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girlwitheconverse · 26 days

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STRAWBERRIES

╰┈➤ KEEGAN P. RUSS

Pairing: Keegan x singlemom!reader

Genre: fluff

Story type: one shot

Word count: 2k

TW: unexpected pregnancy

masterlist

You take a sip of your iced coffee, well deserved you must say, as you look around the coffee shop finally relaxing after a stressing day.

Then you remember that it’s still 10 in the morning and that your work break ends in ten minutes.

The life of a single mother of a toddler of four isn’t easy by any means but you wouldn’t change it for the world, you love Ellie, your daughter, too much to even think of a life without her. You remember all the emotion you felt the day you discovered you were pregnant: shock, fear, and excitement; in this precise order. Ellie’s father probably stopped at shock, because the day after you told him you were pregnant you received a break-up message and he ghosted you.

He disappeared. Completely. Even moved out of his apartment.

Your parents? Like the religious people they are…They kicked you out of the house because you had a kid outside marriage! How outrageous of you.

“Sorry? Is this seat free?” a deep voice makes you come back with your mind on earth, you look at the man and damn is he handsome. Black hair, blue eyes, athletic…Definitely your type. Before answering you look around: the place is almost empty and there are plenty of free tables. Is he…Does he like me? Is the first explanation that comes to your mind but you can’t be sure of it: maybe he just doesn’t like to sit alone.

You nod with a polite smile “Yes.”

The mysterious handsome man sits in front of you and places his cappuccino on the table. The air between you two is awkward so you decide to say something.

Because standing up and leaving seems mean.

But before you can say anything he speaks, “My name is Keegan.”

You blink a few times, then smile “I’m Y/n”

He’s definitely trying to flirt with me.

“I’m not usually one to flirt like this so forgive me if I'm straightforward but that's just how I am.” He says, leaving you shocked. “But…I think you’re beautiful”

You notice his ears getting red and smile at the cuteness. “Thank you, Keegan.”

When was the last time a man flirted with you? You can’t even remember. Every time you go out you have Ellie glued to the hip and that makes most men run away. You’d be lying if you said you didn't like the attention.

“Would you…like to go on a date with me?” He asks as he looks into your eyes, he is indeed very straightforward.

“I…” You try to buy yourself time by taking the last sip of your coffee, should I say yes? He’s totally my type…But what if he drops me as soon as I tell him I have a daughter? Maybe I should just see how the date goes and then decide how to procede. Yes. Definitely that. “Why not?” you say with a smile.

He smiles too and Oh God, his smile is so pretty you feel like you’ve already fallen in love. He hands you his phone to put your number in it, you do so and then stand up.

“I need to go back to work, it was a pleasure meeting you, Keegan…I’ll wait for your text then.” You smile at him and walk outside the cafe, already calling your best friend.

“Girl, I need you to babysit Ellie someday…I don’t know when but I’m going on a date with this super handsome guy and-” before you can finish talking your best friend screams.

“Going out with a guy? An handsome one? You? Damn I’ll babysit Ellie anytime! You go get that D while me and your daughter have a tea party while we talk shit about Cinderella, never liked that bitch anyway.” You laugh and can’t help but feel grateful for having her as best friend.

A week later

“Do I look cute?” You ask as you show your best friend your outfit “it’s a picnic date, I wanted to stay on theme”

“You really went for the slutty sundress, uh” she says with a smirk, your eyes shoot wide and you look down at Ellie, hoping she didn't hear the swearword.

“Mommy pretty!” She says as she hugs your legs, you pick her up and kiss her round cheek, chuckling as you need to clean your lipstick off her cheek.

“Mommy loves you.” you say before placing her on the ground, “Mommy is going out with a friend okay? I’ll see you later.”

The doorbell rings and you hold back a scream of excitement before picking your purse and walking outside, making sure that Keegan couldn't see Ellie from the door.

“H-hi.” You stutter as you see his outfit, a white t-shirt and brown pants, he’s holding a picnic basket, nothing spectacular but he looks so handsome. His bicep is so big.

He smiles and you notice him looking at you from head to toe, “Hi…Let’s go, I know you can’t wait to see my secret spot.” He says with a chuckle and you two start walking side by side. You and him have been texting each other for the past week and you discovered that he’s in the military, it now makes sense why he has such perfect physique, you also told him about your job as a banker.

As you walk, you chat about anything and everything, from your favorite books to the most embarrassing moments of your childhood. Keegan is easy to talk to, and his warm laughter puts you at ease. You can't help but wonder what he would be like with Ellie, but you quickly shake off the thought, reminding yourself that it's too early to think about that.

The spots he brings you to is a beautiful park with green grass and flowers, “it’s beautiful!” You say as you look around while he puts a blanket over the grass.

“Next time I’m taking you to the beach.” He says as you both sit down on the blanket.

“I love the beach!” You say excited, it’s been so long since you felt like this…Like a woman and not only a mother. “And I love sushi too…” You say as he takes the food out of the basket.

“Yeah, you already told me that a few times by message.” He says with a chuckle, remembering how you spent more than twenty messages talking about sushi.

“It was my worst craving when I was-” You stop before you can say too much, you still haven't told him about Ellie “When I was sick a few months ago, but the doctor said I couldn't eat any.”

He shakes his head and hands you a pair of chopsticks, “Oh, I almost forgot” he says as he picks from the basket a bottle of white wine and two glasses.

“The wine too?” You say shocked but with a smile on your face.

“Of course.” Keegan puts some wine in a glass and hands it to you, “to this date.”

“Hoping that this will be the first of many.” You add before you take a sip of the wine.

You two spend an hour eating and chatting before you lay down on the blanket with a sigh and a smile “I’m so full!”

“Even for these?” Keegan asks as he takes out of the basket strawberries that have been dipped in chocolate.

“I’m never full for these” you say with a chuckle.

“Say ah…” He says as he picks a strawberry and places it near your mouth, you blush but let him feed you the strawberry.

The sweet taste of chocolate and strawberry floods your mouth, followed by the warmth of Keegan's gaze. You blush profusely, your heart pounding in your chest as he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You sit up and pick a strawberry, “say ah…” you say as you feed him the strawberry, he laughs but lets you feed him. “ops, you’ve got chocolate here” you say before kissing his lips. He’s frozen at first and you think you’ve gone too far, but then he places his hand on the back of your head and deepens the kiss.

The kiss is a heady, intoxicating rush that seems to consume every part of you, spiraling through you and leaving you breathless, your senses filled to the brim. The world narrows down to just the two of you, and for that moment, nothing else matters. As you reluctantly pull away, still caught in the lingering haze of the kiss, you can't help the bubbling laughter that escapes your lips. Keegan, ever so stoic, stands there looking utterly bemused, that stunned expression on his face worth a thousand words.

"That was... unexpected," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends a thrill running down your spine. There's a hint of a smile playing on his lips, a soft, almost shy admission that echoes your own feelings.

A month and a half later

You’re panicking as you text to Keegan, cancelling the date (one of the many you two had in the past month and half) last minute because your best friend just told you she has a fever and can’t babysit Ellie. Is also too late to call a a babysitter, so you don’t have any other choice if not to stay at home with Ellie…Ellie, whom you still haven't told anything to Keegan.

I’m getting deployed tomorrow after lunch, we won’t see each other for two month after that…You really can’t come?

I’m sorry but my stomach hurts so much, I just got my period :(

Then I’m coming at your place with some chocolate ice cream and chips

You really don’t have to

Too bad I'm already in my car.

You sigh you look at the text and sit on the couch, damn him and his perfect personality. Maybe it’s the universe telling you to stop hiding the truth from him, to stop ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Mommy look!” Ellie says as she shows you the drawing she just made: some yellow on top of the paper and then blue on the bottom, “It’s sea!” With that you realize that you were holding the drawing upside down.

“Oh my! It’s so pretty! This definitely goes on the fridge” you say as you stand up to put her drawing on the fridge, next to your favorite drawing she made: the one with the two of you.

“Yay! Mommy likes it!” She says as she jumps up and down happily, you pick her up and kiss her cheek.

“Listen, Ellie, mommy’s friend is coming here and you need to be a good girl okay?”

“Auntie?” she immediately thinks of your best friend.

“No, not Auntie, another friend.” As soon as you say those words the doorbell rings.

You place Ellie down and walk towards the door, when you see Keegan standing outside with his hands full of snacks your heart breaks because of all the lies you told him but now is the moment of the truth. Will he run away? Will he get mad? You couldn't really blame him if he did so, not after all the lies.

You smile, “Thank you, really but…I need to tell you something…”

“What’s wrong?” He asks worried, but before you can speak a little voice behind you speaks and a little head pokes out the door.

“Mommy friend came?” Ellie asks as she looks up at Keegan with her big eyes. The man looks at you confused and you give him an awkward smile.

“I think it’s better if you come in.” You say as you let him in, Keegan enters and places the snack on the coffe table in front of the couch in the living room.

You place your hands on Ellie’s shoulder and take a deep breath, “Keegan, this is Ellie…My daughter”

To say that he’s shocked is an understatement, he stutters for the first time since you have started dating him, “w-what?”

“I shouldn’t have hidden this from you and i’m so sorry for my stupid actions I was just…afraid I guess at the thought of losing you.” You admit and Ellie looks up at you with a confused expression, you don’t want her to think that you don’t love her.

“You thought I’d leave you because you have a daughter?” He says even more shocked than before.

“That’s what most men do when I tell them.”

“I am not the type to do something like that, I love you and the fact that you have a daughter? Just makes me love you more” your heart flutters as he drops the l-word and your cheek flush red.

“You love me?” you ask with wide eyes.

“Damn if I do!”

“I love you too…And I was so scared of losing you, I’m so sorry…” You say with a smile, he smiles back and then crunches down to Ellie’s height, smiling at her.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Keegan, mommy’s…friend” Keegan says with a smile as he holds out his hand towards Ellie.

“Hi I’m Ellie” Your daughter says as she puts her small hands in his, shaking it clumsily.

It was such a sweet moment and you were almost tearing up when, “Are you my daddy?” Ellie suddenly says. You choke on your own saliva and Keegan laughs, shaking his head.

“No…Not yet at least” Keegan says as he smiles up at you.

“Watch Mulan with me?” Ellie changes subject immediately, very much toddler like, and pulls Keegan towards the couch. You can’t help but laugh as you look at the two of them playing together, feeling like you just found the missing piece of your puzzle, which is now perfect.

Ugh, this probably sucks and I’m sorry but I recently got back to writing and I’m trying to stay consistent to it :(

If you liked the story don’t forget to like, reblog and maybe even leave a comment :)

And remember, my inbox is always open for requests! even anonymous ones (emoji anon too!)

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iblameashley · 1 month

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Ghost Falls Silent, Simon Stands

Civilian | Male | Gay

3,800~ words

Content: Hospitalization, recovery, cohabitation, use of 'lad' (gendered language?), nightmares, gay stuff, fluff, happy ending.

Follow up to Something to look forward to

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male

!!!SFW!!!

When Simon "Ghost" Riley is injured protecting you, his recovery means a month confined to home - that is, after two weeks of sedation in the base medical wing. Captain Price requests you stay and assist. Through highs and lows, you stand steadfast by Ghost's side. As feelings begin to emerge, Ghost must confront what it means to open his heart some more and whether a future beyond warfare could truly be possible or if he'll continue fighting alone.

Tag List: @a-sleepy-dissapointment

(Thanks to @loneghostwolf for permission to use this image)

You had been sitting outside of Simon's room in the medical wing as Price came along to have a 'talk' with him. You weren't too far from the door, but were close enough to hear Price's deep, commanding voice as he scolded Simon like a father would to a child.

Simon had been protesting his medical leave recommended by the staff. There was rarely an opportunity for them to get the Ghost in for any type of examination, and now that he had been there for a little over two weeks, they were recommending a month of medical leave, and this did not go over well with Simon.

So Price had made a request of you first, asking if you'd be willing to continue to watch over Simon when Price sent him home for recovery. You of course agreed, you'd become rather fond of that lumbering, stoic idiot.

And now here you were, unintentionally eavesdropping on Price and Simon.

“Simon Riley, I swear to God if you fuck this friendship up, I will put a bullet in you myself, you damn muppet!” Price fired back.

“I'm good to go, Price. The wound is healed, I just need a little training to get back into proper form... it shouldn't take more than a couple days at most, sir.” Simon replied, clearly trying to charm his way back into work with his confident tone.

Price was having none of it.

“Absolutely not.” Price shot him down without question. “I can't spare this room much longer, I can't spare Soap or Gaz to watch over your ass for a whole month, and I can't trust you to sit down and relax on base for the next month.” He grumbled with annoyance. “My best option is that wonderful lad out there who, for some reason, has been here for you since you were brought in. No complaints and no problems. He wants to be here, he wants to be your friend, and he wants to watch over you for the next month!”

Price stopped his tongue-lashing long enough to catch his breath, and Simon sat silently for a moment as his brain processed everything.

You of course were sitting in the corridor with a shit-eating grin on your face. Price was likely the only person on Earth who could talk to Simon this way and live, and it tickled you to know that Simon would bend to Price's will if enough pressure was applied.

“Fine.” Simon finally huffed. He surrendered to Price's demand. “But...”

“No 'buts', Simon. He will be accompanying you back to your flat and staying with you for the next month.”

You didn't need to be in the room to know the look Simon had on his face.

“Fine.” He said again in a tempestuous tone.

An image of Simon sitting in the bed with his arms crossed came to mind and you let out a breathy chuckle.

“When will I be discharged into his care?” Simon asked, pulling you from you daydream.

“Seventeen hundred hours, when he's technically finished his work for the day. You'll be loaded into a vehicle together and driven home.” Price explained. “I've already gone ahead and had Soap and Gaz prepare your flat for the two of you, since they had a few hours to spare today. You'll have groceries stocked and beds turned down. Soap may have ate the chocolates meant for the pillows, though.” Price joked.

With nothing more to say, Simon was resigned to his fate.

“Good lad.” Price said before leaving Simon's room. He flashed you a look and smile, “He'll be your problem in a few hours.”

“He always was.” You joked, giving Price a nod as he continued on his way down the corridor.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Day 4

Its been four days. Four.

You woke up to the smell of something burning and a voice cursing form the kitchen in a Manchester accent. Simon. You threw the blankets back and begrudgingly sat up from the small cot Gaz and Soap had placed in the den of Simon's flat for you. It took a moment to gather your thoughts and boot your brain up enough to wander out into the kitchen to see some charcoal – apparently eggs – in the frying pan on the stove. There were some sausages cooking in another pan as well. Simon was limping around the kitchen looking for a solution.

“Little early in the morning to be trying to kill us both, don't ya' think?” You yawn as you walked over to the stove and pulled the pan off, tossing the chunks of eggs into the sink.

“I didn't ask for a babysitter.” Simon grunted. You notice him wince as he reached for something on the top cupboard, and you shake your head.

You drop the burnt pan into the sink and grab a new one, not quite hiding your frustration.

“Then stop acting like a fucking baby.” You shot back with a bit more vitriol than intended. “Think you can manage a cup of coffee for me and some tea for yourself?” You shot a second time, flashing him a tired and irritable look.

“Think so.” He grunted before moving to grab a couple of mugs.

You grabbed a fresh pan and placed it on the burner, turning the heat down and waiting a few minutes before cracking some fresh eggs. This man could dismantle bombs and take on multiple men in hand-to-hand, but was seemingly lost in his own kitchen.

“How do you like your eggs?” You asked, already cooking some sunny-side up eggs for yourself.

“D'innit matter.” Simon said as he worked away to prepare some drinks.

You shrugged and cracked some more eggs into the pan. Sunny-side up all around.

“Why are you so damn stubborn, Si?” You asked, tying to mask the sadness in your voice. You knew why, it was easy to figure out with a man like Simon Riley, but a part of you wanted to hear it from him.

“Don't need anyone to take care of me. Been takin' care of myself long enough.” His voice betrayed his words and you were, of course, unconvinced of his statement.

“Well... I'm here to help while you recover. I already agreed to do the cooking and cleaning while you caught up on paperwork – which was generous of Price to allow – and getting yourself back in shape for deployment.” You remind him, aiming the spatula at him.

Simon took a seat at the kitchen table as the water boiled in the kettle and simply stared at you. You were right, but it would be a cold day in hell before he said it out loud.

By the time the food was ready, Simon had a steaming mug of coffee for you and a tea for himself. You plated the eggs and sausages, as well as some toast you had made.

“Eggs... without a kitchen fire or the fire department. Enjoy.” You winked at him while buttering some toast.

“Thanks.” He mumbled into his tea.

Despite the attitude Simon had been giving you, you knew his gratitude ran deeper than he let on. He did eventually give you a small smile while he ate, which helped lighten your own mood, though you still had twenty-six days to go.

Day 10

You were sitting in the living room with Simon, tapping away at your laptop as you worked well into the evening. You'd fallen behind in your work and decided to spend some time today catching up – and you were almost done as the storm outside really began to rage.

There was a crash of thunder that startled you; Simon looked over and his chest heaved as he silently laughed at you.

“Control... S” You murmured to yourself as you saved your work. Lessons had been learned years ago about this very situation.

“Power's bound to go out soon.” Simon sighed as he closed his book – one you had bought him at the market.

No sooner had those words escaped his lips than the lights flickered.

Then again.

And then died, plunging you both into almost complete darkness, your face illuminated by the dimmed screen of your laptop. Without the sounds of appliances or the TV, you could hear the roar of wind and pattering of the rain on the windows.

“I'll get the candles.” Simon advised as he got up off the couch.

You closed the lid of your laptop and got out your phone, turning on the flashlight and following close behind him. “I'll help.” You volunteered, tossing your laptop aside and jumping from the chair.

Soon his living room was flickering with the warm light from the candles. You sat on the couch next to him silently as the storm continued outside; you'd kill for wi-fi right now.

You pulled the skull throw you had gifted Simon from the back of the couch and wrapped it around you. It wasn't particularly cold, but it was comforting. You didn't have the courage to tell Simon you had a minor, teeny fear of the dark.

“Y'know... this storm reminds me of a camping trip I took when I was a bit younger.” You said, breaking the silence.

Simon simply stared at you, waiting for you to continue.

“Well, I stupidly dropped my compass and broke it... that should have been the first sign of things to come.” You chuckled as you recalled the memory. “Then of course the storm moved in and drenched me. I ran to cover, totally forgetting that you aren't supposed to take shelter under trees. A bolt of lightening reminded me as it struck several trees nearby.” You exhaled loudly, a smile playing on your face as you remembered just how close a call that experience was. “But because I also happen to have an overactive imagination, and was full of adrenaline and fear already, I could have sworn I saw a pale figure staring at me from the trees. It shrieked like a banshee and I damn near pissed myself. I was a Goddamn mess when I finally made my way back to my friends.” You let out an awkward laugh and looked over to Simon.

“Sounds terrifying.” Simon replied in his usual flat tone, though his eyes did dance with interest as he stared you down. “You're a brave lad to have emerged from that and carried on.”

There was no undertone of sarcasm of teasing in his tone, catching you off guard.

“You have any 'scary' stories?” You asked him, making yourself more comfortable under the throw.

“Aye..." MacTavish's influence seeped through. "...got a real spine tingling one for ya.” Simon nodded.

He leaned in close and lowered his voice. His eyes narrowed and he stared intently at you. “I was once a child.” He deadpanned.

