have kept you busy while you waited for Ghost and Riley to return. Despondent, you return to the living room.

With resignation you sit down on the couch, you didn't even know how long this patrol would last. At least until one o'clock in the afternoon plus the return home from the tower, so the time spent alone was going to amount to several more hours.

There were some books in the room. So you try to kill time by reading. However, after a few moments, the words merge into one incomprehensible chatter. You can't concentrate even for a few moments. There were a lot of questions, doubts and question marks in my head all the time. You had so many interesting questions, and yet you were afraid to ask the man. Maybe after all, the comfort and security of a tightly closed home made it impossible for the brain to relax while reading.

Silence accompanied you every day.

When you were alone, you always had a book with you, something that allowed you to escape into an imaginary world for a few hours, to be somewhere else. Now the silence, the warmth of this house, something so natural, made your body feel alert somehow. As if peace wasn't something natural and right. Somewhere subconsciously you are still afraid that something bad is lurking around the corner.

Time slowly passed, maybe I managed to fall asleep on the couch for a while. It's possible that only a few minutes have passed. In a tightly closed house, in silence that irritates the ears. You decide to do something. Repay the man in some way, show that you are not a useless obstacle that appeared in his life. That you can be useful and needed. A nice gesture towards him, showing that you are grateful for his hospitality.

Convince him to let you stay longer.

The simplest thing that comes to mind, and that you are sure of. Is to make food. A tasty, warm dinner. Looking at the contents of the pantry and shelves, you are sure that even with a little effort you will be able to prepare something. Not just reheat a can of food with a long shelf life.

Bringing the necessary ingredients to mind what comes to your mind is another thought. Since you're sitting here locked up by yourself anyway.

Making something warm and edible might have annoyed Ghost. Using his supplies without asking, taking his things. Something he had meticulously collected and organized. He probably had his supplies calculated every day. So your behavior, certainly was not something extremely wise. But it was probably worth the risk.

You lost yourself, you got carried away. Maybe the feeling of independence or the longing for the old life in such an ordinary, trivial activity as preparing a meal made you feel more confident. So now, after a long time in the kitchen, when you have managed to turn on the stove and the food is cooking, you jump around the kitchen listening to music.

You always did this while cooking.

Knowing that there was electricity in the house and seeing the music player, you turned it on and, full of excitement, hearing the first sounds of music, you involuntarily started moving your body to the rhythm of the music.

2 years before Day Zero

You

Driving home with your parents in the car, you sit in the back seat and listen to your favorite music. You pay no attention to the loud conversation and laughter of your parents, who sat in the front.

Looking out the window, you look at the crowded streets, the approaching holiday and weekend cause a lot of traffic. Although the weather does not encourage anyone to leave the house, many people unfortunately find themselves in a similar situation to you.

As you enter the road leading to your home, the rain intensifies. In fact, these are already suburbs and the road mainly leads to quiet neighborhoods of single-family houses.

The sudden braking of the vehicle and the rotation of the car around its axis causes you to shift inertly in your seat despite the fastened seat belt.

“What's going on?”

Removing one earpiece, you glance at your parents and look through the windshield.

Your attention is caught by one thing. A small dog is standing in the pouring rain. In the middle of the intersection stands a small, defenseless animal.

Thinking little, you unbuckle your seat belt and run out into the street and only then, you see the horrifying scene on the street.

The soaked dog is shaking in your arms.

“That ... could've been us.”

You hear your mother's terrified voice behind you. Now that you're back home, your parents anxiously describe the whole event to your sister.

“That truck should have driven into us. If you hadn't ... if Dad hadn't braked and swerved. That truck would have crushed us, because it suddenly drove into our lane.”

Wiping the dog you try not to listen to the concerned voices of your parents. There is no point in dwelling on this terrible situation. By some miracle you managed to avoid a collision with a multi-ton vehicle. And happily you were now all together at home.

“I wanted to avoid dog, the puppy suddenly appeared on the road”

Your dad tries to explain his sudden behavior on the road.

“Fucking miracle.”

Your mom looks at you and the dog, smiling gently.

Day 733

Your memories are violently interrupted by a sudden quiet. The music cuts off. Once again there is a piercing silence.

You quickly turn toward the room and notice that you are no longer alone.

Riley is standing on 4 paws merrily wagging his tail with his mouth wide open and tongue extended. Unfortunately, he can't approach you because he’s held on a leash in a strong grip. Yeah, right. You lift your gaze to see the tightly clenched hands on the leash and, despite the masked face, you immediately know that the man is clearly not happy.

“Tomorrow you'll be without electricity, because you don't know how to behave.”

He says.

The broken silence lasts only a moment. Ghost stares at you for a few more seconds, then he and dog walk off into the dark corridor.

You hear him take something from a shelf in the pantry, and then the door at the end of the hall closes with a loud slam.

This is definitely not how you planned to convince him. This is not how it was supposed to be...

3 years before Day Zero

Ghost

Ghost entered the briefing room, as usual, a few minutes before the scheduled meeting. In the back row, he spotted his two team members, Sergeants Soap and Gaz. The men were gesticulating happily, showing each other something on their phone screens. Without even noticing it, the lieutenant took a vacant chair and sat down next to them.

The man wondered where the sudden call for this urgent meeting had come from. The mission they had been working on for months was progressing gradually, but so far successfully. They had a few more weeks to make another trip to gather more intel. There was no indication of a sudden change of plans.

It had to be something else.

Ghost looked around the small room. To his surprise, all the members of the other task forces and other high-ranking soldiers were here.

There was definitely something going on.

When Captain Price entered the room, followed by Kate Laswell, the lieutenant greeted his superiors with a slight nod.

Ghost felt like he was in some freaking action movie, or even more of a sci-fi movie. Everything that was said during the briefing seemed irrational and untrue.

When finally the four men of Task Force 141 and Kate were seated in the captain's office each looked at the one another, as if each individual wanted to reassure themselves that what had taken place just a few minutes ago had really happened. That these words are not the product of their overtired heads, destroyed by constant stress and adrenaline.

Finally, the captain speaks up, interrupting this exchange of glances.

“So, Kate. What should we do now? After all, we can't pretend that what was said a moment ago never happened. How do we get back to our duties.... How are we to look our loved ones in the face and pretend that something so strange is not waiting for us?”

“I don't know John, unfortunately I know as much as you do. Everything is happening above me, at much higher levels. We just, we just have to prepare as best we can. To try... hell I don't know, for the first time in my life I'm not sure how to act.”

The woman hides her face in her hands without saying anything more.

“So what, we're supposed to keep going about our work, just like that? and at the same time get ready for the apocalypse?”

Kyle nervously walked around the room gesturing.

The exchange of nervous and raised voices continued, and Ghost was the only one who did not speak up. He felt overwhelmed by all this information. Everything seemed to be happening outside of him. Somewhere beside him. He wished it didn't involve him.

“ And you LT, what do you think?”

Finally, the question asked by Soap, draws the attention of the others to the masked man and the voice in the room falls silent.

“We are soldiers and we have to follow orders. And from what the general has relayed. We are to keep working while preparing safe houses for the eventuality of an attack. Each of us has assigned activities. If we want to protect ourselves and our relatives let's just stick to the assigned plan. We are in this together after all. So let's just follow it. If Day Zero is to come, we must be as prepared as possible. ”

Day 733

Standing at the office door with steaming food on your plate and you momentarily hesitate to do something. Each single interaction with this man causes a strange pressure of nervousness in your stomach.

Every action he takes is unpredictable to you. Every reaction from him makes you doubt whether you will ever be able to establish any kind of a bond with him.

Finally, you end this internal struggle and knock on the door of the room. You wait a moment for any reaction, a sign of life, but nothing of the sort occurs. You put the plate by the door and hastily leave, hoping that the man will at least open the door and take the plate. He'll eat and maybe appreciate the meal you prepared.

“Let's talk.”

When you hear that low voice a few dozen minutes later, you flinch slightly on the couch. You put the book down and look at the man who is standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

“Okay.”

As he walks closer you involuntarily contract your legs on the couch, embracing them with your arms and nervously squeezing the blanket with which you are covered.

“We need to set some rules. I don't want the situation from today to happen again.”