You desperately wanted to keep your composure, but you felt the twitching of your lips as you started to crack. You let out a shaky chuckle before breaking into a full on laughing.

As you wiped the tears from your eyes, you could see Simon sitting back slightly, a tiny smile tugging at his lips in the dim light of the candlelit room.

“You're such a cunt.” You tittered.

Shifting his tone, Simon cleared his throat. “Thank you.” He rumbled alongside the thunder. “...its not so terrible, having you around.” He confessed.

The earnestness of the words surprised you; an admission you could never have predicted Simon to make.

“...and no one will ever believe you if you tell them I said that.”

There is was. You rolled your eyes.

“You're tolerable.” You shurg.

Simon chuckled, enjoying the playful banter between you two in the darkness of his flat. Even if parts of him were screaming to stop opening up to you.

Day 21

You woke up groggy and confused as something slammed hard against the floor. It was coming from Simon's room and you moved as quickly as your heavy body would allow to get out of bed.

Walking down the hallway, you could hear the terrified sounds of Simon's distress. Standing at the doorway, you hesitated; your hand hovering over the door knob. Should you really go in? Simon's room was a bit off-limits since you agreed to watch over him. You had wanted to ensure he had one space to himself.

CRASH!

Something else hit the floor. You sigh and grip the door knob, turning it slowly and pushing the door open cautiously.

“Simon?” You murmured through the crack in the door.

You could see Simon thrashing around in the darkness of his room, unable to wake up from the nightmare that was consuming him. He was murmuring someone's name and pleading. Pleading! Simon!

“Fuck it.” You declared, resigning yourself to whatever fate awaited you.

“Simon.” You say, giving him a firm shake. “Simon!” You say louder.

You opened the door a bit further – enough to walk through – and strode over to his bed. You leaned down close to him, and once again hesitated. You looked around to see his lamp and phone on the floor and a spilled glass of water.

Turning your attention back to Simon, you placed a hand over his damp shoulder.

Simon doesn't wake up, stuck in the depths of his terror.

You muster up the courage to do something you never thought you'd do; yell at Simon Riley.

“SIMON, WAKE THE FUCK UP!” You howl at him.

His eyes snap open and he shoots up in bed; his chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, it take him a moment to orient himself.

As his eyes fall on you, and shame creeps into his eyes. You were never supposed to see this. You shouldn't be in here and he shouldn't be this weak in front of you.

You reach out and place your hand on his bicep, giving it a squeeze.

“Are you okay, Simon?” You ask in a soft, concerned voice.

He turns away from you, his chest still heaving but doesn't answer. A bit of ego, but mostly humiliation.

He shrugs your hand off of him and all you do is smile.

“Okay, okay... be that way.” You tease him as you turn to his end table. You pick up the lamp and place it back on the tabletop, then place his phone beside it. “You're safe now.” You speak tenderly to him.

You stand and give him a stare for a moment before leaving his room.

Returning a couple minutes later with a small towel, you kneel down and clean up the spilled water as Simon just sits on his bed.

“You seem calmer now.” You remark as you wad up the towel and toss it to his laundry basket.

“'M fine.” He grumbles.

Liar.

“Alright.” You nod, though he's still not looking at you.

You stand up and sit on his bed, your back to him. You take a deep breath before swivelling yourself around and laying down on the bed beside him.

“...and what are you doing?” Simon rumbles as he feels the weight of your body moving on the mattress.

“What I was asked to do. Take care of you for a month.” You reply bluntly.

You make yourself comfortable beside him, choosing a particularly plump and soft pillow to rest your head on.

“Don't need your help.” Simon protests.

“Sounds like a you problem, Si.” You fire back, pulling your phone from your PJ pocket and unlocking it. “I'm staying, as per Prices request.” You didn't explain that you'd text Price when you left and he'd given you 'orders'.

Simon sits there through seven rounds of solitaire, two crosswords, and a good twenty minutes of scrolling through socials before he finally concedes and lays down beside you. He drapes his arms over his stomach as he stretches out and relaxes; as much as Simon Riley relaxes.

“Don't wanna talk about it.”

You don't look away from your phone.

“Don't have to.” You reply.

“You don't need to know what goes on in my fucked up head because of my fucked up life and job.” He continues.

You like a particularly cute video of a puppy.

“Fair enough. We're all entitled to our secrets.” You nod.

“Did I... say anything?” Simon prods, curious and anxious.

You lower your phone a bit and look over at him. You purse your lips and think about how to respond. So far, you've never lied to Simon, and you don't exactly want to start now.

“Well?” He asks after you hesitate a little too long.

“Yes.” You reply, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“What did I say?” Simon inquires, a bit of horror framing his face.

“I thought you didn't want to talk about it?” The words come out a bit harsher than you intended, and you're already cursing yourself.

“What did I say?” He repeats with annoyance.

You let out a sigh and rest your phone on your chest.

“You were begging.” You reply. You roll your head to the side to look at him. “You were begging for forgiveness and to 'switch places' or something to that extent.” You confess to him, barely managing to choke out the words.

“Fuckin' hell...” Simon grumbles. He stares up at his ceiling. “I....”

“You have terrible taste in people.” He says in an almost teasing tone.

You don't let him finish, “You don't have to say any more, Simon. Not if you don't want to.” You explain. You reach over and tap his abdomen with the back of your hand. “I just want you to know that I don't think any less of you. Never could.”

That elicits a deep laugh from Simon as he shakes his head.

“So I'm told.” You reply, going back to your phone.

“You're really not going to leave, are you?” He asks suddenly.

“What do you mean? Here and now, or before the month is over? Or... ever?” You question him, resting the back of one hand on his body.

“All of the above, 'spose.” He shrugs.

“I'm not leaving. All of the above.” You reply earnestly.

You both fall into a comfortable silence as Simon considers what you've said.

After a half hour or more, Simon hears a thud. Turning to look at you, he notices you've dropped your phone on the floor and are fast asleep on his bed.

You roll over on your side and Simon lets out a low grunt, feigning annoyance – though he's not sure why – before he sighs and grabs the blanket and pulls it over you.

He rolls over so his back is to you and closes his eyes. Somehow your presence here relaxes him enough to let him get a couple hours of sleep.

Day 30

Maybe domestic life was for you after all. It had been a full month since Price had made his request and here you were; In Simon's kitchen and cooking him one last breakfast before you packed up and returned to your own flat.

Simon had spent most of the early morning in his room just laying on his bed before eventually rolling out and jumping in the shower.

As you finished preparing the large, artery-clogging breakfast of sausages, eggs, hash browns, pancakes and bacon, Simon finally emerged in gym shorts and a tank top.

“Ready to kick my arse out?” You asked, suppressing the tinge of sadness that welled inside you. You really did like being here this last month, though it was difficult to tell if he felt the same way.

Simon huffed and made his way to the table where a tea – just the way he likes it – and took a seat, staring at the back of your head.

He took a sip and thought it over for a moment. “Y've been a goddamn nag.” He finally said, a smile on his face.

“All a part of the job!” You fired back, turning to give him a wide grin.

“Still no idea how Price talked you into it.” Simon mused, looking away.

You pate the mountain of food for the both of you and join Simon at the table. You lean back in your chair and pick up a piece of bacon, eyeing it before taking a bite.

“Didn't take much, to be honest.” You shrug.

Simon defaulted to his usual gruff grunt, “Guess if hasn't been entirely unpleasant to have you around.” He confessed. He couldn't help but fight his own happiness.

“Someone had to make sure you didn't burn the place down.” You tease. "And we nipped that in the bud on day four."

Simon digs into the breakfast you've made for him, silently chewing away and ignoring your joke.

You sipped at your coffee and ate your breakfast as well.

This was a moment that seemed to stretch on for a while, neither of you wanting to admit how the last month truly affected you.

“Y'know...” You say, breaking the silence. “We never did see that movie.” You remind him. Through everything that's happened since Simon was injured, neither of you actually ended up dragging the other to that stupid movie.

You give a shrug. There will be plenty of time for movies.

Simon simply looked up at you and continued to eat.

“It's good.” He said, holding up a forkful of food.

You could tell he was uncomfortable, but you couldn't figure out why. It couldn't have been about the movie.

Maybe it reminded him of being stabbed? Unlikely.

Or maybe he felt... disappointed? Like he let you down?

You could just ask, but that was too easy, and you were both too stubborn to talk about it outright.

“I'll be heading out just after noon, if that's fine with you? I just need to do some work before I leave.” You practically murmur.

“'S fine.” Simon nodded.

As you finished your breakfast and placed your plate in the sink, Simon surprised you with what he said.

“How about tonight?” He asked.

You turned to look at him with a confused look on your face.

He was still sitting at the table with his phone in hand.

“The movie. Its still playing... how about tonight?” He asked again.

You nodded. “Y-yeah. Tonight works for me. What time?”

“Eleven-hundred hours. You... can stay the night again. My flat is closer to the theatre than yours.”

You were too shocked to say anything, so you just nodded again.

Staying another night.

With Simon.

You were brimming with stupid amounts of joy.

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callumsgirl · 2 months

Text

ONE SHOT

I was listening to Call out my name by The Weeknd and my brain created this scenery in London.

OR...the first weekend that Bucky and Buck spend completely alone together, and Bucky made a promise to himself: all night long, he will let Gale moan and scream his name.

CALL OUT MY NAME

It has been the longest weeks of his whole life so far. John had been deployed to England first and it took weeks for Buck to follow him, and damn - it has been a long and quiet few weeks without him.

Normally Gale Cleven was the quiet type. It was hard to get him to grin, to laugh out loud - it made Bucky all happier and prouder that he always managed to get him to grin and laugh.

There were times when it seemed to John that Buck had built up a wall around himself and around his heart. Almost as if love had become a weakness.

Bucky had made it his personal mission to bring a smile to Buck's lips as often as possible.

But in the last few weeks, as they watched so many friends crash into burning aeroplanes, those moments had faded.

Nevertheless, John didn't give up and tried even harder.

So every time he managed to elicit that angelic laugh from Buck, John made a note of it as a victory.

Then came the long-awaited weekend pass, and Buck and Bucky went to London together. They shared a beautiful and luxurious hotel room, and when the sun finally set and the stars were in the sky, Bucky kissed Buck slowly and sensually.

He finally had the time and space to fully explore Buck. Without stress or fear of being caught - kissing another man and damn it…forbidden erotic touch.

The few times they had kissed quietly and secretly in the barracks, Buck had always remained almost silent.

It was a rarity that Bucky had managed to elicit a moan and a sigh from Gale.

This time everything was different.

John seduced Gale with all his intimate kisses, tender touches and the way his lips felt around his cock.

"I want to hear you, honey," John murmured between two wet kisses on Bucky's bare thighs. His left fist closed a little tighter around his hard cock and he watched Bucks breathing quicken.

"Just don't be such a tease, John," Gale whispered back in a raspy voice, pressing his head into the soft pillows.

"I'm not teasing you…I just want to hear you moan." He began to pump a steady rhythm. His moist, warm lips closed around Bucks tip again.

"Bucky," Gale warned him before he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, exaggerating the plump curve of his top lip and drawing John's gaze from between his legs there. The crazy thing was that he probably wasn't even trying. Being a damn tease just came natural to him.

"I see your point…but can you please speed up," Gale asked him, breathing heavily.

The corners of John's mouth twisted into a dirty grin as he momentarily let go of Gale's cock.

Now they were getting somewhere, he thought.

John slowed the pumping of his left hand. At the same time, he increased the pressure around Gale's root and planted more kisses on his thigh. Then he lifted his eyes up and licked over Gale's stomach with an open-mouth, kissing his chest and finally propping himself up with one hand on the mattress next to his head.

He enjoyed the small gasp that escaped from Buck’s throat. Now they were eye to eye. John was so close that their noses touch and he felt Buckys minty breath on his cheeks.

“What was that, huh? Couldn’t quite hear you, Baby", he teased with a smirk on his gorgeous pink swollen lips.

Buck squinted his eyes hard and lifted his hips rhythmically against John's hip an tried to make him move against him. To make matters worse, Bucky now stopped his hand movements completely.

Buck exhaled angrily and desperately. "I told you to speed up not to stop!" he grumbled.

"Did you?" asked Bucky innocently. Buck could see the glint in his dark eyes and placed a hand on his chin. "If you don't get on with it now, I'll do it myself, John. Maybe you'll hear me then."

They both knew Buck was just teasing him back and damn it - Bucky wasn't going to let Gale touch his own body. Not when he was so happy and turned on to do it all by himself.

John had half a mind to just give in. His cock was certainly ready to fuck Buck’s ass, and they’d both waited so long already. But John felt like he deserved to be greedy.

It was just one of his biggest wishes to hear Buck going wild and lost his head.

"Do me the favor", Bucky begs. "Let me hear you...don't be shy. Nobody will hear you, it's just you and me, Buck."

He stroked Buck's chest and stomach muscles. His fingertips left goose bumps on Buck's bare, warm and partly sweaty skin. He could feel with every fibre of his body how hard it was for Buck to hold on, to wait for John to finally touch him again. Here we go.

"Please," Gale begged. Ready to tell and show him everything. "Touch me and I'll do my best to let you hear me."

Now John understood there was no time to waste during times of a war. He was letting himself want everything. And what he wanted was to drive Buck so wild that all the words of adoration John longed to hear would slip past Buck’s defenses and drip from his swollen lips.

“Hmm,” John hummed and finally started to pump Gales cock again. “Please what? I need more details."

"God damn it" Gale cursed. "Jerk me off, suck me off, fuck me..do something."

Finally, thought Bucky. I've broken through the first wall. One of many he guessed.

Buck cursed under his breath again, and John lowered his lips to Buck's skin. He brushed his teeth over the sensitive skin above his hipbone and sucked until a hickey formed.

"You are all mine," he whispered and broke another wall down. He could almost hear the invisible wall collapsing. Gale's stuttering breaths sent shivers down his spine.

Gale slid one of his hands into John's brown, curly hair and the other under his pillow as he lifted his hips.

Bucky marked Gale with more love bite on his stomach and on his thighs too, before he began to suck him off. He began to work his cock with deep movements. He moved his head up and down rhythmically, letting his tongue circle around the tip of Gale's cock.

"Yes, just like that." Buck sighed and took a deep breath through his nose. "This feels awesome", he added.

John repeated the circular movements of his tongue, driving Gale slowly crazy.

"Fuck…yes," he moaned and Bucky was sure he'd never heard anything more sensual. The way Gale moved under his touch and the way his raspy voice sounded a little more brittle turned him even more on.

"Faster and harder", Buck begged without breath.

John bit down on his bottom lip, as he came up for air just for a second. Then sucking again on Gales cock. He squinted hard to contain his own desire. He’d never heard Buck be so filthy before.

Buck wasn't done talking yet and he added: "I want that you fuck me, deep and passionate."

Finally Bucky heard the words he needed to hear. He came up again and when their lips collied they shared the taste of lust, sex and sweat.

"No we're moving in the right direction, huh", Gale teased him with a smirk on his lips.

"Yeah", he replied. "Just one step away from sliding into you. First i want to make you come hard and call my name."

John squeezed Buck’s dick in time with his thrusts, as sweat dripped from his brow onto Buck’s thigh after he got down again. He speeded up the movements of his fist and suck again - hard and deep this time.

His tongue was dancing around the tip of Gales dick and for a short moment, there was no war going on outside. There was just Buck, lost in lust and John who's jerking and sucking him off.

"Fuck I'm coming."

Buck tensed up all over, and John sucked hard one last time. He twisted his fist over the head of Buck’s cock, and then the magic happened.

Buck groaned uninhibitedly and screamed his name: "John…" As he came, his entire body vibrated and his hips lifted off the bed sheets.

John felt the cum pour warm and thick in his mouth. He could barely hold on as his own body trembled badly.

While Buck enjoyed the aftermath of his orgasm, John gently pumped his cock up and down a few more times.

"God! This was out of this world." Gale barely managed to catch his breath.

"Absolutely stunning!", John agreed slowly with a husky voice. "Never thought you had such a mouth on you, darlin'."

This made Buck blush instantly and he closed his eyes in embarrassment. Gale was always just a fingertip away from being blushed.

"Hey, don't hide from me any time", Bucky begged him gently.

He leaned in and kissed him slow. After that kiss Gale touches Johns cheeks and wispered in his ear: "Now it's my turn to drive you crazy, major."

Happy weekend, Fallas!

It's a wrap i guess. One of my first dirty scenes online here. What do you think about it?

Should i write more scenes like this for you?

xoxo callumsgirl

#callum turner #john bucky egan #buck x bucky #callum turner x reader #bucky fanfic #mota fanfic #austin butler major gale buck cleven #gale cleven #gale buck cleven #one shot #fluffy #smut #men loving men #men kissing #march 2024 #creative writing #writing #fanfic #sexy tease

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layla4567 · 11 months

Text

Imagine: A relaxing shower after training

Peter Maximoff x Female reader

Summary: You were practicing hand-to-hand fighting with Quicksilver, even though they both have superpowers, Professor Xavier insisted that we practice other forms of fighting just in case.

Warning: Smut, naked bodies, p in v, fingering

..............................................................................................................................

I don't know why the professor insisted on this, it's ridiculous-you thought-you could incinerate your opponent in a matter of seconds and it's almost impossible (if not impossible) for them to catch Peter with their super speed. Anyway, here we were.

You were wearing a black crop top and gray sports cloth pants and you had your hair tied up for comfort. You went to the training room, there were several tarps on the floor and Peter was waiting for you sitting on one of them

Peter saw you appear in your workout clothes and thought it made your figure stand out but he just scoffed and said

"You finally show up, I've been waiting for you for hours"-he stood up

Speedy (as you liked to call him) was wearing an army green short-sleeved T-shirt and baggy black training pants.

"Oh sorry-you said ironically- it's not my fault SOMEONE is running at the speed of light."

"You are forgiven precious, luckily I am compassionate with those who go to the rhythm of a snail"-he finished with a smirk

sparks began to emanate from your fingers as if you had all the fireworks in the palm of your hands while your gaze hardened

Peter's face turned pale, he was scared when you did that. That's why he knew he didn't have to make you angry

"Uhmm w-well how about we start training before you burn down the place?"

First both stretched a bit so as not to hurt their muscles and then the training began. You practiced with your fists dodging each other, Peter was tempted to use his super speed but held back because the rule was no super powers. You was throwing kicks and Peter barely dodged them.

Suddenly you took his right arm and with a stunt you wrapped your legs around his arm and threw him to the ground, with a hold you raised your hips slightly up so that Peter can't escape the hold.

He didn't expect that, so when he was lying on the floor, scared, he exclaimed

"Time out! I give up!!"

You loosened your legs on his arm and he stood up quickly, holding out his hand so you could get up.

"Since when did you learn to do that?"-Peter said still surprised but still smiling.

There are things you don't know about my Pet..-you said mysterious

"Meow the kitten knows how to defend herself"

"Shut up"

You rolled your eyes and went to your room to take a shower, you were tired and sweaty

You entered your room and prepared the clothes that you were going to use later. You put on your bed a jean and a red shirt. You grabbed a robe and began to undress, dropping your crop top and pants on the floor.

After that you went to the bathroom and opened the tap letting the water run. You made sure that the water is warm enough not to freeze you but not so hot it burns you. You put a hand under the rain while you felt the warm drops slip through your fingers. You waved your hand as soon as the water began to heat up, removed your robe and stepped into the shower.

Peter was running through the halls when he heard the sound of water running from the shower in your room. He was too tired to go to his room on the other side of the mansion and that's when a naughty idea crossed his mind, but he didn't want to be intrusive or bother you, but damn he liked you so much. He decided to sneak into your room thinking if what he was about to do was right or not.

Your door never had a key, at least not during the day, which is why Peter was able to get in easily. The boy saw your clothes lying on the floor and approached your bathroom door.

He knocked three times on the door

"Y/n! Are you there?"-But of course she's there, idiot, where would she be?

You were enjoying the water falling on your face when you felt the blows and the voice of Peter, you shuddered. What was Peter doing here? What did he want now?

"Uh yes Peter I'm here and In case you didn't notice, I'm taking a shower"

"Ye-yeah I know and that's the point I-Uhmm"-He was too nervous to speak

You started to get impatient and feel somewhat uncomfortable when you heard those words..

"Can I shower with you?"

A wave of modesty washed over you, you suddenly felt vulnerable. Showering with Peter? It was something you wouldn't have imagined. Clearly you liked the boy but this was something intimate. But a feeling of adrenaline began to rise through your belly and you didn't know why

Peter had his eyes tightly closed, regretting having exclaimed those words. He was starting to walk away when he heard you say

"Ok, you can come in"

Speedy couldn't believe it, shyly opened the door. He took off his clothes and piled them on the toilet seat. He slightly opened the shower curtain and entered with you closing his eyes

You were waiting for him face to face, the first thing you saw was Peter with his eyes closed so you laughed but then your eyes began to slowly go down to his torso. He had well worked pectorals, his white skin seemed soft and he was tempting you. You kept looking down until you reached her stomach, it looked like a Greek sculpture, and her small waist made you want to hug him and feel his skin in your hands.

You kept looking at his stomach until a thought quickly crossed your mind: Don't keep going down, don't keep going down! And you looked up and to the right blushing and covering your body with your arms

Can I open my eyes now? -When he heard you tell him "yes", he slowly opened one first and then the other and blushed

He looked away out of respect but he couldn't resist and he saw your body again, it was even more beautiful than he thought. You still looked down in embarrassment while covering your private parts. But thighs were still showing, and that's where Peter's eyes went. You had one leg in front of the other, resting your whole body on one of them, which made you look delicious. Peter looked at your hips, you weren't a supermodel but for him it was as if the gods themselves had sculpted you. Your rounded hips gave shape to your waist and accentuated it. Peter's pupils dilated.

Now Peter's eyes were on your shoulders, they ran through your body as if it were a manuscript and ended up on your collarbones to then look at your wet neck. He wanted so much to kiss it and feel the taste of your skin

Peter noticed that you were uncomfortable so he told you not to worry about what it was going to be like if he wasn't there. So he grabbed a sponge, a soap and began to rub his body without looking at you

Slowly you stopped covering your body with your arms and you thanked him with your eyes and turned your back to face the hot rain, it felt so good. You closed your eyes letting the water fall on your body and slide on your skin. The drops seemed to play a race along your legs. They started at your belly and slid down your hips. Meanwhile, Peter was concentrating on not looking at your butt as he rubbed his neck and back with the sponge.

The boy sneakily approached you a little closer to moisten the sponge. Since Peter was taller than you, you felt his warm breath near your ear, he was closer than he should have been. Suddenly and delicately you felt fine fingers pass through the sides of your hip. They slid from top to bottom following the drops of water as if he wanted to clean them. You felt a chill even though the water was hot

His touches were soft, he passed a hand around your waist caressing it slowly, his movements were delicate as if he were molding a sculpture.

"Peter.."-You said almost in a whisper to turn your head and look at him

He looked at you smiling mischievously. You decided to stick closer to his body as you tipped your head back and placed it on his shoulder near his neck to give him more space. Now that you was completely close to him, Peter dropped the sponge and placed both his hands on the sides of your waist. Another shiver ran through your body at the feel of his grip. Peter's hands, manly, went down from your waist to your hips and near the lower area of your belly, reaching your buttocks where he left a small pinch. You moaned but not in pain.

Peter's hands embraced you, they ran through your body as if he wanted to leave paint marks on it, you closed your eyes while your breathing quickened and your toes curled. His left hand went up to your breasts while the other went down to your privacy. First he caressed you on the outside while you didn't know where to hold on to keep from falling to your knees so you placed one hand behind his neck and your other hand grabbing Peter's wrist that was below.

When Peter inserted a finger into your intimate area, you let out a small moan while throwing your head back even more. You felt your lips throb and he liked that. He began to stimulate you by making circles with his finger on your clitoris, the rhythm varied, first they were slow and then fast.

"Oh my god Peter please..!"-you gasped pleadingly then bit your lips

You felt that you were about to cum and you didn't know if you could keep holding yourself back for longer

But Peter didn't give you rest, with your head thrown back he began to place wild, hungry kisses on your neck. The hand that was in your privacy came up and grabbed your jaw. Peter kissed every inch of your neck and jaw as if he were going to devour you, you did nothing but moan with pleasure and purr like a cat. Peter went down to your collarbones and left wet kisses

Tired of being the one receiving and not being able to touch his body, you turned around abruptly and your lips found him. You grabbed his face feeling needy and kissed him voraciously. His tongue explored yours while his hands cupped your ass. They both moan without taking off their mouths.

Peter grabbed your legs and you wrapped them around his hips as he pinned you against the damp shower wall. The sprinter reaffirmed his grip by placing his hands on your thighs and encircling them.

"Are you ready?"-he asked with his pulse racing

You nodded hastily and impatiently, there was no need to ask anything, you just wanted to have it inside of you now. You wrapped your arms around his neck and when you felt his hips loosen inside you, a surge of pleasant electricity ran through your body from head to toe and you opened your mouth in a silent moan. His thrusts were delicate at first but they increased in speed as Peter noticed that the first sensation of pain had disappeared and there was no risk of hurting you. Your body was hitting the wall at a considerable rate but you was enjoying it. Their bodies were drenched in sweat, and not just from the hot water. Your wet hair fell over your shoulders and chest while Peter's fell over his forehead almost covering his eyes. He rose and rose like the temperature, the mirror was fogged up while some of the water fell on Peter's back and torso

God looked so good with his broad back and the raindrops running down his shoulders, it made you feel more feverish. He looked like a maddened bull, his muscles tensed and concentrating on keeping up.

Suddenly Peter threw his head back with his eyes closed and panting he said

"I think I'm about to cum baby"

and said and done with a hoarse growl from Peter you felt the walls of your interior fill with something warm

But he wanted to continue a little more until you did the same so approaching your ear he whispered

"Come on, now cum for me please"-He begged for it like a wounded or helpless animal

Goddamn Maximoff

You closed your eyes and grabbed his hair tightly while our bodies moved frantically up and down like in a fast dance and when you couldn't take it anymore you felt your fluids shoot up.

Maximoff put you back on the ground gently, their bodies felt exhausted and your legs trembled slightly. You turned off the faucet while you two caught your breath and got out of the shower. Peter came out first and wrapped a towel around his hip and held out his hand to help you out as he put on the robe you had come in with.

You finished drying yourself in your room and getting dressed, You expected Peter to do the same but he hadn't brought his clothes. When you pointed it out to him, he ran out of your room even with his robe around his waist. When he ran through the corridors he left small puddles of water. You laughed imagining the poor fool slipping and falling (if Peter hadn't already).

.....

Professor X was walking through the corridors with his wheelchair when he saw a puddle of water in front of him

"How strange, where does this water come from?"

He saw that Hank was coming up behind him and asked him

"Do you happen to know why there are puddles of water all over the hallway?"

"No idea, maybe the janitor forgot to dry the floor"-Hank said casually.

..............................................................................................................................

I leave this and slowly walk away...

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pupkashi · 7 months

Text

scars

gojo learns to love the scars on his body

a/n: hi friends ! here is sweet and soft lil something about our favorite white haired sorcerer <33 thank u for the request and i hope u guys enjoy :3

wordcount: 1,547

masterlist

he stares at it every morning. when he pushes his hair back to fix it and put on his blindfold, when he wears a shirt that isn’t his Jujutsu uniform. his eyes seem drawn to the faint scars on his forehead, neck and chest.

they seem jagged and out of place compared to the rest of his smooth and perfect skin, serving as a reminder of his failures and losses.

“g’morning pretty boy,” you mumble, walking past him and sitting on the toilet, too asleep to notice the way satoru jumped, quickly letting his hair fall to cover the scar.

the pet name seems unfitting as his eyes move back to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. “morning sweets” he finally answers, washing his face and grabbing his toothbrush.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, still as intuitive as ever when it came to your lover.

“‘m fine, just a bit stressed,” a tight lipped smile as he hands you the toothpaste. you don’t believe him, but you decide to hold off until at least after you’ve woken up a bit more.

you don’t say anything as the two of you continue to get ready, letting your gaze linger on satoru. there was nothing you could think of that could’ve made him upset so early

it’s a bit quiet as you both make your way into the living room, flowing easily as you two make breakfast, making each others coffee, with satoru carrying the plates to the table and you the coffees. (the last time he carried the coffees burned his hand and spilled both cups everywhere.)

and as he’s about to head out the door you’re pulling him by his collar, fixing it a bit and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. satoru melts into your touch, hands slipping around your waist and all worries being thrown out the window.

“have a good day angel boy,” you mumble, pressing on last kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“cant be that good if I’m not with you,” he pouts, not bothering to make a motion to leave, not until you’re forcing him out the door as he whines ‘just one more kiss!’

it’s anytime there’s a reflective surface, he’s stealing a glance, making sure his neck is covered. he’s so careful about it, wanting to keep his scars hidden, too ashamed to show them to the world.

“sensei is that a scar on your neck? that’s so cool how’d you get it?!” yuji’s voice is enthusiastic and his eyes are glimmering as he stares up at his teacher.

satoru physically tenses at the acknowledgment of the scar on his neck, quickl flashes of that day coming into his mind. geto, riko, where it all went wrong.

“just a nasty fight is all” he shrugs his shoulders, hoping the younger boy would drop the topic.

“but if you have infinity how’s that happen?” his brows furrowed as satoru tries to calm himself down.

“yuji come look! megumi found something!” nobara calls out, the pink haired boy rushing to her side as making their way to their other friend.

satoru’s hand unconsciously brushes over the raised skin, recalling how he’d tried so hard to get the skin back to normal, begging shoko to help him.

that afternoon he’s wearing a bigger sweater, letting his messy bangs fall over his forehead and trying his best to cover up his neck when he catches you staring at him.

“what?” he asks, a nervous smile on his lips. did you realize how ugly they were? were you finally done calling him pretty?

“nothin’ you just look so pretty” you sigh, smiling as you press a kiss to his cheek, hand reaching to push his bangs out of his eyes. satoru stops you immediately, his much larger hand wrapping around your wrist, eyes wide as he realized what he’d done.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles, hand shaking slightly as he lets go of you, rushing into the restroom and taking deep breaths. you were gonna hate him after that, you would realize how fucked up he was and you were gonna leave him and-

three soft knocks on the door pulls him from his thoughts, “angel boy? you okay?” you sounded worried, and he couldn’t help the tears filling his eyes.

“I’m sorry if i overstepped, i didn’t mean to” your voice smaller, satoru opened the door immediately, almost instantly pulling you into his arms.

“no you didn’t” a shaky breath leaving his lips as he debates on where to go from here. “it’s just, i don’t really like my scars,” he frowns, eyes averting your gaze.

you gently take his hand in yours, leading him back to the couch, watching as he tentatively fiddles with the hem of his sweater, pulling it off of him.

there’s a scar running from his neck down his chest, the skin raised ever so slightly. he shrinks as your eyes land on the skin, clenching his jaw when he lifts his bands and reveals the smaller scar on his forehead to you.

“they ruin everything,” he whispers, watching as your fingers ghost over the skin.

“may i?” you’re looking up at him, and he doesn’t know what the emotions swirling behind your eyes are, but he nods anyway. shivering when your fingers make contact with the skin, trailing down the entire length of it.

he jumps a bit when you place a feathery kiss to the top of the scar, he watches as you continue to kiss down his chest, following until the end of the scar. your hands feel cold compared to his now flushed skin, watching as you look up at him.

you don’t say anything as you cup his face in your hands, pressing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. “they don’t ruin anything, pretty boy,” your words laced with love.

“but-” he begins, the shake of your head cuts him off, the slight furrow of you brows is enough to have him stay quiet.

“no, i don’t wanna hear it,” you frown, “they don’t make you any less attractive, they don’t make you any less of my pretty boy,” the words comfort him in a way he never thought words could. the warmth blooming in his chest has his eyes watering slightly. “in a way they show how much you’ve grown, what you’ve learned and lost” you begin, your fingers intwined with his, grip tightening a bit.

“you don’t think they look, i don’t know, ugly or out of place?” he pouts, still not daring to look into your eyes.

“don’t be silly angel boy,” you grin, pushing his bangs out of his face, pressing a kiss on his forehead, atop his small scar, “nothing about you could ever be ugly, you’re the prettiest.”

his cheeks are dusted pink as a small giggle slips past his lips, finally meeting your gaze when you gently lift his chin with your index finger.

“but as much as i love you, you smell like sweat,” you scrunch your nose up, “so go shower,” laughing when his jaw drops, letting go of your hand and sniffing himself, scrunching his nose in agreement.

satoru doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself around you, smothering you in a hug, laughing loudly as you struggle to free yourself.

after his shower satoru’s eyes linger on his scars, the dewy mirror distorting his reflection slightly. for the first time since he can remember, satoru doesn’t think about that time when his eyes land on his scars, rather he thinks of the love of his life, the one who comforted him through it all, the one waiting for him now.

a small smile on his lips when you welcome him into bed, clinging to him as soon as he slips under the covers. you pull him close to you, peppering kisses along his jaw, then his cheeks and finally landing on his lips.

“you’re my pretty, angel boy,” you whisper, eyes staring into his cerulean ones, “i don’t want you to ever think otherwise,” pressing one last kiss to his lips before cuddling into his chest.

instead of flinching away, he lets you. he lets himself relax as your hand rests over the scar, only the thin fabric of his t shirt separating your fingers from grazing the skin. he relaxes into your touch, smiling when you press kisses to any open you see, whispering compliments into his ear, comments reserved for only him.

slowly satoru finds himself not even glancing at his scars in the mirror, he no longer tugs at his shirt collars, and he doesn’t dread staring at the mirror. he doesn’t sleep with a shirt anymore, and he walks around shirtless, a boost of confidence shooting through him when he catches you staring.

they no longer feel out of place or ugly. not as you kiss them, each press of your lips more filled with love and tenderness than the last. not as your fingers ghost over them, giggling when he flexed his abs under your touch. not when you accidentally let slip that you think he looks hotter with scars.

not when you’re there to kiss away any insecurities he has, to push away any doubts in his mind with a shower of compliments.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

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cupcakeinat0r · 3 months

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Need him to look at me like this before he bends me over the nearest surface.

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olsenmyolsen · 7 months

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Ups and Downs Pt. II

master list

dark master list

Slight MCU AU (Female Reader X Natasha Romanoff)

Be sure to read part one!

Summary: Your neighbor across the hall isn't anything like you thought she'd be.

Word Count: 4.7K

TW: Men, Guns, Violence, Bad Flirting, Fighting, Shooting, Blood, Feelings, Needles

Of course, the day you met the prettiest girl possibly in the whole entire world. You were also in a shootout with a spy.

Okay, yes, the spy and the girl are one in the same, but you get my point.

"How long ago was the guy here?"

"I-uh.." Since Nat's hands and sweet voice were all over and around your body, you truly lost any concept of time.

Nat ignored your non-answer as she looks out the window where her sniper is positioned before turning to you with a worried look.

"Y/N GET DOWN!"

You barely had time to move your body before the windows next to Nat exploded, sending you, her, and pieces of glass flying everywhere. Her body lands on its back in front of yours. New forming cuts already on her face. "Nat?!" You asked, sounding muffled due to the ringing in your ears.

Shit, a lot of you will hurt tomorrow if you get through this.

"Ow.." Nat blinks, her eyes opening as she wipes the blood from her forehead. Before she looks you over, making sure you're not harmed. "I gotta say that looks a lot cooler in the movies." You state.

"Yeah, I know." As if Natasha watches anything but classic James Bond. "Okay, Y/N, listen to me." She gets up on her knees in front of you but keeps you down low to the floor. Her hand on your back provides you with reassurance. Plus, it feels nice.

Should I tell her that my throat needs to be reassured?

"They blew out the windows because they saw me. If I know them.. and I do. They're about to send in smoke bombs. Try and flush us out. Whatever you do, regulate your breathing. Okay. In fact..." Nat keeps the two of you low but begins to move you both back to the kitchen. "Here." She grabs her bag off the counter and throws it down. Nat reaches into a side pocket and pulls out a hard mask.

"Come here." Nat motions you to come closer, and like a good girl, you do. "You're going to wear this." Nat quickly wraps the mask around your face. "As you can tell, your vision will be slightly askew, but your breathing will be fine as long as you..." Nat trails as she raises her eyebrow.

Fuck she's so fucking calm right now, and it looks so fucking hot on her- oh, she's staring at me. Oh, uhhh-

"Keep my breathing regulated?" You answer, which earns a proud smile from Nat. "Yep. Good job." I am a good girl. You think with a smile.

"Wait!" You grab onto Nat's arm. She stops rummaging through the bag to look at you. "What about you? Do you have a mask?" Nat shakes her head at you. "I only have one. But don't worry." She smiles. "I've dealt with far worse."

Nat pulls out a pistol you hadn't seen before. She looks up and onto the dining room table. You follow her eyesight. The small silver discs. "I can grab them."

"No, wait!"

You go to reach forward but get yanked back by Nat. A sniper shot rings out, the bullet going through the wood right where your hand would've been. "You okay?" She asks with a soft gaze, looking into your mask. You nod, even though you're growing more scared by the minute. "Shit, they have more than I thought." Nat rubs her hand up and down your back while she thinks. You believe this action to be absent-minded. But Natasha knows you are scared. The last thing she needs is for you to be scared and get hurt or, worse, killed.

So she's thinking of you first.

"Why haven't they fired the gas yet?" You ask. Nat looks at you before looking at the window. "They're playing a game. Shit.." Nat bites her lip and thinks.

You see her biting her lip, and you start thinking, too.

But you both aren't thinking remotely the same things.

"They're trying to draw you out. They know you're here with me." Nat looks at you. "Give me your hand." You hold it out for her as she takes your wrist and gently places the pistol she had behind her back in your hand.

"This is a Beretta 92. It's a very accurate close-range weapon. Okay? Keep it low. Away from yourself and me."

"What, Nat, I can't-"

"It holds 15 rounds. When the magazine empties, this thing will slide lock back like this." She shows you. Keeping her eyes on you instead of the gun. You look at her as she repeats the action.

"Natalie, I don't think I can do this."

"Natasha." She replies.

"What?" You tilt your head, confused. "Natalie is a cover. Natasha is my real name."

Unbeknownst to you is that Natasha still wasn't even her legal name.

You don't miss a beat before replying with: "You look prettier as a Natasha anyways."

"Really flirting? Now?" You shrug. "I've been flirting all along. It's about time you caught on." Even though you most certainly HAVE NOT been flirting this whole time. "So, is that what you call it?"