Ghost sits down at the end of the couch without taking his eyes off you. He places a half-empty bottle of alcohol on the coffee table.

“You are extremely irresponsible. Do you know what could have happened if they had heard you? Do you know how that damn music could have been heard?”

Despite the words he speaks, the tone is monotone, and extremely calm.

“I didn't think...”

You say quietly hugging your legs tighter

“Of course you didn't think.”

With a snort, the man takes the bottle and, without offering you, takes a big sip. He does it in a rather efficient way because you don't even notice when the moment he exposes part of his face to easily take a sip of alcohol without dirtying his balaclava.

“Or maybe this is your way of letting your comrades know where you are, kid?”

“Oh god, seriously, you still don't believe me? I don't have the energy and already have no idea how I can convince you that I came alone.”

You nervously squeeze the material of the blanket while looking through your eyelashes at the figure sitting across from you.

“It's hard to believe that someone like that. Just like you. Was so lucky and had survived unharmed for so long.”

You don't answer him.

You are not ready to recount all the events that took place during those lonely months. Although you want him to trust you, you also partly understand his distrust. It is too soon for you to trust him. You don't really know anything about each other. And his behavior, what you saw in his house. Practically the whole house - a fortress, causes more question marks, more doubts.

“Are you a soldier?”

By asking this question, you hope to find out more and, perhaps, get some answers to nagging questions. You will somehow manage to get closer. You have to start somewhere. Do not persist in this exchange of thoughts about how you got here. Because it doesn't lead to anything.

“I was.”

“Because... because I see that you are well prepared. These supplies. The electricity. That tower.”

The man looks at the bottle he is squeezing in his hands

“Yes. This house was prepared for such a possibility. It is easy to survive here for many more years.”

Slightly you relax and decide to ask another question

“Since you are, you were a military guy. It's true what was said at the time, all those rumors. That you knew much in advance about what was going to happen?”

The man takes another large sip of liquor and gets up from the couch without looking at you.

“The interrogation is over.”

As he walks away, you repeat the words he said in his office last night

“'Interrogation? Ghost. We're just, we're chatting.”

The man stops halfway and, gently nodding, replies somewhere in space.

“Smart ass.”

and you could swear you could hear a hint of amusement in his voice.

Day 734-6

The next few days pass just like the previous ones. When you get up the house is already empty despite your best efforts you don't wake up before Ghost and Riley leave on patrol. Without an alarm clock this is a very difficult task. Especially since even though the room is claustrophobic and not too cozy, it is quiet and safe. They cause that every night when you put your head to the pillow you momentarily fall asleep and sleep all night.

Many months of stress and little sleep cause your body to finally give up, and your tired organism finally rests. It allows itself a well-deserved rest.

Everything is a routine. Every day is identical. And that's not the worst part. The worst thing is the fact that every day the man does not even say a single word in your direction. Returning, he locks himself in the office with a bottle while you knock, puts a plate with a meal in front of the door and leaves.

Even in the evening he doesn't come to talk to you. He treats you like air.

And, it's worse than when you were alone.

Finally, the next day when the situation repeats itself. Every action from the previous days is done by a man, as in a fucking routine.

Something finally breaks inside you. This is not why you try, you submit. You do not ask further questions or even question his decision that he keeps you locked up in this house.

However, this quiet and silence on his part, towards you, is something you can't stand.

When you knock once again and this time you don't put a plate in front of the door. You walk away a few steps and stand at the bathroom door waiting for Ghost to open the door to take the plate. And which should, as every day, be on the floor.

After a few minutes you hear the sound of the lock being twisted and the door slowly opens. The man, clearly confused, looks around the hallway.

“I thought maybe we could finally eat together.”

Saying this you turn around and head towards the kitchen.

Hearing quiet footsteps behind, you smile softly with satisfaction.

Dinner goes on in silence, Riley lies under the table near your legs quietly gasping. When he returns with Ghost from each patrol, the dog is visibly tired but definitely satisfied as well.

The man doesn't take his eyes off the plate. Now that you are sitting across from each other you can finally notice a scrap of his face.