Natasha wins this battle.

"Look at the gun, Y/N." She coos you. You move your eyes to the gun as Nat holds your hand with hers. Showing you the first few steps again.

"Okay, now to reload-"

Nat gets interrupted as three canisters shoot through the broken windows. The second they land, they start leaking smoke. "Don't be scared." You go to argue that you're not, but with a smile, Nat raises her eyebrows, earning a scoff from you. Sassy even in a life-or-death situation.

"Okay, to reload. Push this down." She begins to talk faster as you both can sense that instruction time will be over soon. So she pushes your hand. "The empty mag will fall out, and then you shove the other one in. Like replacing batteries in a flashlight. Okay?" She asks as the smoke creeps into the kitchen. You nod, feeling the weight of the gun in your hand when Nat removes hers.

"Nat, I don't think I can do this. Shooting people." You clarify. Nat turns and looks into your eyes as the sound of men marching up your apartment building becomes louder and louder. "Okay, Y/N, listen to me." She grabs the sides of your mask so you can look into her emerald eyes.

Okay, how is she hotter now that she's covered in bruises and blood? Will I look hotter if I'm covered in bruises and blood?

Should I ask?

"Y/N, listen to me! These men are coming in here to kill you and me. I will do everything in my power to protect you, but in the event that I'm not able to, I'm trusting you to be able to defend yourself. Okay? Don't use it unless you have to." You nod with a dumb grin on your face that, thankfully, Natasha could not see, or else she would think you really were hopeless. "Most importantly, don't move unless I tell you to. Please don't do anything besides shoot this gun unless I tell you to. I say duck, what do you do?"

"Duck... Goose." You joke, but before Natasha could scold you, the front door to the apartment flies off its hinges. However, thankfully, the smoke has now possessed the room, covering for you and Natasha...

...Natasha?

You look to your right to see no one next to you.

Great, even in a shootout, you can't keep a girl.

You sigh and stay still as heavy footsteps are heard entering the apartment. You do your best to count, and you assume five men are now here to kill you. You stay still on the floor in the corner of the kitchen when you hear one of the men speak up. "Come on out with your friend, little widow! We promise not to hurt her."

You rolled your eyes through the mask, and that's when you heard two shots being fired off before a loud thud hit the floor across the apartment.

"How did she do that?!" You hear a heavily accented man yell before a multitude of bullets are fired from an automatic weapon.

However, instead of Natasha getting hit, she jumps up off the coffee table in the middle of the living room and knees one of the men in the nose. Making him stagger back in pain, leaving him little time to think as she attaches a widow bite disc to the man, shocking him to the floor but not before grabbing his pistol and aiming it at the other man in the room, sending one shot to his thigh and the other to his left shoulder before she empties the magazine and throws the pistol at the guy's face knocking him out.

Two more men to go.

Lucky for Natasha, the shooting and her elegant, quick movements confused the last two dummies. Plus, with their own smoke, it makes it impossible to see someone as highly trained as The Black Widow.

You nearly jump when Natasha slides on the kitchen floor before you. You go to speak, but Natasha signals with her hands to zip it.

You nod and try to think about how good she looks, kicking these guy's ass.

Natasha puts a hand in front of your face, making you focus up. You okay? She asks with her hands. You nod, making the redhead spy smile.

A genuine smile, too.

And even though she said it earlier, that's when you truly realize that Natasha is protecting you. Whether it's her job or not, you like to believe it's because she cares for you. Even if just a little bit.

Your beliefs would be correct.

However, before you could ask Natasha if she was doing okay or what her favorite color is, you watch her take off running. The smoke in the room shoots out and away from Natasha. You watch in amazement as Natasha jumps and wraps her legs around a man's head before spinning the top half of her body around, sending the man head first into the floor. His nose breaking on impact. Her landing on her feet.

Is it weird that you want that done to you?

"Your friends are taken care of. So I suggest you come out and let me kick your ass too." Natasha speaks aloud with her back facing you to the last man standing as the smoke in the room clears.

You stand up from the ground and take a step towards Nat. The gun still tightly gripped in your hand. Your eyes remain on Natasha as she starts to walk back towards you; however, before she turns around, your body gets hit with a force from the side. Launching your head into the cabinets to your left.

"Ow fucker!" You yell!

The crashing sound and your curse alerting Natasha. The larger man places his hand on your mask and pushes your head into the cabinet again, this time making it bleed as his other hand reaches for your gun. "Give up!" He yells before removing his hand from your mask to punch you in the side of your body. You groan and stumble.

He reels back to hit you again, but instead, Natasha rips the gun from your hand with efficiency and pistol whips the man in the face, sending him flying back. The man yells in pain as he readies himself to fight, but Natasha is fast. She runs and kicks the guy in his ankle, making him fall to his knee. She smirks as he yells out in pain before she double kicks him in the throat, making him fall as he begins to choke.

Before anger entirely overtakes Natasha, she hears you crash to the floor behind her. When Natasha turns around, she sees blood on the sides of the counter.

"Y/N!" Natasha runs to your side and drops the gun next to the two of you. Instantly, she's ripping the gas mask off of you and turning your head. "Let me see." She gingerly pulls your chin, making you look away so she can examine the extent of your head injury. "It doesn't look deep. But we need to stop the bleeding."

Natasha quickly looks around the damaged kitchen before finding a forgotten rag. She places it on your head and hates how you wince in pain.

"Keep your hand here." Natasha takes your left hand and places it over the rag over the cut. "Be honest.." You start as Natasha looks over the rest of you.

"Do I look cool or like dogshit?"

Natasha's lips crack into a smile at your joke. "You look so cool," Natasha says, whether it was true or not. "You took some hits, too. Impressive." Natasha says with a smile. "Yeah, well, someone didn't yell Goose." You playfully hit Natasha's leg with your foot.

"Next time." She says.

"Oh! Next time?" You say and continue. "Planning on our next date being another shootout?" You raise an eyebrow but wince when you move your head a bit too much at the moment, saving Natasha from seeing her blush.

"Who said anything about a date?" Natasha quips. You knew it was coming, but you still had a smile. "You're right. I guess shootouts aren't a good date idea. I'll pick something better for, let's say... Friday?" You laughed at your own joke per usual, but ended up coughing in pain. Not per usual.

Natasha's hands immediately went to the hem of your shirt before you reacted. "Hey. What did I say? We haven't had our date yet." Natasha thought it was cute but still rolled her eyes. "I need to check to ensure you're not bleeding internally."

"Can you really tell?" You questioned. "No. But I know a thing or two more than you, so let me look." She had you there. So, with your permission, Natasha slowly lifted your shirt but made a face when she saw your red skin already bruising and enlarging. "It's not awful, but it's going to hurt a lot before it gets better."

Natasha places her hand over the area and begins to rub. "Does it hurt here?" She lays a small out of pressure, forcing you to nod in pain. "Not at all." You whine and clench your jaw. "Okay... I'm going to call this in. Get us evac'd."

Your eyes widened not because of Natasha's words but because of the guy behind Natasha. Yes, the one she kicked in the throat started to get up. "Natasha..." You said, making her look into your eyes. "What's wrong?"

She noticed how you looked.

Natasha turned behind her to see the man perched up on his good knee. Gun in hand. She immediately puts her body directly in front of yours.

"Step aside, widow. Let me kill this one without trouble."

"Not going to let that happen." Natasha reached behind her and expertly grabbed the gun she gave you earlier from the floor and pulled it in front of her, not wasting another breath as she fired the weapon twice—one into the man's chest and the other directly into the man's head.

From her crouched position, she got up with precision and made it to the man on the floor. She kicked the smoking gun out of his hand and made sure he was... Wait- smoking gun?

Natasha looked from the gun to you.

Fear ran through her body as she saw your figure slumped over on the floor in a bigger pool of your own blood.

Natasha would've ran to your body if this would've been her first time in a position like this, but it wasn't. She had saved countless people before, and she was not about to lose you!

So Natasha ran to her bag and rifled through a side pocket until she found her phone and a needle of Tetrodotoxin B. A drug developed by Bruce Banner with the idea of slowing his heart rate to one beat per minute. Natasha didn't know if it worked on Bruce or not, but she knew SHEILD had it for some reason.

Right now, that reason was going to be you.

As Natasha flicked the end of the needle and pulled your arm out in front of you, she called Clint on speaker phone. "Sorry if this hurts," Natasha said to your now unconscious body. Her eyes watering.

"Hello?"

"Go secure!" Natasha yelled as she sat your body up and ripped off the right half of your shirt to examine your bullet wound.

"Secure," Clint replied. "Shit!" Natasha replied, confusing the bow and arrow man. "Natasha?"

Nat looked at your head wound and the rest of your body. The Banner drug was going to help keep you alive, but you were still losing blood.

Natasha hated everything about this moment.

Ups and downs. The day Natasha met someone who didn't know who she was. The day she could actually see herself being around someone was also the day they were bleeding out in front of her.

"I need evac! Safehouse A is blown. Got caught up in a shoot out, and Y/N is hit."

She got up and went to look for whatever medical supplies she had in addition to any extra clothes to get you changed and wrapped your wound.

"Y/N?" Clint questioned. "Like the Golden retriever? The neighbor from across the hall?"

"Yep! She's not going to make it unless you send someone right now, Clint."Natasha didn't want to believe her words. Barton, for one thing, couldn't.

"Are you serious?"

"Serious as a God falling from the sky."

"Go to safe house B. Evac is on the way."

With that, the line clicked, and the call ended. Natasha did her best to dress your injuries before the only thing she was doing was watching how slow your breathing had become...

You woke up to bright lights above you and a horrible feeling in your nose... and head.... and shoulder... and side. Wow!

Wow.

Okay, so you actually had this horrible feeling called pain all over you.

You tried lifting your head to look around, but it felt like a ton of bricks was pushing on your skull. But you pushed through and found a short brown-haired man sitting in a chair by the only door in or out. "Who the fuck was he?" You thought and tried to speak, but your throat was too scratchy to say anything, making you cough.

The man in the chair looked up at the noise and noticed you.

He sent a quick message on his phone before closing it. He got up from his lazy position, running to your bedside table, and filled up a tiny paper cup full of water. "Here." He said as he held it in front of your lips.

You don't know if he didn't trust you or if your hands/arms were too weak. You didn't want to find out, so you took a sip from the cup and let the cold water run down your burning throat. "Thank you."

"Welcome." Silence. "Natasha should be down here soon. I let her know you woke up." You tilted your head and looked over the man, slightly nodding. "So you're Y/N?" He already knew, but Clint was happy he could talk to someone new for a change. Even if he did talk like an uncle, you don't see but once every couple of years.

"Where am I?" You ignored the man walking back to the chair near the door and asked.

"You're safe if that's your concern." He spoke, but you just sighed. "Anytime a woman is alone in a room with a man and he says something like that. It doesn't make her feel safe."

Clint bit his lip as he listened to your words before nodding along. "Can't argue with that." Clint got up again from the chair and made his way to you. Making you jump and look him over. "I'm Clint. I'm the one Natasha spoke to on the phone." You remembered the phone call before the windows blew out, but not much after getting your head thrown into a kitchen cabinet.

"Hi, Clint. Are you going to tell me where I am?" You asked in a tone more annoyed off than friendly. Clint smiled. "I see why Natasha likes you."

Now that got you interested!

But before you or Uncle Clint could say anything else, the door opened, and in ran Natasha. Her cuts are all covered by bandages, and her face clean from a shower. "How long has she been up?" Natasha passed her friend, stopping to stand next to you.

"I let you know the second she did." Clint smiled at you and Natasha. "I'll leave you to it." Natasha thanked Clint, and the two of you watched him leave the room.

"You probably feel like shit huh?" Natasha questioned, but as she reached to move a hair from your face, you backed away. Natasha didn't understand why. "Y/N?" She asked.

"Who are you?" You asked, making Natasha's jaw drop before she quickly recovered. Helen didn't mention any memory loss. Natasha looked away, a little hurt that this might be the case, but when she looked back, she saw you smiling. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Holding in a laugh.

Natasha figured it out.

"Fuck you!"

"I got you!" You laughed and cheered before wincing in pain and coughing. Making Natasha smile at the instant karma while getting you a cup of water. "Serves you right."

She held the cup up to your pink lips and watched a little spill out the corners of your mouth. She watched a droplet slide down your throat and disappear into your gown.

Your voice bringing Natasha back. "I just lived through many movie cliches. I HAD to do this one." You said, making Natasha smile and nod to you before she sat at the edge in the middle of the bed.

Natasha wanted to reach for your hand as silence enveloped the two of you. She wanted to tell you how close you were to dying or how scared she was. But Natasha didn't reach for your hand.

Instead, you reached for hers.

"You know if a hot spy is going to come into my hospital room in an unknown location, the least she could do is hold my hand."

That made Natasha Romanoff blush.

"Hot spy, huh?" Natasha teased, but you just nodded, feeling confident. "Look in a mirror, Natasha." Natasha laughed. "Sometimes you really just don't stop flirting." That made you smile. Natasha didn't say it was lousy flirting. "Just wait till we start dating."

"Oh?" Natasha raised her eyebrow but hit back a smile. "Is that what we're going to do?"

"Yeah, remember, shootouts don't count. So Friday, you and I are going out." Natasha shook her head but didn't disagree. "You don't even know what day it is." That was true. "Friday...?" You looked at Natasha with hope, but she shook her head again. "Nope. Besides. I like it went my dates aren't still in a hospital bed." You sighed but internally screamed at Natasha, flirting back. Natasha watched you before turning away. Her thumb rubbed over yours.

"Hey.." Natasha started making you look at her. "I- I'm sorry for getting you involved in my mess. You-" Natasha stopped and pulled her hand away to rub her face. "You almost died because of me." Natasha felt guilty. She should've kicked you out the second you weren't a threat. Instead, she liked having your company. In the minutes you spent in Natasha's presence, she wanted to keep you around.

"Natasha." You reached out for her hand again and was surprised when she gave it to you. But you still pulled her hand, making her look to you. Her green eyes shining. You nodded for Natasha to scoot closer.

She did.

"Don't blame yourself." Natasha went to open her mouth, but you interrupted her. "There's no doubt I would be dead if you hadn't been there. Besides... I'm the curious one. I knocked on your door. I wanted to get to know you. I stuck around because I wanted to. My body hurts like hell. But I'm alive because of you."

Natasha didn't look entirely convinced, but that would come in time. It was sad to see this badass person beat herself up over something that wasn't your fault or hers. It just happened because of horrible people. "Can you at least do me something?" Natasha tilted her head. "What?"

"Can you at least tell yourself that you saved me?" That sounded like a big ask at the moment but not as big as the next thing. "And! Tell me that you actually enjoy my flirting because it's only going to get worse." That made Natasha throw her head back and laugh, making you smile.

You were so focused on Natasha that you didn't see the room door open.

"Oh wow, never thought I'd see the day. Natasha Romanoff laughing! Time!?!" The man with a striking anchor beard and a Tom Ford suit called out as he walked closer to the bed you laid in.

"Good to see you awake. It's nice to put a name to the face of my almost-dead Budapest employee."

Tony Stark looked you over as sassy as the man is known for before looking at Natasha, who was internally scolding him for mispronouncing Budapesht.

"Quite a catch, that one. So what's the diagnosis?! How long we got?" He picked up your chart and began flipping through paperwork he should not be looking at before Natasha took it. "Tony..." She sounded exhausted already. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you." He said, looking upset that your chart got taken away from him. "I came to see who was moving in."

If Tony Stark. Your boss. Who also happens to have a hobby of flying around in a gold and red suit wasn't shocking enough to you than that last sentence that he said was.

"Moving in?!?" You asked, shocked. Ton- Mr. Stark- no Iron Man..?! What were you supposed to call him?!

Mr. Tony Man looked from you to Natasha before saying: "Looks like you didn't tell the Misses." This made Natasha get up and grab the not-so-tin man by his collar, whispering methods of torture she would use if he didn't leave the two of you alone.

"I expect to see you at work once you make a full recovery!" Tony yelled and pointed at you before the redhead slammed the door in his face.

Natasha composed herself before turning to you, still wearing a shocked face. "Moving in?!?" You asked again. Natasha nodded as she walked to you. "Yes. We-" She sighed. "I thought it would be the safest option for you. Plus, you can recover here. You're back in the States." Natasha's words fell on the quiet side before she sat on the bed.

Closer to you this time. "I can think of a few other reasons.." You look at Natasha and smiled.

"You don't have to. If you want to leave or go back to Budapesht, I understand." Natasha wants you to know that there is no pressure to stay. But you already know this. If you wanted to get up right now and leave, Natasha would probably let you.

"Staying might be nice."

"Yeah?" Natasha looks hopeful. "Yeah." Natasha smiles and reaches her hand to your face. Moving a stray hair back behind your ear. "If you do stay, that means I can tell you the best part."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" You curiously ask as Natasha looks at you like she's got some big secret.

"I'd be your neighbor across the hall."

You were free to leave the hospital bed 4 days later.

The next day you moved in right across from Natasha Romanoff.

A week later you took her on a date.

dividers by @/benkeibear

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smutinlove · 10 months

Text

Dinner with Grimes

Carl Grimes x female reader

I literally screamed when I wrote the last few sentences 🤭

You and Carl had decided to host dinner at your place. But you just wanted to tease Carl, so you wore an incredibly short dress.

You entered the kitchen; Carl was there making spaghetti. He eyed you up and down. "Hey, Y/N..." You smirked. "Carl, are you okay?" He started sweating. "Y—yeah. I'm fine."You joined him and started making orange juice. "Fuck, Y/N," he muttered. "What was that?" You asked with a grin on your face. He pinned you against the kitchen counter. You smirked and knew your plan was definitely working.

"Carl, what are you doing?" You innocently asked. "Y/N, are you sure you wanna do this?" He asked. You smirked. "Yeah," you said.

He lifted your dress up, revealing your lacey black panties that you wore just for him.

"Fuck, Y/N, you make me so fucking hard." You moaned as he squeezed your ass. You slipped off your panties. "That's better," he said. You smiled and bit your lip, knowing what he'd do, next. He slapped your ass, making you whimper in pleasure.

You moaned as he rubbed his cock over your folds. "Carl, don't make me wait..."

He took off his shirt. He grabbed your hair and pulled it. "Carl, please," you begged. He was teasing you. You knew it. "You want my cock that badly?" He asked with a stupid smirk on his face. You couldn't help but nod.

"Please, just fuck me..." You begged. He slammed inside you, making you moan loudly. "Fuck," he grunted. He pulled your hair. "Tell me how much you love my cock, you whore." He demanded.

"Carl, you have the biggest fucking cock, it's so fucking good," you moaned. He thrusted inside you. "Please, I can't take this!" You moaned. "Carl, please!" You screamed as he hit your spot.

You felt yourself start to melt. "I'm gonna come," you whined. He didn't slow down. "Fuck, Carl!" You cried out. "Come, Y/N," he groaned.

You heard a door open. "Holy shit! What the fuck, Y/N. Disgusting." You heard Glenn mutter. He covered his eyes and rushed out of the house.

"That's gonna be a lot to explain..." You said.

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chosos-mascara · 1 year

Text

you shouldn't

𝙩𝙤𝙟𝙞 𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - arriving at toji's home after a break-up, you decide to finally make a move.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - age gap (reader is mid-20s, toji is late 40s), sex, some angst but resolved, fingering, teasing, petnames, no mentions of birth control, dom!toji, dilf!toji

minors + ageless dni 4k words

"What're ya doing here, kid?" Toji was dishevelled, a bath robe tied loosely around his waist, chest open to reveal a few scars behind the silk. Your eyes were puffy, swollen from tears, lips bloated and peeling, a few marks from where you'd bitten the soft skin a little too much. A state you hadn't wanted him to see, but one he'd answered the door to nonetheless, much to your embarrassment.

"He broke up with me." The sentence left you with reluctance, eyes unable to meet his, instead trailing down to meet the indentations of pink painted on his skin, a mark you knew had been the result of a previous job. Toji sighed and stepped back, opening his door wider to accommodate you, though not before shooting you a disapproving look. "Told ya it wouldn't last." He couldn't help but to scold you for mistakes, no matter how much you'd been hurt in the process. Though, this was new - you hadn't turned up to his home through tears before.

"I trusted him," A sob racked over you as you'd explained, the warmth inside his hall kissing your cold cheeks. "I don't know why. They're all the same." The final words were quieter as you sniffled back another cry, shaking your head. "You keep lettin' these guys fuck with ya. 's your own fault." His voice was a little muffled; you'd understood he had been bringing a cigarette to lips and lighting it with the way the sentence had left the curve of a half open mouth. "Thought he was different, Toj'." You glanced up to him, sporting the usual puppy-dog eyes - the sole reason Toji couldn't turn you away. His social battery was lower than most, though when it'd come to you, his tolerance had increased. There was something about the way you'd looked at him, your mannerisms, and the fact he'd known you'd needed him. Even if you hadn't explicitly told him, Toji understood he was a big part of your life.

He'd been your father's friend - not that you'd spent much time with the man himself; a business partner. Toji hadn't thought himself as a good dad, often leaving Megumi for extended periods of time, but when he'd met an eighteen-year-old you over dinner with the old man, he'd realised his parenting had been award-winning compared to his associate's. Your relationship with Toji had been purely business related at first, beginning a career under the family's sector as his secretary, and through pity, the black-haired male had taken time out of his day to look out for you. You'd play back, and he'd appreciate your witty responses, eventually looking forward to the grin greeting him before he'd step into his office. It had been a number of years ago now, and something had bloomed between the pair of you.

Toji had assumed you'd seen him as a parental figure - he'd been in his late forties while you still in the midst of twenties, a large age gap according to him. Though after a few drinks at the work's Christmas party he'd been dragged to, he'd been met with a confession from yourself - "I used to have a pretty big crush on you." One he found himself remembering late at night, pondering over what would have happened if in that moment, he would've made a move. But, that had been a year ago, and you'd seen multiple people within that time frame - all of which Toji had hated.

Though, he needn't worry about them because after a month or so, they'd drop like flies. You hadn't been able to figure out why, though indulging in the positiveness Toji would offer to you after break-ups, spilling gossip to him in the break-room and basking in the odd compliment of your character he'd fish out in an attempt to aid your sadness. He'd figured out long ago that the reason had been down to your mental state, and the damage caused over the years by your environment. The male had figured that the men looking for a fling hadn't the emotional capacity to support you, and at times, he wasn't sure he'd be able to either.

"Can we watch a movie, or something?" You questioned, bringing the back of your hand to rub away the tears that had accumulated over your face, glancing back to the male. Toji nodded, exhaling smoke and gesturing to his attire - or lack thereof. "Ain't doing shit in this, let me get dressed." The male moved toward the wooden staircase in the hall beside you, placing a foot on the first step before turning back to add to the previous sentence. "Wanna change? Get somethin' comfy on - I don't know what girls like to wear 'n shit."

A laugh escaped tired lips, appreciating the thought he'd had, a gracious nod followed by eager footsteps. Following the male upstairs, you waited outside of the door you'd understood had belonged to his bedroom, listening to the muted noises of movement as he'd rummaged through drawers, pulling a cotton tee and a pair of pyjama bottoms up to study. They'd looked a little too large for you, but with the draw-string, he was sure they'd be good enough. The new outfit had been thrown over his half-bent arm while he'd met you back at the door-frame, stretching the limb out to offer you the fabric. Reaching forward and wrapping fingers around the garments, your skin grazed the silk of his dressing-gown, warmth radiating through the thin attire to bestow heat onto your hand. You'd lingered a little longer than needed, feeling an emptiness once more as his presence left you.

You brought the clothing with you into his bathroom, sliding-door closed behind you for privacy. It had only taken a few moments to change, the newly acquired outfit smelling just like the man you'd taken it from - it had been likely the garments had been left unwashed after he'd worn them last. A large mirror sat above the sink, one you'd glanced over to admire the clothes over your body. The old tee-shirt was baggy, trousers too, hiding your figure in a slightly unflattering way, yet your chest had still tightened as fingers traced over the creases, a warmth within you knowing these had been worn by him.

Toji had been sat wide-legged on the old couch, eyes lingering over you as you'd entered the room. The sensation he'd felt rising through him had been unusual, a fluttering within his stomach, one he'd attempted to push away as he'd removed his gaze from you, hoping the thoughts at the forefront of his mind would subside so he could get through the evening without initiating something the pair of you would come to regret.

"You looked at me funny." The timid voice coming from beside him as you'd seated yourself had caused a strained sigh to leave his lips. He'd wished you'd push your curiosity aside and ignore the tension between the pair of you, something you'd seemingly done with ease when you'd been dating your last fling. Toji was a little too old for you - not to mention a business associate with your father. If the asshole found out he'd fucked his daughter, it'd be over. "Nah, I didn't." Denial, that was something Toji had done often.

"Do I look that bad?" You'd laughed while asking, though there had been a twang of pain with the question. It was easy to understand he wouldn't appreciate you in the state you'd arrived in, though you'd hoped there was a chance he'd see a natural beauty through the midst of tears, or now, in clothing two sizes too big. "You look pretty." The response had his cheeks warming up, face tilting away from your line of sight after the last word had left his mouth. The man beside you hadn't been affectionate, and wouldn't start now.

The compliment had caused a grin to spread eagerly across lips, though with Toji's line of sight aimed at the television before you, he hadn't noticed the consequence of the sheepish words he'd spoken. A late night talk show had been showcased before you, the host talking with an A-list celebrity, though it had been difficult to focus on the screen. With Toji's legs spread apart, his right knee had rested against yours, back slumped against the cushions behind him. His face ahd been painted with his usual tired scowl, eyes half open.

It was possible your heightened emotions following the conflict you'd faced earlier had caused a small misjudgement, though you'd been aware of the feelings you'd had toward the male, finally feeling a surge of confidence. There had been some contemplation with your actions before you'd executed the desire, a question of whether the activity soon to follow Toji zoning out before the television had been appropriate - it hadn't. Yet, the fight within your mind hadn't been able to stop you leaning forward, wrapping fingers idly under the hairs kissing his neck, pressing his lips to yours.

You held your lips against his for a moment, awaiting a reaction before continuing. Initially, there had been a jolt of surprise, his palm meeting your shoulder, but following the small movements he'd remained still. There was a weak push, causing you to shift backward, breaking the kiss. Eyes fluttering open, heart beating, you looked at the man wide eyed, the taste of ciagrettes on your lips.

"What're you doing?" His questioning tone had been gruff, eyebrows furrowed with annoyance, yet you could tell from his body language he'd wanted to continue. "I-" You inhaled, face only inches from his, breath fanning over wettened lips. "I really like you." The child-like confession was spoken as a whisper, imagining the scolding words that were about to leave his lips, because even if Toji had felt the same way, there would be an inner-conflict on whether he'd felt he deserved it.

"You shouldn't." He was quiet, soft timbre from his throat, dismissing the admission. Though as his features moved closer to yours, he'd allowed his actions to counteract his head, closing the gap between you to taste you once more. The motions against one another had been gentle, as if testing the waters.

Toji's tongue slid along yours, exploring your mouth while he'd kissed you, hands caressing your body before settling over your hips. He'd squeezed over the fat as he pulled you toward him, your legs widening to allow yourself room to straddle his lap. Breathing heavy, you maintained the slurry of sloppiness against him, fingers clutching tightly over the hairs at the back of his head, a groan tumbling from him to show appreciation to the action.

Your hand fell to the waistband of the jogging-bottoms he'd been wearing, fingers hooking the hem to pull lightly at the fabric, an indication of what you'd wanted. Pushing his hips upward, he'd allowed the movement, hard dick freed from the confides of the cloth prison. Mirroring the display, the pyjama bottoms he'd gifted you had been removed, cock lined at your dripping cunt before you'd sunk down, a gasp as you'd felt yourself stretch over his size. Toji hissed, throwing his head back while tightening his hands over your sides, as if to offer some stability.

"Fuck, baby." The voice erupting from the male's chest had been one you'd dreamed of, so breathless and hoarse, a demonstration of the pleasure he'd felt through the movement of your hips. "Feels s' good." You uttered words of appraisal, hands on each of his shoulders to aid in the bobbing movement, messy sounds gushing from between the pair for your thighs. Toji pushed upward, pulling you down in order to bottom out, a whimper falling from your lips at the fullness. Both chests rising and falling at an increased rate, hums cascading from parted lips, Toji brought his head forward, eyes watching intently while you'd bounced on his cock. The way he'd fixated his gaze on you had felt invasive, stare hardened, pupils blown-out from lust. His attention sent a throb between your legs, swollen clit making friction upon his waist with each languish movement.

"Wanted to do this f'r so long-" The deceleration had barely been articulated through whines, thighs shaking from the strenuous activity. You were sure he'd feel the tremble as his hands dropped to sit on your legs, though if he had, he'd been unfazed, simply appreciating the effort. A squeeze of his grip, jolt of his hips followed by a groan had signalled his release, eyes squeezing closed. Toji hadn't often looked at peace, weighed down by the stress of running a business, and having a teenage son, yet during this moment, his expression relaxing through post-orgasm bliss, he had looked calm.

You leaned forward, placing a haphazard kiss against his forehead, hands embracing both sides of his face. Green eyes peered up to your fatigued expression, guilt painted over his countenance, though the nervousness his appearance had given you was pushed down with the hopes of what was to come from the encounter.

"I don't think this should happen again." After holding you close and eventually making your way to his bedroom, the words Toji had spoken while gripping his morning coffee had been the last you'd wished to hear. He took a sip, allowing the statement to brew within your unexpectant mind, panic setting across you. Grimacing, he tore his sight from the kitchen floor to the mug, a reluctant swallow of the liquid before inspecting the coffee machine responsible for the beverage. A large hand flicked the switch on the side, displaying his realisation the machine had been set to cold, pouring the unwanted coffee into the sink before placing the cup back down, whirring filling the thick atmosphere as a second drink had been prepared for him. A situation that, before he'd spoken the short sentence, would have been comical to watch. Now, it had only felt uncomfortable to sit through, pitying the old man's display.

"Why?" You questioned desperately, dropping your gaze to the granite breakfast bar you'd been propped up against, hands holding your chin for support. An attempt to remain calm through the encounter had you consciously breathing in, and out, controlling the amount of oxygen entering your lungs, though with this manual movement, you'd felt more breathless than if you'd allowed your body's natural response. "It's not right." Toji spoke, morning voice still low, eyes drooping from fatigue. You'd wodnered if he'd slept at all by the state before you, the man's conscience had been worst than most - odd considering the fact he'd come across as egotistical and blunt. When involving friends and family, there had been something deep-rooted within him, most likely due to a past encounter that had been unknown to you. Pride, and loyalty, had been meaningful.

"Look, kid." He began, an elongated exhale had signified his lack of desire for debate, mug now placed on the counter beside him, fingers instead pressing to his temple. "I'm old enough to be your dad. I know your old man ain't shit, but I don't wanna defy him either. Imagine he finds out we're foolin' around." Green eyes failed to meet you as he looked to the other corner of the kitchen, and you were left to wonder if he'd shared feelings with you, or had been unable to accept them.

The thought of either hadn't been comforting. Toji had been the person you'd trusted for the last handful-or-so of years, a person you'd consider a friend. His rejection would mean an alteration in the dynamic you'd shared, something you'd been unprepared for. "So, you just used me?" The accusation fell from your mouth, anger bubbling through the anxieties you'd felt, thinking back to the night you'd shared, a vulnerability you'd allowed him to see. "What're you talkin' about? You came onto me-" His voice was raised, hand slamming against the counter beside him as his face contorted in annoyance. "You could've said no!" Matching the tone he'd served to you, you stood, the chair once housing you now pushed backward with the momentum that indignation had brought you. "I've loved you for years, Toji." His name had your voice breaking, frown trembling with emotion, vision blurring through tears. The fact he'd been like every other male you'd been involved with over the past few years had broken your heart deeper than any pain you'd felt, disappointment in the cracks of your mind.

"Told ya last night - you shouldn't." There was a pain across his features, one that had been difficult to interpret through your own emotion. "Because, you're scared?" The question was faint, voice soft as you stepped toward him. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes rolling at the behaviour you'd conducted, unwilling to confront how he'd truly felt. "I ain't scared - god, you're such a brat." Another strained sigh had escaped his chest, Toji shaking his head. "I haven't dated since-" He paused, eyes leaving yours to flicker up to the ceiling in thought, reminiscing on the past. "Since Megumi's mother. I'm not fit to be a boyfriend or whatever shit you've got planned." The admission had your eyes tearing up, a stray tear rolling down your heated cheeks. Reaching a hand forward, you met his face, brushing over the stubble protruding his skin, prickling your finger-tips. Though, you ignored the roughness to bring his face closer to yours, a kiss planted on his parted lips. When it had come to Toji, you were willing to stand up to him, understanding the defence mechanism he'd developed of pushing those he'd cared of away, as if to protect them.

"I just want you." The four words spoken had been enough consolation. Toji pressed forward, bringing his hands to cup both cheeks as he pushed into you, an increase in passion as your lips danced with one another. A kiss unlike the ones shared the night before - years of friendship, of guidance, support, transferred between the pair of you as a reminder of the moments you'd shared.

Hands moved to cup one another's bodies, his gliding beneath the fabric of the shirt he'd given you to feel the curves beneath, lifting the hem to slide fingers against bare skin. His touch had been electric, a euphoric affection he'd gifted to you through the grazing of his tongue to yours. The way in which each of you had slotted against one another had been mesmerising, a feat of fulfilment you had felt with no other being. Two flames fighting for dominance; after last night's events, Toji had wanted to take the lead. "Bedroom." The noun had been uttered between kisses, the male eventually pulling back to take your wrist into hand, pulling you toward the staircase.

The ascent was quick, a silent journey taken with haste, and once through the door you hadn't a chance to look over the room, instantly being drawn to him as large digits encased cotton, his loose tee being removed from your body. With a moment taken for adoration of the woman before him, Toji leaned forward, attaching himself back to you, your own hands undressing bottom half before being ushered to the double bed showcased within the middle of his bedroom. Somewhere between your arrival and the male placing himself between your spread thighs, he'd disregarded his own trousers, though instead of using his hardened member to fuck into you with, he'd caressed sodden lips with his fingers, ghosting over your clit before dipping a digit into you.

With a gasp, he was encouraged on, adding his ring finger to middle, sliding them into your opening before beckoning them back out. Your back arched, mouth open and static as your body focused on the sensation his fingers brought to you, a smirk on his lips from the lack of your ability to multitask. "So wet already." His statement was condescending, a rough kiss against your cheek, though despite the cruel action, you'd tightened around him in pleasure. "Like that, baby?" The deep voice tickled your ear, another sloppy press of his lips against neck. Lewd sounds penetrated the atmosphere, a squelching from your increasing arousal. His presence had changed, less conflicted over his actions, allowing himself to take authority over you. "Listen to yourself, so fucking dirty." Using the hand he had free, Toji wrapped his fingers around your chin, forcing head still to be locked into his gaze. Biting your lip, you challenged his superiority, allowing eyes to meet his.

"Tell me what you want." The demand had been evidence to Toji's desires, wishing to take things further, yet wanting to appear unanimous. He scissored the fingers apart slightly while plunging them in and out of you, a moan being forced from you at the motion. "Y-your cock, please." The act of begging hadn't been one that had appealed to you previously, though with Toji working you up, you'd understood what it had truly meant to ache for dick. The need to feel his member within your walls, the understanding that his pleasure was as heightened as yours, was all you were able to picture through the haze you'd fell within.

Toji fulfilled the request without hesitation, moving the digits to grip at your side as he'd pushed himself into you, thumb moving to rub circles across your clit as he'd fucked himself deep into you. The gradual build up to this predicament had meant an inability to keep quiet, moans exiting you with each roll of the swollen bud, eyes squeezing shut and mouth wide. He laughed, though through your own sounds it had been difficult to tell.

"So fucking tight." His praise wasn't lost on you despite the noise, a faint smile forming over your lips, another clench around the thick cock that had been fucking into you. "You best be thankin' me when you cum all over my cock, pretty girl." Toji's words echoed through your ears, back arching while you'd fallen closer to climaxing, squeezing and pulsing over him. He'd grunted, eyes threatening to close, though forcing them open as he'd refused to miss a moment of witnessing you writhing in his sheets, moments from creaming over him. He could feel your orgasm approaching, walls spasming, desperate gasps for air. "What'd I say?" Toji reinforced his request, to wish you'd mumbled out the words;

"Thank you, thank you, thank-" Rendered speechless, only a scream had been able to replace the words you'd spoken, eyes rolling back to reveal only white to the male bullying into you. Toji watched you contort under him, succumbing to the high you'd reached, clamping over his cock. The tight squeeze had him groaning, milking his seed to flush within your walls, a unison of pleasure.

Toji didn't pull out for a few moments, instead basking within the fog of his mind, running hands over the bare body under him. You'd felt cool air when he'd eventually vacated you, opening your eyes when he'd placed hands beneath you, manoeuvring you to lay beneath the sheets, head hitting pillow. He'd joined you, mattress sinking as his weight had been added. You'd wanted to remind him it'd been morning, and protest a nap so early within the day, though as if he'd known the sentence your lips had been about to form, Toji raised a hand. "Jus' get some more sleep." With his arm resting over you, head residing in the gap between your own and your shoulder, you did as he'd requested, closing eyes to rest beside him once more.

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girlwitheconverse · 6 months

Text

MUSEUM

╰┈➤ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Genre: romance, angst

Story type: one shot

Word count: 2k

TW(s): death, mentions to the greek myth of Leda and the Swan

masterlist

“And then Johnny told me that I should go home and take a break, can you believe that?” Simon says as he paces around his room, he stops and looks at you: pretty as always as you listen to his rants from where you are: sat on his bed with his favorite shirt on you.

“Why would you need a break?” You ask confused as you fidget with the pillow on your lap.

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Simon says with a smile as he sits on the bed next to you, “I’m perfectly fine, don’t I look fine?”

“You look handsome and at your best, as always.” You reply with a smile as you place your hand over his, “Maybe it’s Johnny the one who needs a break.”

“That’s what I told him!” He says as he leans with his head on your shoulder, “And do you know what he said after? That I should talk to Price and find a solution!”

“Talk to Price? Like a child who goes crying to his daddy?” You chuckle and kiss the top of his head. “Will you go and talk to Price?”

“I guess I will, if he gives me some days to spend back home I could convince him to take you with me…” Simon says as he hugs you “And we could go see the museum that you wanted to see so badly.”