The mask is folded up and reveals the lower part of his face. Several days of light beard cover a square jaw and, clearly, a strongly defined jawline, his mouth is wide even, his lower and upper lips are the same width. The lips are even and quite prominent. Despite the mask, you can only see a portion of his face, and despite the scars, you get the impression that there is quite a handsome man hiding under that dark material. Since he has a light beard, you wonder if his hair is light blond or maybe he is a brunette.

“Thanks for the meal.”

You are pulled from your thoughts by the man's low murmur.

“Sure no problem. I make a note of everything I've used up and try to take food with a short shelf life. And those that can spoil quickly.”

Ghost stands up and nods.

“Can I finally go on patrol with you? I'm bored here”.

“Sure, but not tomorrow. The day after tomorrow.”

To your surprise, the man returns from the room after a few moments with a thick and hardcover book. Beside the book, he puts down a bottle and brings two glasses from the kitchen.

He pours the clear liquid and moves one of the glasses toward you, and sits down again, at the table.

Taking a sip, you try not to choke and cough loudly.

You've never been a fan of strong and sharp alcohol. After taking a few more sips, clearing your throat, you finally get up the courage.

“I thought you preferred to spend your evenings alone.”

Saying this, you slide back in your chair to be closer to the man and have a better view of what is written on the paper and in the book open on the table.

“I thought you preferred to be left alone”.

He replies briefly, writing something down on a piece of paper and then reaches for the watch on his wrist.

Another throat-scorching sip of the drink.

“What are you doing?”

You curiously lean over to see better what the man is doing, tilting your head in his direction

“I'm setting the alarm, for the hour when the sunrise and sunset will be tomorrow.”

The man raises his eyes and looks at you. In this light, in the dim room, his eyes appear very dark. Contrasted by his light, long eyelashes, his irises are practically black.

Ghost moves closer to your face, the thick and rough material of his balaclava gently teasing the delicate and sensitive surface of your earlobe. Although his mouth is covered you feel the gentle whiff of his breath on the thin skin of your neck.

“You see. All you have to do is just, ask.”

After these words, Ghost gets up and leaves you alone in the room.

Day 737

Despite the fact that for most of the evening you recreate what Ghost did at the table, sleep comes quickly. Maybe it's the alcohol you drank, or maybe it's just tiredness.

However, just after waking up you still can't forget what happened in the evening.

Only tomorrow is the day that the man promised you that you would go on patrol with him. So now you have to get busy with something. Not only that, you want to prepare as best you can, but you need to occupy your thoughts with something and at least kill the slow-going time a little.

You look through the things prepared by the man for you, study the map you looked at the first day, read. Or you simply look out the window to at least get a little acquainted with the landscape of the neighborhood.

When it is finally time to prepare the meal to your surprise you find cd players and headphones on the kitchen counter.

Perhaps the man has heard you humming quietly to yourself every evening while cleaning the kitchen after eating. Since that fateful day, you haven't dared to put any more music on loudly through the speakers.

After cooking a meal, you remember to try on the shoes that Ghost had already prepared for you on the first day. Your old sneakers were not suitable for any use.

Walking down the corridor with headphones on, you pass another locked door. Finally reaching for your shoes, you put the cd player down on one of the trays in the hallway. And through your own carelessness you knock down an object standing on it. The heavy flashlight falls to the floor with a big noise. You hastily bend down to pick it up and check that you haven't broken it.

When to your satisfaction after pressing the button the flashlight shines with a strong light. Suddenly you hear a sound from somewhere far inside the apartment.

A tapping sound.

A steady one.

Rhythmic.

Pounding as if on metal pipes. Into the audible surface.

The sound spreads through the house.

A quick

A long

And over and over again.

You slowly turn around and head for the nearest door.

These look slightly different from the others. They are more massive, wider and have more locks. You put your ear to the cold steel door.

Bang.Bang.Bang.

Silence.

Bang.Bang.Bang.

Pause.

With a shaking hand you lift to the handle. However, when you pull on it nothing happens.

The sound doesn't stop, the door doesn't open.

When it finally occurs to you what the sound means from the other side of the hallway you hear a dog barking and the sound of the lock opening.

Ghost is back.

And there is someone in the basement calling for help.

SOS.

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