“The one I begged you to take me before the last mission?” You say excited and look up at him with wide eyes, Simon nods. “I can’t wait! Go and talk to Price now!” You say happily as you jump off the bed.

“Okay…I will, you calm down.” Simon chuckles as he walks to the door, but you stop him before he can exit his room.

“I love you, Simon.” You whisper with a nostalgic smile as you hug his pillow, Ghost looks at you confused.

“I love you too, sweetheart, I’ll be back soon.” He says with a smile as he walks to Price’s office, on his way there everyone avoids him – like they've been doing for weeks now – and gives him weird looks. After knocking he enters Price’s office and sits on the chair across the desk, in front of the Captain.

“Hello, Simon, everything’s okay?” Price asks with a soft smile as he looks at Simon from head to toe.

“Of course, everything’s perfectly fine.” Simon says as he shrugs his shoulders, “I wanted to ask for a few days off – Price’s expression fills with hope at his words – for me and Y/n, I want to take her to a museum that she’s begging me to visit.”

The hope in Price’s eyes dyes immediately as the last words leave the Lieutenant’s lips.

“Oh God…Simon…” Price says as he looks at him with a sad expression.

“What? We can’t have a few, maybe three, days off work?” Simon asks, a little irritated.

“Simon…I thought you had got over it…” Price whispers, “Simon…You know well what happened…”

“What? We already used all our days off?” Simon acts confused but there’s only one thought going on repeat in his head: your voice saying ‘everything’s okay’.

Price sighs and looks at Simon in the eyes, “Simon, Y/n got killed in action two months ago…You know it…She died in your arms, Simon.” The Captain says as he remembers how painful your loss was for everyone on the Task Force.

“Why do y’all continue to repeat this shit? It isn’t funny…Y/n is in my room waiting for me to take her to that museum.” Simon says and it doesn’t take long for Price to realize how deep in denial Simon is. Ghost continues to shift in the chair as he looks around the office.

“Simon…Y/n is dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Price says as he looks at Simon with pity in his eyes.

Ghost stops his movements and looks down at his feet with a sigh, “I know it…” he whispers as reality hits him.

All the times in these two weeks where he talked to a pillow in his room which had your scent on it, all the times he hugged that same pillow, slept hugging it — all while pretending that it was you.

“But we didn’t go to that museum…” he whispers as he fights his tears, he won’t cry in front of Price, he may be close to him but he’s still the Task Force’s Captain.

“I’ll give you the days off that you asked for anyway, you can take some time to deal with your loss…Maybe you can go to that Museum Y/n wanted to see, even without her.” Price says as he looks down at the paper on his desk.

“I’ll take them, maybe…Maybe I do need a little break.” Simon says as he finally looks back at his Captain, “I’ll go prepare the luggage.”

“After this mission we’ll go back home and you’ll take me to the Museum, like you promised me!” You say happily. You and Simon are hiding in a building as you wait for the enemy to show up. “Even if you always postpone it, the exhibition will end and we still won't have gone!” You huff with a pout.

“Why do we have to go to a boring Museum?” he rolls his eyes annoyed, “we could…I don’t know…have some fun just us two instead…The exhibition will stay for another four months…”

“No. I want to go to the Museum!” You insist as you continue to stay alert anyway.

“If that’s what my darling wants…” Simon says as he closes his eyes and leans against the wall.

And that’s his mistake.

He usually doesn’t make mistakes during missions. Usually.

But this time things are different, he feels more relaxed. He shouldn’t.

He doesn’t notice the red dot on his chest. But you do.

“Ghost!” You scream as you move him away from the sniper’s viewfinder just as they shoot.

The bullet hits you in the chest.

“Y/n! W-Why…” Simon whispers in shock as he takes you and hides behind a wall, away from the sniper’s view. Or at least he hopes so. “Stupid idiot! Why did you do that! Hang in there!” he says as he calls for help through his earpiece.

“Oh shit…!” you moan in pain as you start to breath heavily, frenetically looking around until your eyes stop in Ghost’s, you smile, understanding that the end for you is near.

“Oi! Don’t pull this shit on me! Don’t smile like it’s the last thing you’ll do!” he says as he places his hands over your wound to try and stop the bleeding. “You aren’t going to die…You can’t die!” Simon says as tears start to form in his eyes.

The pretty brown eyes that you love so much.

“Simon…Hey…” I smile up at him, it’s ironic how it’s me who’s dying but I still want to comfort him.

“What? Help is on the way…You’ll live…Y-You can’t die…” his voice continues to get lower as he speaks “You can’t…Leave me…Alone…Here…Please…Don’t leave me alone.”

“Everything's okay…” You whisper with a forced smile, a smile that costs a lot. Just that takes away what could’ve been some more seconds of life. “I love you.”

“I love you too…But please…We…We have to go to that Museum, right? You really want to go there! You can’t die before going there!” he says as he hugs you, “Yea, that’s right…Help will come and you’ll survive and we’ll go to see that shitty museum, I’ll be bored but I’ll still listen to everything you say about the art pieces there…”

He continues to talk and hug you for minutes, unaware that for half of the time he was hugging your dead body.

“God, I don’t even know the name of the artist…But you’ll tell me, right? What’s their name? Y/n? Y-Y/n?” he stutters as he looks at your body in his arms, that’s when he notices that you aren’t breathing anymore.

Half an hour after you got shot.

“Fuck!” Simon curses as he wakes up. He’s sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the small apartment where he now lives. He couldn’t stay in your shared house after you passed away, there were too many memories. Everything reminded him of you.

And when he finally got some sleep the memory of your death went on replay in his dreams, or more like nightmares. Every time he closes his eyes he sees your lifeless body in his arms.

Every. Fucking. Time.

Even when he blinks.

And your last words echo in his ears, in his mind, in his heart.

“Everything’s okay.”

“I love you.”

I love you.

You loved him, that’s why you didn’t hesitate to save his life at the cost of yours.

But he didn’t understand that — he didn’t want to understand that.

Blaming himself was easier.

“Fuck it.” Simon says as he stands up from the ‘bed’ and goes into the bathroom to take a shower.

He will go to that stupid Museum, even alone. That was your last wish, and he will honor that.

Cold water runs on his tattooed body, as he cries, again. He doesn’t deserve the luxury of taking a hot, relaxing, shower — that’s what he thinks.

It should’ve been me, goes in replay in his head. He deserves to die, not you.

He was the monster, not you, you were his little ray of sunshine in his rainy days — everyday.

“Da Vinci, uh?” Simon says as he looks around the exhibit of all Da Vinci’s works, the only missing is the Monalisa, the Louvre didn’t want to give it, they were afraid of someone stealing it.

He stood in front of Y/n’s favorite: Leda and the Swan.

He didn’t know why she liked that particular piece, for him it was kind of disturbing, especially the fact that Zeus slept with Leda in Swan form.

And the fact that she birthed eggs.

When Y/n was still with him she would tell him all the myths she knew and he would often comment with things like: ‘that’s fucked up’ , ‘what the fuck?’ , ‘how do you like this kind of things?’

But now, his new apartment was full of books about Greek mythology and Greek myths.

Now there’s a fresh tattoo on his chest, right over his heart, a simple phrase: Y/n, my goddess. You told him many times that saying that someone is as beautiful as a goddess (worse if the goddess is Aphrodite) is basically asking to get cursed for life.

But he didn’t believe it, nor does he believe it now. But he can only hope for a curse, in the end, you’re already dead…

What curse can be worse than this?

His death? That would be a blessing.

Giggles.

He hears a girl giggle and that takes him out his thoughts, deep and dark thoughts. He looks to his right and sees a girl giggling as she looks at a painting and talks with a guy, her boyfriend maybe.

“What do you find so cool about this painting?” the guy asks as he tilts his head and looks at the painting, the lady with an ermine.

“I don’t know…I just…like it.” The girl says with a smile.

This could’ve been us. He thinks. I don’t even know why she likes this painting so much.

“Swans mate only one time for their whole life.” A girl next to him says, Simon turns his head and looks at her. She’s smiling as she looks at the painting. “I mean…at least that’s what happens the majority of times.”

Simon looks at her with wide eyes. ‘You’re my swan, Simon.’ was the thing you said to him when it was your one year anniversary. At that time he didn’t understand what you meant, but now he does.

“Sir? Are you feeling alright?” the girl asks worriedly.

“I lost my swan.”

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theknightmarket · 7 months

Text

"What do you get out of this?"

In which Dark finally reunites with his victim in the mirror. Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - AO3 TW: cursing Pages: 27 - Words: 11,500

[Requests: OPEN]

As it often was, the manor was silent. The staircases lost their breath long ago, the floorboards coped with the expected and constant weight, and the doors fell into disuse to the point that they faded into the walls. Altogether, even the rats were too spooked to enter those abandoned hallways, for fear of exciting ghosts or ghouls from the mist. Nothing went in, nothing went out.

And that was just how Dark liked it. Society had moved too fast for him, leaving him in the dust as some poetic punishment. Some part of him had always been alone, another part abandoned, and the last part dictated by it. He didn’t want any part in a thing that would only work against him, so he was content to stay in the confines of the manor, not that leaving it was ever an option. If he could, he would have by now; he would have escaped and found some quiet shelter where the memories of his actions couldn’t haunt him.

From time to time, he would be reminded of the events all those years ago by three simple things. Or, rather, people. The first of which was anything but simple – Wilford ‘Motherloving’ Warfstache had not visited the manor in quite a while, instead, roaming both space and time, looking for his next interviewee. Dark had heard about a robot he constructed, or stole, that he used to get his next, for lack of a better term, victims. He knew of one person that had already perished from the faulty wiring, and he was not planning to be his next, the fact that he couldn’t die notwithstanding.

The second was someone less dramatic. In fact, despite him definitely being around, Dark never saw hide nor hair of him. Benjamin was an elusive creature, skulking around the corridors and making noise in the kitchen at the most random of times. When he had first arrived, he went about making meals and snacks for the ‘new masters’, but what with Wilford never being there and Dark not needing to eat, his habits were just that: habits. The faint smell of baking cookies was ever-present though, which made a venture by the kitchen a pleasant treat on a hard day.

And, as he passed that room, it was indeed needed.

Because, for the third and final reminder, not only memories lurked around the corners, but consequences, too. Cruel, despairing consequences that almost had Dark turning tail and rushing back to his office. His still heart was in his throat as he moved through a hallway, unnecessary breath quickened when he glided under an arch, and, when he stepped foot into the foyer, he felt as though he would pass out then and there.

At the side of the entrance, as it always had been, was a mirror, one that he had never touched or looked at in the last hundred years. Just the thought of it made the room seem colder, if it were possible, because one thing was undeniable; this one was his fault. He had trapped a dear friend in perpetual darkness for nearly a century, acted as though he had no knowledge they still existed, and went about his business.

He wondered if you could ever forgive him.

Although he would never know if he didn’t do the one thing that struck fear into his heart like lightning igniting the ground. He would have to talk to you. That was, if you even wanted to talk to him, because – despite Dark’s lacking social skills – he knew that conversations had to be a two-way street, and he wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to cross that line.

But first things first.

Heaving a dramatic breath was harder than the 12 labors of Hercules, but Dark managed it anyway, if only to get over the first hurdle, and carefully brought his fist to the corner of the mirror. If this went well, he could finally get that nagging part of him to quieten down.

One knock was easy. Simple. Almost instinctual. The second was much less so. The brief pause between sounds was empty of condemnation or acceptance, but the quietness that followed his next knock was damn-near painful. Was he doing something wrong? Had he already messed everything up?

He supposed he did that when he locked you in the mirror in the first place.

“Hello?” he spoke numbly. Some part of him wanted you to come right out and yell at him, curse him, do whatever just to show that you were open to confronting him. Another part perished the thought. It couldn’t bare you emerging from the darkness with unquenchable wrath towards him, a thirst for vengeance that he couldn’t manipulate his way out of – so give him the calm you, the one that would listen to him when he apologized, probably scold him some, and then let your relationship build back up again. Notably, that was the part of him that reminded him of what had happened every time he crossed the foyer. And then there was the smallest section of his heart, nestled at the very bottom and buried beneath years of guilt and denial… that didn’t want you to appear at all.

But that would negate his reason for being there in the first place, and fleeing with his tail between his legs was not Dark’s forté. So, crossing his arms over his chest and digging his heels into the floorboards, he stood his ground.

“Hello?” he repeated, confidence creeping steadily into his tone. “We need to talk.”

Technically, that was a lie. You didn’t need to talk, nothing bad would happen to you if you didn’t show up, but there had been a steadily creeping feeling of distress for Dark that urged him to take some action. Obviously, you wouldn’t be doing much initiating from behind the glass, so that left him standing before you. Hopeful, hesitant, alone.

“I have matters to discuss with you.” He reasoned to himself that he could communicate, if not as a friend, then as a business partner. The cold logistics were his strong suit, after all, and it negated the risk of developing an emotional attachment. It did mean ignoring a large part of him – the part of him that wanted to make that connection – but it was better than the alternative.

However, as he waited, it became apparent that he didn’t have to worry about that struggle. You weren’t going to appear, it seemed, the seconds ticking by on the grandfather clock behind him. The damned thing taunted him, and he was sick of it as soon as he noticed. If you didn’t want to talk in that moment, fine, but you wouldn’t be getting away with the silent treatment that easy.

Besides, it wasn’t as though he had gone into this interaction with any kind of plan, and that was what he was good at, planning. So, the only reason why this hadn’t worked first try was because he hadn’t thought it out well enough. Tomorrow, then, you would talk, he would make sure of it. He couldn’t fail twice in a row?

He failed twice in a row. The next day, after Dark had knocked again at the wooden edge of the mirror, watched the glass in the frame shiver ever so slightly, you didn’t appear. You denied giving him even the slightest hint of recognition.

“We need to talk,” he insisted, acutely aware that he was repeating words from before, but what else could he say? He wasn’t one for patience, and you would find him dead thrice over before he begged. No, you would have to take what he gave you, accept that he wasn’t going to throw himself before you in desperation.

It didn’t make this any easier on him, though. The seconds that shuffled past him felt like wading through mud. They grated on his nerves, pulled at his skin, his hand leapt to his jacket to fiddle with the edges. Normally, it was enough to ground him and keep him from acting out, but, as before, Dark was not one for patience.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” he started, relatively soft in comparison to what he could be, “but we don’t have time for it. I don’t have time for it.”

He understood that creating false urgency was somewhat backhanded, but he really did have to speak with you. Perhaps overexaggerating the situation, if it was needed, was something he was prepared to do.

He pressed on, “I came here to talk to you and that is exactly what I’ll be doing. You’re not going to get me to stop just because you’re acting like a child—” nothing, “—because you are! You are a child, and, right now, you are not helping anyone by staying silent.” Still nothing.

The air around him flexed and popped as Dark grew more and more agitated. Red and blue bent around each other like oil in water, droplets and sparks and smoke that curled over his shadows. He was racked with indecision, the three parts of him threatening to tear him apart, drawn and quartered, just to have their own way. He hated not being able to make up his mind, because that left him not entirely focused on the thing in front of him. In such an important moment, he had to be, lest he say some undesirable things.

“What are you doing?” As such, it was unfortunate that he was indeed undecided, “Are- are you throwing a tantrum in there, are you sulking? I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me!” A crack spiderwebbed itself in Dark’s little bubble. The sound of a sharp fracture echoed through the manor’s halls. Despite Dark straightening his back, dropping his shoulders, adjusting his grip on his suit jacket, the crack remained. “Okay,” he huffed, “I accept that I’ve made mistakes, but they weren’t horrible. This was for the best, and, frankly, I believe you’re being selfish. Three lives are more important than one, and, yes, I admit that our method was… backhanded, but that doesn’t give you the right to ignore me for it.”

He gave it ten seconds before squinting his eyes. Goading hadn’t worked, pseudo-apologies be damned, what else was he supposed to do? He refused to stoop so low as to concede his wrongdoings, far more there were in your opinion, leaving him with nothing. He stared at himself through the glass, clear as day, practically crystal.

“Fine. Act like that,” Dark muttered, “You’re the one who’s trapped, not me.”

A beat passed. The glass didn’t change. Just plain indifference.

“Oh, be quiet.” With that spat towards the mirror, he turned on his heel and marched back to his office.

Four times. Four times. When the clock struck nine for the past four nights, Dark would make his way towards the mirror in the foyer, disregard anyone and anything in his path, and knock on the wood, never to receive an answer. Four times over.

And it wasn’t as though it was getting any easier to wait; self-restraint was being exercised more than patience, because it was all he could do to keep himself from shattering the glass even more than it already was. The other mirrors were not as safe. Those in the bathrooms, library, and two of the bedrooms fell victim to Dark’s frustration, leaving messes of shards and splinters where they used to hang. They were disposable, your mirror was not, nor the one that met his eyes across his office. It was cleaner, less fancy that the one in the foyer, and he found it the only one that he could handle being in the presence of, and the only one that could handle being in his presence.

Although, one living being did manage to hold his own in the same room.

“Oh, Dark! I’ve been looking for you.”

Wilford had been flitting in and out of the manor recently, more rapidly than before but just as unreliable. Dark didn’t know what he wanted, but he wasn’t going to waste time asking him outright. The man could straddle a fence all he liked, he had more important things – not that they were working out any better.

But now that Wilford was confronting him directly, he didn’t have a choice in talking to him. If only you saw it the same way…

“I’m where I’ve been for the past century, Wilford,” Dark responded, eyes not moving from the documents in front of him.

“Hmm—” he pulled himself onto the desk, “—Is that so?”

He didn’t bother to hide his sigh as he dragged his glare up to his friend’s face. The look on his face spoke more words than he could be bothered to say. Confusion, annoyance, a general ‘get on with it before I kick you out’ sort of tone.

Wilford was unaffected. “Well,” he drawled with that unpinpointable accent, “I’m just saying that there’s been a few times I’ve popped in when you haven’t been here.” His hands darted for the pen stand on the desk. “Though, the mirror was definitely a surprise.”

Damn it. If there was one thing that Wilford and Dark had in common, it was a certain omniscience for things in the manor. Whether he had actively seen his attempts to talk to you didn’t matter, he would know either way, like a nosy child. He was quickly growing tired of childish antics, but that could have just been the permanent mood for the week.

The weariness not only had Dark pushing his chair away from the desk to swing one leg over another, but it also halted his reaction time, if only for a millisecond – unfortunately for him, that was all the time Wil needed to notice.

“What were you doing, anyway? You haven’t spoken to our friend in the entire time we’ve been here, and you weren’t there to worry about your appearance.”

His permanent sugar-coated smile turned sour, the edges pulling taught and his teeth sharpening. The knowledge of everything and everyone in the building doubled into annoyance at not knowing a secret. Wilford liked to be in on the joke.

Dark wouldn’t let him in that easy, not when his attempts had gone wrong every time. “We were only,” he paused, “talking.”

“You certainly were!” Wil’s chortle came out boisterous, clashing with the shadows of the room. “I can’t say the same about them, now, can I?”

Dark never liked giving in to his more dramatic urges, but rolling his eyes at his friend’s antics was the very furthest he would go. Always turning things into a joke, stripping them of severity and seriousness. Sometimes, on the very oddest of occasions, he could understand it. He’d seen his mental break when he stole your body, and he had accepted his denial for the next month or so, but there was a point when things had to matter. Getting you to talk to him mattered.

Wilford looked over his shoulder at the mirror. His smile barely softened as he raised one hand to send you a wave. You hadn’t fully appeared, you never did in Dark’s office, but there was the faint outline of some shape that hinted you were at the very least listening in. Of course, you didn’t say anything back. Wil thought you were both similar in some respects - for instance, you were both as stubborn as a mule. You’d decided to look into the office, so you were interested in what was going on, and Dark’s last week of trying to talk to you proved his persistence. Another thing you shared was a hatred for Mark – and, no, he wasn’t going to censor that man’s name in his own train of thought, he was a big boy – so if you both agreed to work together, Dark might actually make some headway in his search for the criminal. You could finally put that combined pig-headedness to good use.

“I’m trying to get them to respond, but they steadfastly refuse to.” Dark’s fluid complaint had Wil swinging his head back to him.

“I can’t say I blame them.”

Alarm shot over one’s face while the other looked pleasantly calm. Siding with someone you refused to even look at him was a surprise, but it shouldn’t have been so shocking; the manic time-traveler was the definition of a wildcard, he always had been.

As he spoke, Wil snatched a pile of papers from a semi-open drawer to rifle through. “From what I’ve heard,” he began, “you were being quite rude last time. Calling them a child, really, what did you expect?”

“I was expecting some kind of answer.”

“Ah, so you were goading a response out of them. Not at all releasing any pent-up aggression, eh?”

Dark didn’t like this. He didn’t like the sudden turn of the tables. Wilford had gone from the eaves-dropping child to the parent giving their own a scolding. He didn’t like the loss of control he had over the situation. But what he disliked the most was the idea that he was lying about his intentions. Too many people had been accusing him of that, neither straightforward, and it was becoming an unfavorable pattern to him.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Wilford.”

“Oh, but I’m not insinuating anything! I’m only suggesting that this was not the most effective way of getting them to talk. If you wanted them to play nice, you’d better do so yourself.”

“I am playing nice.”

The words came out with his namesake in mind, a volume walking the line between a growl and a yell. His ashen knuckles became as white as snow against the edge of the desk, Wil was surprised he couldn’t see inactive veins underneath his skin. Although he didn’t meet his eyes, they were sure to be glaring daggers at whatever he was looking at. None of this worried him. Noisy neighbors, stray dogs, the occasional estate agent who thought this looked an easy sell – they all were topics of Dark’s anger. This, though, was something a little different.

The blue and red that echoed around him fought against itself in a desperate attempt to both stay close to Dark and throw distance between the colors. The dangerous aura of power surrounding him was getter less and less stable with each passing day, and he had some theories on what could be causing it – undoubtably, it was you, that much was obvious. However, he didn’t know whether it was him going near you or staying away that created this unpredictability. What he did know was that he would have to sort it out soon, or risk something happening that was out of his control.

The least he could do for now was rein himself in, so, almost begrudgingly, Dark straightened out the lapels of his jacket and contained himself to his chair. Wilford watched him all the while, not scared, but with a knowing look on his face that made Dark want to kick him out of the manor entirely.

“I’ll try again in the morning. Now, I have business to attend to, and I would appreciate no distractions.” The excuse was not subtle, but it worked in getting Wil to slide off the desk and ready himself to leave to whatever time period tickled his fancy. Dark, meanwhile, immediately dropped his gaze to the paper in front of him, not sparing him a second glance.

Wil called as he began to strut out, cheery as if nothing had happened, “And don’t forget your manners, Dark!”

He merely huffed in response. Pale acknowledgment he was known to give even in times of calm, though, a thing he lacked now was attentiveness. He directed all of his focus to ignoring Wil, meaning he also ignored his next words sent towards the mirror.

“The same goes for you, old friend. It’d be nice if we all got along,” he spoke. Both his tone and expression were imploring, something you had not seen for a good while. Hell, any emotion beyond crazed carelessness was a rarity, so it would be a lie to say you were going to disregard the change in behavior that easy.

You don’t say anything when Wil passed by, nor when he lets the office door fall closed. Normally, you would leave the second he did; you weren’t a fan of being in the same room as Dark for longer than entertained you, and, without someone who knew you were there, it became boring. Why this day was any different, you didn’t know, but your subconscious urged you to stay behind. Watch.

You nearly laughed at yourself, even though it would give your position away. You yourself were practically a subconscious, a physical body long gone thanks to the very person in front of you. You couldn’t interact with the world outside the mirrors, you couldn’t leave the manor, you couldn’t do anything, that was his fault.

The very faint lines of a figure dispersed like a cigarette’s smoke as you left the room, a single thought that sent you fleeing.

Why did it feel like you were trying to convince yourself?

Nine o’clock. Wilford had tried to get him to come earlier, but a routine had been established, and Dark, although he would never admit it, did find himself using the time to mentally prepare himself. That, and his space-faring friend had only appeared ten minutes before to see the interaction through.

Speaking of which, that very man was standing a few feet away from him in the kitchen’s archway, an encouraging and pleading grin marring his face. He hadn’t asked why it was so important to him that you get along, his sudden interest seeming suspicious, but he wasn’t about to try and get an answer out of two stubborn mules.

His fist met the wooden frame three times. His feet shifted on the floorboards. He waited with bated breath.

“I would appreciate if we could have a civil conversation.”

One, two, three.

“I’m sorry, but my mommy told me not to talk to strangers.”

It had been such a long time since he had heard your voice that Dark flinched at the sound of it. It was bitter and hostile and mocking and a part of him damn near blushed. He quickly shut it down with a swallow and grab of his lapel, but, for a brief second, he couldn’t deny that he was happy. You showed up. Progress.

But the look on your face didn’t suggest there was going to be much more. It was his job to fix that, and, from Wilford clearing his throat somewhere behind him, he was going to have to do that without getting into an argument.

Dark thought for a moment. Just like before, it was difficult not having his full attention on something. He couldn’t lose this opportunity to talk to you, but it would help to collect himself. The best he could do that was by talking slowly and clearly, and under no circumstances could he lose his temper.

“I apologize for calling you a child. I had planned to talk to you, and it,” he sighed, closing his eyes, “annoyed me that I couldn’t do that.”

Good news: you were still there when he opened them again. Bad news: you looked expectant at best, still pissed at worst.

“And what else?”

Dark squinted, back tracking the lecture he had given you and your history together. “I apologize for calling you selfish.”

“And what else?”

The corners of his lips tugged downwards harshly into a frown, the most he could do while he resisted rolling his eyes, but he managed to choke out, “What else? I apologize for everything I said last time I spoke to you.”

He wouldn’t deny that he felt smug. It wasn’t a look he liked for himself, but it was a good feeling. Knowing that you had outsmarted someone was enjoyable, and that someone being a person you’d recently got into a disagreement with was even better.

He did not feel smug when you repeated for the final time, “And what else?”

In fact, he spluttered, a fish pulled out of water. What else could there possibly be? He hadn’t spoken to you for nearly a century, he can’t have done anything to insult you without ever interacting with you, could he? Or were you trying to outsmart him back? That sounded like you, you were the district attorney, after all. You were probably hoping he would admit to something that you didn’t know he did. Well, he wouldn’t play your game.

“What else is there?” Dark asked, staring you dead in the eyes.

You stared back.

There was something about the mirror that made it impossible to look at you. Every second, the image of you was switching out between your hazy form and his own face. Both equally ashen, both equally annoyed, both equally inhuman. In one hundred years, the pair of you had gone from friends sharing a cup of coffee, talking over that one unenviable case, to bulls waiting to see who would make the first move. Neither dared move, not for fear, but for displaying weakness.

Your pupils were the first to shift. While the rest of you remained stock-still, they dragged up and down his body. From the face to the suit to the legs, it was almost as though you were cataloguing everything that he had changed from what you used to look like – until you brought your eyes back up to his.

“Well, thank you for apologizing for that.”

That sentence had his shoulders relaxing somewhat. You had taken his olive branch, it was the second step in constructing a partnership that would, hopefully, turn out to be mutually beneficial to you both. Dark could move in the manor, sure, but you had the void, a place where he spent a lot of his time. Maybe he left some clues, or even a body—

“I don’t forgive you.”

You snapped the olive branch between your cold hands.

“What?” Dark hissed, practically outraged, “I’ve already apologized for everything I did, what else is there?”

A strange sort of enragement flashed over your eyes at his words. You kept your cool, but there was no doubt that, had you the option, you would have strangled him. Although he didn’t know what he’d done this time, the snarl beginning to curl over your mouth and the flexing of your hands gave more than a hint. When you moved them to gesture wildly around the void, Dark thought you were going to give it a try anyhow.

It didn’t make him think any deeper about it though, him simply answering to your silent point, “I’ve covered that.”

You let your arms drop to your sides. “Yeah, and then you had to apologize for it, so you obviously didn’t do a good job.”

What was meant to be a helpful little chat, maybe that would grow into something else, was rapidly collapsing in on itself. A snake eating its own tail to satiate its hunger. Except, this time, it satiated nothing, save for the want to have the last word in an argument. Both of you suffered from that fatal flaw. Stubbornness ran like a virus through inmoving veins, without mercy or pity. Maybe if it had been only one of you, you could have gotten along, but that was not the case.

“I’ll reiterate, then,” Dark began as he straightened himself out, “Mark stole Damien’s body and one entity of this house commandeered Celine’s. That left three spirits wandering the void: Damien, Celine, and the remaining entity. Are you keeping up with me?” He needed to slow down. “Good. Now, and I feel the need to emphasize this, it was coincidence that your body was left unoccupied when you were shot. We didn’t plan for that.” He really needed to slow down. “We didn’t plan for any of this, but it’s what happened, and we took it in stride. The next course of events is simple. We appeared to you, you agreed to let us occupy your body, and so we did.” Pump the brakes, pull the plug, slow the roll. “Don’t talk because I know what you’re going to say. Two spirits in one body is pushing it, three is dangerous, but four? It’d be a waste of a perfectly good host; it would self-destruct as soon as the brain caught up.” Stop talking! “So, I’ll ask again. What else is there?”

Had he been alive, Dark’s heart would have been beating so hard that you might have been able to see it through his suit. Of course, he wasn’t alive, and neither were you, so he wouldn’t have been able to see yours trying to force its way out of your ribcage, either. If there ever were a chance that you would feel sympathy for this man, he had wiped it out just like that. His little monologue might have felt nice at the time, but you promised that you would make him regret it. Talking to you like a child, who did he think he was?

“For someone so high and mighty, you sure are dumb,” you spat back. Explaining it in a more courteous sense had crossed your mind, but it was stamped out.

An annoyed “What?” was the only response you received.

“Do you think that I’m mad at you for stealing my body?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing, but yes, I do.”

You scoffed. All that preaching and he wasn’t even right on what you were pissed at. “I don’t care that you, fine, inhabited my body without me—” Even giving that little leeway was painful to you, but you struggled through it, “—I’m mad that you left me in here.”

That gave Dark pause, something that no one had been able to do for quite a while. Sure, they could get him to quiet down, mostly through annoyance in Wilford’s case, but it was an achievement to get him to stand and contemplate someone’s words, genuinely. He didn’t understand what you meant entirely.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” he settled for saying.

“Of course, you could.” Your voice had fallen quiet. Where that had been fire and fury and blinding stubbornness, you seemed to have slipped into a smaller volume. Simple. If he didn’t know you any better – and after such a time, there was a chance he didn’t know you at all, anymore –, he might have said there was a hint of pleading.

“Like what, for example?”

“You could have spoken to me, you- you could have stopped to look at me, for once!” You were rearing up again, the collapse of the walls hadn’t lasted very long, making Dark wish he hadn’t asked for that example after all. But even though you were on the offensive again, once the dam had broken there was going to be no fixing it. Going without anyone to talk to for so long completely disregarded all of your social skills, and, apparently, keeping your emotions and real opinions to yourself were some of those skills. “It’s been terrifying being trapped in this mirror, alone, in the dark, without anything to do but think. The number of times I’ve had to recount the night we died or else I’d do insane is too high for me to count.”

If you lost track of the events, you might end up wrongly forgiving some people and wrongly villainizing others.

Despite you showing a bit of weakness in admitting you were scared, Dark was not an emotional man. Hell, the only person he’d spoken to was an insane murderer, so give him some slack if he didn’t pick up on every feeling you showed. Thinking back on it, he would have accepted some of the blame instead of shifting it to others with a snarky, “I’m not the only one here, I hope you know.”

You bit back, “Wilford and Benjamin, how could I forget? Except Wilford actually has gone insane from denial, and Benjamin has said one thing to me since I’ve been in here, and it was an insult to my clothes. Neither of them is around enough to talk to anyway.” The last bit you muttered quieter to yourself, but it didn’t slip past Dark.

“How would I be any better?”

“Oh, cut the self-loathing. It’s not a good look on you, and it’s pissing me off.” He had half the mind to ask what didn’t piss you off at this point – decorative language that you’d picked up from real estate agents notwithstanding – but he held his tongue. “I thought we were in the same situation, victims of Mark, together. Apparently, we’re not.”

And, with a shift of your attention to the edge of the mirror, you followed it up with, “You’re less like me and more like Mark.”

That set Dark’s red and blue waves alight like a rabid flame doused in gasoline. The crack from before splintered itself along his frame even more so, sending high-pitched squeals into the air. All parts of him were having different reactions, from outraged to regretful to accepting, leaving the final physical output a frigid glare. Your own eyes flitted around him, watching the energy strike out of control, and, for a brief moment, you wished you had stayed silent.

It was an odd feeling to see someone you once considered a friend – whom you knew fully well wasn’t that same friend – respond in such a way. The visage that used to belong to Damien sent your subconscious wanting to comfort him, but, the logical part of your brain knew he wasn’t the same. Trying to be kind to him now would be fruitless, and an insult to your past together.

You let yourself sigh the smallest breath that you could when he managed to corral himself. The waves of light returned to the surface of his skin. He blinked.

“I suppose a century is bound to do some damage—”

“A fucking century!?”

That was the last straw for you.

“You’ve been avoiding me for a century!?”

You knew that you couldn’t force your way out of the mirror, but this delightful news threw all reasoning out of the window. The glass barely flexed with your shoulder pressing against it, nor the fist you chucked, or even launching a foot into it. With no clue, no night-day cycle, no nothing, you had no way to tell how long you’d been abandoned for. Only your shattered view to the outside world helped, and even then, nothing in the manor would change for you to tell how much time had passed. A vague internal clock was no help either, leaving you to a guessing game. A month, a year, maybe a decade or so.

Instead, a goddamn century had passed with barely a word from this man who stood in front of you, wearing your friend’s skin and using your bones.

“I’m sorry.”

Pitiful. An entity with so much power that some part of him could help bring someone back from the dead.

“You’re a coward, Dark.”

He was starting to dislike how he looked – not for any insecurities, but because whenever he was looking at it, it only meant that you were not there. His reflection tried to goad some spat out of him, but the only thing there was an emptiness that was quickly spreading to consume all the anger and resentment that had been there before. The voice that had originally urged him to talk to you was silenced, sure, but he didn’t feel any better. He felt worse if that were possible.

A whistle broke the silence behind him.

“That was quite the fit you two had.”

Wilford stepped beside Dark, both gazing at the mirror, and just the mirror gazed back. It felt wrong.

“Do you understand what I said before?” He punctuated his question with a twist of his heel.

“Oh, but you got an answer out of them this time,” Wil slapped a hand onto his shoulder, “that’s progress, friend!”

“Progress is arguing to the point of storming off, then?”

Walking away from the mirror felt, to Dark, too much like giving up. Having indeed received some kind of response, regardless of whether it was positive or negative, just made it more of a failure to leave without succeeding. At least when you hadn’t appeared entirely, he could blame it on you not wanting to talk – this time, though, you were there, and you had spoken, and, because of something he did, you left.

Approaching the staircase closest to his office, he fought back the thought.

“Progress is getting a verbal response,” Wil called after him, rushing to catch up, “and you can make more if you so choose, which I highly implore you to do.”

With a huff, Dark caught hold of the banister. “Why don’t you try? They might be more susceptible.”

Wil practically chased him up to the landing, refusing to let him go and sulk in his office that easy. “I spoke to them within the first year. The only thing stopping them from coming out to play more often is you.”

Having just rounded the corner and with his hand hovering over the doorknob, Dark found himself wishing that he were ever-so-slightly quicker. Maybe if he had skipped the last step, not paused at the bottom, or simply sprinted for his door – maybe he wouldn’t have had to hear that. Wil’s tone may have been sugary and light, but he wasn’t dumb. Saying such a thing had him struggling to maintain a cool exterior. Was what he did really that much of a problem? He assumed that your outburst had come from him finally showing to you, but had you gone so long without any interaction?

He twisted the handle.

“Does it matter that much to you?”

“Of course! The manor could use a little activity, I’d say,” Wilford spoke as though he’d already won the battle, and, as Dark stepped over the threshold, he had.

A brief pause, in which he looked around his bleak office – the desk, the bookshelf, the mirror – and then he answered, “Alright. I’ll try once more tomorrow.”

Wil practically erupted into fireworks. He clapped his hands together, spun around on the heel of his shoe, and announced, “Splendid! It’s a date!”

He was gone a second later, leaving Dark to himself. The minimal amount of light that had breached the room was dispelled with a closing of the door. He had a lot of work to do, but, for once, it had nothing to do with tracking down Mark or keeping the authorities away from the manor. No, because this time, it employed the quant, little library that Celine had made for herself when she lived in the place. With no one having gone in or out in the past century, there wasn’t even dust along the shelves, nor disrepair of the books. Everything would be pristine, just how she left it. And, matched with the knowledge of where everything was, Dark knew that this would be a piece of cake. His plan would go off without a hitch.

Although, that had been his belief when he had prepared to confront you, and look how that had turned out.

Surrounded by darkness, listening to darkness, seeing darkness, you had a lot of time to think. For most people, the ennui of an eternity might soften them up, or make them think differently. Not you. In fact, you were certain in any and all of the convictions you had at the very moment of your death. Resentment built up under the surface of your skin like rot, and, without the ability to leave the void, you were never given a chance to clear yourself of it.

There were the odd opinions that barely hardened, but there was also a good amount of them that solidified into steel. Kings of them all were the reasons you were trapped in the mirror in the first place. Though, as said before, you didn’t begrudge Dark for keeping you there, only that he ignored you.

Mark, on the other hand, you would gladly beat with a stick the second you saw him, or even your bare hands if you lacked anything else. The thought of touching him made you grimace, but you would struggle through it, if only to see that monster of a man dead at your feet as he should have been years ago.

That was the worst thing about the void, beating out the loneliness and the silence, was the fact that – if you were to look at a very specific place, your head placed just so and tilted within a fraction of a degree, you could see the familiar and infuriating face of one man. He was still dressed in a satin robe, splayed on the ground, arms held out like a false idol.

Mark’s body had long since gone cold, abandoned just as you were, to the place in the mirror. When he had taken Damien’s body, he’d left his behind, a literal shell of a man. You would see it sometimes when you moved your head quickly. A flash, a strike of lighting. It was still there to this day, but you’d never gotten the bravery to get any closer to it. It wasn’t as though you could trip over it, so why bother?

Between reliving the memories of your demise and thinking of how much you hated those two figures, you wondered if this was a punishment. The body was placed there to remind you of your loneliness, while the mirror taunted you with a glimpse of freedom that you would never reach. It gave you the only sense of direction in the void; a roughly 3 by 2-meter screen with decorated edges that just hung there. You had once tried to knock it down, but that just served to dent the corner.

You had… mixed feelings about the window. On one hand, it let some light in. It let you see your hands, your torso, the body at the edge of your vision, your legs. You could appreciate that part. And, although not overly effectively, it gave you a sense of self. You existed, you were present in time and space, you hadn’t just disappeared, as much as you were otherwise convinced – which led you to the other hand; it mocked you. Constantly. You could see out, people could see in, but it was rare that you acknowledged one another. Wilford waved at you a few times, and Benjamin had insulted the outfit that you’d died in. The one to give you the most attention overall was Dark.

Your head snapped to the mirror.

Dark.

He said he would try again tomorrow, didn’t he? Was it tomorrow yet? You weren’t good at keeping track of time, it seemed, but the draining and filling of the light outside that you, for once, stayed awake long enough to notice, gave you some indication. Shadows danced from the windows, the rise of a sun, and the fall of a moon. A day had passed, it had to. Timing always got finicky after six o’clock, when you couldn’t discern when it was getting brighter or if clouds were just passing through. Just to be sure, you decided to watch the screen for a bit longer. He normally appeared when it was darker – you sometimes laughed to yourself about that kind of thematic symbolism – but maybe today would be different.

The next minutes were not different, which was to be expected, so you sat yourself down for a little longer. The next hours were not different, but you had waited a century, you could wait some more. The rest of that day was not different, though you could assume that he was just busy – stuck in that suit all day, talking of nothing but paperwork, he had to be busy.

But the day after that was not different, either, nor was the next. Flittering between the few remaining mirrors didn’t help, because, for once, Dark was not in his office. He had to be somewhere that you couldn’t access, and, for a moment, you wondered if this was his plan. Questions about his real intentions stuck into your mind like darts on a board; had he meant to trick you, had he wanted you to get your hopes up? The idea that it was all for fun briefly topped your theories, but it couldn’t be right. You didn’t think that fun was a part of Dark’s vocabulary, regardless of the nature of it, so you knocked it down to the bottom of the possibilities.

However, after yet another fall and rise of the sun, you stood before the screen of the void. A prisoner staring out at the world through their iron bars. Only one notion remained, a small, simple notion that you had harbored since the beginning.

He was a liar. He was a coward and a liar, and he never cared about you, not one bit. Everything was fake, he wasn’t sorry about anything he said, and he didn’t care about you being alone. He threw people to the wayside the second they weren’t useful anymore, and whatever he needed you for had solved itself, so there you go! Brushed to the side like an inconvenient pile of trash, because he was Dark, and that was what Dark did. A selfish, lying coward, he was worse than Mark—!

You lifted your foot. Glass littered the ground. You didn’t hear the mirror smash, and yet, the evidence was there. A slice of the screen carved out hastily and let fall to the floor of the void. The space it had occupied before was now empty upon you putting your hand through it.

“Huh,” you muttered to yourself. You still weren’t full comfortable with the sound of your own voice. Too scratchy from disuse.

The couple of shards of glass that were somewhat intact on the floor reflected something back at you as you moved. Carefully, you crouched down to cradle one, and then promptly fell backwards.

You couldn’t remember what you looked like when you were alive. When you thought of yourself, all you could see in your mind’s eye was a blank slate of a face and a line downwards, like a stick-figure. Staring into the thing in your hand, you questioned again if this were a punishment.

Smoke. Smoke in the vague shape of a person. That was all you could see, and, no matter how you tilted or twisted the glass, that was all it would show. The billows of gas threw themselves around over one another, cascading down along the side of a face and then shoulders, like waterfalls creating a path with no end. A misty hand brought to your face conflicted with the image. It felt like there was something solid there, your hands felt solid, as well. You didn’t know what to trust, but that was the same age-old story, wasn’t it?

The tears looked like smoke, too.

Nine o’clock. The day had passed painfully quickly. Normally, that would be a godsend, but it only reminded you of the hiatus when things actually happened. Not anymore. It changed very quickly back to what it had been before, like your mind was trained to accept abandonment.

You weren’t mad anymore. At least, you didn’t think you were. The office had gone uninhabited for the past four days, so you didn’t have anything to direct your anger towards. It was more as though you were frozen, back to spectating the manor through a sheen of frosted glass with your legs crossed. You’d give anything to feel the snow again, or any change in temperature at all. The void was completely neutral – maybe 15 degrees if you paid close attention. It didn’t matter to you anymore.

You were drifting. Your train of thought kept straying from the subject, and reliving the memories gave you no satisfaction, no sadness, no fear. Frozen. To the point that you barely registered that someone was standing in front of the mirror.

You wouldn’t admit that you clambered to your feet, nor that you jogged closer to the mirror to strengthen your image. Did you look like smoke to him, too? You shook your head, that didn’t matter. Attention roving his body, you inspected Dark for any sign of what had taken his time up so much. You got your answer quickly when your gaze landed on two books, one in each of his hands, though only the right was open. The other’s cover, meanwhile, was exposed to you. ‘The Lady in the Lake’ it read, in a striking, slightly yellowed font. On a positive note, you felt some sort of coherent emotion stirring within you. The bad news on that front was that it was anger that was returning. Had Dark ignored you, again, for a fiction book?

“Hello to you, too?” you risked speaking. No reaction to you; instead, he began muttering something that you couldn’t make out, not for lack of trying. You suddenly found a blockage between the words he was saying and your brain, as though he were speaking complete gibberish with English intonation. You struggled to rationalize anything until a mass of gray and red and blue flocked to the fiction book. A smoky substance danced around the cover, under and over Dark’s hand, like a swarm of flies. It wasn’t long before they drifted to the ceiling, leaving an empty space behind.

And then something in the void changed. For once, something new was added, and it was right at your feet. You weren’t going to question what his book did – you were trapped inside a mirror, after all, less explainable things had happened. You damn-near cried again when your hand brushed the paperback while your heart went while in your chest. Had you been able to, you would have lunged at Dark to hug him, but you couldn’t – for one, the mirror, obviously, but you were still somewhat annoyed with him. You schooled your expression as best you could from awed to simply appreciative.

Dark, meanwhile, didn’t bother trying to hide his smugness.

Tentatively, you drag your attention away from the gift and ask, “What is this?”

“A book.”

Your chest instinctively cramped with a bark of laughter. Short, solid, and, to someone on the other side of the mirror, sweet. A grin spread over your lips with such a reaction that you hadn’t felt in years. That someone preferred this look to your spiteful sarcasm.

You looked down again, finger spreading across the indented title, and then your eyebrows furrowed. You didn’t want to break this already brief moment, but you just had to know…

“What do you get out of this?”

Dark’s shoulders set straighter. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t sound defensive, just confused, which helped to settle your concerns, but it wasn’t enough. So, you prodded, “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything.”

The conversation may have been over, but the interaction was not. Dark stood there with his hands now clasped behind him and his book resting on the side table. A subtle smirk played on his mouth, though it didn’t exude the sadism you’d come to expect from it. This time, it just looked natural. He stayed unmoving as you looked him up and down, once, twice, before you let your own shoulders sag. Your posture bent and your eyebrows flattened.

This was all reversed when Dark whirled on his heel and started to walk.

“Where are you going?” Keeping your voice stable took all the energy in the world from you.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” was the answer you received, alongside his disappearing steps as he took himself away from the foyer.

You didn’t like that. It left a foul taste in your mouth – not for him leaving, but for the way that you felt about it. It stirred something in your gut and squeezed your heart with a vengeful vice grip. The next few minutes that Dark was away you spent arguing with yourself.

One side of you reminded you of how things had been for the past hundred years; you hated that man because he left you alone, he trapped you in this mirror, he stole your body. Without him, you would be dead and buried, allowed to rest, finally. And, with him, you were here. An endless void, eternally missing and ignored by the world. You should hate him.

But the other side of you pointed out that you should hate him. But you didn’t. Dark had apologized, he’d given you a book, he was trying to atone for the pain he had caused you. Why go to all the trouble of ignoring him when he could be your only viable interaction? You were here to stay, so it would be a waste to disregard him that easily. Besides, you had another person to be mad at, one that was more deserving than someone who was also a victim of his actions.

Weighing the options, you asked yourself if this was what Dark went through every time that he tried to make a decision. If it were true, well, you should have been grateful that he’d agreed on talking to you. It was difficult, and your conclusion definitely upset some part of your brain, but that didn’t stop you from making it concrete in your mind.

That you would give Dark some time.

Your body jolted in alarm at the knock that broke you free from your thoughts, but the shock was quickly remedied when you focused on the return of Dark at the front of your mirror. Likewise, he was brought to the front of your mind, and the choice to trust him was left to settle.

“You’re back,” you stated.

“No need to look so surprised.”

Your eyes searched him efficiently as he situated himself. Though, it didn’t take long for you to see what was different. The most glaring thing was that he had retrieved both a chair and a new book from who knows where. He laid the seat surprisingly gently on the planked floor but did not actually sit just yet. Instead, he stayed standing, almost awkwardly, as if waiting for permission.

A curious look you sent him bid him explain. “I thought we could read.” He cleared his throat, barely met your eyes. “Spend some time together. I think it would go better than talking, given our record.”

Huh. You hadn’t expected that. You appreciated the book, you really did, but offering to read withyou? Briefly, you wondered if Dark had been replaced in the time he’d been away, it would explain all the weird personality shifts, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As you flopped to the ground, one leg crossed over the other, you hissed at the part of your mind that whispered that you should. It took you all of one minute to get it to quiet down, and, from that second on, you were engrossed in the book that you and Dark now shared.

Nothing amazing happened during that first session. You read, he read, he asked what you thought, you told him it was good, and then you both parted ways. Such a pace was set for the next few nights. Nine o’clock became a very cherished time, not that either of you entirely noticed it. On your part, you didn’t even notice any of the times of day. Dawn, noon, evening – those were what you measured the passing of time by; now that you had a reason to do it down to the day, you paid more attention. Dark, meanwhile, had made it a habit to leave his office at 8:50, make it down in five minutes, and always be slightly early for the meeting. Maybe it was residual mannerisms from the 1920s, or maybe you were both still warming up to each other, but you didn’t start before nine.

It was the fifth night that a little thing changed. A subtle volta in a poem that you would only understand if you looked hard enough, and, by now, it was definite that Dark was. He’d read this book before, he knew what was before, what was happening, and what was to come. He enjoyed rereading things in his free time for just that reason, but this was a new experience that added something else to the matter; you. Being aware of the plot meant that he could spare some of his attention to send your way. That attention was used to watch the corners of your mouth crease at a part you enjoyed, to watch the flickering light in your eyes flare when there was a twist, to watch your nose scrunch if you took in new information. Pride coursed through his abandoned veins whenever you expressed any kind of emotion, but it was what you said after finishing the most recent chapter that made him react differently.

“I don’t like Eddie.”

Dark paused, a thumb brushing against the corner of a page. “Me neither.”

And that was it. That was all that was said before you drifted back into a white noise of flipping paper and shuffling. You continued to read, but Dark was caught at the start of the next chapter. His hand hovered over the edge of the pages, he willed it to move, but it steadfastly remained there. He tried to at least skim the ink printed words, nothing stuck, and his pupils ran in circles around the irises.

You had agreed on something – together. Feelings about one person were the same. You matched.

For the first time in a hundred years, Dark was hopeful.

It took a month for something substantial to happen again, not that Dark was complaining. He rather enjoyed having someone to talk to that wasn’t insane or his employee. He rather enjoyed talking to you, whether it was about the book or something interesting that had happened outside the mirror. It gave him a grim joy to see those sparks fly in your eyes when he mentioned how an aspiring real estate agent had tried to evaluate the place. You liked hearing about people the most, but they were few and far between. Most of the time, you settled for listening to him about the family of raccoons that lived in the wine cellar that Dark refused to touch. It got you laughing, and that was good enough for him.

You had just wrapped up the third to last chapter of ‘The Lady in the Lake’, the theories you muttered under your breath as Dark marked down the page number had him chuckling to himself as he drew his chair back to the wall. It was originally from the library, but there wasn’t much point in dragging it up and down the stairs whenever the clock struck nine.

After placing the book on the arm of the chair – thankfully wide enough that it wouldn’t topple off the side – he reeled back the eternal business at the back of his mind to the forefront. Something had gone wrong with his latest research, meaning he had to start again from photo-evidence. He didn’t like doing it, but he took it upon himself as a duty to the manor, to himself, to… you. If he knew where he was, he could protect the things he cared about. It didn’t help when he had to do it all over, but it was undoubtably better than giving up. He had made it this far, after all.

However, the second that he was angled away from the mirror, your voice punctured the finality of the moment.

“Hey, Dark?”

He turned again with a curious hum.

You were standing, as you always were after you finished for the night, but your hands were held cautiously together in front of you. Your pupils flitted about in your eyes, avoiding him, his now-concerned stare. You took in a breath and then made two, simple statements. “I just wanted to thank you, for the book and for spending time with me—” you briefly looked him in the face, as if to gauge his reaction, “—and I’m, uh, well, I’m sorry, for being so cold to you when you first spoke to me.”

His concern melted into understanding. “You had your reasons.”

“And so did you,” you rushed to continue, “and, and I ignored them because I was angry. A hundred years passed for both of us, I can’t think that it didn’t have some of the same effects on you as it did me. I assumed that you were just being petty when you didn’t come and see me, but… you weren’t, and I’m sorry for treating you like you were.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone.”

The apologetic intent hung in the air between you for the next few seconds. Your eyes met, Dark willed the sincerity to cross between the glass, and it seemed like it did when you risked a tentative smile. He gladly returned it.

You offered half-joking and half-genuine, “A truce?”

“If this last month hasn’t been a truce, I’m eager to see how you act when there is one.”

“Oh, be quiet.”

Another agreement, even lighter than before. Dark couldn’t help but feel giddy, a jolt of adrenaline running through him. If his veins weren’t so vacant, a blush might have revealed more than he wanted to in such a peaceful time. Luckily for him, the fear of that escaped him, but, unluckily, it was because he wondered something else.

This sounded an awful lot like a goodbye.

“Is everything alright?”

Despite the grin that had grown on your lips, you cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

Another pause.

“No reason.” Dark shifted an inch forward, like it would help him see past a disguise. It didn’t do anything, save give you a chance to poke fun at him.

“Well, go on, then,” you gestured behind him, “go commit tax fraud or whatever it is you do in your study.”

Ah, much better. The feeling lifted from him as fast as it had come.

“I’ll have you know that my paperwork is entirely sound and legal.”

“Hmm, keep telling the IRS that, you might just get away with it.” Your amused laugh faded into the void with your body, leaving the clean reflection of Dark himself behind. He was still smiling as he pushed a curl of his hair away from his eyes, an image he hadn’t seen in a good while. When you weren’t present, the mirror looked just that. A mirror. Nothing special about it, just a slab of glass in a frame. Not that it wasn’t, and he hated to say it, a very pretty mirror. Ornate, he would say. The glass, not as much, but the wooden border was. Nonsensical designs carved into the flesh of an oak tree, swirls and sparks and curves reaching around it like a snake. Whoever had been commissioned this had put in enough effort that it looked impossible to recreate.

Dark brought a finger up to trail one of the indentations. A gorgeous cage for a gorgeous bird.

Oh.

He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever run in the halls of the manor, but he had already broken three norms, what was one more?

The manor hadn’t heard the rapid click of shoes for quite some time; leisurely walks or a slightly rushed jog, sure, but downright running through those halls was near impossible. Dark had done so on his way up to the library, and he was now doing it again to go back to the mirror. It had taken him fourteen hours, two glasses of wine, and reluctantly recruiting Wilford to find what he was looking for, but they were sacrifices he was willing to make. Even if it didn’t work, it was a step in the right direction.

Maybe he was acting irrationally, and maybe he should have spent some more time making sure this had a sliver of a chance of working, however, he didn’t care. Cautiousness be damned, this could help you, and he was willing to do whatever it took to do that – he made sure that he sped up his pace so that he wouldn’t have to ponder the implications behind that. Rounding the banister, hope overtook him and propelled him forward away from certain important conclusions.

“Darling, I have great news!” Skipping past that one, too. “Now, I know we’re not scheduled to meet until this evening, but this is more important.” He was too busy dodging the archway to the foyer to think about that, either.

He practically skidded to a stop in front of the mirror, only able to stabilise himself with one hand against it. The other was occupied by a book, but not one of fiction this time. No, Celine had left this one on a different bookshelf, the top section, at the edge of it. It seemed to thrum with energy in his hand, power growing underneath the leather binding the closer that he brought it to your prison.

When he had properly calmed himself down – or, as calm as he could get when excitement lived in his heart – he knocked once, and then twice, and a third time when he couldn’t resist another. Nothing happened at first, but that was to be expected. It was barely midday, and an enthusiastic Dark was not a common sight. You were right to give showing yourself to him a little thought.

“Darl—” he caught his word before it could throw itself out of his mouth. Clearing his throat, he fixed his slip-up. “Old friend?”

An unabashed grin spilled across his lips when he saw the faint sign of smoke rising from the void. It was sometimes hard to make it out against the background, he thought that he was getting better, anyhow. Though, it would do him some good to practice if he couldn’t make you out after a few seconds.

He stepped forward to look closer. If he’d taken his glasses down, it might have been easier, but it wasn’t supposed to be this much of a struggle to see you. The smoke had all evaporated now and yet he couldn’t see anything.

All it took was another inch forward, the smallest step, for him to see what had happened; all it took was a second for him to get angry.

You hadn’t appeared, but something else had. ‘The Lady in the Lake’ was laid out on the ground of the void, the title almost blazing with light on the inside cover of the book. A sombre idea that you were trying to give it back without confronting him crossed his mind, though it didn’t stick with the knowledge that you wouldn’t be so cowardly. Instead, it was pure rage that took its place at the sight of the next page over. Where it had used to be blank, slightly stained with the effects of time, it now had a hideous, taunting, crimson name besmirching it.

Mark’s signature.

Anyone else might have acted poorly, impulsively, and dangerously. Dark was not anyone. He didn’t act poorly as he inspected the view of the mirror for any more clues of what had happened, he didn’t act impulsively as he stalked from the foyer to his office – but, oh, did he plan to act dangerously.

The wooden handle of a desk drawer splintered with his white-knuckled grip. He drew it open with trained coolness. Slowly, painfully slowly, he retrieved the map and rolled it out on the surface. The edge that he pulled his hand from was marked by a slit.

He was going to be dangerous, but he wasn’t going to be stupid. Not again. He had thought it a mistake. The hotel a few streets away from the manor wasn’t the place Mark would associate himself with. It barely passed the mantle of motel, let alone the fancy, ivy tower places he frequented. Knowing he wouldn’t be caught dead in such a place had him brushing the destination off as a fault in his research. Dark was a fool to believe he knew the man that made façades and disguises his life’s work.

But that didn’t matter anymore. Whether he truly understood him or not, it didn’t matter to him, because he did know one thing.

One hundred years was far too long, and he was going to make it up to you, even if he had to slit Mark’s throat himself.

[Being peer pressured into writing a multi-chapter shot is for the weak. And I, am very weak]

#theknightmarket #fanfiction #markiplier egos #writing #markiplier #markiplier egos x reader #one shots #x reader #actor mark #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier #da #district attorney #darkiplier x da #no kisses #we die like real men #mirror mirror

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